Dirty Business by Huck Pilgrim

Dirty Business
     

     

     
    Joe Murphy leaned back from the dining room table. A big man, he tried his best not to look too imposing. He didn’t want anyone feeling threatened tonight. Donnell Blackman sat across from him, staring at the thick sheaf of paperwork spread out before him.
     
    Joe glanced at the phone in his hand. A quarter past two in the morning. He’d need another two hours to close the deal. Molly would be mad.
     
    Donnell rubbed the stubble on his chin, thoughtfully working his way through the paperwork. He was young—twenty-three—but clever. Careful. This was probably his first real estate purchase ever. Certainly his first Carnal address.
     
    At least two more hours.
     
    At the other end of the table sat Cutter, one of Donnell’s out-of-town associates. He wore a white surgical mask and a tank top. Had prison tattoos etched across his thick arms. On the table before him sat a big plastic bin holding a large amount of some sort of white powder. His bald head glistened with sweat as he sifted through the powder with a playing card. Every so often he scooped some of the powder onto the card and then filled a small glassine bag. These loaded bags were then piled onto neat little stacks at the far end of the table. From the height of the stacks and the sweat on his brow, you could tell Cutter had been at it for a few hours. Joe heard the faint, tinny sound of rap music coming from headphones stuffed into Cutter’s ears. He popped his head as he worked, his arms making deft, practiced movements.
     
    Joe slipped his phone into his pocket. Took a deep, calming breath. These two were animals, able to smell fear. This was not the time to get antsy.
     
    A former motorcycle gang member, Joe had worked alongside drugs in the past. He didn’t mind cash deals or unsavory people. He had no problem doing business at Donnell’s temporary “office,” which was really just an address in Hoover Homes, one of Carnal’s low income housing developments. If anything, Joe felt thankful to have the deal, worth over two thousand in commissions. Molly would be pleased. Grateful for the income.
     
    The clamor of noisy footsteps and laughter broke the quiet.
     
    A beautiful girl and two young black men—baggy pants, gleaming Nikes—burst out of the stairwell. Donnell looked up from his task. He kept his face even, but when the boys saw him look, they both stopped horsing around.
     
    The girl continued to laugh.
     
    She was a knock out. Long dark hair, square chin. With her high cheek bones and chiseled facial features, she looked like a Cherokee princess. Joe recognized her as Veronica Smith, a local teen. Letting her laughter trail off, she reached both arms behind her head and gathered her hair into a pony tail.
     
    The last time Joe had seen Veronica was five years ago at her father’s lakeside house. She had certainly grown up since then. Dark running tights hugged her slim hips and shapely thighs. A bright halter top accentuated her small breasts and left her midriff exposed. Dressed for the gym, her glassy eyes and flush cheeks told a different story. She had clearly been partying.
     
    Her father was one of Carnal’s wealthiest businessmen. He was proud of his little girl. Had been crowing at a local bar about her recent acceptance to an Ivy League school. Smith felt certain his daughter would be one of the girls that made it out of Carnal.
     
    One of the boys with Veronica wore a checkered tan fedora. A handsome boy, he was clean shaven, muscular, with a strong jaw and a broad, open face. Grabbing the hat by the crown, he pushed it back on his head and grinned, offering a brilliant smile with a single, gleaming, gold cap up front.
     
    “We just leaving, Donnell,” the boy said.
     
    Donnell lowered his head without acknowledgment.
     
    “Donnell?” Veronica said. She grinned. “ Donnell Blackman ? Cherry High’s former track star?” She had already undone her long dark hair and now she let it