The Darkness

33

Morgan threw open his apartment door, tossed his coat onto a chair and plopped down onto his couch with an audible thump. He could feel his pulse racing as he clenched and unclenched his fists.

He couldn’t sit there, not with this kind of energy, this kind of juice flowing through him.

Standing back up, Morgan walked to the refrigerator and to his delight saw that there were two more tall boys resting inside, nice and cold. He popped the top on the first one and guzzled it down in one long messy gulp, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. He took the second beer back to the couch and sat back down, buzzing, feeling alive for the first time in months.

When he and Theo finally parted ways at five o’clock,

Morgan could scarcely believe how the day had unfolded.

At first he was unsure about this new opportunity. Sure

Morgan had done some blow in his day, never one to throw a good party off its axis. But he never knew just how high the demand was for product right now, and he never realized just how many poor saps there were sitting in their apartments without a job, without hope, all their joy coming in the form of some fine white powder…or a small black rock.

Morgan had no idea what the stuff did beyond what

Theo told him. According to his partner, this stuff, the

Darkness, was the most potent and addictive substance to hit the populace since opium. It was cheap, it was strong, and it gave you a rush every single time.

Morgan had no desire to try the stuff. Theo didn’t seem to care either. When you had a good thing going, like they did, you didn’t gum up the works by losing your head.

At the end of their first day on the job, Morgan and Theo had sold nearly ten thousand dollars’ worth of product.

Over a full year, that amounted to well over three million dollars.

And they were just one team out of God knows how many.

And they were working, according to that Leonard guy, the slow shift.

If all his calculations were correct, and this enterprise had as many teams as Morgan supposed they did-then this was a billion-dollar industry.

To be a part of something like that, with potential for rapid growth, you didn’t take any chances.

It was unbelievable to think that Ken Tsang, who was a relatively smart guy as far as Morgan was concerned, would be stupid enough to rat out his partner. At first, when Morgan found out he was dead, there was a fleeting moment of remorse, of sadness. Now, he thought of Ken

Tsang like a homeless person you saw on the street.

Nothing more than pity, nothing less than scorn because whatever predicament they were in, it was most certainly of their own doing.

Morgan’s tongue tasted nothing, and he laughed, realizing he’d finished his beer several minutes ago.

For the last few months, Morgan Isaacs had spent his ights on the couch, sitting alone, tipping back beers and watching basketball games with teams he didn’t give a rat’s ass about. The nights usually did not end until around three o’clock in the morning, when, tired of infomercials and out of snacks, Morgan would pass out on his sofa, covered in a thin blanket, where he would sleep until the sun woke him up midday.

It was a sad, dreary existence, but Morgan felt to some extent that this was his penance, a punishment for not living up to the promise he’d seen in himself.

How could he be a confident boyfriend-or lover at all-with no income? How could he buy a girl a drink knowing that he was three months behind on his credit card payments? How could he buy his buddies a round when there was a chance the card would be declined?

None of that existed anymore.

Morgan’s first paycheck would give him more than financial breathing room. It would give him his life back.

Morgan picked up his cell phone, scrolled through his address book until he found her name. And then

Morgan smiled. Svetlana. When in doubt, go with the

Russian model.

Svetlana was beautiful and nearly six feet in heels, with jet-black hair, legs that were longer than a New York

City lamppost, and a body that would make Putin himself kneel and beg for mercy.

She was a tough one. Her father was a doctor, and he’d been killed recently or something, and Svetlana refused to ever discuss it. Not that Morgan minded; if anything he preferred that they keep their relationship as uncomplicated as possible.

The sex was freaking mind-blowing, and damned if he didn’t miss that the most. And now that he could treat her again like he did in the old days (well, at least he was getting there), he felt that sizzle, that confidence that had been robbed from him all coming back.

He dialed the number and held it to his ear, praying that she wasn’t somewhere without service or, God help him, with another man. If she was, Morgan might just have to kill him.

“Who is this?” the female voice said on the other end.

It wasn’t said with any sort of real curiosity, but with anger because she knew exactly who was calling.

“It’s me, babe,” Morgan said. “What are you doing right now?”

“What am I doing?” she said. God, he loved that accent. “I am sitting on my ass because my worthless friend Sabina decided to go on a date with some lawyer.

So I was about to open a bottle of wine when you called.

Why the hell are you calling, Morgan?”

“What are you wearing?” he said.

“What am I wearing? What the hell is wrong with you? Why does that matter?”

“Because I want you to pick out your hottest outfit right this minute, put it on and meet me at the Kitten Club in half an hour.”

“And why would I do that?” she asked, her hesitancy melting.

“Because I’m back, sweetheart, and I’m going to get us both wasted and then I’m going to make you thank

God you were born a woman.”

“Morgan?” she said.

“Yeah?”

“I’ll be there in fifteen.”