They’ve been gone for hours. I’m wasting my fucking time with these incompetent bastards, I know it. I take a look at myself in the bathroom mirror, pale as death after shooting that stardust, although the climax is most definitely worth the hangover. Where the fuck are they? I hate this place. That’s why we need those fucking Caterpillars: so I can get out of this shit hole. If we can move the lot I’ll be out of here and far away six months from now. There’s been a sudden thirst for Caterpillars in the last few months, I mean a huge fucking demand, fuelled by the raging addictions of scum like us. But that label, ‘scum’, that they give us…me. I’ll soon shake it off. Where the fuck are Max and Viola with my Caterpillars? You see, the deal was that they snatch the lot from a friend I knew had weight, and I’ll move the majority, giving a forty percent cut between them. That’s what I told them, anyway. Here they are.
I ask Max if they have the lot – Viola smells like fucking puke – they do. I snatch the bag from Viola’s hand and verify the claims of success, it’s true. Shit, I’m surprised they didn’t fuck up. I fake a grin and walk to the kitchen, emptying the stash onto the work surface. I let them know they’ve done good, great even and tell them where the stardust is: in the bathroom cupboard, top shelf, orange tin. Examining the Caterpillars, I know they’re the real deal. I now have a choice of two options, I choose the second. Reaching into the cupboard by my knees I grab my firearm. I picked it up from some sad dealer I once used, Henry, I doubt he’ll miss it. I shout their names and load my pistol. Like dogs they come. I get Max in the head, though as he drops to the floor almost certainly already dead, I feel a minor ripple of regret run through my veins, look up and fire at Viola. Twice in the stomach. She was a pretty girl, a waste of a good soul. I grab the Caterpillars, step over the puddle that begins to form and make my way out the door. I’ll go to the next city and move this shit, then it’s paradise.