The Hunters - Jason Pinter [7]
“Yes,” the woman said.
“So when somebody tells me they have a product that will increase my earnings, I think two things: first, this person is who they say they are. The second is that this person might be full of bull. And you know what happens when someone asks me to trust them and they turn out to be full of bull?”
Culvert stopped talking. It was clear he was waiting for one of them to reply. Finally the blond man said, “What happens?”
Barely waiting for him to finish the second word, Culvert blurted, “They get smoked. And not a quick two to the back of the head. I mean, I smoke them and they family. Do you have family?” Culvert asked the woman.
“Yes,” she said softly.
The blond man knew for a fact this was a lie. She was leading him on.
“Well, if your product is not what you say it is, they is getting smoked just like you.”
“Please, don’t hurt my son,” the woman said. The blond man did everything he could to keep from smiling.
“Your son is safe…depending on how you act. You act respectfully, your son lives and you make enough money to keep him in Armani the rest of his life. You act disrespectfully, I’m gonna bury you both in an ugly grave in the middle of nowhere.”
The woman looked down at her knees. Keeping up the game.
“What about you, cottontail? You got family?”
The blond man shook his head. He didn’t have family. Not anymore. And he wasn’t as good at playing this game as she was. If he tried to lie, he could give it away. Better to play it straight.
“Well, I’ll do doubly savage on her ass then.”
They both looked down. Fresh off their “scolding.”
“I’m gonna take your product, those freaky little black rocks, and I’m gonna test them out. Myself. And if I think it’s the kind of product that can boost my revenue, I’ll distribute it for you. What do you say to that?” Culvert asked.
“That sounds good,” the woman said. “We’ll give you thirty percent.”
Culvert launched himself back up and unleashed a belly laugh so loud it inspired Doughy and his brute companions to laugh, as well.
“Bitch, you think I’m gonna distribute for some thirty percent? I don’t do a dime lower than eighty-five. ”
“Fifty,” the woman said.
Culvert chuckled. “Bitch thinks she can negotiate with me. Tell you what, I like your moxie, girl. Seventy-five.”
“Sixty,” she replied.
“Seventy. You negotiate more I’ll throw your ass right out this door and you can get distributed by those assholes down by the Brooklyn Bridge, give you ten cents on the dollar because they empty the product themselves. Seventy/thirty.”
“Deal,” the woman said.
“Deal. If,” Culvert added, “you are who you say you are.”
“You’ll be the judge of that.”
The woman stood up. The blond man followed suit. They shook hands with Culvert, who had a look in his eye like he’d just pulled one over on them.
“Be back later this week. If I like it, we’ll discuss specifics. Shipments. You down with that?”
“We’re down with that. Let’s go.”
She turned around to leave. Doughy accompanied them to the front door and opened it. Just as they stepped through the doorway, Culvert yelled at them, “Y’all call yourselves businessmen, but y’all got a lot to learn about how to be a real businessman.”
Doughy slammed the door shut behind them. The woman and the blond man were alone in the hallway. They did not say a word or even look at each other until they left the building and were across the street. When they were out of view of Culvert’s building, the dark-haired woman reached behind her head and undid her braid. The long, shiny hair cascaded down her back. She removed her jacket, revealing a dark tank top that showed muscle tone that belied her age.
She shook her hair out and handed the jacket