Page 6 of Cut Me Down

Turning off the podcast, and fluffing my straightened black hair, I walk up to the door after flipping on all the lights and unlock it. A whole five minutes early. Like the damn people pleaser I am. This first guy, Robert. He’ll be the first to pluck a nerve today, just like he always is on the second Tuesday of the month. He always stands first in line and acts like he’s too good to touch the tablet I purchased to keep track of my client flow.

Asshole, that cost me a whole paycheck. But Mr. Asshole doesn’t care, so, I put him in myself.

Before I can fully turn on the open sign, they begin storming their way in, heavy dress shoes pounding on the nice clean floor I just mopped, with ‘Good Morning, Ashia’ lazily leaving their mouths. Robert walking in first, silent as always. Standing right by the half-wall, right next to my cutting station, where Ialwayssit.

“Good morning Robert, we’ll be in that first chair on the left again.” I say as nicely and bubbly as I can manage.

“Which one?” He says, without even looking in my direction, as he flicks his pretentious suit jacket onto my chair and walks to the third chair on the right and sits.

Asshole.

Chapter three

Damien

‘Stuck In Your Head’- I Prevail

With the sun now setting well past seven, I tend to wait until later to deal with business. But this time it couldn’t wait. Dust has grown a pair over the past few weeks. The number of dealers out on the streets, and manufacturing locations has risen, so we have to act accordingly. It means more hours for us all, which is both exhausting and exhilarating.

Normally the more I kill, the better I feel. Yet, here lately, it just reminds me of the growing threat to the city. It seems every week, more dealers are popping up. Causing the number of overdoses, murders, and missing persons reports to rise with it. Our focus needs to shift to the why of this escalation, and not just the numbers, and that why could very well lead us to the source of it. The person that runs it.

I love the aftermath our work brings. I can still taste the copper crimson that mists the air with every gunshot. The only thing that fucks it up is when Zeke or I spray paints the calligraphy ‘DH’ and the smells mix together. The smell of the iron from the blood spatter does not mix well with the harsh, chemical tinge from the paint.

Carter doesn’t come with us on missions very often, but he tagged along this time. Occasionally, he needs to get away from the screens and uncomfortable chair he sits in. He says that his set up is exactly what he needs, and that everything is set up to accommodate him comfortably. I tell him his cheap chair makes his ass look like a spatula if he sits in it too long.

We’re not in New York or Seattle, or some other large city where you walk at night and know you should be afraid. We’re in a smaller city, in the middle-western part of Virginia, where everything is silent. Graceful. Supposedly beautiful.

I don’t see the beauty in it. I see the weak, sadistic, twisted side of it. Where evil is so concealed it doesn’t have to hide in the shadows or wait until dark. This city has been home to criminals for years, and the crime rate seems to keep growing. The drug organization, Dust, moved into town a few years ago, bringing much more than drugs.

Murder, rape, robbery, it’s all riddled the state. Especially in this city. Devil’s Hands fights every day to keep it at bay. We target warehouses and the lords that move into town to try and expand their operation here. Dust is spread across the country, while we are not. Going country wide has never really crossed my mind. There are more groups like us out there. Groups that I would have to answer to if we decided to expand. Even if we had the capabilities, we don’t have the numbers.

Which is why when Sahara, the largest vigilante organization in the country, reached out, I responded quickly. They mainly focus on sex trafficking rings, and we focus more on the drug side of things, but now that they want to set up in our area, it could be favorable for both groups.

I won’t give up control of Devil’s Hands, but if we and Sahara can come to an agreement and work together, it’d benefit us both. They have more resources and people, whereas we’re close to D.C. and other major politicians that participate in ‘extracurricular activities’.

I’m not quiet about what I do, and I’m not sorry about it either. The things these lords do are unspeakable. Murder and rape plague this town, although there’s not many that know about it. Or at least, say they don’t know about it. I imagine it’s the un-mentioned conversation at every dinner party. Just like us. That’s why whenever we do our work, we tag it. The useless police department isn’t going to take credit for us protecting this city, and this side of the state for that matter.

“Where are we at with the meeting with Sahara?” I ask Carter.

“We gathered all of the information he wanted with you confiscating what you did tonight. So, now we’ll notify him that we're ready to talk and see where it goes from there.” Carter says to me eagerly.

“Perfect. How did he know how to get in touch with us?”

“Your old friend, Kade, told him about us. Sahara’s been wanting to set up shop in this state and Kade told him to get in touch with you. Said Sahara wouldn’t want to step on your toes.” Damn right he doesn’t.

We’re a much smaller organization than Sahara, but we pack just as big of a punch. There’s about fifty of us total in DH, but our methods are much more…radical than Sahara’s. We do good here, but not enough to gain his attention. In my mind at least. Well, until that podcaster Adrien, or D.N. as he goes by online, started talking about us. Changed his whole platform to talk about us. He tells his followers what we did and why. I don’t really mind it. He can keep up his little fan base as long as he doesn’t get too nosey.

As for Kade, we’ve been friends for a long time. We took hacking and tracing classes together. We’ve never met, but virtual friends you could say. I reached out to him about working for our organization, but when he told me he is working for Sahara, I wasn’t that surprised. He’s good. Really good, but that meant I had to find someone else just as good besides myself.

That’s where Carter comes in. He’s the best technical analyst on this side of the country. He does just about everything, our ‘man in the chair’, and he’s even able to do most things remotely thanks to his mobile set ups we created, but we could always use more resources. More guns, tech, men. Anything we can get our hands on, and sometimes we develop it ourselves.

I try to acquire those resources myself. I pay my people, handsomely at that, and we need some type of cash flow to keep operating. That’s where we’re headed now. There’s a little comic, toy, and collectibles store a few blocks away from our current location, in downtown, that I own. ‘The Basement’ is a front for our actual business, but it brings in some money, while selling information to the highest bidder brings in the rest.

My family is wealthy with blood money, my father likes to say. He was a contract killer, employed through the military. He was ruthless, and was paid well for it, killing some of the most infamous people in the world, as well as some innocents. That’s why we have so much money. He didn’t fucking spend it. The thought of using that money for selfishness made him sick, and it does me too. That’s why when I started this organization, I didn’t even consider asking for it. I don’t use my father’s money; no one does. My mother calls it a ‘rainy day fund’. Well, it’d have to be Armageddon for my father to use it.

I stumbled into a small fortune by finding some information on the Senator from Texas. He paid me to keep my mouth shut, and that’s what gave me the idea. We find info on pretty much anyone. Politicians, CEO’s, business contracts, and either threaten to expose them or sell the info to their competitors. The money I earn is what pays for Devil’s Hands.

When I first blackmailed the Senator from Texas a part of me felt bad. Breaking the law to help people seemed counterproductive at first, but then I started to unmask other political figures and celebrities, and I didn’t feel so bad anymore. I even attempted to turn them in anyway, but they just got off. Their money paid to keep them out of jail. They’ll get their karma one day. Everyone does, and I know I’m not excluded from that.

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