>>> they don't care-o when there's no deniro..

[retch]

Retch wasn't one for formalities, so when his client - he used the term loosely - slid into the seat beside him, he kept his brilliant blue eyes focused on the screen. This particular film was a favorite of his, a Grace Kelly, Jimmy Stewart flick - Rear Window. The stunning, old fashioned beauty of a woman in her prime was candy to his diabetic soul, and he never could get enough. Not that he didn't appreciate tricks like the dime sitting next to him. Flicking a sideways glance at the drink of water as she fumbled nervously for her wallet, he grinned slightly. His palm flashed sideways to land on her wrist, and he felt her stiffen slightly.

Relax, trick. Don't want the Fuzz catching wind of what's going on. Just sit here and be an ol' buddy for awhile."

And then he fell silent again, intense gaze focused one more on the film. The leggy brunette fidgeted. She was obviously maiden to this sort of thing.. she was well kept and well put together, no doubt name brand clothing and her perfume... he sniffed deeply. Yup, that was Chanel. Divine, but not so swell for repeat business. She'd go home, try the stuff, and decide it wasn't her style - or she'd move onto buying it from a more local dealer, someone in her 'class' range. Rubbing a hand over his well-pierced face, Retch bent to 'scratch' his leg, pulling two baggies from the top of his boot and palming them. Reaching over to caress her leg - to which the naive little creature leapt slightly - he tucked them between her legs.

"Half ounce 'shrooms, half ounce of bud - Indica Blueberry, should have a nice tang to it. $130."

His client gaped at him. "You said a flat hundred on the phone!" Retch chuckled maliciously and propped his arm out, palm up, across her lap. Effectively so, he was sealing her in her seat - no doubt this frail little prep would have some trouble figuring out how to get around him in a hurry. He cleared his throat, speaking in the same low, dark tone as before.

"Well, so I did, sweetheart. But I changed the deal. Roll with it or give me back my shit." His fingers snapped insistently, and with a growl of her own, the brunette dug through her wallet, yanked out a wad of bills, and slapped it into his palm. "Be a good Bitch now, and Stay." He snapped. He drew his hand out to count them, and once satisfied that she had indeed paid him correctly, he nodded curtly - which was all the invitation she needed. In a hurry, she was off her seat and out the door in a flash. Still chuckling slightly, Retch propped his feet up on the seat before him, eyes still on the screen. The theater was once again deserted, and he much preferred it this way.