[Sodium_noir] FW: Mortals & Ghouls at play in Darktown

[eagandigh]

Phil & Fab
Mortal gangstas
Whorehouse in Darktown (across the street from a recent nasty fight)
 
 
Phil lounged on the sofa, his boots slumped on a table. After the
ceremony he had retired with Fab to one of the filles’ whorehouses,
incidentally the one where the fight with the Snake Bitches had taken
place not a week ago. The whole rattlesnake incident had been a glitch
for Phil, cause he was the one in charge of the whorehouses, just like
it was Onitt’s duty to make sure the shopowners in the quartier paid
their ‘tithes to the loas’. Onitt was frightingly effective at that job.
Phil took a deep sip from his whisky bottle. He knew that he was blamed
for the fact that the rattlesnakes had infiltrated the whorehouses. He
had been glad when the Bêtenoir was MIA and now was deeply concerned. He
knew what happened to people who were causing the Bêtenoir
dissatisfaction. So, Phil had used the time and had cleaned the
whorehouses thoroughly. Dammit, he had lost a few fine broads, some of
them he wasn’t even sure that they were in the enemy’s bed, but better
safe than sorry. He took another sip from the bottle.

“Bro’, you’re awfully quiet, man.” Fab exclaimed, while lighting the
joint he had prepared. He took in the smoke and exhaled slowly. “Damn,
boy, tis ganja is reely fine. Hit my bitches ass!” He took another draw
, and then handed it to Phil. “You don’t have a bitch, punk.” Phil said
and took the joint. “Well, I know you’re deepshit afraid that da
Bêtenoir’ll cum up an’ slap your ass. But, bro’, ya has done all ya
could done ta bring da shit back in order.” “You really have a thing for
asses, don’t ya?” “Fuck, man, keepin’ da bitches in order is no small
job. You give ‘em a roof over da fine asses and give ‘em da chance to
earn sum money ta buy seir fix. And how do they tank you? Run and roll
on deir backs for da next best fucker, who cumes aroun’.” Phil just
grunted and passed the joint back to Fab. Fab inhaled deeply and blew
circles. Just like fucking Gandalf, Phil thought. “Ya know, it’s jus’
like da bitches havin’ no respect anymore, drawing guns on us an’ all.”
Fab mused. “Just like bitches have been all da time, but they know
better now.” Phil said and took a side glance at Jameela, one of the
whores, who was sitting on a couch on the far end of the room, polishing
the nails on her feet. She looked up at Phil, her black eye becoming
apparent, then looked again at her feet.

Fab leaned back into his armchair, a plushy thing that seemed to come
right from a garbage dump. “Well, fuck dem, they don’t know nuthin’
what’s good for dem. I mean, they could walk deir asses off down da
street, in any fucking weather, not knowin’ what da next punk’ll do ta
dem. Here, it’s warm, da john’s cum ta dem, they have protection should
any of dem get a queer look on da face an’ they don’t need ta find sum
little kid who don’t know nuthin’ ‘bout good crack ‘n’ stuff, but get
reel good stuff right from da source. Man, sum people don’t appreciate
deir damn luck.” Jameela rolled her eyes, but didn’t react otherwise.
Phil was still eyeing her, distrustful. Was there a gun somewhere on her
lithe body? “An’ it’s not like we’re sum fuckhead dipshits from sum damn
no good gang from down da hood. I mean, we’re da children, if we say we
protect ya, we do. We don’t stick our tails between our asses an’ run to
our mommys jus’ because tings get a little rough. We don’t let anyone
hang in da air, jus’ because sum punk is waving sum gun at us. No, we
give it back ta dem tenfold. An’ they never cum back once we hit ‘em.
Hey, we even take deir damn souls an’ stick dem heads in dem asses. If
tings can be believed dat are said. We fuckin’ stand to our fuckin’
words. If ya’re with us ya safe, dammit
” Phil groaned inwardly as Fab
continued to blubber. Why was he stuck with a guy, who couldn’t shut up
after he had his first joint. And had that unwholesome thing about asses
going on. He settled in for a night of unimaginable torture.

 

 

TBC

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