Inefficacious negotiations Pt. 1

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Inefficacious negotiations Pt. 1

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The overhead lighting in the Wild Jasmine was turned low to accommodate its only two occupants. Both men would have been perfectly happy sitting and conversing in the dark, they were after all, creatures of the shadows, but necessity was the reason the electric lights hummed low at 2 am on a non-business day. TSC had dug up some electricians that were not exactly bone a fide union labor. A solid test run of the lights was defintly in order lest the whole place explode on a rowdy Friday night due to faulty wiring. Both men had fled when the lights had been turned up full blast. They were interested in a test run but not so much that they were willing to sit in near mid-day conditions. If the place were to blow under the bright lights, so be it.

With lighting conditions at an optimum low level Braxxx and his floor man went over some of the daily business. To say the room was dark would be accurate but the mood in the room was much darker. The conversation up until this point had mainly been controlled by Braxxx, who spoke in an even tone never looking up from his swirling glass of whiskey that had seen several refillings from a multitude of green bottles that were beginning to overtake the once empty space on the table.

When not leaning forward to refill his glass Braxxx leaned back in a plush 16th century English dining chair (a replica of course) that had just been “acquired” by his friend and floor man, TSC, who was leaning forward both arms on the highly polished table his mouth agape. The spittle collecting in the corners of his mouth threatening to drop downward and mix with the furniture wax of the table.

Finally the floor man leaned back as if he had been physically struck, his shoulders drooping downward. If he had been a lady in the company of gentlemen someone would have been looking to catch him before he tumbled to the floor in near faint. He finally blinked and collected himself, wetting his lips before speaking “I just don’t believe it.”

Braxxx had just finished another whiskey and moved his feet from the table landing forward. All four legs of the chair gave a low thumping sound on the plush rug, which now covered the once dirty floor. Grabbing the bottle and unscrewing the top Braxxx filled the glass halfway, looked to his floor man, and spoke in his now gravely whiskey soaked voice. “It’s true” Braxxx went to continue but paused to belch loudly and control the gag reflex that quickly followed. Braxxx fought the urge to retch by lowering his head and then rotating it back so he could look at his floor man through bloodshot bleary eyes. “Every word” completing the statement that he had fought to so hard to finish. He shakily reached for the fullest bottle on the table, refilled his drink and returned to his perch like position in his chair.

The floor man shook his head and looked at his mess of a boss. He started to reach out for one of the bottles himself but something inside him caused him to stop. He put his reaching hand back flat on the table and turned his soft brown eyes on Braxxx peering at him intently. Fascinated by the bottom of his whiskey glass, as he was trying to reach the bottom as fast as possible, Braxxx failed to notice the scrutiny of his employee.

TSC remained locked in his position silently weighing the merits of something. Finally, it seemed as if his whole body could take it no longer and the words poured from his lips faster than the whiskey snaking its way down Braxxx’s throat. “Boss, I know you hate repeating yourself.” He let that statement hang in the air a moment so he could judge the volatile reaction Braxxx was sure to give him. Seeing Braxxx’s neutral reaction he plunged ahead “but could I hear that just one more time? I just..” TSC’s voice trailed off. It had seemed easy, but finishing the request proved difficult. Braxxx was not a man used to repeating himself and TSC as his floor man was not given to request repeats of instructions. More often than not a person was just better off getting one listen of Braxxx’s instructions and taking the chance on either screwing up the unheard portion or flat out doing nothing. Braxxx often barked so many orders at once even he had trouble remembering them all. Fortunately Braxxx’s reaction did not prove fatally negative; perhaps the whiskey had relaxed him to the point where a retelling of the story did not seem so troublesome.
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Inefficacious negotiations Pt. 2

