Faetality, p.2
Faetality, page 2
‘So, has anyone tried to restrain them? And it's only this faerie fizzer yeah?’ I wrote as I spoke, taking the time to fill out my notebook on this one. The irony of investigating a drug called Faerie Fizzer did not escape me.
‘Yes and yes. The ones we keep a hold of just keep walking till they bleed or die. And the only ones affected, they take that faerie shit,’ he answered snappily, seeming annoyed by something.
‘Well sorry, I will try to work this out, so your customers are safe-’
‘Hah! No, bad drugs means they take their money somewhere else. If they die or disappear, they ain't buying no more. Less sales to these addicted idiots.’ The self-satisfied smirk on Nathaniel's face was suddenly itching for me to slap it off. The comments were hitting just a little too close to home. I thanked him and left, knowing I should ask more, especially about the supplier. I found myself not wanting to spend another minute around this man.
I walked out of North Bayton feeling pretty sorry for its residents. These people had the kind of life I had dreamed of. They had mortgages, jobs, a morning commute, stability. I told myself I was stuck in the gutter from all those rotten things happening to me and using the drugs to forget them. But these people I envied still had their own problems, and clearly their own addictions.
That reminded me to see to my own, and I did as I walked over to the central part of messy little Bayton. The market wasn't due to start for hours, but it would be good to scout out the area and see if there was any money to be made.
Odd jobs were good to find, and community notice boards were full of requests. In the past I had been a life art model, a dog groomer, even putting in shelving and picking fruit for one elderly couple. Most jobs relied on my looks, but at least I had found enough that I didn't have to take to the streets. That kind of sleaze could never be scrubbed off, even when I had the money after to pay for a place with a bathroom. When I had perfected my little hallucinatory act it made that work a lot easier at least.
Unfortunately for me there were no jobs posted, nor were there any desperate men seeking to lighten their cash load. Instead, I just had to wait.
Time passed quickly, night fell soon enough and Bayton Central came alive. I wove through the crowd, holding my bag tighter than ever to keep prying fingers out. My bag was all I had, it had my life in it, plus all the money and drugs I owned. The bodies around me pressed close, a general flow through the market kept people moving until they found a stall they liked the look of and dove in.
I went with them, in no rush to see this Damien. I hadn't just gone shopping in years, certainly not just wandering along and buying something that wasn't drugs. I tried not to wonder how it had come to that, distracting myself with some cute bone hair beads and colourful wraps. I was still picking through the stall when I was roughly tapped on the shoulder. It made me jump, so I turned around to give the tapper a piece of my mind. Too bad that said tapper turned out to be some seven-foot-tall block of thug.
‘What do you want?’ I spluttered, bravado being the best option here. Well... hopefully.
‘Damien want to talk. You come now.’ He had the usual neanderthal era speech capabilities that all hired muscle seemed to have. Considering I needed to talk to him anyway, I agreed to go without sass. I got the feeling I could either walk there or go unconscious and bleeding. Walking willingly seemed like a dandy idea to me.
‘Lead the way, meaty boy!’ I chirped, probably a bit too cheekily given the snarl he gave me, but the block turned and led as requested.
Chapter Four
Damien's rooms were surprisingly low key, lacking the usual pageantry of a local drug lord. I glanced into the rooms as I walked along an oddly plain hallway, no pictures broke the expanse of black painted walls. Each room seemed to be brightly coloured, glaring out into the monochrome hall. There were few people around, most keeping to the specialised rooms to fuel whatever habit they chose. As much as I couldn't, I desperately wanted to go in, “I'll have what she's having” and forget all about the zombie drugs. Nothing like a good long holiday from reality.
We stopped about halfway down the hall, entering a room that looked scarily like the waiting room at a doctor's office. Meaty jerked his thumb at the chairs before lumbering back down the hall. I took a seat, wondering why they were fine with just letting me run loose. A glance around the room gave me the answer.
