Happy Life
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This state pleased Arandor. Every time, it was special. He brushed the itch from his face, moistened his throat with mineral water, and sank into thought. A whole stream of ideas overwhelmed his mind. The future, the past, and the present came together. He felt a melody emanating, as if from his very soul. His consciousness freely floated in an ocean of sensations.
And again, the phone rang. Not for the first time, it disrupted the afterglow harmony. Tieru. He wanted to talk about the cut for the goods. Tieru was involved in distributing drugs to dealers and earned three percent from it. But it was never enough for him; each time, he pushed and tried to get more. Arandor thought he needed to put an end to this. He pulled on his tracksuit and checked the readiness of his old, reliable weapon. Finally, gathering himself and slipping the most important package into his pocket – the one he never left home without – Arandor left the apartment.
Stepping out of the dirty entrance into the gray autumn sky, he hailed a taxi and headed to the bowling alley, replaying the upcoming events in his mind.
***
Tangeiser stood at the window, looking at the city, just like the villains in movies. Salt-City was a bad place to survive. Today, for example, his truck carrying flour was intercepted by two groups of special forces. The guys were riddled with bullets, and Tangeiser lost a lot of money. The life of a boss was more complicated than many idiots thought. Negotiations, bribes, greasing palms, intimidation, deliveries, price, quality, quantity, availability, competitors, thugs, lawlessness, rats. And he couldn't remember when he had a free minute. And the price for a mistake was severe. His last operation had failed, and now this. He wouldn't survive another failure. The money was gone. And yet, someone had to pay. The one who leaked the information. Sighing heavily, Tangeiser dialed a number he only used in exceptional cases. He would have preferred to forget it.
- Yes? - a gruff voice answered.
- I have a job, - Tangeiser replied.
***
The client didn't even scream – the blade had severed his throat. For a minute, the girl watched as the man, gurgling and choking on blood, frantically scratched at the floor mat of his own car, trying to open the locked door. Carefully, so as not to get dirty, she searched him and pulled out his wallet. Two hundred and thirty. Not worth it, but money was money. She slipped the bills into the pocket of her miniskirt and critically examined herself for bloodstains. Neyra wiped the blade on the dead man's clothes and left the car, quickly walking down the nearly empty street. The car with tinted windows and the corpse remained parked in the dark corner between the buildings.
Things hadn't been going too well lately. The police had gone completely wild, clients were getting poorer and appearing less often, and Imaris was taking two-thirds instead of the usual half. It was clear that less cash was circulating, but no one could explain why. The atmosphere was tense; soon, Tangeiser would be torn apart, and someone else would take his place. The cycle would repeat.
Shivering from the cold, the girl ran into the first bar she saw. She had no future here, in this city. Soon, she would be cut down in an alley, and everyone would not care about another murdered prostitute.
And again, the phone rang. Not for the first time, it disrupted the afterglow harmony. Tieru. He wanted to talk about the cut for the goods. Tieru was involved in distributing drugs to dealers and earned three percent from it. But it was never enough for him; each time, he pushed and tried to get more. Arandor thought he needed to put an end to this. He pulled on his tracksuit and checked the readiness of his old, reliable weapon. Finally, gathering himself and slipping the most important package into his pocket – the one he never left home without – Arandor left the apartment.
Stepping out of the dirty entrance into the gray autumn sky, he hailed a taxi and headed to the bowling alley, replaying the upcoming events in his mind.
***
Tangeiser stood at the window, looking at the city, just like the villains in movies. Salt-City was a bad place to survive. Today, for example, his truck carrying flour was intercepted by two groups of special forces. The guys were riddled with bullets, and Tangeiser lost a lot of money. The life of a boss was more complicated than many idiots thought. Negotiations, bribes, greasing palms, intimidation, deliveries, price, quality, quantity, availability, competitors, thugs, lawlessness, rats. And he couldn't remember when he had a free minute. And the price for a mistake was severe. His last operation had failed, and now this. He wouldn't survive another failure. The money was gone. And yet, someone had to pay. The one who leaked the information. Sighing heavily, Tangeiser dialed a number he only used in exceptional cases. He would have preferred to forget it.
- Yes? - a gruff voice answered.
- I have a job, - Tangeiser replied.
***
The client didn't even scream – the blade had severed his throat. For a minute, the girl watched as the man, gurgling and choking on blood, frantically scratched at the floor mat of his own car, trying to open the locked door. Carefully, so as not to get dirty, she searched him and pulled out his wallet. Two hundred and thirty. Not worth it, but money was money. She slipped the bills into the pocket of her miniskirt and critically examined herself for bloodstains. Neyra wiped the blade on the dead man's clothes and left the car, quickly walking down the nearly empty street. The car with tinted windows and the corpse remained parked in the dark corner between the buildings.
Things hadn't been going too well lately. The police had gone completely wild, clients were getting poorer and appearing less often, and Imaris was taking two-thirds instead of the usual half. It was clear that less cash was circulating, but no one could explain why. The atmosphere was tense; soon, Tangeiser would be torn apart, and someone else would take his place. The cycle would repeat.
Shivering from the cold, the girl ran into the first bar she saw. She had no future here, in this city. Soon, she would be cut down in an alley, and everyone would not care about another murdered prostitute.