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“I took Mira the Cigar girl to that new French place.” Emboldened by Braxxx’s willingness to retell the story and the stunning effects of the first telling behind him, TSC began to convert Braxxx’s monologue into an interactive retelling. “Le Malodroant Formage” the floor man offered helpfully nodding. Braxxx slurped into his whiskey glass his response lost in the liquid and echo of the glass “Well I start to order and get some nice wine.” TSC had run the mental cash register during the first telling but it had tilted by the time Braxxx had ended the story. “Really nice stuff like 500 a bottle” Braxxx raised his glass “Not like this stuff, this stuff is crap” TSC knew he wouldn’t need that drink now, he was woozy just from the price of a 750 ml bottle of wine. “So just about the time the soup gets there I lay it on her that I want her to work for us.” TSC nodded wanting to the story to move on “You told her you run a card room and a whorehouse.” Braxxx nodded in response and sipped quickly off his glass giving his floor man time to talk but not allowing for a lapse in the conversation “Ya, ya, and suddenly it turns into this whole thing about how she works for the Outback and blah blah blah.”

At this point TSC feared his boss might topple off the chair from his violent movements as he waved his arms for emphasis. Even more disturbing to the floor man was that the cheap whiskey was sloshing from Braxxx’s glass onto the brand new carpet. “So here I am arguing with this broad about how the Outback isn’t any more morally superior to what I am doing and the she is selling tobacco which is a vice as well and blah blah blah.” Apparently the talk of smoke triggered something in Braxxx because he produced a stump of a cigar from his breast pocket and fired it up quickly. The floor man winced fearing that from the amount of alcohol consumed by Braxxx he was a container full of jet fuel that would combust on contact with any open flame. If cheap whiskey was hard to get out of a carpet the remains of a charred cowboy would be incomprehensible.

“So I offered her more money” Braxxx rambled through clenched teeth. The sweet cigar smoke now mixed with the smell of cheap whiskey producing a toxic cloud that made breathing unpleasant. When the floor man scrunched up his face Braxxx figured it was from the smoke but the floor man was almost ready to pass out from the mention of giving the cigar girl more money. “The damn meal was worth more than her services for a year!” he thought privately. He faintly wished now that Braxxx had exploded. The carpet-cleaning bill would be less damaging than continuing to let Braxxx destroy the business line of credit.

TSC forced himself to focus back in on the conversation. It appeared he hadn’t missed much because Braxxx was once again giving oral surgery to his whiskey glass. The cigar now lay forgotten, smoldering on the new finish of the table. Braxxx finished his sip with a satisfied smack of the lips and marched on “So I got up, paid the bill, and walked out!” The floor man interjected quickly “This was the same girl that was taking instructions from you on how to use her body in a sexy fashion to sell smokes?” Braxxx pointed with his glass and gave an incredulous smirk “EXACTLY! Somehow in 24 hours she goes from Garbo to Mother Superior on me!” Braxxx then gave a full body shake as if he had seen a snake, and comforted himself by finishing the contents of his glass.

TSC knew from experience that sometimes Braxxx’s explanations were not always spot on. He was an honest man; well, honest for a thief and a killer, but sometimes - certain details would simply slip his mind. There were times when he dwelled on a plane of existence that no one else did and it was utterly incomprehensible to him why people couldn’t extract the same meaning from a conversation or deduce facts in the same fashion that he did. It was a blessing to Braxxx personally because it gave him keen insight into people, which made him a talented gambler, but at other times made him nearly impossible for others to deal with.
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Inefficacious negotiations Pt. 3

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The floor man began to rub his temples, the roller coaster had reached its apex and he was ready for the fast plummet earthward. “Okay, so while I was dealing with contractors and furniture last night you went to the Outback to track this girl down?” Braxx looked to the floor man like he had grown another appendage “Hell ya! I wasn’t about to let Simon have her! Besides I told you about this girl, she is perfect for the job!” If the floor man had grown another appendage than clearly Braxxx had lost his mind “So the fact that the girl said no, then said no to more money, then said no just on principle didn’t bug you at all?”

TSC was rapidly losing grasp on whom he was talking to. Just one night ago Braxxx had half choked him to death while brandishing a razor blade. Yet somehow even that memory was not close enough to avoid the potential pitfall he was backing himself into now. Braxxx wasn’t giving off any of the classic alarms that would cause his floor man to take full stock of his words. Both he and Braxxx were caught up in the tidal wave of the story and all defenses were down.

