~~~
Location;; Little Spain Retirement Community, her Grandmother's Apartment, in the kitchen
Interacting With;; Herself ► Her Grandmother ► A member of her operation (
Johnny) ► An Unknown Caller
A perfect white line.
Thin, and precise-- no powder strayed from the meticulous journey from point A to B. As if a machine had crushed up a little white pearl, and laid the dust of it's being a perfect, glowing, silver-white 'I' that contrasted poorly with the spearmint green Formica table it called home. For now.
A woman sits before the line, bill in a recently manicured hand, folding it into a straw, as quickly, as immaculately, and with the same precision she laid the line with. She bends over the table, and inhales. Point A to point B. Just like that, the perfect white line is.
The woman, Adah, reels back, stars in her eyes. Leaning back in the chair, she feels relief.
Stars are always a good sign, she thinks,
that's the body adjusting. She stares up at a ceiling, beige-white to match with the coffee brown carpet, a dim yellow light greets her, the ever glowing eye of a three pronged fan spinning slowly.
That's not environmentally friendly, is it? That light? The room comes into focus.
Pale Christmas lights that have been a staple of this kitchen since at least three holiday seasons ago glitter at the edge of her periphery. A cage of light surrounds the edge of the ceiling, though some dandelion bulbs flicker out of existence while their brother's burn on.
Make a note of that. Yeah. Adah jerks her head downward, feeling the kick sufficiently coursing through her system, enough to revoke the puffiness of her tired eyes of their power. The sickly green walls match the table she sits at, littered with pictures o animals and people alike, interrupted only by a monolith. A flat, black rectangle amidst the chlorine green and baby pictures. Save for two doorways and a pastel blue fridge, she feels enclosed by the tacky yellow counter tops, preserved from their birthplace in the 60's, all crowded with more manner of appliances and sinkware than her schooling led her to believe existed. The kick is good-- she sniffs again, rubbing the underside of her nose.
Adah blinked, and like that, a moment had passed. She knew she needed more sleep, but for now she had to settle for coffee and some blow. She gave an almost invisible nod to herself, feeling her thoughts catch up with her material being.
How had she been up since 6? Slapping her face a little, she gets up to get herself a cuppa.
Or rather, she had started to get up-- when from behind her, a familiar
'tsk' bounced off the asbestos and carpeting. "You know I don't like that shit in my house."
Adah sighed, settling back into her position, only turning slightly to acknowledge the woman entering the room, hair obscuring her eye for her effort as she did so.
"That's why I do it when you aren't around." She gave small grin to the elderly brown woman as she rounded the corner,
"Wotcha, Nan." "Yeah, yeah." The old woman, larger than Adah by half, and dressed in a blindingly floral Hawaiian shirt and a skirt as sickeningly green as the Formica and walls, yanked open the fridge, pulling out a freshly prepared tupperware container,
"Made you some breakfast-- it'll take a minute to heat it up." "That's fine," Adah rested her head against her arms as she sat, watching the woman work, even if it was just simple reheating, "Got any coffee on?"
Wordlessly, soundlessly, as if she was already performing the action before it was even mentioned, she handed Adah a freshly poured mu. As if from nowhere, responding only with her own query, cigarette in mouth,
"Gotta light?" "Yeah." Adah didn't move from her bored position as she pulled out matchbook-- from Blackie's-- prompting her grandmother to strike the match on her own.
"Thanks." Adah mumbled, sipping on the black concoction, feeling life return to her two-fold, along with the white horses running through her body, now they had all been given coffee.
Her Grandmother blew the smoke upward, into that fan with the environmentally unfriendly yellow light.
"So." She took a drag,
"My little monkey seems down." Adah gave a mirthless laugh,
"Down is for the romantics. I'm fine, just tired." Sip.
She blew the smoke away from Adah.
"Busy week?" She took a pull. Another drag.
Another sip of the coffee.
"You don't know the half." Another sip. She felt her throat tingle.
"It's always a busy week, month year-- life! The smoked flared form her nose as she spoke,
"Whatever." Adah finished the cup of coffee,
"It's different. That storm shook everyone up from under their rocks, we haven't been this busy since the Olympics." Running her finger along the rim of the mug,
"And I don't even want to get into those damn reporters-- half of my guys got heads so big now they can hardly work...." Motioning her fingers, she silently requested her grandmother move further away with her cigarette, while she fumbled in her purse for her inhaler, she took as long a pull on her medicine as her grandmother,
"Good grief." Her grandmother chucked the mostly smoked parliament out an open window, giving an exaggerated frown she turned back to Adah.
