Business as Usual
“What you even want with these drugs? I’d heard you’d gone straight.” “Huh? Bud I’ve been bi muh whole life.” “I...what...no you idiot I meant-” “I know what ye meant.” Tray snorted, pulling his joint from his lips and blowing a cloud of moko smoke into the air over his head. “Was just playin’ with yer turn of phrase is all.” Tray’s blue eyes peered at the hyur across the table from him as the miqo’te shot the fellow smuggler an impish smile. “Come on, what I gotta do tuh prove I’m here for legit business, Mac?” “Quell my fears.” ‘Little Mac’ Macavoy answered as he took a hard chug of his foaming tankard. The large, beefy, bear of a man was in his late fifties and his black hair had long begun to recede and turn grey. But there was a fire in his grey eyes as he cast a hard look around the sleazy, smoke filled, hole-in-the-wall dive bar the pair found themselves in. That hawkish gaze fixed itself on the red-headed miqo’te and his flashed teeth. The large man gave a low grunt. “Heard you settled down, hitched up, and was running a yoga studio of all things.” “Well I-” Tray paused to gaze at the very prominent rear end of a female walking by. The red-haired miqo’te gave a whistle and a wink and in return the woman gave Tray a middle finger as she kept on walking. “Sorry, where were we.” Tray went on, glancing back at Mac, who gave him a flat ‘are-you-kidding-me’ expression. “Something ‘bout going monogamous.” Mac answered dryly and Tray snorted as he leaned back, seemingly without a care in the world. “Hey, just cause I got myself all locked up doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate a good view.” Mac blinked. “Uh-huh. And my fears.” “Listen, Mac. My man. Buddy.” Tray look another long inhale of his moko. “The studio is just a cover. I’m still moving product like you wouldn’t believe. Sure it’s more inland than before but I still have my own personal ship and a couple more working for me. Sure it’s not the good ol’ days an’ all, but business is good ‘nough I can move yer product like before an’ make a good cut. Ye know I am good as my word.” Mac grunted. “I got my routes covered.” “I can do cheaper.” Tray snapped as he spoke, leaning in and tapping the table with his free hand. “Cheaper than twenty-two percent?” Mac took another drink as Tray raised both eyebrows. “Twenty-two? Twenty-two? What shite-eater went and made -that- deal?!” “Six-Fingers.” Mac replied. “Oh fuck that little, shitty fuck boi cat!” Tray threw his hands up. Mac simply looked at the large, v-shaped cut of Tray’s collar to the chest tattoo with the words ‘Fuck Boy” written on Tray’s skin. “Listen, I..twenty.” “Twenty?” Mac raised an eyebrow. “For a friend like ye, twenty.” Tray eyed Mac intently as the large man sucked on his teeth and ran a hand over his beard. “Fifteen for the first three moons, then twenty once I’m sure you aren’t blowing smoke up my ass.” Tray gave a long, grumbling growl to himself as he drummed his fingers on the table. He inhaled his joint and swallowed it before he sighed, smoke blowing free as he offered Mac his right hand. “Fine, fifteen, ye fuckin’ shark.” Mac nodded and took Tray’s hand in his own, dwarfing the miqo’te’s “Ye won’t regret this.” Tray grinned and then heard a distant tolling of the late hour on a set of bells. “Oi, shite, sec, need to call muh lady on muh pearl. I’ll be by with paperwork later!” With that, Tray got up and slipped for the door. Mac simply shook his head and shrugged. “Fucking Miqo’tes.”