“Well where the hell in life would I be if I took no for an answer, especially from a damn cigar girl?” The floor mans eyes shot up and he considered this argument briefly, he waved his hand after moment allowing the story to continue “You got me there, keep going.”

“So I hit the Outback and who do I see?” Obviously Braxxx was at the point of inebriation where he did not realize he had told the story once. He waited a long time for the floor man to answer and was highly annoyed when TSC answered “Matt Simon” instead of the expected “Who?” In order to curb his annoyance Braxxx refilled his whiskey glass continuing to talk as he poured. “Ya old St. Matthew Simon himself, patron saint of Cigar girls and those who use the fancy dodge against a glass.” The description in the first telling had not been as kind but these were defiantly much more humorous. TSC allowed himself a good laugh that made him feel a little better overall.
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Inefficacious negotiations Pt. 4

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Pleased that he had regained an appreciative audience Braxxx forged ahead with the tale. “So, long story short, I tell Simon that I want the girls contract. I tell em we go way back and he should do it for me as a friend.” TSC couldn’t help himself “Thank god you didn’t offer him money.” Braxxx seemed ignorant of the intended barb and instead smiled and pointed one finger to his head, the finger that was attached to the palm holding his whiskey glass. His finger jabbed into the side of his skull, whiskey sloshing on his once finely pressed white shirt. Braxxx nodded, winked, and smiled “Eh, Eh? That’s old Braxxxy alllllways thinking. Nooo money for Mattty”

At this point TSC was sure pure whiskey was pumping through that skull of Braxxx’s not blood. At any moment he thought Braxxx would simply collapse. TSC figured he would then just drag him to the bar, stick a tap in his ass, and sell his piss as 100 proof moonshine. Braxxx’s eyes rolled in his head like dice but lucky for the floor man they landed on boxcars because Braxxx was able to continue his story halfway coherently.

“So the jerk” TSC noticed that Simon would no longer be referred to as Simon or Matt but rather a dizzying array of colorful adjectives “Says to me that she is too valuable to the Outback. I mean what the hell is that? In all the years I have been in the Outback I’m the only guy that friggin smokes!” While he was loaded out of his mind, Braxxx was right on this point. TSC himself had been in the Outback on a few occasions and noticed that the place was decidedly non-smoking. Braxxx wasn’t finished with his tirade yet however. “Oh wait, excuse me, she sells candy too. Hey pal you want to sell candy? Buy a vending machine, it’s cheaper and doesn’t menstruate.” The floor man had to grin at that one. Braxxx could be a regular one-man comedy show when he was wasted; he was remiss the Jasmine wasn’t open for business yet. He could have charged at the door for the performance Braxxx was giving. TSC managed to hold his applause because the story was reaching critical mass.

“So then you offered to duel him for the Cigar Girl’s contract.” TSC pressed Braxxx forward like a racehorse towards the finish line. Braxxx responded admirably to the verbal prodding and continued, “Yeah I got him to agree to the Diamond Rule, but he wanted to duel in the Pit.” TSC really didn’t know much about the Pit. He knew Simon constructed it either close to, or at the end of Braxxx’s time as Fists Coordinator. He had learned from promoters and bookies that anyone who dueled Simon in the ring, was doing so at a serious disadvantage. For some reason this stuck in his mind as a bizarre concession to make to a man who already outranked his boss in the standings.

“So we start heading down to the Pit and in walks the Cigar Girl. So I get this flash of brilliance. How amazing would it be to have the very girl whose contract is at stake call the duel!” As he explained Braxxx quickly moved his legs from the table and leaned forward in an effort to emphasize the tremendous irony that he had created. “Only a no talent, hack of a writer, would come up with such a tired plot device.” TSC groaned inwardly. “It’s right out of all the bad fiction comics I read in prison.” He offered Braxxx a grunt of conformation, which did nothing to stop the Shakespearian retelling that Braxxx was weaving through the empty collection of bottles on the table.