Cameras peeked back, their unwavering gaze coming at me from every angle. I was betting there would be someone monitoring the receivers, who would mount a pretty swift response if needed. Vowing to be on my best behaviour, I shifted to get comfortable. Dealers tended to make you wait, leaving everything to their convenience to remind you of who was in charge here, so it was pretty surprising when a man entered the room barely a minute after Mr Meaty had left.
The solemn man was tall, well-muscled, very handsome in a scarred and rough way. He clearly favoured the current punkabilly trends, a tall but feral pompadour with skull tight shaved sides and rolled up jeans. His shirt was crinkled and hanging loose, while his jeans were stained and dusty. Dark circles encompassed his eyes, and his skin was pale, sickly. While he had the style, he looked a mess. Still, the man needed no protection, oozing an aura of bad-assery. As he sat down across from me, he looked me over suspiciously, something unreadable passing through his eyes.
‘What'n Stevie be wantin' 'ere?’ he asked frankly. I was almost surprised at how direct he was. Almost.
‘Are you Damien?’ I tried to dodge his question. I resisted the urge to ask how he knew I was sent from Stevie. Blunt is good, or blunt can get you killed. Pretty sure they didn't have narcotics in the afterlife.
‘What of it?’ The man responded, giving this conversation the intensity of a verbal ping pong championship. I decided that honesty was the best policy here too, without the bluntness.
‘Well, I am looking into these weird occurrences around this one drug, I thought you might know something more. Stevie did kinda put me onto the case so to speak.’
‘An' 'ow is it that ye talkin' so well, bein' another Baytie user?’ Damien’s suspicious glare bored into my eyes. Yikes, this guy did not like me, and he sure didn't trust me. I met the glare evenly, rising to the challenge without joining the pissing contest.
‘I got an education. That's all. That's why else Stevie asked me to look into it.’ I paused, still being looked over like a particularly disliked meal. His glare was beginning to piss me off now, gone way beyond rude and into utterly contemptible.
‘So, yer just follerin' Stevie's orders eh? Ye ain't that fancy much.’ The man was becoming snide to go with his asinine attitude.
‘He first alerted me to the issue and set me on the- uh- case. However now I want to get it solved for the sake of all of us.’ I delicately curated my response, feeling like I was tiptoeing through a minefield.
‘Aye, so ye be some great saviour. A junkie Jesus come'n lead us all ter safety, eh?’ The anger in me surged with each of his slurred but cutting words. The smell of booze stewed off him, enough to burn my nose. There was also the stench of unwashed man running under it all, and musk was not my thing.
This sulkiness wasn't getting me anywhere about the disappearances, and I had far better things to do than talk to this surly teenager in a gang banger's body. Like digging out my eyeballs with a rusty teaspoon.
‘Fine, don't go too far out of your way to sort this crap out. I will just work with Stevie and Nathaniel. At least they give a damn about their own 'Baytie users' as you call them!’ I stood to leave, ignoring the moment of wooziness in order to save face.
Turning to the door, I had only taken two steps before Damien was up and out of his seat, looming over me. To my own surprise, rather than being scared I was seeing red. The continued assholery was less intimidating and more an annoyance with every passing minute. He still didn't speak, so I stared him down before breaking the silence.
‘What the fuck do you want now? I am leaving, I am getting out of your damn territory and be damned with your arrogance,’ I raged as his dismissive attitude finally snapping the final connections to my patience. I flipped him the bird for good measure and stepped around him. The tantrum may not help my little investigation, but I felt a damn sight better. I felt him watch my every step towards the door, his gaze a prickle of awareness across my neck. He was measuring each step, sizing me up as I left. The second my toe touched the floor of the hallway, he inhaled sharply.
‘Hey kid, sit'n down, I tell ye what ye want to know.’ The second he called me kid I wanted to keep walking but knowing that there were people like me out there who were being abducted by this drug stopped me. I turned slowly and levelled my gaze at him.
‘Well then, old man?’ I shot back. His help may be very useful, but I couldn't resist the dig. Unexpectedly, Damien actually almost smiled.
