The white lights shone on Simpson's black suit. He adjusted his tie in the mirror. He put on his leather gloves. He held up his glass of wine. He sipped the wine.
He stood in a large room with large windows overlooking the city of London. He stood in a large room with a large bed and a mahogany table. He smelt the faint scent of lilies and iron.
A knock on the door.
He looked at the door.
"Come in."
The door opened. A red-haired woman wearing ripped jeans and a tattered jumper. Three circles tattooed on her neck.
"Yes?" Simpson said.
"They're ready boss."
He nodded.
He strode out of his room.
The woman stood for a moment.
The woman followed.
-=+=-
Black room. One dangling light.
Round table. Worn down wood. Empty glass bottle on table.
Five chairs. One empty.
Four waited.
Simpson entered. The woman followed. Simpson sat in the empty chair.
"Finally here I see?" said the bald one.
"Every Thursday from March 13th," said Simpson.
"Sorry?"
"I can guarantee delivery every Thursday and Saturday from March 13th, 2098 tomorrow," Simpson repeated slowly, "you can decide the location."
The people looked at each other.
The old Japanese man rubbed his chin, "Acceptable."
The dark-skinned woman nodded, "The prices can also be arranged later."
The thin man creased his brow, "This seems a bit... abrupt."
"Trust me, this has been long planned," said Simpson.
The thin man slowly nodded, "If you say so."
The light flickered once.
"That's it?" the bald man grunted.
Silence.
"Yes, that's it," said Simpson.
"I ain't no fool mate, how are we sure that you ain't trickin' us?" the bald man grunted.
"You... are... not... being... tricked," said Simpson.
"We're talkin' about fifty grand worth of shipment here, we needa ensure quality!" the bald man slammed his fist onto the table.
The light bulb flickered. The dark-skinned woman nervously coughed.
"Quality is ensured, you have my word," said Simpson.
"That's it!" the bald man yelled. He stood up, "Listen mate, I've dealt with many people like you who tried to con me, I ain't fallin' for it!"
The Japanese man tugged at the bald man.
The bald man swatted the Japanese's arm away.
"Don't bloody touch me old man!"
"Please remain calm," said Simpson.
"Like hell I will. I didn't come here to be conned! I wanna see the goods right now!"
"Let's talk over this nicely," the Japanese gripped the bald man's arm.
The bald man punched the Japanese in the nose.
The woman and the thin man drew their guns.
The bald man did too.
Simpson glared.
"Please refrain from violence," said Simpson.
"What're ya gonna do? Suit-man?" the bald man taunted, aiming his gun at Simpson.
"You will be hurt. You have my word," said Simpson.
"I don't think so."
The bald man fired at the ceiling. Bang.
The others stiffened.
The bald man smirked.
"GLASS!" Simpson yelled.
The red-haired woman waved her hand. The glass bottle at the centre of the table shattered. The shards flew into the bald man's arm and his hand.
The gun was dropped.
The bald man screamed.
"My word is the only insurance you need," said Simpson.
"Who the hell do you think you are?" the bald man yelled. He clutched his wound. Blood seeped down his arm. Blood dripped on the table.
"Basil Simpson. The only firearm supplier of this city," Simpson stood up, "I made you an offer. Take it or go."
YOU ARE READING
Trigram: Black Iris - A Superhero Story - HIATUS
ActionLondon. 2098. Ten years after the incident that changed humanity, superhumans roam the streets, heroes and villains from old comic books and movies are now a reality, while criminals thrived in the dark corners of the city. Hechen Huang, an aspiring...