“So we get down to the bottom of the pit, and it stinks, I mean like the back alley of 51st street. Simon doesn’t need a cigar girl he needs a janitor. So First move out of the box is the head-butt.” Involuntarily TSC’s face scrunched up in a painful grimace. He had been on the receiving end of the head-butt once before and it had not been a pleasant experience. He wondered absently why the Outback would sanction a move that was so obviously meant to injure an opponent. Fighting in the Outback was supposed to be that of sports like level of competition not a common street fight. The only explanation would be that Braxxx was taking advantage of the rookie caller to even out the home court advantage Simon was enjoying. A seasoned caller would have threatened to disqualify Braxxx immediately.

Much to his surprise Braxxx cut immediately to the result of the match. “After that, not much action. I win five to trey.” Braxxx shrugged it of as if the win meant nothing to him. He reached out and casually filled the whiskey glass that had gone unattended during the recap of the match.
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Inefficacious negotiations Pt. 5

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The floor man knew better than to trust Braxxx’s nonchalance. Braxxx knew every duel he and Simon had ever fought. Braxxx couldn’t name his former wives but he could tell you what move Simon had used in the eighth round of a duel six years ago. It was probably the closest resemblance to the relationship Robert shared with his brother. Simon came so close to mirroring Nate that the floor man was sure that the lines between the two men often blurred. Since Nate was not around to pummel, Simon would have to do. So much like the odd relationship with his half-brother Braxxx had developed a friendship with Simon, a friendship borne out of a grudging respect for the pain the two had inflicted on one another.

“Good win boss,” the floor man almost whispered picking up one of the bottles that still bore some fluid. He raised it in a brief salute and swallowed a small portion of the murky contents. Robert actually allowed himself an unguarded smile at the gesture and took a somewhat more reasonable pull at his whiskey in response. He lowered his head after the toast losing himself in private thought.

TSC felt for his boss. He had come back to dueling shortly after his release and the return had not been a triumphant one. The plan had been to book bets on Robert’s dueling in order to help fund the Jasmine’s restoration. The plan had gone horribly however as Braxxx could not put together wins. He not only lost consistently he was losing badly. The floor man had been forced to place the bets elsewhere in order to keep funding the Jasmine. In a particularly shameful moment he had bet against Braxxx, betting that not only would he lose but also that he would not even achieve a single point. It had mortified him so badly that he had placed the bet through an intermediary across town so that it would never get back to Braxxx, business was still business. Braxxx made good on his employee’s bet losing in an unbelievably humiliating fashion to a fighter listed in the trades as “Sarah the Stick.” The floor man collected the money and was sure to hide the trades from his boss, especially when the byline read “Sarah sticks it to Braxxx”

TSC pushed past history out of his mind and looked across at his boss who had now slipped into a sullen drunken mood. “So then what?” he asked trying to pull Robert out of his funk and get him back to the tale. For his part Braxxx looked extremely tired. The booze had caught up to him and he just wanted to sleep. He had expended all his energy thinking of witty lines and his head was beginning to throb.

“So we went back up. Matt told The Cigar Girl he had lost and that her contract was void, I could tell she didn’t want to work for me so I said she didn’t have to.”

“You let him welsh on a bet?” TSC knew that Braxxx never respected people who didn’t fulfill obligations on a bet. In the past he had gone to extraordinary means to collect on bad debits.

“Matt didn’t welsh, the girl did, and twice. First she was employed by Matt and obligated to follow his instructions, and second she failed to recognize that she had an obligation to me.” Braxxx was no longer drinking and his voice was almost a hiss, as he spoke “I will not surround myself with such people.”

TSC leaned his head back taking in yet another fine example of Braxxx logic. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was visualizing the way old cartoons used to illustrate characters that were crazy. A large cuckoo clock going off above the characters head.

“So after you told Matt and the girl they didn’t have to pay up you told Matt you would work for him as a dueling referee?” The disbelief was not well disguised in TSC’s voice.

Braxxx moved out of his propped position and sat with all four legs on the ground. He shifted in his seat as if he was ready to order his evening meal. “Yes I did.” He folded his hands addressing his employee evenly.

“But wasn’t the condition of the bet that if you lost you would work for Simon?” this was one of the details left out of Robert’s drunken retelling of the story. Thinking it over he could come up with no reason why Matt would employ Robert. Braxxx as an employee was no better than Braxxx as a boss. In both he was wild, annoying and impossible to control.