‘Aye, shut the door, sit'n down. Ye remind... yeah, I help ye.’ He had been about to say something but had clearly nixed the idea. I trudged over to the empty seat that was closest to the door. Clearly Damien was either a thinker or a bit paranoid, all chairs stood with their backs to the wall and far enough apart that if someone attacked, there would be a good response time.
‘Well, what of it?’ I snapped, trying to keep my bluff going. Damien nodded slowly.
‘Same as 'em others. Been seein' this drug come in, but I ain't seein' where from 'n how. Ain't none o' my regular guys got it. Thems hate it, an' know I got it banned. But t' ain't for naught. Keeps on comin' in. Dirty stuff.’ His rough voice became reflective as the hostility left his words and posture.
‘So, you don't know who is supplying or selling it?’ I searched his body language for the truth. He didn't appear to lie when he answered bluntly.
‘I ain't got the knowin' on it, and it got me fucked. No one sellin' an' yet it still gettin' in my territory, Hel, under my damn roof.’
‘Under your roof? You mean it is even getting into your rooms here?’ That part shocked me. Controlling the streets was one thing, but having this drug even sneak its way into the private rooms of the local leader was certainly something else. It was supposed to be almost impossible, as the private rooms were reserved for the best clients using the leader's own products. Somehow it was getting in, and people were using.
‘Aye, it be happenin' here, and I ain't happy. Ain't be knowin' what ter do 'bout it, so iffen ye need help, I can give yer what ye need. It ain't right.’ Damien scratched at the messy stubble of a beard, then appeared to look surprised by its existence. He tried to smooth it down, unsuccessfully.
‘Any idea how many people have been affected?’ I asked, taking note of the fact that Damien had become decidedly more accommodating. He nodded and pulled a notepad out of his back pocket.
‘Aye, it been 34 people gone now. Tried to keep the first ones here, but they done snuck out. Even hit Luis. Can't stop em from goin' where they goin' so tried to follow em, but the ones I send to tail the junk- affected people, they ain't come back. Finally, just stopped tryin'. Lost too many men to it.’ A twitch of his hand indicated that Luis was apparently Mr Meaty. I popped down all the information in my book, surprised to see the level of information Damien had on the Faerie Fizzer users. He clearly cared more than he let on.
‘Got anything on the supplier at all?’ I was hoping for a nice simple, straightforward lead. I could bust the supplier, he would be dead by sunset, and I could be nodding out for the evening.
‘Nope. Can't catch anyone with it besides the users. They ain't talkin' either. Questioned 'em on who they got it from, and no one got any word to say on it. Hel, they ain't got any word to say on anythin'. I just, I don't know what to do.’ Damien sighed as he ran his hands through his pompadour, pulling it out of shape. Perhaps this was why he looked so wretched. I nodded quietly, trying to decide on my next course of action.
He watched me carefully, making my skin itch. I never did like having attention on me, unlike my mother.
‘Ok, well I guess that will have to do for now. Will try to talk to some of the users myself. Y'know, user to user.’ I shot that jab out at Damien and must have hit a nerve, he had the grace to cringe.
‘Aight, lemme know if ye be needin' anythin' else. Ye know where ter find me. An' make sure ye be telling me what be happenin' with what ye looking at. I got my interests too.’ Damien stood up abruptly. He attempted to smooth out the crinkled shirt, brush off the jeans in some kind of impotent show of cleanliness. I just smiled politely and itched to leave. It wasn't his gaze, but more a general sense of unclean that made me feel like I needed a scalding bath. Finally, he pulled a dog-eared card out from his pocket.
‘This is me phone number. If ye need anythin' ye be callin' me. Ye need to talk to anyone in my territory, lemme know.’ He said as he handed me the grubby piece of card. It featured a Chinese dragon coiling around his name, Damien Niel.
‘Oh, yeah I don't have a phone. Guess I can borrow Stevie's.’ I replied, sure that Damien would be thrilled for Stevie to have him on speed dial. He grimaced but didn't say a word.
