I light up a cigarette and take a drag, trying out the herb mix for the first time. While I won’t say I was dreading this night, I could feel a certain tension within myself that would most likely betray me if I didn’t keep it in check, and I think this is a more socially acceptable way of curbing myself than looking like an alcoholic. Jack Calahoun walked into the Grand Carp lobby, sitting next to me. He was in a tan-colored two piece suit, with his usual bowler hat on top. “Aww… I thought I was gonna get to see you in a dress.”

I was in my usual business suit, of the same style as the one I wore on the day that I had brought the Baron to the hotel in the first place. “What, are you not impressed by my magnificent pinstripe shorts?”

“Well… those are quite the unorthodox fashion statement, I have to admit. I was kind of excited at the idea of seeing you in a dress, though-I think you’d look pretty in a dress.”

“It sounds like you’ve just developed a crush for an emotionally unstable crime lord. Great job, Mr. Private Investigator.”

“Hey, it’s not a crush! I just have an appreciation for beauty, and I think I see a little bit of it in you.”

I look away, sighing. I wanted to change the conversation topic. I look back over to Jack. “Hey, I wanna know more about your stake in this. What exactly makes Teneb so much worse than all the other hard drugs out there?”

Jack leans back in his seat. “Yeah, it can turn ya into a monster of sorts, leave you stealing money from your fuckin’ family members just to scrape up change for another hit, end up trying to stab a buncha cops or your own family members and end up dead yourself, but all that doesn’t make it special, ‘cause most drugs can do all of the same things, yeah? What makes Teneb so incredibly special is that-I don’t have scientific evidence of this, but-it actually, really changes people to be absolute fuckin’ monsters, almost invariably. It can make even relatively good men go apeshit and want to break the law, not because they’re high, but because they feel like they’re just in the mood for it, in the mood for some looting and beating the shit out of people. I swear, if there’s an argument for Satan’s existence on this fuckin’ planet, Teneb is that argument!” As he went on, Jack began to crescendo into a full-blown rant. “And even if it doesn’t make you into a complete thug, because that’s not always what happens, it makes you a worse person overall, usually unable to function normally in society, and I know this because I know a guy who fell to the dark side. Even when he managed to get ‘clean’ he was never quite the same.”

“He fell to the dark side for a reason, I suppose.” I catch Jack frowning at my statement, but I continue. “Do you know why Teneb’s able to go beyond what a normal drug can do?”

“I read a dissertation that basically had a theory, that Teneb was able to-sometimes permanently-change the brain at a chemical and neurological level. Even said that if the right talent worked with it, they could probably make some medicinal super-drugs with it, but the problem is that the recipe is a complete fucking secret.”

“All that just sounds like embellishment, to be honest. Is there any deeper reason why you hate Teneb specifically?”

“Well… You wouldn’t know it from looking at me, but I used to be into drugs once upon a time.”

“Really? Wouldn’t have expected it of you.”

“Yeah, I know. The catch is, I was never into the hard shit, mostly just marijuana-and that was the same as most of my friends were into, until one day one of the guys let his dealer talk him into trying out Teneb. I swear, once he took that shit he was a different person, kinda went batshit crazy and ended up almost beating one of my other friends to death. I clocked him in the back of the head with this giant fucking rolling pin, real thick, made of wood. It barely fazed him, but it did get his attention away from that other guy, and onto me. Thankfully, I actually knew how to handle myself and I managed to play the whipping boy long enough for two of my other friends to grab him. It took all three of us to restrain him, and one guy got a minor concussion for his trouble. I think another one got a rib dislocated by a kick. We called one of our dealer’s friends, tends to get called when someone high gets out of hand-well, we handed him off, and later our friend ends up dead. The dealer’s friend got really mad at us afterwards.”

“You should’ve gone for the kitchen knife instead.”

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Jack sighed, running a hand through his hair. “June, honestly, what’s gotten into you? What’s wrong?”

“I lost my faith in humanity the other day-and myself.”

“Why?”

“I had people I trusted turn on me, I saw myself doing shit I never thought myself capable of, and the worst part is I don’t even really feel like myself anymore.”

“Care to be more specific?”

“The most I’ll tell you is that I came here to escape bad people and a bad situation. I’m starting to think it didn’t work.”

A man in a black suit enters the hotel, walking to us. “Your transportation has arrived.”

We both nod and follow him out, to be greeted not by a mere cab but a black limousine instead; it was probably the length of two small cars put together, if I had to guess. “Huh. Guess he’s not holding back when it comes to the red carpet.”

“You might think otherwise at first, but when it comes to hospitality, Verelich doesn’t do much holding back.”