“Yes I believe that is correct. I believe the terms were that if Simon won I would be his employee.” Braxxx nodded his then tilted it to one side as if in an attempt to remember the whole ordeal.

“Then why on earth would you agree to work for him even after you won?” The floor man asked pressing for an answer.

There was a flashbulb popping sound, a large groan, followed by the hard thump of a body falling to the floor. Braxxx rose slowly from his seat walking to the other end of the table and peered down at his bleeding employee.
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Inefficacious negotiations Pt. 6

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Most good hard liquor bottles do not explode on impact from a short distance, the glass is simply to thick. Cheap liquor (and this was the cheapest) comes in very thin glass bottles in order to keep the price down. This thin glass being flung at a short distance with reasonable velocity at a human face appeared to have disastrous results. TSC lay on the new carpet unmoving, shards of green glass stuck all over his face. The nose looked broken and blood and mucus had mixed with the whiskey to create a Picasso like effect over the floor man’s face.

“Well after taking a shot like that I guess you deserve an answer.” Robert stood over the immobile body of his floor man like a lion over a fresh kill. His own breathing coming quicker as the flames of rage coursed through his body. It felt so good, he could feel every inch of his body tingle and he gave into it completely. “We need the money don’t we!” He screamed at his floor man though it was obvious he didn’t hear a word. “Everything is money with you! Money this! Money that! Well I got you your money you bastard!” Braxxx kicked his employee viciously in the ribs with the point of his boot. TSC groaned but his eyes did not open and he did not move beyond the impact of the kick.

The problem with good rage is that it is so quick to boil, yet even faster to cool and the steam of regret is all that ends up filling the room in the end. Braxxx looked down again at his employee, swore softly and pitched his hat in the corner. He ran his hand through his close-cropped brown hair and exhaled deeply. “Look at this mess!” Spinning on his heal he marched off towards the bar and grabbed a towel. It wasn’t quite clean but Braxxx took no notice. He stalked back towards TSC who hadn’t moved since he left him. Braxxx dropped to his knees turning the floor mans head towards him “I’m sorry,” he mumbled as he dabbed the cloth over the fallen mans face. Blood poured out of the floor mans mouth and nose his body still limp under the pressure of the cloth. “Look at what you made me do.” Braxxx sighed as he worked trying to fix the wounds like an attentive mother.

While Braxxx administered his caring strokes a hand shot up and grabbed him by the collar. The shock of the swift action and the waning effects of several bottles of whiskey slowed his reflexes just enough so that he was caught totally flat-footed. In a matter of minutes he was pulled face to face with TSC. Even more disturbing than being mere inches away from the shattered face of his floor man was a point of pressure that was poking him in the stomach. Braxxx couldn’t be sure, because he was too afraid to look, but he would have bet the farm that the muzzle of a gun was being jabbed in his abdomen.

Licking his lips quickly Braxxx tried to get his left eye to peer low enough to see if he could get visual confirmation of the firearm. His body was too entangled however and he could see nothing. When his eyes looked up he saw something almost as disquieting as a gun. TSC’s soft brown eyes fluttered and stared into his own green eyes through pupils full of crimson.

“PECK MEE UFF!” TSC attempted to say as the blood and what looked like most of his front teeth spilled from his lips. Braxxx winced at the ghastly visual and managed a halfhearted reply of “What?” He barely closed his eyes before TSC spit the full contents of his mouth on the face of his employer. As the blood and snot dripped off Robert’s face the floor man repeated his command “PICK ME UP!” Each word was labored and TSC continued to leak blood from a multitude of locations.

