“Consider it an early birthday gift.” I smile. “What are friends for if not finding the perfect ingredients?”
I raise my glass, the whiskey catching the dim light. “To artisans of justice.”
Adrian clinks his crystal against mine. “And to worthy victims.”
We drink in unison, the aged liquor warming my throat. Something about planning with Adrian always puts me in a good mood—the perfect blend of business and pleasure.
“So, Councilman Reynolds.” I pull out a small notebook, flipping to the pages of observations I’ve gathered. “Man of habit. Every Thursday, he visits a massage parlor on Kenwood Avenue. Goes in the back entrance at nine, stays exactly one hour.”
Adrian leans back, fingers steepled. “Interesting. Is he alone?”
“Completely. Pays cash, no paper trail. The girl who works that shift is off next Thursday—convenient timing for a replacement, wouldn’t you say?”
A smile curls Adrian’s lips. “And you’ve arranged this replacement?”
“Not yet.” I tap the bar top. “Thought you might want to pose as the establishment’s owner. Flash some cash, mention a special client. They’re not exactly running background checks.”
“And you?”
“I’ll be the driver waiting outside. Once he’s comfortable, you slip in. Do your...” I wiggle my fingers, mimicking his precise movements, “...whatever fancy shit you do to keep them quiet.”
Adrian’s eyes narrow slightly. “A careful injection of lidocaine to the vocal cords. It paralyzes without killing.”
“Whatever, professor.” I roll my eyes. “Point is, you prephim, signal me. I bring the van around, and we load him up. Take him to your place for the... extraction.”
“My chocolate studio is not a slaughterhouse, Gabriel.”
“Fine. My place. The basement’s soundproofed anyway.”
Adrian swirls his whiskey. “The basement it is. I’ll bring my collection tools. Do you still have that medical-grade centrifuge?”
“Cleaned and ready.” I grin. “We get him Thursday, you have fresh product for your Valentine’s creation the next day.”
“Perfect timing.” Adrian raises his glass again. “To civic improvement.”
“And to that rare O-negative.” I clink his glass. “That’s gonna make one hell of a chocolate.”
Watching Adrian leave, I lock the club behind him and kill the lights. Only my private bourbon lamp glows behind the bar—just enough light to pour one last drink.
There’s something beautiful about this place after hours. Dead silent but still vibrating with the day’s noise. Like a crime scene after the body’s been cleaned up.
I roll my sleeves, examining the sleeve tattoo that stops precisely where my dress shirts cover. The perfect fucking metaphor. Business up front, slaughterhouse in the back.
I laugh at my own joke. People hear that laugh at the bar every night. “Gabe’s so charming,” they say. “Such a good listener.” If they knew what I was really thinking while they drone on about their pathetic lives, they’d choke on their whiskey sours.
I move behind the bar, fingers trailing along the polished mahogany, thinking about my collection downstairs.
Adrian doesn’t fully appreciate my preservation methods.Too macabre for his delicate sensibilities. But there’s something deeply satisfying about the ancient rituals—the removal of organs, the wrapping. I’m giving these worthless fucks more dignity in death than they deserved in life.
I pull out my notebook and reread my notes on the councilman. His schedule, his habits, his tastes. The way he smiles for the cameras while signing orders to bulldoze homeless camps. The kickbacks are hidden in offshore accounts.
My pulse quickens thinking about how his eyes will widen when he realizes what’s happening. That moment when they understand—truly understand—that they’re not getting out alive. That perfect crystallization of fear.
Adrian might be the artist with his fancy chocolates, but I’m an artist too, just with a different canvas.
We balance each other out, have since we were kids. He’s the precision, I’m the passion. He’s the scalpel, I’m the sledgehammer.
I down my drink and smile at the empty room. The civilized world thinks monsters hide in shadows. They never suspect we’re serving their drinks, remembering their birthdays, donating to their charities.
