Jesphan straightened in the chair, his eyes locked with the man sitting opposite him. Droegette, was his name, “Chop” Droegette. A lowly creature. Jeshpan despised doing any sort of business with him, but that was the way things had to be now. It disappointed him that humankind would let scum like Droegette and his gang run rampant and take over cities. His gang, “The Choppers” as they self-entitled themselves, were men with thumbs up their asses so to speak. Morons, the lot of them, Jesphan thought to himself. Unfortunately, dangerous morons.
Droegette twitched in his chair, his rat eyes moving from spot to spot. The man could never hold a gaze. At six feet, it was a wonder the man could be so skiddish, easily overshadowing Jesphan’s wiry figure by half a foot. One of Droegette’s cronies had made a fatal mistake, however, in underestimating Jesphan’s stature. Perhaps that was what it was, he thought sarcastically.
The Choppers were lounging about at hand and though Jeshpan knew he was about to be gipped in their deal, he would not dare to make a move. They might look stupid, but stupidity in large amounts is hard to overcome. So he sat coolly in the chair, enjoying the resplendent dome air that was filtered from outside.
“An uzi for ten kilos of this shit?” Droegette tried to sound tough, but his voice always came out squeaky and high pitched. Jesphan nodded.
Droegette spat on the ground, “Hyung, how much you think this bull crap is worth?”
One of the Choppers sitting in the corner thumbed his nose and shrugged, “Shit ain’t worth nottin’, Boss.”
Jesphan rolled his eyes inwardly. He had no patience for pathetic games like this. Quick and clean and to the point, that was how business should be.
“You think this is good ‘nough for the Aristo Brikkavanak? You outta your mind, boy. You’s gotta bring good shit here for us to give you such a gift. For an uzi?” Droeggette attempted to look condescending, but his round face made him look unsure, “You come back and bring us some good stuff and maybe then we talk.”
He started laughing in his weezing-smoke polluted way, spluttering a cough here and there. The brainless hyenas joined in, shaking their heads in contempt for what they deemed to be a ridiculous ability to bargain. In the raucous, Jesphan merely stood up, leaned toward the entrance and motioned for Niikam to come in. His partner came in with sacks bursting at the seams, two in total. The laughter died instantly.
Forgetting his previous condescending tone, Droegette’s eyes widened, “Where’daya get that?”
“Oh, just a little place off the way,” Jesphan brushed the exclamation aside, “So, we gotta deal?”
It took Droegette a split second to blink and then blurt an agreement. Jesphan could always rely on that: Droegette’s impulsiveness. Indeed, the “shit” that he was handing to them was just that: “shit.” Whatever possessed someone to put this sort of powder into your body was beyond him, but the poor bastards were addicted to it. And no one really knew what it was, where it came from, nor what it was supposed to be in terms of good quality. It was like white gold to them.
Within five minutes, Jesphan and Niikam were ushered out of the door hurriedly, an uzi added to their gear. Jesphan thrummed his fingers against the new weapon. An automatic, that was tough to come by. A grin passed over his face like a shadow.