#24 Marcus
Marcus had a knack for telling things. He knew when things were up, he knew when things were coming, he knew when things were… happening around the people that worked for him. Take Pierre, for instance. He knew Pierre had something going on, something floating around him, some sort of push of events coming, he could smell it, like a storm coming.
What he could never figure was if that storm would be good or bad. But he also knew that Pierre had a little something of a sense, a gift, even if he wouldn’t ever admit it. So Marcus figured he’d at least pay him a bit closer attention, figured that the man had enough self-preservation to duck and run if that coming storm was a shit storm.
And anyway, Marcus knew to trust his instincts- those he saw as an animal thing, separate form the other gifts he had. In all fairness, it was his instincts, and not those fucking sensings that had gotten him as far as he had gotten, with this club for a cover and all the classy whores and drugs the neighborhood needed for a real cash enterprise. And his instincts were pushing him like crazy to hone in on whatever Pierre was getting carried into and lay a claim, hard and fast, making sure the man didn’t for a minute forget who the boss was on this corner.
That’s all he really asked for, in the end. Nothing huge, no fucking empire spread open for a ricoh case, no fucking cartel wars, just his block. This little block, and every person on it.
About the Author (Author Profile)
Subscribe
If you enjoyed this article, subscribe to receive more just like it.
