I don’t know, but sometimes I don’t want to be Gemini. Sometimes I just want to be Viddy, whoever that may be.
“Your coffee, Miss, can I get you anything else?” I’m startled out of my thoughts as the young waiter places my coffee in front of me in a cup that’s so big I’ll need both hands to hold it.
“No, thank you. I think I’m good.” I smile at him, making him flush, his pimple-riddled face taking on a rosy hue. He dips his head, embarrassed, before walking back over to the counter, leaving me to my thoughts.
I type in my password as the young couple climb to their feet and make their way outside, hand in hand, before turning my attention back to work.
I have been doing my research, trying to figure out all of the players and what their roles are before making my next move. I had studied the information I had copied from the ledger and from the memory stick Reid had taken.
A shipment is coming into the docks tomorrow and I need reliable runners. Looking over the records made by the last Gemini, I’m relieved to find he was a meticulous fucker. I can already tell who the runners are I’m likely to use, which is why I have meetings set up to deal with them all evening.
I take a sip of my coffee, feeling jittery. It’s not from the caffeine, but from knowing I’m going to have to make a statement tonight to get people to follow me. I need blind obedience right now, and with everything balanced so precariously, I have to set the precedent.
Leaving thoughts of runners for a second, I look over at the other three names I’ve highlighted on my list. Chewing my lip, I try to decide which contact to reach out to that will hopefully not involve me dying.
Milo Bellingham, Kristoff Libernesh, and Ronald Harris are the three key players in the import-export business. Of course, there are others, lots in fact, that deal with Zodiac directly, but I want to work with people that have no allegiance to him. I want to make sure that if called upon, it will be me they stand beside, for the right price of course. That’s why these three stand out for a multitude of reasons. Ronald Harris owns a manufacturing company that makes military-grade weaponry, and although they have a major contract with the US government, it is known on the black market that they sell arms to the highest bidder.
Ronald himself isn’t the guy I’m after though, it’s William, his son. William, if rumors are to be believed, is chomping at the bit to take over and move the company in a slightly different direction. At the moment, their weapons are making them money, but they are also making them vulnerable. There is no policing who is buying them, and finding fingers pointed at you when your guns turn up at multiple crime scenes is taking its toll on the company’s stock. If I can get William to stop moving stuff through the black market and get him to sell only to me, then I can redistribute them. Yes, the weapons will still end up in the hands of criminals, but I’m talking about criminals who know how to hide their tracks, not everyday kids shooting up their fucking high school.
A horn sounds from outside, followed by squealing tires. I lift my head before yelling pulls my attention to the window.
I frown when I see a young boy running from a police officer, who looks like he should have laid off the donuts if he’s planning to catch the kid anytime soon.
I would generally dismiss the whole thing, but something about the kid tugs at me. Maybe I can convince the police officer to give him a break. I shove the laptop in my bag, toss a twenty on the table for the still full mug of coffee, and head outside in the direction the boy and officer ran off too.
It’s dark out; the winter months’ long nights can sometimes feel never-ending. A glance at my watch tells me it’s only 9:30, but in this city, it doesn’t matter what time it is. Once the sun sets, the monsters come out to play, which is why I make sure I have my gun handy.
A scuffle followed by a muffled yell has my head turning toward the alleyway leading to the back of the warehouse district. Nobody comes this way