Chapter three. Hope y'all enjoy!
Rated M for GANG GANG GANG, drugs, language, yadda yadda
Departing from the Danger Zone, Enid hurried on foot towards what appeared to be the city, not that distant from the plateau. As she went through numerous trees and bushes, the street lights began to appear brighter, gracing her eyes.
The Safe was just by the strip next to the abandoned residential area. It looked a little sketchy to have such a luxurious wonder set its foundation on what used to be a hell infested with gang violence and drug dealing.
That was all over with, or so they thought.
Enid began making her way down the alley, looking for the cosmetics that she buried underneath a pile of donated clothes, liter, and rubbers.
Rad was pacing himself around the parking lot of the convenient store just by. He didn't get any messages from Enid, not even a call. He was making sure he can observe anybody walking in.
Suddenly, a man in a large trench coat with a bandana on his forehead began approaching the telekinetic hero. Rad didn't know what to do but slowly get up from the hood of his car and reluctantly gripping the door handle.
"Fuck, sorry I'm late. Had a little too much fun today."
Wait just a damn minute.
That voice. Thats no man...
Nope, just an excessively clothed Enid with some really strange getup.
"The fuck is wrong with you? You can't just go like that!" Enid exclaimed, realizing Rad didn't bother to change from his usual tee and pink pants.
"H-how was I supposed to know I needed to-"
"Goddamnit Rad. You're lucky I have a spare."
Same big ass size.
As the mischievous teens made their way inside, they were stormed by sounds of levers spinning, cards being shuffled, people chiefing in a separate room, and chips being laid down.
This was her playplace.
The place wasn't so big. In fact, it was wider than it was taller. Dim lights supported by a flash of purple neon lights. Some posters for comedians, strippers, and underground rappers were piled up and worn out all over the concrete walls.
Good thing Enid wasn't fucking with this floor for a long while.
There was stairs in front of the bathroom, lit up with distinctive white lights, looking like the entrance to a subway.
The purple trench coated teen signaled her trench coated friend to follow her down. "Patrons" of all kinds eyed the two. It was usual for them to wallow in their misery and their place as the scum of Lakewood, but aggressors, baseheads, and smokers alike couldn't help but pay attention towards these two privileged people.
"Hey, I don't recall you playing down here, nor even making it here." Rad was questioning the validity of his experience stalking Enid in the Safe.
"I played with these guys up here around closing hours. So convenient to have them get up these stairs that time. Otherwise, I wouldn't be exclusive here."
That was Enid's answer. Truthful to the fullest extent. Rad couldn't help but feel skeptical about it, though.
As they kept climbing down the stairs, the two teens felt a shocking wave of bass come from downstairs.
Oldies. Enid had a liking for the throwbacks, especially Hova.
The room downstairs was the best contradiction of the miserable floor that the teens came out of. Polished marble floors, nice white walls, a red carpet around the large table and blinding lights that made the idea that it was ten o' clock almost unthinkable.
Though the room was fancy, the players surrounding the table were typically in their tank tops, sagged jeans, snapbacks, and occassionally shining white earrings. All of the faces here were unrecognizable to Rad.
Same thing can be said about Enid, too.
She had no idea who these mobsters were. Probably lived deep in the streets. A suburban neighborhood with family-friendly joints inside a nice little plaza? The fuck was that to them? These were the projects. Their entertainment would likely be the pizzerias around every corner, the broken down arcades, smoke shops, and juvenile grocery shopping at the convenient store.
Some poor fucker got shot bagging for a kid who was steamed after some stupid ass breakup. That same kid shook the hand of Enid.
"Hey Coates, who you got there?"
The guy in the wifebeater and overly sized jeans reached for the holster.
What Enid did next was unbelievable to Rad.
"Ey, hope youse don't mind the cousin comin' ovah for the weekend." Enid reassured in a scruffy voice
A New Jersey accent. Are you shitting me, Enid? Rad was lost in his thoughts.
"You mean him? Nah, we good here. Hey bud, the names T." The kid let go of the holster and reached for Rad's hand in greeting.
Reluctantly, he shook T's hand in return.
"Alright then, lets get started! Tre, hit em' some pockets."
The guy in the all-black fit nodded and put out four cards at the right of the table.
"Uh, actually, I wasn't planning to play."
A slap across Rad's head connected
Enid had to do something. "He'd love to! Tha more Coates, tha bettah' tha chances! RIGHT COUSIN?"
Rad had no choice but to tag along with Enid's game. He was the one who proposed to hit the Safe for the Saturday.
There were only four people besides Rad and Enid, the man named T, the dealer Tre, a disc jockey, and a rather overweight man complimented with five tons of chains around his wide neck.
Enid was already winning pot after pot. After the poor jockey felt confident to place all in on a full house with three aces on the deck and two fives on his pocket, Enid surprised him with the other ace in her hand, strategically raising nothing until she called after the river.
"Fuck this. Fuck you, maaan! I don't know how you do it! How?" The slim jockey was pondering his luck as he made a way for the exit.
Instructed by Enid to fold whenever someone made a bet over $100, Rad was getting annoyed of his role as a burden.
Deep into 11:00PM, every player calls.
Enid's got a measley two of hearts and a three of clubs. Pretty shitty pocket cards. Rad has a jack of hearts, and a five of spades. Not that bad, but could be way better.
"You know, Coates 2.0, I didn't catch your name earlier." T began raising questions as Tre tossed out the flop.
"Youse alreaday' know his names Roadkill!"
Everyone but Rad chuckled.
