Chapter 1: The River Feeds Into the Sea
Stan wasn't shocked when Token Black knocked on his door half past midnight, sopping wet with daggers in his eyes. Stan let him into his little studio apartment, pointing at a lone chair he used when clients came calling. Token took off his hat, ran his hand over his slicked hair and sighed. Stan grinned.
"Let me guess- Cartman and his pigs?"
Token nodded stiffly, staring at a window. "I want him dead."
"Whoa," Stan raised his brows. "You know my rule- I don't kill."
"No, I know. But I need you to do something- anything. Tonight was the final straw."
Stan made his way over the the icebox and pulled out a half-empty bottle of whiskey.
"You want some?" He asked, gesturing to the bottle.
Token shook his head, so Stan shrugged and took a swig from the bottle, not bothering with a cup. The familiar burn of wet fire comforted his dry throat. Taking his sweet time, he quietly walked over to Token and took a seat on the edge of the bed, placing the whiskey bottle next to his feet and resting his elbows on his thighs. Hunched over, he met Token's dark gaze and smiled.
"So," Stan began, reaching into his front shirt pocket to produce a small carton of cigarettes. "What happened?"
Without warning, Token jumped up and began pacing back and forth in the small room, stepping over stray clothes and books littered on the floor. While Stan lit a cigarette and took a drag, Token opened his mouth to speak, stopped, and continued pacing. It was a few minutes until he finally spoke, his voice low like a bass.
"You know I'm a law abiding man- usually. I run an honest business, yet whenever the mood strikes him, my club gets raided by his pigs. Sure, I expected things like this to happen when I first opened up, just another cost of business. But this time, all my customers are chased out, harassed and terrified, and my club is trashed. Repairs are gonna take weeks and I'm gonna lose my entire customer base if he's police chief for one more day."
He was speaking quickly, but Stan caught the gist of it. Cartman hated Token with a passion, and used every little excuse he could muster up to get a warrant to raid the man's nightclub. Hell, half the time he didn't even get a warrant. What was Token gonna do? File a complaint? Stan laughed to himself at the thought. He took his cigarette out of his mouth to speak, smoke flowing from his parted lips.
"And what would you pay to see him gone?"
The room went quiet as the two men stared at each other, neither daring to let their face show any expression. This was Stan's favorite part. Token sat back down in the chair, leaned back and crossed his thick arms. His deep, brown eyes met Stan's blue, shining like a dark river.
"Stan, I am prepared to offer you $5,000- half now, half after the job is done."
It took everything Stan had to resist bolting up and gasping like he was drowning. Usually, he had to haggle for anything over $200, but $5,000? Stan would have contemplated just straight up killing Cartman for that amount, and here was Token offering it to make the chief lose his job. Either Token was really loaded, or he really hated Cartman. Maybe both. Stan grabbed his whiskey bottle and held it to his lips, letting the alcohol slowly reach his dry tongue and slide down his throat, savoring the taste and Token's fidgeting as he waited for a reply. Finally, Stan put the bottle back down and clasped his hands under his chin.
"This is an awfully big job, Token."
Token frowned. "And I'm offering you an awfully big sum."
"And what about extra expenses?" Stan arched an eyebrow, hoping Token caught his drift.
"You mean bribes?" Yeah, Token caught it, but then he threw it right back.
Stan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes, Token. But don't say that shit out loud. You never know who's listening."
Token just snorted and gave a half-smile. "I'll cover any expenses you come across."
There was a pause as Stan leaned back on his elbows, his back resting against a pillow. He thought about what he could do with that much money. I could get a fridge. He nodded, his head like a buoy on the waves.
"Alright, I'll do it. Got anything for me to go on?"
Token grinned, his teeth beautifully straight, and produced a small piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Stan. It was a little damp, but still readable. On it a name and address was quickly scrawled KYLE BROFLOVSKI - 1815 LEITCH AVENUE.
"He's a paralegal," Token explained. "Apparently, Cartman got in trouble a few years back and Broflovski worked with his dad on the case. He hates Cartman as much as I do, so I thought he'd have some info for you. You can trust him."
Stan nodded, tucked the paper into his shirt pocket, and popped his cigarette back into his mouth. Token took this as his cue to leave, so he placed his still damp hat back on and headed towards the door.
"Before you go, tell me- why are you all wet?" Stan asked.
Token had his hand on the door handle as he scowled. "Bastard pushed me in the snow."