TWO BULLETS
Chicago, Illinois
Justin scanned the crowd, searching for Kevin Green, his eighty-five million dollar mark. This would’ve been easier had Justin known Green’s scent, but he had never met Green face to face. As it was, a myriad of scents washed over his canine-like nose. He could smell a person’s normal scent, and also their emotions.
There were a few nervous nillies in the crowd, probably junior executives that were out of their league. He smelled jealousy, happiness, loneliness (surprisingly), and friendliness and malice most of all. Malice isn’t as abnormal of emotion as one may think, especially with these people. The people in this room have been at each other’s throats for the better part of their adult lives, and some of them their WHOLE life, so malice masked by friendship was very common among these groups. A scent that Justin could only describe as “cunning” was also prevalent. It was the kind of smell that cats gave off when playing with mice, or when someone was being manipulative.
A waitress with a cute smile came by carrying a tray of drinks and stopped to offer him one. He asked for vodka, and gave her a wink as she walked off. She had a nice ass, and the uniform that she wore showed it off nicely. He stood looking around the small crowd of executives in the room, some of them giving him a friendly wave and a smile, others giving him smiles that barely held their contempt for his young age in secrecy hidden. That didn’t bother him. He relished the fact that he could beat the living shit out of anybody in this room. And when they got out of the hospital, he could do it all over again. Because he was DarkWolf, mutant mercenary extraordanaire.
He was above such things, of course. Let them despise him. They’d never take him physically, and if they ever had the guts to try and take his privately owned multi-million dollar company, they’d have the BHC to contend with (even if he WASN’T the Black King). That was another thing, he could click a button on his computer in the BHC mansion, and ruin their life forever. But, he was above such petty vengeance.
Besides, if he was gonna beat the shit out of someone, he’d have to at least make a hundred bucks out of it (beatings come cheap, it’s killing that’s expensive).
The waitress with the cute smile came back with his vodka. He tossed it back and took a drink, then moved off through the crowd, looking for Kevin Green. He wouldn’t kill Kevin here, though. He’d do that after the party, on the way out. He’d leave before Green, come back with his image inducer set to “Redneck,” whack Green, then disappear. Easy as pie.
As he went to take another drink, his hand and arm locked up. A harsh vibrating sensation moved up his spine from the base of his coccyx all the way up to his brain stem and back down. His arm loosened again. He looked around frantically. What the hell was that?he thought. Nobody else looked like they had been affected. He tossed the glass up and swallowed the rest of the vodka. No unusual scents. No unusual people. Nothing.
Another mystery for another time, he decided. He spotted Kevin Green and moved off toward him.
***
Alan Richmond moved down the dark back hallway quietly. He wanted this to be a surprise. He fingered the pistol in his waistband, and grinned. What a birthday present for such a man as Kevin Green.
***
Justin found Kevin Green in a small circle of people, laughing and chatting. He was standing with one hand in his pocket, and his other held a glass of brandy. Justin thought brandy was a wussy drink. He walked up to the group smiling. Kevin spotted him, and it took a moment for recognition to kick in. Kevin smelled strongly of superiority; Kevin thought he was top dog, and saw everybody else as yipping chihuahuas. The smell increased when he recognized Justin.
“Well, if it isn’t the venerable cowboy millionaire,” Green said. “I’m sure you all know the owner and operator of Lone Star Enterprises, Justin Mills,” he added, addressing the group. He added extra contempt for the word “operator”. It was widely known that he left most of the management of LSE to Jerry Ortiz.
“Howdy,” Justin said, exaggerating his Texas drawl. The group murmured replies, hiding amused smiles. The area began to smell of malice and mockery. He knew what was coming.
“Mr. Mills here inherited his company from his uncle… wasn’t it, Justin?” Green asked. Justin knew what he had been invited for. Green wanted to show all of his snob buddies the quaint Texas millionaire who didn’t know anything about business.
“Tell us, Justin, why don’t you take your company beyond Texas? Why haven’t you graced the rest of the country with your goods and services?” Kevin asked. Justin had never worried much about the national market. Most of his goods were manufactured and sold in Texas, except for Texas Military Arms, which sold military equipment all over the world.
Justin shrugged. “When you live and work in Heaven, why would you even think about Hell?” he asked Green. That got an amused chuckle from the circle of elite. Kevin Green was a jerk. Justin decided it was time to show him where his place was, but not just yet. He let Green make thinly veiled threats. When he started getting more than just a few chuckles, Justin decided to put him in his place.
Justin began fingering the pin on his lapel, which was a small replica of the Black King on a chessboard, outlined in thin gold. “Kevin, I tell you what, you’re worse than them Dallas women. They got enough tongue for ten rows of teeth, but you got enough for twenty.”
Kevin’s face twisted in confusion before his smell did. Yankees couldn’t even tell when they were being insulted. “You could stand here and insult me all night, but it wouldn’t be a good idea. See, we Texans get mad, AND we get even. I’m so damn rich I could buy you’re company out from under you.” Justin let go of the lapel pin, and grabbed a card from inside his coat pocket, and handed it to Green. “As it is, I must be going, I’ve got bigger cattle to brand right now,” Justin said, and he walked off.
***
Kevin Green looked at Justin walking away with a confused smile. He had a feeling he had just been insulted, but he didn’t get it. Twenty rows of teeth? He chalked up to a stupid redneck thing. He looked at the card, and his smile dropped. It was a simple white card, and on it was the symbol of the King chesspiece. He knew what he had done. He had just insulted a very powerful person. Kevin ordered more brandy to dry his throat, and walked off irritably.
***
Alan Richmond peered through a side door into the big ballroom. He saw Kevin Green stalking off towards a set of stairs. He stepped through the door, pulled out the shotgun and yelled “GREEN!” People started screaming.
***
Justin was head for the door out of the ballroom, grinning to himself about the smell he picked up from Kevin as he walked off. Before he reached the door, someone shouted. “GREEN!” The room was suddenly filled with the scent of fear and terror, and then people started screaming.
END TWO BULLETS
"All around the world statues crumble for me..."
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