RED PARALLEL

Chapter 45: Drugsta

He got a new room. It had belonged to another 'dear boy'. It was seemingly fit for him, which was good. Traviz didn't care, though. He was too busy trying to figure out how to put that picture out of his mind, but it wouldn't go away. He had given up on the first next week, though, as he found another fresh new Doberman puppy resting on Gretta's couch. The puppy jumped on Traviz, happy. He drew back, a little disgusted, a little scared. Oh, he hated those traitor animals. They would not get anything out of him, this time. No cakes, no burgers, no fucking anything. If he had to shoot another damn dog, he'd do it. So he would erase the previous one from his mind. And so on. As if his thoughts had been somehow heard, Gretta gave him another mission. Finish the puppy. So he did it, glad he had taken the right decision to always kick away the annoying shit whenever it would ask for attention. Gretta had a series of Dobermans, some large scale production. Traviz became a professional 'dobmurderer'. He was getting used to the loud 'bang'. The sound would momentarily kill the noisy crumpled nerve-wracking and nonsense thoughts that invaded his nights and mornings and afternoons like fast trains, flaming bullets, piercing shits. Thoughts that would make him want to cry, make him feel scared and weak, and lame, and stupid. So the bang would kick their ass.

Though he was not living in the streets anymore, Traviz kept his weird behavior. He'd grab some ropes - Gretta grinned when he asked for it; that woman was gradually becoming sympathetic in his eyes - and jump the whole night through. By six am he'd collapse at the bed and wake up at six pm. Funny how no one tried to wake him up. That house was weird. Gangstas, semi-naked woman with exposed bras and too much makeup, dudes his age - he was developing a strong antipathy with those assholes; why they'd stare at him as if he were an alien? Opponent? Enemy? Threat? Whatever. They sucked -, red lights everywhere, golden chains hanging about, but the most annoying shit: people on their cellphones. Talking for hours. Just like his dad. He concluded that Gretta's 'mansion' was the evil version of The Crib; heavy music everywhere, women touching him as if he were a rockstar or a silky couch, not sure. So Traviz would just beeline through those random people, waiting for another call.

The calls.

"Pudding, I have an interesting job for you."

"Job? Not a chance."

"Thought you needed money."

"I'm fine."

"For now. Remember you promised you'd do anything for me, sweetheart?"

Ugh.

"Fine. What is it?"

All he needed was a jacket with deep pockets, a black cap or a hood, stay in the shadows at the settled spot - a corner on a quiet street, under a damn bridge, anywhere the SUV would drop him -, and just wait. Yeah. With a cellphone. The customer would call and confirm his shit - each customer at a time; if two appeared simultaneously, Traviz would have to quick his ass out and eventually the other's; it was crucial not to draw attention - and meet him at the arranged place to get the 'pretty kitten'. A small squared bag, smaller than the palm of his hand. If the buyer didn't pay the agreed price, Traviz would have to jump at the customer's neck, however he wanted to - fists, knives, guns, he chose fists -, until the right bird was given. Of course it took a lot of time to memorize the price, so he would beat them anyway, which was a pleasure. Free punches and kicks were nice; they'd compensate for the boredom of staying still, simply doing nothing, not to mention the monsters creeping in. "Have a cigarette", they said. Not a chance. It was his fifth month without a single puke. That was awesome, he wouldn't screw up with it.

After a month working in the shadows, Traviz was utterly pissed. That was the most boring way to get money. Gretta would pay him nice cash, but... Ugh. Gretta, his new telepathic momma, listened to him and sent him to the clubs. Instead of hanging still like a ghost, all alone and kinda scared, Traviz would walk through the partying people, looking for the 'man with a red suit', 'the girl with a blue skirt', and so on. He killed it. Traviz would memorize dozens of descriptions and find the person in less than a minute. He had no idea where that shit had come from because frankly, he used to forget the color of his cap. But now, things were different. People meant money, so blue skirts were money interesting. He'd draw near and say the stupid line: "Hey, did you see a fat guy with a purple suit?". The person was oriented to say "Oh, he went right there, I guess, like... Lemme show ya..." Traviz would get the money, the hot girl would get the kitten and a sexy smirk and, why not, a special hand on her butt. She didn't mind. She didn't mind being fucked after she went outside. Traviz was sure she had paid it wrong on purpose. That was the third time. Broke girls were a must.

There was an occasion when a man grabbed the five sacs while Traviz was distracted gawking at some nice round ass. He chased the freak through the crowd and caught him outside. If paying wrong deserved a broken jaw, well, stealing five sacks meant knocking him out and impairing his motor function for a few weeks, at least. It wasn't that bad, though, if compared to the next week's event. There was this guy, buying two pots of kitten, and paying extra cash. Traviz was saving the bonus in some secret pocket, all happy - that'd be all his, for sure! - when the guy whispered in his ear:

"Let's go to my crib, hottie. Forget your other clients, I'll pay you as much as you want... I need a VIP service all night, you know what I'm sayin-"

Traviz smashed a punch right onto the son of a bitch's face, feeling the savage mode burning his muscles. The guy got himself destroyed at the ground, and Traviz got himself kicked out of the club for good. As he got back to Gretta's, he announced the 'I'm out of the club' shit and got ready for the gangsta heavy punch session. It didn't happen, though.

"Which one of our clients, I wonder?" Gretta asked, doing a 'no' to Cobe's ready fists.

"The yellow jacket," Traviz said, watching Cobe with the corner of his eye.

"And what happened?"

"He gayed on me," Traviz uttered. "Said he'd pay me for a VIP service, dunno."

The words made Gretta shiver with anger. The gangstas growled and clenched their teeth.

The fat woman kissed Traviz his cheek. "You did a great job today."

"What do you mean?"

"Business sometimes goes beyond business. Boys, get rid of that crap, for God's sake."

"You're gonna kill him?" Traviz asked.

"Of course. Are you against it?"

"No. Can I go, too?"

"No, no, I got a new job for you."

"Which job?"

"Do you like women and money?"

"Sure."

"Great. And how's your sex talent going? I remember you had mentioned it..."

"I'm the shit."