Devil

They called him “the Kid.” Barely twenty-five, the baby-faced brunette had control over his own district. Police, other dealers, club goers, hospitals, musicians; all his. Anyone who had visited the club since he'd bought it, belonged to him. The nickname came from the competition as an insult, when he was nineteen and just starting up selling in the underground raves of London. How he moved up so quickly, no one knew, but it definitely wasn’t only through money. The Kid had a ruthless streak that was talked about all over the city, despite his juvenile nickname. He had kept the quip as a reminder to those around him to not underestimate him because of his age. They had long since learned not to.

The young brunette boy stood looking into the bright London night from the back door of the Warehouse, smoking a cigarette. He had heard that tonight was going to be a big night. The city was celebrating something, but he didn’t know what. Since he had bought the dilapidated fire-hazard two years ago, he had been drifting further from the normalcy of city life, choosing instead to build his empire. The friends that he had now came from one of his seven clubs in the district, making them mostly bisexual and lesbian women, and the odd bartender. He was desperately out of touch with reality.

The smoke from his cigarette mingled idly with someone else’s. He looked down just in time to see her. He treasured his alone time before the club officially opened, but for her, he made an exception.

“Nebraska,” he nodded at the girl in front of him. She winked back at him, taking a long drag on her cigarette.

He had no recollection of ever meeting her. As corny as it sounded, he felt as if he had always known her, and the way she slipped in and out of the Warehouse cemented the idea. It was no secret that she was his favourite girl and his right-hand man. Anything he couldn’t take care of, or didn’t want to, she was there to fix it. It was assumed that if something happened to him, she’d take over.

Nebraska was proud of her status, and relished in the trust and attention he gave her. There was even a rumour that she had a tattoo of the number one somewhere on her body in commemoration of him. He didn’t know for sure, and she never addressed the rumours, so he never asked.

They both leaned against the faded panels of the abandoned building for a moment, saying nothing. Nebraska didn’t talk very much. The Kid supposed that was why they got along so well. He enjoyed silence, and she provided it.

He threw his cigarette down on the ground and stepped on it, turning to look at her for a moment. She was wearing a long black coat that came to her knees, unbuttoned. She didn’t mind the cold, and he envied it. Beneath it, was a black and white corset that led perfectly into a pleated black skirt. The glint of a large necklace resting on her collarbones shone just above the heart-shaped neckline of the corset. She stood with her left boot against the brick, and he could just see the hint of a magenta garter belt holding up her black stockings. The color was the same as the streak in her short black hair.

She finished her cigarette and flicked it elegantly onto the ground, not bothering to step on it as she exhaled the last of her smoke. She stood up straight, facing him, and he opened the red door for her, ushering her in, and then followed.

They were the only two in the club.

“Big night tonight, Boss?”

The Kid just nodded, already subdued as he made his way into the back of the large club. Nebraska slipped her coat off and threw it behind the bar, then took her regular seat in the very last chair. She turned around just quickly enough to watch him slip into his office, a small windowed room in the back. A beep from her phone told her it was 11 PM. They would open soon.

She sighed, fidgeting with her black nails. As much as she liked silence, she preferred a comfortable one. The Kid's lack of conversation wasn't new, but his complete dismissal of her was. She was not used to being ignored like that, and she did not like it one bit.

It was quiet in the back, despite the beginnings of music. It was easier to conduct business that way, and Nebraska liked the separation of the selling and the dancing. She felt less like the ugly friend sitting at the bar, and more like a sophisticated business woman. In actuality, she was neither.

She wouldn't call herself attractive, having had the opposite beaten into her one too many times, but she had been told by an outsider that it was true. Alluring was the word he used. She thought it was corny.

Bored already, she slid off of her stool, and moved behind the bar. Twelve tall water bottles of the wonder drug rested in the black mini-fridge, and she removed two, emptying their contents into an empty gin bottle from the recycling, and mixing it with half a bottle of vodka. The club goers certainly loved their liquor.

The bartender, a fresh-faced redhead, came in a few minutes later, quickly ripping off his hat and coat to take over the bar.

"Welcome," she drawled. He merely nodded, already consumed with cleaning his station.

She rolled her eyes, and headed for the doors. It was already a boring night.