"Alright then, Roadkill, let's see if your balls are bigger than your chances."
Flops down. A ten of clubs, seven of hearts, and eight of clubs.
Enid still had a flush if she was lucky. Rad had a straight if he was lucky.
"Cool, I'll check", T confirmed.
"Check." Rad's vocie cracked.
"Chaiick!" Enid was obviously having a little more fun than the others.
"My ass, cudi!" The big guy tossed his hand to the front of the table, with Tre observing a five of diamonds, and a two of diamonds. No chance in hell.
The turn. A two of clubs.
Rad signed to himself. Check.
Enid stayed quiet and checked along with T.
The river. A nine of clubs.
Rad now had a straight knew he had it in the bag. He raises to $150, much to the dismay of Enid, who was eyeing him.
Enid calls.
T raises to $200.
Without thinking, Rad strikes back with $350.
Enid's patience was being tested. A call.
T puts it up to $400.
Rad won't budge, as he raises to an all in bet of $510.
Once again, Enid calls. She knows for fact that she has the best hand, and her willingness to call had proven it, but Rad was too boneheaded to notice, and T was too busy trying to outdo Trenchie here.
"One of y'all gotta take this shit down", Tre commented.
"You're right, I've been licked here. Well done Roadkill. You got some balls after all.
Rad nodded, implying he thanks him for the compliment. However, he sets his sights on Enid, who was a seat away from him.
"Wanna show?" Rad reluctantly asked.
"Youse a fuckin' dumbayse."
She counted down along with Rad, and the showdown told the tale for the rest of the night.
"A flush? Are you fucking shitting me?"
Rad was out of the competition, making him pretty pissed about it, despite wanting Enid to vouch and win the earnings from the rest of the group. Speaking of with, she was fuming.
Enid cooled and looked at all her chips.
"Two thousand bones, was'aynt it, cousin?" Enid asked.
"Yep."
The rest of the table was a little confused, but were obligated to finish the rest of the game. T stared down at his chips worth $110. Shitty price, but at the end of the day, T was just much richer than Enid. As a man whose father ran the real estate in the streets, he felt willing to play vulture and suck out the rest of the assets from the poor hustlers and druggies of the town. While losing to Enid on many rounds, he talked about how he was getting his paved way to a prestigious university after his pops sells his shares when the market opens up on Monday. First thing he said he was getting was a sportscar, some hookers, and a lot of cash to get back at "Coates'" for next weekend.
Enid couldn't help but scoff. She was stealing the boy's fortune everyday.
Tre couldn't care less about luxury. He was paid to deal for the white boy whose daddy was running the whole town and feeding off its economy. All Tre wanted to do was save up each week so he can come home and provide for his single mother and his two brothers, who usually had to run out the streets and come back with the groceries.
Coates, T, and Tre were all like the Holy Trinity of the second floor. They would come in every weekend to take the fight to a bunch of poor saps.
"So, Coates, what did you do yesterday?" Tre pleasantly asked.
If she were drinking, Enid would have spat all over the poor dealers face. Her eyebrows were raised, for now.
"Oh yah' know, hustlin', bustlin', all thet crap."
"You heard about Boxman's boy? They lookin' for em' suburban niggas to single out."
"Was'aynt he dead?"
"Damn right he was, tho I can't say I'm happy bout' it. Gives the powerful men more of an excuse to fuck this shit up and go after you and me. But we straight, right?"
Enid began to freeze. That last question. He must've known.
"Y-yea."
Tre continued to eye her. It was apparent Tre would not be pleased if he knew "Coates" took the money of Boxmore's most lucrative investors. After inviting the trench coated figure over for some poker after hearing about "his" rep, the old bastard would end up lying in his own blood. Now, the businessmen are thinking about going straight for the ghettos.
She had to do it. She zoned out on a costly bet. Never did Enid end on the short stick of an all-in, but she went with plan B and shot him dead in the room he rented.
2 in the morning. Enid was walking out the Safe in once piece, again. Rad felt relieved he got the money. Or, at least, Enid got the money. Two grand in a case given by T, sitting on her lap.
Rad opened the door for Enid heading to the passenger seat. He was in a great mood, but he also felt tired.
As he got in the van and strapped himself on, Enid felt the need to make a remark.
"Goddamn. Not even a hit and yet I still came out with your money."
"Hey, it's not like its the weed that composes your skill. You did great out there, E."
Enid blushed. She was well on her way back home. Usually she would worry about not seeing her parents for the whole day, but it never surprises them anymore after about a month and a half. "Studying in campus" couldn't do itself.
Rad turned up some R&B. Enid was alerted by the change of mood.
"So, what's the cash for?"
"It's nothing."
"Rad..."
"Seriously! I'm not giving shit to anybody, but if this cash didn't get earmed by the end of the weekend, then I would have died."
So many questions. Racing towards Enid's mind.
Rad wanted to shift the topic. "So, you kepeing the trench coat?"
"Yeah, looks pretty good to me."
Before Rad can bring up something else, a red tank approached the van on the other lane downhill, with Red Action signaling the van to pull over.
Rad hesitantly obliged.
Enid and Rad got out the van, as Red Action popped out the cockpit.
"Damn, you're still up?" The Hue Tropper asked of Enid
"Yeah...Hey look, I kind of wanted to do this later. I know you're probably mad at me, bu-"
"You guys wanna eat out?"
Rad and Enid exchanged looks with each other. They did not realize how starved they were.
That's the end of Chapter 3. Gotta say, I'm enjoying this more than usual X/ Leave some feedback!