There's the black market and then there's the black market.
Here in the Gutter, the one thing that's always for sale is darkness.
Here in the Gutter, the one thing that's always for sale is darkness.
Never One to Do Things By Half by Beau Johnson
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He knows he’s fucked the moment I ask
if it should be Agent Brand I call him now, or would it be better if we still
went with Hank. I tell him I can’t do
Ryan though, a name I just couldn’t comprehend when I looked at his face.
“Slide it over to Max and Jeffrey
there. Good. Good.
You gonna make me ask about the one in your ankle holster?”
I offer him a smile. Then I tell him he should smile, as he’d made it, now within the heart of where all
the magic occurred. I concede our
operation has been mobile in the past and more than not the reason we have
always been one step ahead. What excited
me more was what I was about to show him.
“Before I give you the grand tour,
there’s something I need to get off my chest.” The method of his madness is what I wished to
address. Not once had a person ever
thought to come at us this way. Kudos is
what I say to him, my appreciation as to how he posed as a doctor so great I’d
decided to acknowledge this achievement with something I hoped he’d find just
as clever.
Brings us to the cardigan I’m
wearing. “Look familiar?” I hoped so.
Jeffrey procuring it from Hank’s own closet just this morning. “And what about how low I’m wearing this ball
cap?” I go on and admit how I know it’s
the style Janet favors. Mention of the
missus changes things, mainly the temperature of the room. Good.
Meant I had his undivided attention.
Still didn’t stop me from telling him to drop the look. I mean, was I honestly supposed to believe he
never once thought I might go this route if he went and got discovered? “You uphold the law. I circumvent it. It’s the way this thing of ours is meant to
work.”
I move us forward, Max and Jeffrey
bringing up the rear. Close to the end
of our stroll Jeffrey moves up on past us and opens the blinds. I watch Hank, his eyes, but the man had
become stone; would not give one mention as to how tight a ship I run, the view
before us as clean and white and sterile as any operating room the world over. No matter.
I was too encouraged. In front of
us now the thing he wanted most. I
direct his attention to the larger bins first.
Retrofitted, they jut out from the walls on each side of each work
station. To the left go legs. On the right, arms. The final bin sits in front, between each set
of doors, and is what we refer to as the and/or bin.
“And I know how smart you are,
Hank. So from a business perspective you
can see where I’m coming from. If you
wanted to, sure, we could jaw numbers all day long, but bottom line, you still
would not believe the amount of raw material we chuck per annum.” He won’t look at me, only stares on straight
ahead. I understand this. I can live with it. Flipping the equation and we arrive at what it
creates; when something different is required, a new deterrent set.
I give him a few more seconds and then
ask him if he’d narrowed down the Big Four my business made most of its profit
from. He still says nothing, but I know
he knows, so there really wasn’t much of a point in me asking him to list
them. Instead I lament about the
head. How, try as I might, I am unable
to create a demand for that particular ten pounds. Sure we get the odd request for a certain
shade of blue for some guy’s blind daughter, and hey, we will happily
accommodate when able, but on the whole, no, heads have always been a dead-end
investment.
Hence the and/or bin.
Made me wonder if I was being as clear
as I thought I was; if Hank realized the implications of us talking as we
were. “If it’s Janet you’re worried
about, don’t be. She will never see this
warehouse and I give you my word she won’t be going into any of those
bins.” I get nothing. Nadda.
Zilch. So I tell him it won’t be
his men going in either, the ones from the surveillance van we took care of
before lunch. Still nothing. Left me no choice but to hit the fast forward
button. “You however, you I’m gonna let
live.”
And just like that: a response. Or at least a turn of the head and a look
into my eyes. I take it as a sign, move
closer, and put my arm around his shoulder. “What I need you to remember is it
could have been your parents coming through those doors. Could have been your brother and his litter
of kids as well. This is what I need you
to recall when all this is said and done and you and your friends try and come
at me again.”
The doors open, big as well as small,
and through florescent light come Daniel, Becka, and John. Takes me a moment but I remember to tell Hank
how much I appreciate their names, that each one sounded solid and strong. I then embrace the cliché, but only after the
first gurney to work station transfer is complete. Hank could care less if this would be hurting
me more than it hurt him though, and it’s why I afford him his time upon the
glass. His struggle affects me more than
I thought it would, however, and I cut things short because of this.
Taking their cue, Max and Jeffrey step
forward, continue on, and in an instant Hank and the glass have become the
fastest of friends. I wet my lips, clear
my throat, and make sure stubble rubs stubble as I speak into his ear. “You
aren’t alone in this, Hank. Not for a
moment. Yes we may be on opposing sides,
and yes we might always be, but take comfort in knowing this decision was one
that did not come easy. After all, I’m a
father too.”
