Dance for Me

6

"Um, you see boss, um, uh, I musta miscount the packs by like, uh, three? Yeah, three. I'll make sure to recount it again and again and write it down next time. I'll keep better track, boss."

I'm sitting at my desk with my elbow against it, rubbing my eyebrows as I try to comprehend the fucking audacity of this bloody idiot. This is not what I wanted to be doing on a Wednesday afternoon. Mark is in his late thirties, single with no family, I don't think anyone wants to even be near the moron. I sure as hell don't. I'm assuming because I'm 23 and gay, some of the older dogs think they can pull a fast one on me. The thought makes me chuckle. I've given no reason for them to believe that, but this dumbass thinks I'm naive. Hm, sure Mark, sure. I'll weed them all out eventually.

"Okay Mark," I clasp my hands together, sitting up straight in my black leather chair. "Please enlighten me. How the fuck does three blocks of cocaine go missing? Did it grow legs and run away? Did the wind carry it away? I know you finished at least middle school, I'm sure you know how to count."

He shifts back and forth on his feet, his skin glazed in a dirty sweat. Ew, when's the last time this man has showered? His blonde hair is stringy across his face as the rest is tied in a rats nest of a low ponytail. His pants have holes at the knee and around the holes are brown, ew. We literally have a whole washing unit available. There's no excuse.

"Boss, I promise, I musta miscount or somethin. I'll keep a record book or I don't know."

I snort, of course we already have books. The dumb mother fucker hasn't even tried filling anything in. He's the only one that doesn't.

"Alright well come on, let's go see the storage room. Show me how you miscounted." I smile innocently. His shoulders droop in calmness. Oh he must think he is good to go and I'll believe whatever shit that falls out of his mouth. Hm, sure Mark.

I let him lead the way, walking slowly behind him with my hands in my pant suit pockets, blowing air out of my lips and and keeping an eye out with everywhere we pass. I can see a few of my men drinking a beer at the breakfast bar, some are off to the side playing pool. The men in the den stand up straighter and nod their head at me while the men at the bar chuckle at the other's nervousness. They've known me well enough to know how I operate. I'm simple, I'm fair.

We walk outside out to one of the many storage houses, our feet crunching on the gravel as we walk swiftly to the fifth house in line. It's in a medium sized brick unit, only two windows in it's entirety that is covered by sun reflecting curtains. We have to keep the inside dark and dry unless if we were in there to operate and package.

I watch him struggle with the keys, trying to find the one that will fit the lock. I roll my eyes, the fucking key is the only brown and black one. If he had truly known what the hell he was doing he'd know which key belonged to what unit, they are all color coded.

"The brown and black one," I mutter, not wanting to wait and watch him shakily go through over 15 keys.

"Ah yes, mhm, that one."

He manages to finally find the fucking hole as I chuckle to myself. He forces the metal door open and flips all the switches, the room cascading with lights. I loosen my gray tie a bit, feeling overdressed for the occasion. We both stare at the blocks and bricks of cocaine already wrapped up and packaged, each block should be containing the same amount. That's how we've always done it. We don't leave a block half done on a pallet. Which makes his lies even more moronic.

"Alright," I sigh, gesturing for the reeking man to move forward. "Show me which blocks are missing a few bricks?"

We walk to the third block on the left, seeing the packaging has been tampered with. I pull out my phone and start accessing the surveillance footage, keeping my nose down as I do.

"Well it's obviously been stolen, any clue on who would have done this?"

"Ugh," he crackles, clearing his throat. "I don't trust that Ricky boy."

I have to contain a chuckle. Ricky is one of our newer members, very eager to learn. Honestly if he continues to prove his loyalty I'd promote him to becoming my second hand man.

I scroll through the surveillance alerts, it records when there is any movement detected. I chuckle when I notice one file has attempted to be deleted. Well, I give the man props. He tried to be sly.

I open the file from the trash bin, and what do I find? A blonde ratty haired man removing three bricks. Bingo.

"Say, look at this Marky." I hand him my phone, grinning at his stupid expression on his face as he holds onto my iPhone. His face pales as he realizes what's on the video, his hands start to shake again.

"Boss man, I promise, I'll I- it'll be paid back. I can work it off. I'm good for that. You know that, boss."

I wonder if he even knows what my name is.

As he looks up, his green eyes meet mine and a big BANG echo against the walls. A rather large hole appears between good ol Marky's eyes as his body drops, his eyes still open as he is on the ground. I put the gun back into my holster and kick him in the side of the ribs for extra measure. Stupid man. I grab my phone from his dead hands and I turn and walk away, grabbing a handkerchief from my pocket and wiping off the gunshot residue.

I unlock my phone and press onto a contact, hearing it ring for a few moments.

"Hey, Ricky, I got a job for you."