Page 147 of Dancing in the Dark

He doesn’t recognize me at first. He sees money and sophistication, he sees class and ‘I really ought to smile for this guy, since I know he’s better than me’. But then his brain switches back on and his eyes widen in fear.

Good, bitch. Be afraid.

He spins on his heels and crashes face-first into Stovic’s muscular chest. Yelping and skittering back, he turns and raises his hands. “M-Mr. Malone.” His voice cracks so loudly, I’m pretty sure I have the power to grant puberty 2.0 to the asswipes who didn’t do it properly the first time around. “I— Uh…” He casts a terrified glance over his shoulder. Yeah, Stovic’s still there, buddy. “C-can I help you?”

I drop my hands into my pockets and finger the blade I always keep nearby. “No, you sure as fuck can’t. But I’m gonna help you.”

He damn near wheezes.

Someone get the kid an inhaler.

“You see, I’m a busy man, Andy. People actually line up and beg for a slot in my schedule.” I wander a little closer. “Very, very important man. But here I am anyway, and I’ve come with a little advice. Man to…” I scrunch my nose. “Naked mole rat.”

“I-I don’t want your advice.” He stumbles back and squeaks out as he tramples Stovic’s boots. “I’d rather continue on with my day. No need for us to interact.”

“But why wouldn’t you want to talk to me?” I tilt my head to the left and turn my knife around, around, around in my pocket. “You haven’t stopped talking about me for months.”

“I don’t want⁠—”

“Shut the fuck up,” I cut in viciously. “Zip your lips and listen to me.”

He claps his mouth shut with an audible snap.

“You have high aspirations, right? First, within the Port Authority’s legal department, and later, when the right political seats open up. But it’s just…” I shrug. “That’s not gonna work out the way you want it to. Ugly mole rat motherfuckers don’t get to hang with political juggernauts, not when their pasts are spotted with organized crime and questionable income streams.”

“Que—” His cheeks turn grayer than most of the dead bodies I’ve ever seen. “What?”

“Don’t speak,” I repeat coldly. “Listen. You’re not going anywhere near City Hall ever again. In fact, the FBI is watching you so fuckin’ closely these days, you won’t even be allowed to buy firecrackers on the Fourth of July ever again. Wave to your admirers, Andy.” I glance into the distance and smile at… nobody. “They’ve been watching us for months. Their hard drives are brimming with the not-so-secret little meetings you and I have been having.”

“What the hell are you talking about? What meetings?”

“This one,” I smirk. “And all the others my buddy with a computer and a Photoshop subscription whacked together. You haven’t stopped yammering about my criminal ways for months, which could be construed as guilt in some cynical people’s minds. Projection. Add in the text thread you and I have had going for the better part of this year, ya know, the one where you colluded to have a cop killed and the mayor conveniently placed in certain dangerous situations.” I click my tongue. “Shit’s starting to look real hairy for you, Andy.”

“But none of that is true!” His face burns fiery red. “I never⁠—”

“I know. But there are people in this world skilled with tech who get a happy little thrill out of pleasing me. So it appears as though we’ve been having these conversations, and that’s all that really matters, isn’t it? Hell, once the authorities get their hands on your phone records, no one will know I’ve fabricated an entire syndicate of criminal shit just to watch you squirm. Add in the money I’ve been depositing into your bank account this past year; five grand here, ten grand there.” I flash a taunting grin and thank Sophia for the idea of replacing Markum’s transactions with Fletch’s. “Dude, it’s not looking good. All this bitching you’ve been doing…” I shake my head. “All the little whispers and investigations you’re trying to instigate… It’s always a little ironic when a man’s holier-than-thou Boy Scout snitching becomes his own undoing.”

“B-but I haven’t done any of that stuff you said.” He swings terrified eyes left. Right. “The texts… the money…”

“I know. But it looks like you did, and by this time tomorrow, the Feds are gonna have the manifesto detailing how you plan to wipe out the president, and…” I whistle in the back of my throat. “I’m not sure there’s any coming back from that. Except, of course, unless you take my advice and disappear.”

“D-disappear?”

“Mm. Where I come from, I’d do the disappearing for you, and since I find you tediously fucking annoying, I’d send you on your way with a six-foot cactus rotating in your asshole. But I’m a reformed man now, a family man, so I’m gonna give you one chance to pack your shit up and leave. Tonight. Take your broke ass home, pack your bags, grab your toothbrush, and get the fuck across state lines.”

I slowly draw my hand out of my pocket and let him see my blade. It’s not illegal unless I threaten him with it. “I’m gonna swing by your apartment at eleven-fifty-nine tonight, and if you’re not officially gone, I’m gonna show you which of the rumors you’ve heard about me are true. Then I’ll drop by your momma’s house, and I’ll show her, too.”

His face drains pathetically white.

“I wanna receive weekly postcards with Albuquerque stamps from now until I say you can stop, and if I find out you’ve come back to Copeland even once, I’ll shove my knife into your ear and give it a wiggle. Say yes sir.”

His eyes flare wide.

“Say. Yes. Sir. Now, so I know you understand me.”

“Y-yes sir.”

“Good. If you ever call Seraphina Lewis again, I’m gonna rip your eyeballs out and stuff them into your scrotum, and since I know overcrowding is comfortable for no one, I promise to remove your testicles and put those motherfuckers where your eyes were. Say yes sir.”