Their Little Beauty (MxMxM+GF)

Chapter Eighty-One: To Kill a Maggot

Although the season of winter was in full swing and had turned what was only late afternoon into near darkness, there was no mistaking the man who stumbled out of the pub for anyone other than Harlow Flaxen. No matter how long and thin his hair had become, nor how his discoloured beard obscured most of his facial features, Devon knew it was him the moment the doors had opened.

Because there was no one else in the world who could cause Devon's skin to flush burning hot and his heart rate to quicken so much that his chest ached with hatred, as much as Harlow and his mere presence did. His very existence served to do nothing more than fill Devon with emotions so intense and abhorrently vile that he trembled under their power.

"He's a fucking mess, alright. Worse than the last time I checked on his disgusting arse" Dusty mumbled, chin tucked down to his chest to feign sleep.

The private detective wasn't wrong. Not a single step Harlow took was straight, his ankles crossing over the other as he tottered along the street to a group of people who had set up some tents an hour before. They must have known him seeing as when he raised a hand in the air and yelled some sort of slurred greeting, they reciprocated.

People can actually make themselves like him? Well, I never thought I'd ever witness a second miracle in my lifetime.

Devon came to realise a few minutes later than he had been right to presume no person could ever bring themself to genuinely tolerate Harlow as a fellow human being, their good-natured greetings and what appeared to be friendly chatter soon revealed for what it really was the moment Harlow began handing out small little packets.

"Drugs?" Devon whispered, trying to not stare at the group for more than a few seconds every so often.

"Hm" Dusty grunted. "Looks like it. Probably some inauthentic and cut crap too, since he doesn't have the cash for anything even remotely close to good quality. I was told Harlow has a thing for Flake- crack cocaine as it's more commonly called- and sells it from time to time. Since the highs are intense but short, there's no end to returning customers. Poor fucks. Hilariously, he'd be making decent money from dealing it too if he wasn't pissing it out of his pockets at blackjack tables like a man with a bladder infection".

Despite his privileged upbringing, Devon had witnessed drugs being taken by friends before; parties and all that university idiocy he once thought made him cool and impressive to be part of. Still, there was something deeply unnerving about watching someone smile charismatically all the while knowing they were about to give innocent people a drug so poorly made it could end their lives in moments. All for money.

Shouldn't be surprised by this shit anymore. He almost killed Briar just so he could fucking talk to him. It's... unsettling how depraved one man can be. To think he used to share a bed with my boy is terrifying.

"My guy told me that this is his routine on Friday's if he's not passed out; drinks all day in the pub, sells whatever inventory he won't use for himself, then goes down to the rougher parts of the neighbourhood. We'll need to be ready to follow him, so start packing up your stuff. Slowly- we don't want him getting spooked".

Once the bastard had gotten money from the poor people whose lives he was gambling with, Harlow was making his way elsewhere, a little less drunk than before but still moving more like a newborn fawn than a grown man.

"I know where he's heading next, so don't worry if we lose sight of him for a bit, lad. We can't act too obviously, so we'll be hanging back a ways. Stay close to me and no matter what, don't let your emotions get the best of you. Last thing your pretty boy needs is for you to get hurt trying to play an avenging white knight".