Portray

Nap-o's POV

Red Roof  Inn - Twenty-one miles South of Detroit

Constant traffic came in and out of two-sixteen. Commotion of party-goers and trap music trailed out of the room each time the door swung open. In a group of three, young tipsy girls stumbled out, high heels barely clinging to their feet. The one in the poorest condition of the stooge group remained in the middle, arms slung over the neck and shoulders of her colleagues. They stumbled once more, struggling to hold up their highly intoxicated comrade. A man walked past them, ignoring their vulnerable state. Instead he knocked on room two-sixteen.

"Uh. . men these days!" One of them slurred then laughed obnoxiously, leaning against the railing.

The man on the other hand remained unfazed, waiting for someone to answer the door. Seconds later, it swung open with some overly excited frat-boy-looking guy standing in the doorway. Frat boy wore a look of confusion, as he looked the strange man up and down,

"Woah, with that get up, I don't think this the right setting for you. ." he pointed, referring to the leather jacket, denim jeans and wheat Timbs.

Leather Jacket peers inside the room:  the patrons wardrobes consisted of summer attire.

"Where's Trevor?" the man said straight faced, hands stuffed in his jacket.

"He's in the bath—

"Tell 'em to come out here!" the man cut the kid off coldly.

"Is there an issue or something?" the kid stepped up close, frantically snaking his neck around the doorway.

Instead of responding, Leather Jacket stared the pale face kid down with a stern, chilling look to him. It was enough to clear the buzz off an alcoholic. Without saying anything, the kid rushed off to the back of the room. With the door ajar, he checked out the scene of the room. The room was filled to capacity. From the bed, to the counters, there was a person occupying the accessible spaces. Majority of them looked to be in their early twenties. They were definitely non-threatening. Most likely college students. He lightly pushed the door wide open, just as the kid got to the back of the room.

With the noise of the shouting voices and blaring music, frat-guy was unable to hear himself pounding on the door. Shortly thereafter, a light descended from the doorway and out walks the kid that went by Trevor. Leather Jacket stood there watching the teen worm his way through the crowd, big cool-aid-smile on his face. His faceplate beet red like someone slapped him on each cheek.

"Wassup, bruh?" he exclaimed, holding out a balled fist for a dab.

"Let me see the cash." the man demanded, ignoring the extended fist.

The kid removed a bundle of bills from his shorts and counted what had to be at least over a grand and handed it over. The dealer surveyed the area around him, licked his thumb and combed through the bills. He solemnly nodded, satisfied with the count. He then reached inside his jacket. As he did so, Trevor's eyes widened, but was soon relieved to see it was only a tiny notepad. Leather Jacket jotted something in the book before placing it back inside his jacket.

"In five minutes, check under them steps there." he pointed in the direction of the girls, the direction he'd recently come from.

Leather Jacket started back down the hall, thinking to himself how a young kid could come across that sort of cash. "Folks gotta be well off." he said aloud while passing the girls leaning against the guardrail.

The girl that made the remark towards him moments earlier, turned her head, eyes trailing behind him to the steps. She was intrigued by his arrogance and obvious cold nature. Then he disappeared down the steps. Into the night. At the base of the stairs, he carefully checked over his shoulder, looking through the cars in the parking lot before digging inside his jacket and removing a quarter ounce. He placed it underneath the first step where it wouldn't be easily seen by the naked eye. With the deed done, he proceeded to the parking lot. Where a black Escalade awaited.