"Awww, pobrecita." She shrugged,
"What can you do? You know-- I heard on the news, they're closer to finding those missing people than ever." They haven't even identified the missing people, Nan. Adah scoffed-- though it went unnoticed, as she did so, her phone began to ring from in her purse. Her grandmother nodded, retrieved the breakfast plate from the oven, and left it on the table for Adah, as she left the room, leaving a final kiss on her forehead as Adah answered, knowing full well what this call was about.
Adah flipped open the burner.
"Wotcha." "W-wotcher, boss..." There was a pause. Not particularly heavy, or, for Adah's part, anyway, awkward-- she took advantage of the man's own nervousness to ge tot the point to begin scarfing down her meal. She hadn't had a thing to eat at all today and she was famished. It was a simple meal-- one of eggs, toast, and beans-- but still one she could feel her grandmother's love and skill infused in. Being hungry made the simplest of meals delicacies-- following that logic; Adah, perhaps, ate better than most kings.
"Boss...?" The voice chimed, even more mousy and unsure after a near minute of silence.
Adah continued to eat. She wanted to put off the stress of this conversation for just a little bit longer. For an instant-- a fraction of a fraction of a second eve--
"B-boss......?" Adah sighed. Dropping her fork, she moved to grip the bridge of her nose with her index and thumb.
"Are you--" Adah spoke up.
"New missing?" "Y-yeah... At least 6 of our dancers are confirmed gone without a trace. A couple bouncers." Adah was silent.
"And um... 4 runners." "... Fuck." "Y-yeah." "Thank you for this, Johnny. This is important to know... moving forward." "Y-yeah!" The stuttering youth sounded genuinely encouraged by the perceived optimism.
"Of course! So what's the plan?" She gave a sigh.
"Let's close Don Juan for now. Put a memorandum out on the website, the Facebook-- all our social media-- that this is in respect of those missing, and that we won't open until further notice. We can concentrate sales in Blackie's for now." She thought for a moment,
"For Blackie's... we'll keep the club open. Anyone who works at the club can take shifts at the bar. We're offering drinks half-price until... and... write this down Johnny, I want this on social media, and as a press release-- this is what we tell reporters, 'Until the victims are found, all drinks are half-price, and family of victims drink free." Adah coughed into her hand,
"Did you get all that, Johnny?" "Yes, mum." "Good." Adah stood, nodding to herself,
"We need public opinion on our side now more than ever, if someone even accidentally says 'drugs' to the wrong person, the pigs will come right for us." "Got it, boss." "Right now, we're in damage control mode while we figure out what the hell is going on. I'll brief everyone else later." "Okay." "Until then, no one but you and I are to even be in the same room as a reporter." She grabbed her hoodie, waving a silent goodbye to her grandmother as she exited the apartment.
"Otherwise we have a full head count." "Yes, mum." "Great. I'll need their names." "Oh! It was--" "Not over the phone." Adah paced herself, walking brisk in the fog of the afternoon to her car.
"Text me the missing Don Juan people. Give me the runners in person." "O-okay." "Get the word out. Don Juan's is closed for now, Blackie's is offering liquid therapy for Brighton's grieving. I'll see you in a bit." "You aren't coming down right away?" "No Johnny..." Adah entered her car, a used up Camry, and the only thing grayer than the morning fog for about a thousand miles in any direction.
"Something tells me our swine may have a few pearls for us in this matter." She slammed the door shut and she clicked the phone shut. And like clockwork, eight names appeared from an unlisted number, sent to her personal phone.
Cannolo Murolo
Massimo Murolo
Angelica Attanasio
Coniglio Cura
Sheila Errina
Mira Michal
Tiziano Squalo
Melone Edmonds
As Adah starts up the engine-- her phone rings, not her burner, but her personal phone rings. She runs over the possibilities in her head-- the number is unlisted-- there's no number to recognize on the screen at all. Her finger hovers over the 'answer' button on the touch screen, before, as she sits there, in the driveway to this apartment complex for the elderly, she lets the phone rings for several minutes, before panic sets in-- it eventually rings out. No second call. No message.
Adah pulls out of the driveway.
