STREET SELLING

Alan marched into Matt’s office, the sharp click of his shoes silenced by a sickening crunch. He looked down, grimacing at the flattened insect beneath his heel, before fixing Matt with a look of pure disdain.

"What are you doing, Matt?" Alan demanded, his voice tight with fury. "How can an insect—any insect—survive in here? This is your office, for God's sake. Keep it clean."

Matt didn't look up immediately, his focus remaining on the papers on his desk. "Don’t worry about it, Alan. I’m trying my best."

The casual dismissal only fueled Alan's rage. He leaned over the desk, invading Matt’s space. "Don’t let me do something that you’ll not like," he hissed.

Across town, the atmosphere was far more frantic. Jim and Sammy stood in the center of Henry's bedroom, dumping thick stacks of cash onto the bed. Henry stared at the money, then at them, his face flushing with anger.

"How can you bring this here, guys?" Henry barked, glancing nervously at his bedroom door.

"We don’t want anything to happen to this cash, man," Jim explained, his hands shaking slightly from the adrenaline of the sale. "That’s why we came. Besides, you weren’t picking up your calls."

Sammy shifted uncomfortably. "We moved five kilos of 'Beans' fast, but there are 44 kilos left. We can’t move that much on the street corners, Henry. It’s too much heat."

Henry ran a hand through his hair, his mind racing. "So, what do we do? Find me a bulk buyer and set up a meeting." Sammy nodded quickly. Henry grabbed two bundles of cash and tossed them to his friends. "Your ten percent. Take it and go."

The following morning, the sun filtered through the breakfast nook, but the mood was somber. Claire sat staring at her plate, her fork mechanically stabbing at her waffles until they were nothing but a shredded mess. Matt watched her, his own appetite fading as he noticed the distant look in her eyes.

"Babe, what’s wrong?" he asked gently.

Claire forced a brittle, hollow smile. "Nothing."

Matt didn't buy it. He pushed his plate aside and dragged his chair closer to hers, reaching out for her hand. "I know something is wrong. Tell me."

The dam broke. Claire burst into tears, her shoulders shaking with silent, racking sobs. "Mrs. Jane came by," she choked out. "She humiliated me, Matt. She told me to leave you... she said I’m just a burden to you. And to her."

Matt’s expression hardened, a cold fire igniting in his eyes. He pulled her into a tight embrace. "Please don’t cry, Claire. I know what to do."

"I don’t want to lose you, babe," she sobbed into his chest. Matt held her, staring over her shoulder with a look of profound sadness and brewing vengeance.

At school, the bells signaled the end of the period. As soon as the teacher stepped out of the room, Henry was on his feet. Like a born performer, he moved to the front of the class, launching into a mocking, high-energy imitation of the lecture they had just endured.

The students roared with laughter. Even Bianca, sitting in the front row, found herself caught up in the charm of his performance. She leaned forward, a genuine smile lighting up her face.

"You are really funny," she said softly during a lull in the noise.

The room went deathly silent. Every head turned toward her. Henry’s smile vanished instantly, replaced by a look of offended pride. He felt the weight of the students' stares; to him, their silence felt like they were waiting for the punchline of a joke where he was the victim.

"You think I’m some toy that makes people laugh?" Henry stepped toward her, his voice low and dangerous.

Bianca’s smile died. Her eyes widened in fear. "No, I was just—"

Before she could finish, Henry grabbed the edge of her desk and shoved. The chair went flying, and Bianca crashed to the floor with a painful thud.

"If you ever try to mock me, I’ll hurt you, bitch," Henry spat.

Instead of silence, the class erupted into cheers and whistles, egging him on. Bianca stayed on the floor, hot tears of fear and pain streaming down her face as the world laughed around her.

Later that afternoon, the air in the old warehouse was stale and heavy. Henry paced the floor as he briefed Matt on the new developments.

"Sammy connected us with a big-time buyer," Henry said. "We need to move the rest of the product."

Matt leaned against a rusted pillar, his arms crossed. "Those two junkie friends of yours... they don’t know anything about me or the business, right?"

"Of course not, man," Henry insisted. "So, where should we meet the buyer?"

Matt raised an eyebrow. "We? I thought this was a 'you' thing. You’re the one in charge of the streets."

Henry’s face twisted into a smile of pure, frustrated anger. "What? You just stay here, cook the product, and take half the cash while I do all the heavy lifting? No. Not happening."

"I can’t meet a thug," Matt countered. "What if someone recognizes me?"

"No one will," Henry retorted, "because they won’t be meeting Matt. They’ll be meeting Mercury."

Matt was silent for a long moment, weighing the risks. Finally, he gave a sharp nod. "Alright. But if we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it my way."

Henry nodded back, a grim smirk settling on his face.

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