Discovering his dirty dealings by harmlessly listening from the shadows, you, the reader are thrust into the dangerous world of the slumlord Trevor Phillips. This is also an AU where Trevor still kidnaps Patricia, but never forms a relationship with...
It was one of those motels when you just know, somehow, some way, something was going to go wrong. It was dirty, smelled of smoke and rotting wood, and looked like it hadn't been cleaned in a decade or two. Not that it really mattered to Trevor.
The owners were so scared of him, that they just let him do exactly whatever he wanted... for an extra fee, of course. And as long as he cleaned up the bodies, their maids would clean the blood. For even more of a fee. It was the perfect place to do business. Not only that, a little plus that he liked was that the shitty wallpaper reminded him of his own home. But instead of interconnected plants, it was little orange palm trees on a burgundy background.
Ron, Chef, and a couple of the grunt workers were already there. It was only a matter of time before the other ones showed up, and Trevor was beginning to grow irritated. He noticed one of the grunts eyeing him.
He was a skinny little tweaker, brown eyes that were encased by red veins, bloodshot to all fuck. He had the usual sores on his face from smoking crank and whatever else he did. He was itching his arm obsessively.
"What the FUCK are you looking at?" Trevor raised his voice for just a moment, enough to make the little fucker jump and stop that fucking itching.
"U-uh- Nothin..." He wildly looked around the room.
Trevor briefly remembered this kid's name was Snuffs. That's what he went by anyways. The other one next to him was named Max, but everyone just called him X. He was a better looking kid, goth to all fuck, but he could sling dope like no tomorrow. Trevor highly doubted that he was the moron who fucked with the temperature of the batch.
Wayne and the last member of the meth crew came through the door, a man called Sprink. Everyone knew his name was just a shitty copy of Sprunk because he drank it all the time.
"Hah, yo T, how's it hangin' Boss?" Sprink asked.
Trevor gave him a death stare. "Things would be great if we find out which one of you dumb fucking cocksuckers fucked with the batch, eh? Now... SIT THE FUCK DOWN!" He roared at the group.
All men sat down instantly, Trevor had complete control over the room. "Now. All who were present in the building of the accident, please, stand up."
Chef, Sprink, and Snuffs all stood up.
"Good. All others, leave."
Ron and Wayne hesitated for a moment. They knew if they left, more of their crew may disappear.
"I told you to fucking leave." He cranked his head over at the two, and they scattered out of the motel room like rats. He turned his head back to the men standing up. "Chef. Tell me what happened."
Snuffs started scratching again just as Chef began to speak.
"Alright, well I was up actually cooking the batch with Snuffs, and Sprink came in with a delivery of some meds he got from the store to make more shit. I came back and everything seemed to be set right, and then I left the rest to Snuffs. Since you made him my helper and all, I figured I could use him, and I went to take care of some things."
"So, you what happened when you came back?" Trevor asked.
"The temps were set wrong. All the shit turned to sludge." He shrugged.
Trevor nodded toward the door. "Take a hike, Chef, you might not have a helper for much longer."
He didn't have to tell that man twice. Like X, he had some sense in him and left the room.
Snuffs had tell tale signs that he was hiding something, and Sprink looked just as nervous.
Trevor drew in a big breath of the musty air, and breathed it out, looking each man in the eyes for a long moment. "I can literally smell the fucking guilt off of you two. Did you fuck my batch up?" He asked.
The brown eyed kid shifted nervously in his chair, and so did the other one.
Sprink meekly spoke up, all gangster in his tone long gone by now. "I-It wasn't our fault, I-I mean... Everything was good before we uh..." He scratched at the back of his neck and then balled his fists together, scared to utter the mistake that they both had made.
The drug lord mocked him, "Everything was good before we- wah, wah, wah. Little fucking crybabies fucked up my FUCKING BATCH!"
He made them jump with his sudden outburst.
"W-we got high..." Snuffs said in a near whisper.
"What did you just fucking say?"
He was terrified to repeat himself, fear building up and boiling over in his small frame. He spoke just a bit louder for Trevor to hear. "We got lit on some of the crank and..." Tears welled up in his eyes, and began to roll down his face.
"Oh... Shhh, Shhhhhhh...." Trevor stepped over to him and hugged him. He patted his back. "Its okay, really."
Snuffs cried against Trevor's large frame. "R-really?" He sniffled.
"Yeah..." In one swift movement, without the kid noticing, Trevor had his knife pointed at his back. "Because now you're fuckin dead." He stabbed him in the left lung, causing a startled wheeze from the kid. There was nothing he could have done in the strong man's grip.
Sprink was horrified, he gave a shout and backed against the wall. "Snuffs! No!" His amazement and horror quickly turned to anger. He blindsided Trevor with a swift punch to the face, making blood spurt out of his nose. "You motherfucker!" He yelled at him and went to throw another punch.
This time, Trevor was expecting it, and dodged his fist. Sprink fell over the whithering body of his dying friend, and hit face first into the corner of a end table by the bed. Instantly he was knocked out, and it was a short lived fight.
Snuffs breathed in and out of consciousness, and Trevor watched closely as he did. It was something he enjoyed, and he didn't know why. Those last little moments of watching someone die, preferably morons and people he didn't like. These two were definitely morons. If he hadn't killed them, they would have ended up over dosing anyways. In a way, he felt as if he was doing them a kindness. Trevor picked his knife off from the floor, and gave a final stab to his neck, and dragged him in the bathtub. The motel owners liked it better if he did that anyways.
Then, there was Sprink to deal with. Trevor particularly hated Sprink, only hired him because he was good at not getting caught by the cops. He was just as fucked up as Snuffs was, and maybe a little worse. Always acting like he's some gangster guy, sagging his pants and doing that dumb shit. He was nothing if not a poser. While he was still knocked out cold, Trevor decided just to make it easier, and dragged him into the bathtub as well. While the man was still unconscious, he slit his throat, and watched the blood flow over the other kid in the bathtub. The death of other people just didn't mean much to Trevor.
He shed his clothes, all but his underwear, and threw them in the trash. The owners just burned all their trash anyways, he knew the evidence would be gone by morning. It was also the biggest reason why no one actually stayed here. He figured he was probably the sole being keeping them in business, otherwise they would have gone out years ago. He opened the curtain, looking outside. Fresh blood was still dripping from his nose, but he didn't care. As he gazed into the desert scenery, he couldn't help but think that he truly was glad you hadn't followed him there.
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