I drop the cigarette before we board the vehicle, and I take in the sights; it was filled with padded seats positioned sideways like benches, and it was remarkably well lit. There was also a barrier between the front seats and the passenger compartment, almost like a train. “Holy shit… I’ve never seen the inside of one of these until now.”

Jack chuckles. “Kinda wild, isn’t it?” He moves along the passenger compartment towards the front. “I barely remember the last time I got to ride in one of Verelich’s limos.”

“Well, I won’t lie, I can certainly see why people would be shelling out for this if they had the money to spare.” I slide along the limo seat, deciding to lay back on them for fun. Shockingly enough, there was more than enough room to do it.

“I know this is your first time, June, but that’s definitely terrible manners. You better hope nobody else is coming into this limo.”

“Yeah, I know.” I sighed, looking out the absolutely massive window that was on the side of the limo. It was getting dark out. “Hey, why haven’t we moved yet?”

Only seconds pass before my question is answered. The Baron steps into the limo, still wearing that white cowboy hat of his, but his suit jacket was a gray and white striped color instead of solid white. “Alright, let’s get this party start-” The Baron looks at me, taking a seat at the far end of the limo. “Oh, damn it. I have to share this limo with you, AND you’re taking up a ton of space.”

I shift to an upright position. “All you had to do was ask.”

Several seconds pass, and the limo begins to move.

“This the guy you had to escort 6 blocks?” I simply nod in turn. “He doesn’t seem very pleasant.”

The Baron crosses his arms. “Hard to be in the mood for pleasantries when your friend sends you a bunch of children and no car to protect you from international assassins.”

“Ugh. You realize that’s so we didn’t get destroyed by a spike strip or IED, right?”

“Oh. Yeah, that actually kind of makes sense. I’m still not happy about it, though.”

“Honestly, man, are you normally this bitchy, or is there something in particular weighing on your mind?”

“Why would you ask that kind of question?” The Baron scowled.

“Well,” Jack smirked, putting a hand on his chin. “I keep racking my brain, but I can’t think of a single reason why Verelich would be able to be friends with someone as incredibly bitchy as you are.”

I catch myself smiling at that line. The Baron, on the other hand, practically seethes before taking a breath to regain his composure. “Okay, so you want to know the real reason why I’m so pissed? I’m starting to think I was set up. Not by Verelich, mind you, I’m sure he was doing his best, but by the Russians.”

“The Russians? I mean, not that it would surprise me much, but that needs some explaining.” Jack crossed his arms.

“I mean, it doesn’t take much to figure out the conspiracy here. The Russians like oil, they don’t like me standing in the way, and if they’ve been doing some spying they know that I want to get into the illegal weapons business. So, they have a guy try and sell me some surplus Russian tanks, all rigged to break down not long after being powered on. I end up with a bounty on my head, and without me keeping a grip on the mercenaries guarding my oil, they end up going into business for themselves, or maybe the Russians pay them off so they can get the oil for themselves.”

“Why did you decide to get into illegal business if you’ve already been making money legitimately?” The question was obvious, but I suspected there was more than just pure greed involved.

“The big dirty secret I have to say to you is that my business was never very clean. We set up shop in war-torn countries, hire mercenaries to protect the oil deposits, and take our cut that way. Aside from that, I actually had some relatives in one of those countries. They were stubborn fucks, wouldn’t leave their goddamn farm despite all the money I could throw at them, but I still cared about them. I figured once I had a better supply of hardware I’d hook up whatever group seemed the least dickish in return for keeping my relatives safe. That, and I figured that by supplying the least terrible dictator in any of these wartorn countries, I’d be making things better, at least indirectly.”

“Really? You think that by adding more weapons to a situation you can create more peace? You think that by handing violent apes more firepower you can end conflict itself?” I roll my eyes. “I wonder how that seems so typical.”

The Baron shifts.“Si vis pacem, para bellum, right?”

I can’t help but let out a chuckle. “It’s so pitiful how many people think more weapons automatically makes for a more peaceful situation. That logic simply doesn’t apply when it’s violent dictators that are getting the weapons.”

“Even dictators have self-preservation instincts-”

“Their ambition alone will take care of that, and it’s not like they’ll ever be the ones actually doing the fighting, anyway. You don’t really care about liberating those countries; you just want to give yourself an excuse to do your business and absolve yourself of what comes next. If you really wanted to save them, you’d get your own goddamn mercenaries and take it yourself, be the change you wanted to see in the world.” I pause, eyeing up his now indignant expression. He’s searching for words, clearly, but he can’t seem to find any. “Oh, and that plan you had to protect your relatives? You better hope that the man you pick actually cares about honor or fairness, instead of using those as pretenses to be the big man on top.”

The Baron sighs deeply, looking away. “Okay, okay, you win.”

We didn’t speak much the rest of the way to the ball.