Kole Shoyu hunched over a crate in a dimly lit basement as he prepared his veins. The humidity breached the underground den and left the ceiling dripping with dew. The faint scuttling and chirping of rats reverberated in the corners of the room. Kole paid no attention to any of this as he wrapped the linen bandage tighter around his elbow. His focus was absolute on the now pulsating vein that almost writhed like a worm on his skin. In contrast to his clouded mind, his hands were calm and practiced as the tip of the needle slowly inserted itself into his forearm. With impending euphoria he depressed the end and Crumb started to intermingle with his bloodstream. The effect was instantaneous; his vision doubled, then tripled. With his last vestige of reality he handed the syringe to his partner in crime Thomas Crown, or Tommy as he preferred to be called. As oblivion became imminent, he put his worries at ease that his best friend would watch him. Whether that was handling a knock at the door or roll him on his side if he started to froth, he could be trusted.
Together they were the left and right cortex of the mind that made up The Dogz. Together they ran the petty crime, drug supply - and a fair amount of its use - of the lower east side of Camden. In a town where life is cheaper than dirt and your own father would sell you out to a brothel for a week’s drinking, having someone to watch your back was worth more than any contraband. They initially started off as two young dirkers scrapping amidst the shit covered gutters. In fact they had even given each other their first scars, which promptly became infected and made for a beautiful trophy of bonds formed.
Kole surfed the cosmos as his mind melded with the slip stream of creation. He gave a cheeky wink to Mercurius, the god of thieves as he lost himself to the trip. The problem with Crumb is that it’s a fleeting high - some argue all drugs are - but for those precious hours it is said the user melts into the universal consciousness. Not that Kole cared, he just wanted his mind scrambled for a few hours. It had been a bad day. Their pushers on the corners had been cracked down by the local constabulary. One of their best shifters had got the bad side of a good blade shoved deep into his back. He was unlikely to make it through the night, worse still the authorities had confiscated the gear. Tommy said he would bet his last silver it would end up in their veins rather than the evidence chamber.
They would need to reconsolidate, resupply and increase the bribe. The Burgandy Boys would have already got the news and already be sniffing around to move in on territory. There was little doubt in Kole’s inebriated mind that they were responsible for the tip off. Enforcers would need to be placed on every corner again to make them think twice about encroachment.
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Tommy watched as his old friend started to nod off, riding the wave of substances. He began to gather his thoughts on the transpired events. The cost of the day was high as he mentally balanced the ledger of crime and tallied the loss. Whereas Kole’s preferred way to handle a bruising was self obliteration, Tommy tended to marinate over the state of play. Analysing different angles with obsessive scrutiny he planned the changes he would make whilst staring at the lone ray of light that snuck in through a window crack. With a frown he calculated the price in gold it would take for short term protection from The Burgandy Boys. Doing a mental checklist, he narrowed the possible hired muscle that could handle the impending heat, down barely a handful of candidates. He halved that number again after parsing out the crews that either had it out for The Dogz or were direct competitors to their turf. That left two options, both equally ruthless in their craft and loyal to the coin paid. However, one was the obvious choice. Distilling the required actions down to an immediate plan, he spent a few minutes scribbling a note then deftly dropped it into the letter box upstairs. That letter would arrange a meeting with Rekt Randall; the leader of The March. With them it would be a two for one deal, the man power to crack innumerable skulls but the brains to know when words would work better. The last thing they needed was another visit from the authorities because of an out of control brawl at The Strip.
As the vestige of universal truth wore away, Kole tried to re-centre himself from the different dimensions he was simultaneously inhabiting. If sleep was the cousin of death, he was resurrecting - painfully. Wiping off his drool and spittle he scrutinised his surroundings. The familiar shadowy profile of Tommy smoking near the stairs assured him that nothing had drastically changed since he had smacked out. After a few false starts he rolled himself to his side and tried to remember how to use his legs. Dragging himself up by his elbows he stumbled towards the bowl of stale water and had a tentative sip. Only after drinking his fill did he use the same water to quickly wash himself down. Staring into the rusted mirror he considered the man in the mirror. Only a few months past twenty summers, the figure that regarded him back spoke volumes. A straight scar that intersected his left eyebrow, frown lines that spoke to how old he felt and a cracked tooth on the bottom left corner. However, it was always his eyes people into it like a void. It bespoke a man that had nothing except cold resolve and survival.
Feeling somewhat human again Kole exhaled once, then twice before turning around and giving Tommy a nod.
“You done with your break? We’re due back on the clock” said Tommy as Kole approached.
“Thanks for keeping watch, needed a reset after today. I’m glass now.”
“Good I’ve set a meeting with The March to help staunch the bleeding. However, that’s only good for the now.”
“I would’ve gone for Stands myself, but either crew will do at this point.”
“Nah, too bloody. We’ve got to finesse the next few days, but if it comes to red they’ll handle it.”
Kole’s face hardened, “Tommy, after what’s happened today I want red.”