Volume X: The Industry of Chemical Artistry - or - The Age of Rockism

6. Investment Opportunity

“So what are you going to do with it?” Irish’s brow was quirked up a bit and she leaned over the bar, sipping her drink while I sipped at mine. I shrugged my shoulders idly. I felt tired but energized at the same time, like I didn’t have a moment to waste. Time has passed quickly, the building was mine and the belongings of my parents were sold. The empty apartments were rented out to the lost by Irish, fixed up and refurnished. And the cops still had no leads in the case. Nothing. Figures.

“I’m not entirely sure, any ideas?”

She smiled a devilish grin. “Yeah, actually, a couple.”

I looked down the bar at the new girl. Riley - Deacon’s baby sister. She was wiping things down, looking thoroughly bored. Her gaze kept shifting across the room to a guy sitting in a corner by himself. I narrowed my sight, Irish’s following mine.

“Dusk Brogan. He leads the underground.”

I took a few more sips, taking the whole scene in. The secretive looks between the two children, turning my attention back to Irish. “Underground? Underground what?”

She smiled wide. “You don’t know? The circus - the show below the city. That’s why all the kids come in here. The back door leads straight down to the sewers. And from there you can get to the home of the forsaken, the abandoned children of the city with nowhere to go, no past and no future. All they have are their talents, no names. Dusk is the ringleader. His brother used to be a street leader some time ago before his death. There’s a long legacy, stories that branch off from there, but you get the point.” She seemed to cut herself off, pausing at points, sipping on her drink thoughtfully.

I took a few more sips, studying the boy in the corner carefully. He was younger than me by a year or so, at the most. He had a feel to him of supreme power, that he was above all this. He sat back in his chair, relaxed. The glass that he drank from was balanced on his knee, a hand grasping it loosely. He looked at Riley in a casual, nonchalant kind of way, an almost uncaring glance from time to time. I could see that it was deeper than that. He was acting.

“What business does he have here?” I questioned. Irish shrugged.               

“Business is business. He leads another band. Doesn’t get along too well with our everyday boys, but that’s just how it goes. Competition. I don’t know. Boys with toys.”

I laughed softly, keeping our conversation to ourselves. “So what did you have in mind for my building?”

“You’ve been around the neighborhood, this is a place of stories. We’re built on legends and madness. Years of dysfunction and generations of shattered stability. I want to put something back, I want to return a missing piece to our lives.”

“Yeah? What’s that?” I was genuinely interested in what she had to say. She reached under the bar, pulling out a box. It was similar to a shoebox, small and battered. Rustling through it carefully, she pulled out what appeared to be a folded up newspaper article. Unfolding it slowly, she flattened it on the bar, pushing it over to me.

“Rebuild it,” she whispered, in an almost desperate voice. My attention turned back to her eyes.

I stared at the image. There was a headline about a fire, and a series of pictures. It was a whole page article. There was a picture of the remains of a building, burned to ashes and foundation. Then there was a picture next to it of what used to stand there. A building that had seen long days and longer nights, bad weather and all manner of trouble. The article mentioned bodies found in the alley next to it, the owners of the establishment, brutally beaten and murdered in some sort of possible gang-related event. I skimmed the list of names and places, the history of owners. A family establishment. I looked over the picture of adults and children, a collection of various faces smiling back. The comments under each image explained who the person was. None of them were the dead owners. The title painted across the top of the place was “The Black Dragon” and until I read the entire article, I had no idea what it was. It was a tattoo parlor.