The Corporate Ladder

A Chapter by Dante Carlisle

Chapter 26

Two weeks of mind-numbing boredom. Fourteen nights spent standing on a corner and looking into the haggard faces of people that sold their souls to a drug they could hardly pay for. Two weeks of watching people wither in less time than should be possible. He became miserable every time the moon rose.

The only highlight had been his days spent with Sandy. A ray of sunshine he could hold in his arms when he wasn't drowning in the darkness of 'work'. He thought the job would be easy, and it was. But when you took in to account the people that had no motivation to live, it got much more difficult. A man couldn't drown in misery without some soaking in.

His feet hit the thin floor in a staccato blast as he sprinted toward the stairwell up to Crazy Pete's slice of paradise. He had found running felt good when going through the seemingly empty building. The guard nearly jumped out of his skin when Trent skidded around a corner and stopped himself against a wall with a hard thud.

“Dan! What's goin' on?” Trent's voice caused a relieved smile to break out on the large man's face.

“You 'bout gave me a heart attack! Why you here so early?” 'Early' was half of the sun still being visible above the horizon.

“Eh, business. Ya know?” Trent didn't normally show up before the sun had been down for hours.

“Hope it goes well.” Dan nodded and pushed the door open without further inquisition. He only wanted to know what he had to.

Trent went up the stairs onto the dance floor. There was no one dancing so early, but the music still played quietly. A DJ sat behind the turntable on its platform at one edge of the room and flipped through a crate filled with albums, and two enormous CD cases sat at his feet.

Trent nodded to a couple of the die-hards seated at one of the tables with stacks of money or piles of pills in front of them. They were setting up their operations for the night and considering their assaults on the wallets of the kids coming in. For them it was a premeditated night under the blessed oblivion of the pills, the music, and the lights.

Trent had saved nearly every dollar he made over the past two weeks, and was finally capable of moving up from standing on that miserable corner. He could buy his first batch of X pills and hang out on the dance floor. More than two thousand dollars was burning a hole in his pocket, and with any luck he could turn it into a lot more.

Two grand that didn't have to go toward outstanding bills, rent, paying back a paycheck advance, or taking something out of pawn. He could buy whatever he wanted. But for the life of him he couldn't come up with what he wanted. The money was essentially useless because Trent didn't care enough about owning anything lavish. He had quickly come to the conclusion that buying his own drugs from Crazy Pete and selling them brought in far more money than having to pay Crazy Pete back at the end of each night. So, that was just what he had done the last two nights out.

It hadn't taken him long to learn the games the other dealers played. They gambled on everything. They argued about everything. And they enjoyed every second of the life they lived. Stacks of money and beautiful women surrounded them from sundown to sunup. It was an enviable lifestyle.

Even so, Trent could sense the wary undercurrent of predators playing tricks on other predators and being well aware that at any moment a game could turn deadly serious. Trent avoided getting entangled in their affairs, but felt almost irresistibly pulled to the smiling faces of the men and women that sold an altered state of mind to the dancing multitudes.

He made his way past his peers to the next floor. It was what he had called the junkie floor, but everyone else just called it the Morgue. It was where junkies went to slip loose of their mortal coil as the last of their souls were sacrificed to their drug of choice.

Trent had firmly assimilated himself into the scene at Crazy Pete's. Everything was going great on the surface, but there were still things that bothered him from time to time. Lex had steadily pulled away from him, and hadn't been seen or heard from in three days. He didn't talk the few times he had shown up at Trent's apartment, and he hadn't bothered to call since Trent saw him last.

Perhaps the dawn of a new era had come, and it was Lex who was jealous for once. Trent was supporting both Dave and Bobby and not even noticing the strain. Sandy was a fixture in his life, and he spent three nights out of four with her in his bed. He suspected she had moved in with him without saying anything, and he loved it. Life was beautiful.

Lex could have had the same gig anytime he wanted, though. Instead of scratching for chicken feed in the dust and grease of Charlie's Diner he could be sharing the spotlight with Crazy Pete and ordering people like Trent around. When he considered it, not much of what Lex did made sense. Why would he decide to live in the trenches if he didn't have to?

Lex was more an annoyance than a problem. The only real problem with Trent's new life was the boredom that went with standing on a corner waiting for sickly little pseudo-humans all night long. Thus, why he was considering buying a few dozen pills and seeing how he did on Crazy Pete's dance floor. The dealers downstairs would welcome him eagerly into their group, and they ate so much of their own product that they were always in a better mood than their customers.

Trent nodded toward the hookers in the corner. One or two may have winked back or leaned suggestively toward him, seeing a more and more frequent customer. But he kept right on moving through the twisted bodies writhing in the loving embrace of their prisons. He knocked twice on the steel door to Crazy Pete's penthouse, and the slat slid back half an inch. None of Crazy Pete's people ever showed up before full dark had arrived, and the guard was justifiably wary.

“Rome.” Trent said with a smile.

The voice that rumbled back at Trent had enough bass to crack stone, “Trent...You're early.” Rome was huge, not much smaller than Kevin, although it was impossible to tell through the tiny opening in the door. The only thing visible was one nearly black eye set in a face that seemed to have been crafted from coal.

The slat clicked shut and Trent listened as even more locks than usual slid back. Heightened security in the daytime; a reasonable precaution in a line of work that required people to sleep all day.

Trent didn't normally exchange more than five words with Rome when he showed up, and their quota had been filled for the day. Rome sealed the door behind him as Trent took the stairs two at a time.

Surprisingly, Crazy Pete was in the main room. The kingpin's back was to him, and he was slumped back nearly horizontal in a chair thinking deeply about something. Or else he had fallen asleep. The hyper-alert kingpin didn't flinch at someone entering.