“Is that your birthday gift from a few years ago?” Braxxx queried only able to open one eye because the other stung to badly from the pool of blood sitting in the socket. By way of an answer Robert heard the very familiar sound of a gun being cocked. “Pick me up!” The floor man growled in a tone that suggested that he would not ask again. “I knew I should have bought you that damn watch.” Robert found his footing and heaved his employee up. Grabbing the chair he managed to deposit him into a sitting position without being ventilated. Once TSC found his chair he retrieved the rag he was using and placed it on the table for the floor man. The waving of the gun indicated that Braxxx should return to his seat and he was only to eager to comply. The distance between himself and the gun only improved his chances for survival.
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Inefficacious negotiations Pt. 7

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Looking at TSC as he drew the bloody towel over his face. He knew the kind of pain the man must be going through. He pushed a half full bottle of whiskey over to the man hoping the move would not prompt the gun to go off. TSC grabbed the bottle greedily and slugged the contents quickly in an effort to deaden the pain. As soon as the contents hit the injured mans lips they were spit right back out. The alcohol proved to be even more painful than soothing on the open wounds of the floor mans mouth. There was no other medicine in the Jasmine and the floor man seemed to know this because he took another hard pull off the bottle forcing the liquid into his gullet in order to achieve a measure of relief.

After wiping his face clean with his hand Braxxx took a deep breath and spoke in a firm commanding tone “Look Timothy Sean Carlton, you need to put that weapon down. You are not in a good state right now and there could be an accident.” Any child that has a first, middle, and last name and hears their parent use it knows they are in trouble. Braxxx wanted the floor man to know he meant business and this silliness needed to be knocked off immediately.

The only thing that happened immediately was the pulling of a trigger and a large explosion. Braxxx was a trained field general but he could not help closing his eyes when the shot rang out. Opening one eye he scanned his body to see where the bullet had entered, obviously the shock in his body was blocking the pain preventing him from getting an accurate damage assessment. It took a minute or two but Braxxx realized that he was not leaking from any point. He laughed a nervous laugh and looked at his floor man who had a decidedly unamused look on his face.

“You call me TSC, Braxxx” Timothy was fond of an old singer named Elvis. Braxxx learned this because Elvis records were played endlessly in the Jasmine when TSC worked the floor. Braxxx had learned that this Elvis person’s favorite phrase was TCB or Taking Care of Business. Since Timothy was Braxxx’s right hand man it only made sense that Timothy Sean Carlton took care of business. Whenever Braxxx needed something to be done he could be heard screaming at the top of his lungs in the Jasmine “TSC!! TCB!” The tag line was so endearing to Timothy that he refused to be called by his Christian name.

The way that TSC was still fingering the smoking six shot revolver it was very apparent that TSC was defiantly ready to TCB.

“I should shoot you on principle!” he said thrusting the gun forward at Braxxx, the annoyance in his face replacing the look of pain. The floor mans words were thick and muddy yet Braxxx was able to decipher the slush of words without a second listen. It is amazing how quickly a person becomes multilingual when they are staring at five shots left in pistol.

The floor man was slow to anger and took a lot of grief without complaint. Braxxx knew he could push the man hard and there in was the problem. When Robert Braxxx knew he could push someone he didn’t stop until they were on the floor polishing his boots. This time however Braxxx wasn’t having his boots polished, he was knee deep in trouble and sinking fast.

“Look at this mess!” Another shot rang out and Braxxx figured his heart had exploded in his chest. Only the smell of sulfur stinging his nose let him know that his heart was continuing to perform its desired function.

“I said look at it Robert!” Braxxx did as he was told and gazed at the mess the room had become. The carpet was already a casualty, not amount of suds or soaking was going to bring it back. Robert had to wince, if the carpet was ruined then TSC could easily shoot him, dump his body on the carpet, cut up the unusable portion, with him in it, and dump it in the trash. His floor mans only concern would be if the new pattern matched the old.

Turning his attention from the carpet and towards TSC he winced. “You look like all hell” The floor man grunted and lowered his pistol to the table. “Let’s make it simple Robert, this night has gone on long enough and I’m to tired and to hurt to keep this up. This is what I want you to do. Tomorrow you are going to the market and meet Masser. He will be at the market and he will tell you about the shipment of booze he has for us. Give him his money and get a shipping date.”

Robert frowned “That’s your job, that’s not what I do.” TSC looked at him and looked at the gun and for a moment considered not shooting Robert but rather just turning the gun on himself and ending his misery for good. “I know Robert” the floor man sighed wearily “But since I look like all hell I need you to do this for me.” The pain was becoming overpowering and he reached out for the fullest bottle he could find. Tucking it underneath his arm he gave what he hoped would be his final words of the night. “I know you are sorry Robert, not stupid, please do what I ask, and don’t screw it up. Now help me upstairs to my room so I can pass out privately.”

