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[Milo's POV]
"Damn it, Sam!" I barked, my esophagus felt like I was gargling robocops battery acid piss. Here I was fumigated, sweaty, and fucking pissed. First thing in the morning of what was meant to be the beginning of something "new".
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The flyers were the last thing on my mind if I wasn't so fucking weak from that stupid bug bomb bullshit I would have tried to beat Sam's ass. SHIT. He just stood there eating–from what I can imagine, the last of our 6 dollars and my favorite gumbo spot's finest lil bowl of crawfish. Damn. I mean the whole reason we've been squatting in that hell hole is because it's across the street.
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Fuck! Wait! I need to focus.
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"Well, dick-nipple, why the hell did you almost let me die. I, at least worried about you." I felt my voice getting more grating and honestly fucking annoying, as I coughed. Now when I tell you don't get fumigated, I godamn would never recommend anything less.
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"Heh...well, I thought you'd remember the scheduled Critter Holocaust. You were the one who said it yesterday." He just stood there, those weird milky green and gray eyes of his staring back at me. No guilt. No remorse. Just that same old grime ball I regret being related to.
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No matter how angry I was, there wasn't shit I could do. I needed him at least for right now–
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A: I needed to look out for the cops when we go to this stupid library.
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B: He's the only person I trust, even if I guess he inadvertently nearly got me killed.
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"We gotta stick to the plan, Sam. " I grumbled, swallowing down the anger and nausea. " The flyers... we gotta make 'em today." I said with an annoyed tone.
My eyes welled with tears as the gas’ touch on my pretty pink lungs nearly made me lose consciousness. Great, it's gonna be another shitty day. On top of everything, I'm pretty sure I lost the last of our money. So– I don't even get to eat before any of this!
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“Geewillickers, let's go then. Or do you plan on just sweating and looking stupid while standing there more?" He let out one of his signature annoying little chuckles. He does that shit when he wants to come off funny.
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HE'S NOT funny unless you think a human trash compactor pretending to have feelings is funny. I don't really give a shit–why am I talking to myself so much–oh the fucking…
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My head pounded and my stomach churned.
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Outside, the chilled swampy-ass morning air did nothing really to ease my discomfort. But it did clear my head, at least a little bit. I looked out at the cracked and ransacked hellscape called the Ninth Ward.
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"Sorry oliM...I didn't think you'd had an episode or something. Really was expecting you to wake up and meet me at Roux-doo's Gumbo Grind. I got our money back as well." As he slurped the last of the gumbo, he pulled out a wadded stack of greasy, but glorious money.
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"Well SHIT Sam why didn't *cough* you say so...that means we won't have to do another Snatch and grab *cough*. Maybe even lose some of the heat we've been buildin' up." We started walking down the street and my vision blurred in and out.
Next thing I remember; we planted ourselves in front of the library's ancient computer, my fingers stumbling over the keys as we designed the flyers for our fake P.I. gig. All the while, I could feel the poison from the gas worming its way through me.
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I shrugged off the discomfort, focusing on the task at hand. We needed the cash, and this scam was our only shot. Little did I know, this was just the tip of the iceberg in the cesspool that was New Orleans.
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[Samael's POV]
I felt my brother's anxiety. Nervous energy emanated from him like ripples in water as we plastered the city with our flyers. But I had my own set of nerves to contend with...
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"We are wasting time Sam…..We must feed the void Sam, I cannot wait forever……I will break you" The Bagman's non-sourceable bellowing rang succinctly in my ears.
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Im messing with shall
The Bagman loves to stream his latent surges of manic bubbling into my psyche. I kept stealing glances at the 3D-printed gun in my pocket. It was unloaded, of course, but still a risk.
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"You cannot ignore me, I am the simmering estrus….the city itself Sam....and so are you" his voice finally trailed off.
We were in the middle of a particularly affluent district when the local beat cops descended on us.
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A weathered and bald black dark skin officer, Ballat. "What are you boys up to?" he asked, his tone dripping with suspicion.
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The second officer followed. A white young rookie cop who did not seem to even be wearing a name tag at all.