Trent took a few more steps into the dim room and understood why Crazy Pete hadn't turned at his entrance. There were two women on the floor in front of him in what passed for lingerie in a Brazilian strip club. They were giggling and rolling wildly over a pile of pillows larger than Trent's bedroom. It was a display of hedonism at its worst. Or its best, Trent wasn't sure how that worked. Either way, he couldn't take his eyes off them.

Crazy Pete looked up briefly when Trent stumbled to a stop at his shoulder. “Trent, what a surprise. Just in time to see the show. Pull up a seat.” The dealer waved a hand at the room without taking his eyes off the spectacle taking place at his feet.

Trent pulled up a cushioned ottoman to sit next to his boss, no longer noticing the obscene quality of the furniture. He didn't speak for several minutes as he focused on the two girls before him. One had lost the scant covering she had worn, and seemed to play more vigorously without the impedement.

“What'd ya wanna talk about?” Crazy Pete asked, breaking his gaze from the girls for the time it took to glance sideways at Trent.

Trent tried to collect his thoughts, but gave up. He wasn't going to say anything eloquent while two naked women rolled around in arm's reach.

“Alright. The corner's boring as hell, plus I think I could make more money doin' somethin' else. Problem is, I ain't got a clue what else there is. What else ya need done? So, I came askin' for ya to fill me in on what else I could do.” Trent stopped, wondering if the two girls in front of them were enough for Crazy Pete to pull his nutty act and make a show of snapping out.

Apparently they weren't, because he just hummed to himself once Trent finished. There was such a thing as being too eager to know. In the crime game, there are always too many people that want to know everything about what someone's doing for no purpose than to have something to tell the cops when they get caught. It was actually fairly dangerous for Trent to ask what he had. People killed over information more often than they killed over money.

Crazy Pete turned in his chair to stare at Trent. Completely ignored, the girls slowed down in their play. They were only putting on a show after all.

“I think you understand just what you're asking, and you wouldn't ask if you thought you'd be suspected of having nefarious plans.” Crazy Pete studied his employee without speaking for a while. Trent was more surprised at the use of the word 'nefarious' than he was intimidated by the implied threat. “Alright, I'll give ya a few things to think about. I'd thought you were headed for the dance floor and the upper echelons of the people dealin' for me, but I'll give ya some other options.”

Trent nodded, “I'm just bored as hell dealin', ya know?”

Crazy Pete laughed, and the girls stopped moving altogether. They just rolled over on the pillows and whispered quietly, shooting furtive looks at the two men sitting a few feet away.

“Hell, if ya wanna fight, you can fight. I ain't never gonna turn that down. I'm too short on people that ain't afraid of gettin' hurt, or hurtin' others.” Crazy Pete looked toward Trent, “That doesn't really seem your style, though. Another big thing I need are people that can get into other gangs' territories and figure out what's goin' on. But that's even more dangerous than just fightin'. You get caught doin' that and there's no chance you're gettin' out alive.” Crazy Pete paused and then began ticking off fingers as he spoke. “I got people that pick up shipments, drop off packages, talk to people that're upset with how I'm runnin' things. I have guys and girls that spend all their time tryin' to ferret out anyone that coulda been turned by another gang. The list goes on and on, Trent. I just don't know what your skills are. I don't think you have a violent streak, but you never really know. You also don't have the way of a ferret or a spy.” Trent looked at Crazy Pete critically, and the dealer smiled at the obvious intent to argue. He held up a hand to forestall the words he knew were coming. “You're just too blunt, Trent. You ain't got the silver tongue you need for those kinda jobs. Look at what you did here today. This really ain't the way anyone that knows the game woulda done this. You just came in here and straight up questioned me about my activities...Let's face it, that's just not done.”

Trent looked at his feet, wondering what he could do. From the sound of it, he wasn't cut out for any of the jobs in Crazy Pete's organization. It wouldn't be much trouble to deal on the dance floor, the only problem was the boredom. Perhaps it was safer, but safe didn't make money anywhere near as quick as dangerous.

“So, there ain't nothin' for me except what I'm doin' now?”

Crazy Pete laughed at how sad he sounded. For someone that had never wanted to work, Trent didn't have a problem putting time in when he was well compensated. Then Crazy Pete snapped his fingers. The sound echoed in the silence of the big room. “I got a guy comin' over tonight with a few jobs to do for me. Burglaries.”

Trent's eyes lit up. Burglaries shouldn't be too much trouble. Morons got away with theft on a daily basis. Why couldn't he do it?
“How much money we talkin'?” The business was the most important thing.

Crazy Pete steepled his fingers and looked at the two girls. “Well, it depends on what kinda stuff you guys bring back. Case by case basis, but it'd be more than the little bit you've been gettin'. Plus, it's short work. None of the six hours on a corner crap, but the risk level is a lot higher. You game?”

Trent didn't take long to think about it. Anything was better than the corner.

“Risk is fine. Whenever this guy gets here we'll see if he'll take me along. When're we doin' it?”

Crazy Pete had known Trent would agree before the words left his mouth, but it had to be said. “Well, Slim's comin' tonight, and he'll go out tonight, so I expect you'll have some work then if ya want it that soon. I got a few places over in the Clan's territory that I want him to hit while he's in town. It's lucrative work, and you ain't gotta do much of it. Stick around 'til later, and you'll meet him.”

Trent leaned back on his elbows and allowed a smile to appear on his face. His eyes fell on the two girls whispering on the floor. Perhaps his luck had changed for the better.

“Yeah, I can stick around.”

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