As he passed to open the door for me, I was again assaulted by the stench of booze and sweat. This man perspired whisky. The cheap stuff. I practically bolted from the room, muttering that I would interview the patrons another day. Trying not to run, I slammed the reinforced main door open and strode out into the sunset.
All things considered, I was pretty impressed with the progress I had made so far. I deserved a good high and a long sleep, but not before I washed the sense of cloying filth off my body. The walk back to Stevie's territory was a long one, so I had plenty of time to think.
The marvels of hot water and a good gooey opiate were multitudinous. My face felt caught in a smile a mile long as the steam plumed around me. The heat was easing the tension in my legs from all the walking, and I was truly grateful for the room. There was even a fluffy robe waiting for me to sink into. This was the kind of luxury I had only dreamed of, hot water, clothes that weren't threadbare, even a TV.
This was the kind of life I wanted, and every man I fucked, every grimy coin tossed to me after performing in an alleyway, it was all for this. I flopped down on the bed, letting my faerylocks slap down around me like a halo. They were chunky and twisted, the matted remains left after you didn't own a hair brush long enough.
When I had gotten in, I had full intentions of going over my notes and maybe interviewing the people currently indulging in a high. The rooms were only 20 paces away, but right now that seemed like an almighty chasm to traverse. My eyes burned as heavy lids slid over them and I was powerless to stop them.
‘Guess Imma just rest my eyes a little.’ My words were lost to an incoherent mumble as sweet unconsciousness took control.
Chapter Five
Daylight barely crept in past the heavy curtains, but it was still enough to throb around my head. I cursed myself, having slept so long I was now again withdrawing. My body wasn't used to the luxury of an undisturbed sleep in a soft bed. Groaning loudly as I blindly felt around for my bag made me feel slightly better, but relief only came when I found my little tin of pills.
Painfully slowly, the world around me normalised and I was able to stand. While I had been so distracted with the hot shower I had forgotten to wash my clothes. They were balled up on the bathroom floor, and I tried to freshen them up with a little bottle of perfume I had swiped from one of those big chain stores.
Pulling on the thin top and ripped jeans reminded me that I needed to get new ones soon. The holes were getting beyond what could be called fashion. Having a mirror was another luxury, and under the harsh lights of the room my clothes seemed even more shabby. I needed to go make some money, but I doubted Stevie would want me to bring my work home. I took out the last stub of an eyeliner pencil and quickly darkened my eyelids, mimicking the smoky eye the other girls usually favoured. When I was happy enough with my appearance, I packed up my bag and locked my room. The fact that I could actually lock a door for the first time in my life still gave me a fizz of excitement.
The walk to the central sex district was a short one, a region considered neutral territory for all involved. Every building had a red light, giving the whole region a red glow. Each of the boys in charge, Stevie, Nathaniel and Damien had their own facilities for their own areas, but none had ever managed to tie down the blocks that surrounded the Kulture Hole.
On the streets it was affectionately and aptly named the K-Hole. It ran under the guise of a nightclub, but most definitely landed closer to a brothel. Any woman could work there with relative safety after paying a door fee. I chose to work there on most nights when I could spring for the fee, as the clients couldn't rough you up. Sometimes they even bought you some drinks. Today I was skint though, so I had to work the roads around the K-Hole and hope I could lure someone wanting to pay up and no conversation.
Thanks to it still being daylight there were less girls out, but unfortunately there was also less clients. I trudged up the street, looking for a place to stand and look suitably alluring.
Various cars drove past until a man finally walked up. I barely registered his face as I muttered some kind of pseudo-seductive platitudes.
‘How much?’ he grunted. Good, I liked them dull.
‘How much ya got?’ I shot back, running a finger down his arm.
‘Give ya $250. Full works. Mouth too.’ He was resembling a grunting pig the more he talked.
‘Cash up front, business is open. No kissing,’ I replied firmly as I held out a hand while gesturing to the alley with the other. The man stuffed a small wad of notes into my hand and lurched towards the alley. I began carefully counting the money.