Braxxx was rarely a man to feel embarrassed but this was as good a moment as any. What does a fella do when he has busted up his friends face and generally made an ass of himself? Robert certainly didn’t know and he had hoped his employee would be a little chattier so he could find the right words to say. In the end Robert figured it was pretty hard to be chatty with a mouth full of blood and a few missing teeth. He stood up and walked over to TSC who was slumping low in his chair. Hoisting him up he put an arm around him to steady him and helped him stumble through the room.

It took nearly 10 minutes to make the trip upstairs. TSC would ask to stop in order to catch his breath. Robert thought momentarily of getting the man a doctor but quickly dismissed it. If the floor man had wanted a doctor he would have asked for one. Robert had abused the man enough for one night, there was no need to injure his pride any further by making him feel soft.

Getting him into his room Robert deposited TSC in his bed and removed the bottle of whiskey that was still clutched in his hand. There would be no need for strong drink, the pain of his wounds had already knocked him out. Robert set the bottle on the nightstand. At some point the man would wake up and he would need something to stop the pain.

Robert straightened up and looked at the broken man in the bed for a long time. They had been together for a long time and had been through many things together. He vowed for the millionth time he would have to get his act together and treat his friend better. The money would come in soon and the Jasmine would be as active and lively as it had ever been. No more stress or worry, the two men could get back to what they were best at, things would change then. “They have to, they just have to.” Robert found he was clenching and unclenching his fist and forced himself to relax.

Braxxx stood over the sleeping TSC and went to move the blanket over him. The natural impulse came and went quickly however as Braxxx stopped in mid motion and instead grabbed the whiskey bottle. Unscrewing the cap he raised it salute to his unmoving friend. “You just wait and see, Braxxx and Carlton on the top and living well. They’ll have to build new banks with the money we make.” With that toast Braxxx took his last drink of the night and returned the bottle to the nightstand so that it would be within easy reach when TSC woke up. With that he left the room shutting the door softly as he walked out.
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Inefficacious negotiations Pt. 8 Final

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Braxxx descended the stairs one at a time as he removed the itchy blood soaked shirt he was wearing. When he reached the bottom of the stairs he pitched the shirt on the banister and moved towards the front door of the Jasmine. He swung open the large oaken door and stepped into the cool morning breeze rubbing his chest. The birds had just woken up and started their early morning song and their cries were the only other sound that could be heard besides the tapping of his boots on the floorboards.

He deposited himself wearily on the Jasmine’s porch swing as it gave the slightest of creaks under his weight. He cleared his throat and spit over the railing in an effort to clear the foul taste in his mouth. The stench of whiskey and blood clung to him like a leach and his nostrils flared as the salvia sprung from his lips striking the dewy grass below.

The rocking of the swing that most people found peaceful was having the exact opposite effect on Braxxx and he attempted to stay as still as possible. Every time it rocked he could feel his stomach lurching in his body and he held the swings chain to steady the world that was rapidly beginning to spin.

It had been a hell of a night. Ever since he had been released he had been looking for a rowdy night of hell raising. It had never occurred to him that the night of hell would consist of abusing his floor man and nearly getting shot.

His green eyes scoured the distance as if searching for an individual. He lowered his head knowing that the person he was looking for would never return to him. As he thought the words he heard a distinct sound that caused his head to shoot up. His eyes searched the horizon only to rest on a small black alley cat purring on the porch as it cleaned itself. He looked at the cat and it looked back at him with defiant eyes before it settled back to sleep. “Almost” Robert was able to choke out softly.

Robert stood up and looked in the direction of the rising sun. It was not the homecoming he had hoped for, but he was home. Many of his friends had moved away but that could not be helped. It was time to stop sulking and open his doors to welcome his new neighbors.

The boots thumped across the porch and the large oaken door clicked shut as the first rays of the morning light struck the Wild Jasmine.
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