10-24-2013, 06:36 AM
When the bar tender traded off to go take a piss, he met Silas on the way who'd been lounging around the kitchen in this massive condo. The whole goddamn place was bigger than the palace in Addis Ababa. The kitchen? Well they didn't have kitchens in shithole Africa. At least there a guy could drag a fresh kill back to his hut without trouble. The current waft of slow-roasted meats was turning his stomach. High-class idiots ruined good meat.
The bartender approached him with a familiar air, but not a word passed between the two men. His fellow contractor barely paused in step to place a small pill in Silas' palm on his way to the john.
Golden eyes narrowed suspiciously etching every mark and edge on the tiny drug. This couldn't possibly be what he thought it was.
He shoved it in the pocket of his sport coat. He was dressed to the nines tonight in a slick gray shirt and coat, but nothing else about Silas screamed wealth. The young punk kid he used to be would have plastered the brand all over his fucking forehead, but he was beyond the labels now.
He casually strolled out of the 'employee's domain' and wandered back into the fray. The view only reminded him how deep in the heart of Moscow waters he tred, and danger spiked warning in the back of his mind: an instinct he had to put down like a rabid dog; the countryside called, but now there was work to do.
Silas was looking for the leech pushing drugs without going through him. Course, all the big dogs in town knew high-rank and file government types always went through a runner; and runners were always on staff as anonymous, independent contractors. Therefore some ignorant fucker was shoving his dick in a society that didn't want to be fucked with.
There were ways to do things, but this wasn't it. Meant he needed to find some hothead green kid who stood out like a sore thumb when he assumed he fit right in before things turned for the both of them: it was a delicate ecosystem he played; Silas didn't belong there any more than the shitbrained kid did, but only one of them knew how to deal the cards. Spectra Lin was only the tip of the iceberg considering whose condo this was.
After a bit of roaming through the gallery, the library, the art halls, and a terrace or two, and peeling off an unknown number of hands circling his arm or thwarting lustful looks meeting his golden gaze, he came across a potential candidate.
The fucker wasn't even wearing a tie. Silas sneered, cautiously victorious that he'd found the 'candy man'. "Trick or treat," he came up behind him.
The bartender approached him with a familiar air, but not a word passed between the two men. His fellow contractor barely paused in step to place a small pill in Silas' palm on his way to the john.
Golden eyes narrowed suspiciously etching every mark and edge on the tiny drug. This couldn't possibly be what he thought it was.
He shoved it in the pocket of his sport coat. He was dressed to the nines tonight in a slick gray shirt and coat, but nothing else about Silas screamed wealth. The young punk kid he used to be would have plastered the brand all over his fucking forehead, but he was beyond the labels now.
He casually strolled out of the 'employee's domain' and wandered back into the fray. The view only reminded him how deep in the heart of Moscow waters he tred, and danger spiked warning in the back of his mind: an instinct he had to put down like a rabid dog; the countryside called, but now there was work to do.
Silas was looking for the leech pushing drugs without going through him. Course, all the big dogs in town knew high-rank and file government types always went through a runner; and runners were always on staff as anonymous, independent contractors. Therefore some ignorant fucker was shoving his dick in a society that didn't want to be fucked with.
There were ways to do things, but this wasn't it. Meant he needed to find some hothead green kid who stood out like a sore thumb when he assumed he fit right in before things turned for the both of them: it was a delicate ecosystem he played; Silas didn't belong there any more than the shitbrained kid did, but only one of them knew how to deal the cards. Spectra Lin was only the tip of the iceberg considering whose condo this was.
After a bit of roaming through the gallery, the library, the art halls, and a terrace or two, and peeling off an unknown number of hands circling his arm or thwarting lustful looks meeting his golden gaze, he came across a potential candidate.
The fucker wasn't even wearing a tie. Silas sneered, cautiously victorious that he'd found the 'candy man'. "Trick or treat," he came up behind him.