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Milo started coughing, still suffering from the fumigation gas. "*cough* just tryin' to make a fuckin' honest living...wanna leave us alone?” He barely was able to string sentences together anymore without cascading obscenities.
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I wished he was happier.
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"Two unemployed black degenerates hanging out on the nice side of town. Maybe you should watch your tone. This just became a suspicious persons investigation." He eyed my paling and gas-stricken brother like he was just waiting for a reason to start an altercation.
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I felt a rush, a thrill of danger. My hand twitches towards my pocket, but I forced it to stay still. The last thing we needed was a run-in with the police. "I’m sorry officer, my fraternal twin doesn't have a clue how to." I realized the officers and my brother were becoming tenser with each facade I let fall from my lips.
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Just as the situation was about to escalate, a woman's voice rang out. "Officers, I need to speak with these two...unless you have a hankering for interfering with my newest case."
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With her sharp brown eyes and even sharper tone, she strode towards us. I normally do not take any time to appreciate a strong female presence but for three solid seconds, her light brown skin and long brown curly hair teased and played at my subtle inner emotions.
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She was a familiar figure in the city, known for her unconventional methods and uncanny ability to crack cases. I had seen her breaking up local pedophile rings and she's been a key figure in the last big R.I.C.O case that left a power-hungry vacuum. The 9th ward has never been as dangerous.
"Uh… no. Detective Smith, we were just trying to make sure.... never mind. Come on Pratt, I heard a call about...fuck it let's just go." I could sense this won’t be the last time we would see these two less-than-desirable officers of the peace.
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The skin-bald black man nearly collided with my now much more woozy and sickly brother… I'm guessing the adrenaline was not serving him all too well. I would need to get him to a free clinic at some point–Was it wrong of me to have tried to teach him a lesson?
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Shyla turned to us with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I would like to introduce myself to you..." she paused, if even for a microsecond taking in our humble and homely appearances.
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"Gentlemen. As you may have heard, I am Shyla Smith. Detective and FBI liaison...." It was clear she was trying to play nice, perhaps hoping we'd let something slip. Neither I nor Milo spoke. I'm glad I know he won't mouth off–
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"What do you want LADY?! I'm about to shit myself and i'm just putting up goddam-" Milos's dark brown eyes bulged as he most likely nearly threw up in his mouth.
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"Detective SMITH....and what I want is to know why two men with seemingly no identity and no recorded place of living or occupation–...you know I'm led to believe you two are innocent until proven guilty." She effortlessly shut Milo up. I’m guessing his mind probably was wandering on a tangent of lewd words but I could see through her. We shared a similar oddness, a quirkiness that somehow made me trust her, even as I knew I shouldn't.
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"Well Dectective Smith, we may have more in common with you than it appears." I gestured to the hastily made flyer of our new Scam-venture.
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"Shadows....'nSpecters…" She paused for a moment as she held one of our shoddily made flyers then let out a small giggle.
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"Which one of you came up with this silly name?" her questions probing yet subtly veiled. Milo was silent, watching us with a frown. I could tell he didn't like this, didn't like her.
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"I did." I nonchalantly replied while moving a few of my dreads from my face. I wanted to see her reaction to my sightless eye.
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"So you two obviously have licenses, traceable state IDs, and say a working phone number?"
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I nearly flinched at her trying to corral the conversation. But I didn't let her see past my mask.
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I found myself drawn to her, to this curious game of cat and mouse. I could almost forget we were surrounded by the decay of a city we were trying to scam. Almost forgot the false gun in my pocket...
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Well until that moment I was now keenly aware of my male folly!
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"Yes we–"
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Her phone began ringing as a call from her supervisor cut off the conversation. Milo eyed me with disdain as he grabbed another flyer, and shakily stapled another to a post.
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"My brother is very unwell, we would have no problem talking to you. Even helping in this investigation. Just call the number and we can meet at our office some time."
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I gambled with the last bit but she only seemed to nod her head as she said nothing to the individual on the other side of the phone.
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As we parted ways with Shyla, I could still feel her gaze on us. I looked at Milo, his face pale and drawn.
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"Come on," he said. "We've got more stupid-fuck flyers to hand out."
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Despite the close call, the thrill of the chase had only just begun.
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el fin.
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