This Business is Hell

Out of all the mistakes I've made in my life (and the list is long), this one may well be the funniest.

Well, sure, I can laugh at it now because of how things have ended up, but there was certainly a time when this was nothing but a black mark on an otherwise faultless career. How hilarious it is to now be receiving help from the man that once sought to ruin me.

Some of the stops along the way from A to B are hazy to me, because any attempt to understand that man will result in nothing but a hefty bill for aspirin, but I can't help wondering if this wasn't his goal all along.

If it was, there's no way I could hold on to such petty feelings like resentment. "Respect" might be more than he deserves, but I will nevertheless acknowledge his skill.

And, of course, it's all the easier to think fondly of a past love, when both parties have a current love much stronger than whatever they thought they used to share.

So how did it all begin? Well, as most things do: one night in a bar.

The bar in question had been like a second home to me in my youth, though I only visited it once a week by that point. Nowadays it's rare that I find time to go once a month, but I can never seem to relax until I do. The owner is quite dear to me, you see. Reggie was his name, and it was only natural that he named his bar in kind.

The man who saved me from a life on the streets and practically raised me was fond of this bar owner, so naturally I was, as well.

I walked in and was silently handed my usual, the owner mid-conversation with another patron and not even meeting my eyes as he passed over my drink. While taking a generous sip, I eyed the hulk of a man taking up Reggie's attention with thinly veiled jealousy.

I'd never seen him there before, so figured he must be new - either to the city or to it's criminal underworld. Reggie's patrons are almost exclusively criminals, most of which worked for me in one way or another. Though, it's not like I remember the faces or names of everyone on payroll, and members of opposing organisations frequent the place, too. The "No Shop-Talk" rule is heavily enforced, and the bar is an established neutral-zone, so it's basically the only place in the city where people from this line of work can lower their guard and get a drink.

Still, it was somewhat disheartening that I'd been so focussed on being a leader and a businessman that I felt so little kinship with these people.

It's served me well, though. When my mentor disappeared almost twenty years ago, I was able to take his place as head of the Cadwell crime syndicate and change up our operations so much that I was a recognised and respected face even to regular civilians.

I'd turned 40 only a few days prior, so that must have also worked as excellent kindling to help the flames of what I might as well admit was a midlife-crisis. A sense of lost youth. Yearning for the glory days. Or, the gorey days, as they might well have been. The adventure and adrenaline that I lacked in my current position.

While my mind swirled with those murky thoughts, it seemed my eyes remained fixed on that man at the bar.

He was taller than me by half a foot, and the thin grey shirt he wore did nothing to hide a body that could have only been achieved by over a decade of harsh training. Did I also look like that when I was in my twenties? I had an idle thought about going to the gym more.

“You’ve been staring at me pretty hard. See something you like?” That there. Those were his first words to me. He’d walked over while I was looking at him and snapped me out of my depressive daze.

The fact that he was daring enough to speak to me like that meant he must not have known who I was. That itself was actually quite refreshing. “If I say yes?” I asked.

“If that happens, then I’d tell you that the hotel I’m staying in is only ten minutes from here. Is that what you’re saying?” He bent down so his face was right next to mine.

I figured: fuck it, why not?

I put a hand on his shoulder to push him away from me so I could eye him up and down once more, to make a detailed appraisal. “Yes,” I said, setting my glass down and leaving the bar with him.

We couldn’t keep our hands off each other. It was rampant and sordid and wonderful. I felt like a new wind had blown into me. Full of energy, I ravaged him thoroughly until 3am.

He seemed to have eventually tired himself out, and I needed to get back to work, so it was the perfect time to leave. He didn’t make a sound while I got dressed, but his eyes snapped open when I lit up a cigarette.

“You’re leaving?” he asked, a little hesitantly. He sounded almost childlike.

“What, did you want me to stay and cuddle?” I mocked.

“N-no!” he insisted, pouting. I scoffed.

“Shame. I would’ve done it if you’d asked.” I walked myself out, raising a hand without looking back to wave farewell.

My PA came to drive me back to the office, and gave me an uncertain glance when he noticed the state of my suit. That man from the bar had left quite a bit of himself on the collar of my shirt after I let him enjoy my mouth. “Yes, I suppose you should send this to be cleaned,” I answered him before he could ask.

“Yes, sir. There’s a spare suit in the back prepared for you.”

“How considerate.”

I worked hard for the next week. There was a certain supply group I had my eyes on for some time, and I was getting close to finalising a deal with them. I also got an unusually high number of reports on smaller rival gangs making noise. I took the appropriate measures, but I could tell that wouldn’t cut it for long. It certainly took up a lot of my time.

My weekly visit to Reggie’s couldn’t come soon enough. I did vaguely wonder if I might run into that man again, and no sooner than the thought came to me, so did he.

As soon as I walked into Reggie’s he spotted me and strutted over, two drinks in hand. I could tell from a look that one was my usual order. I glanced past him to see Reggie give me a nod from behind the bar, to say that the drink was safe.

“Back for more?” he asked, looking down at me with half-lidded eyes. I returned the look and took the drink. “You didn’t even ask for my name last time.”

“Why would I?”

“Well, it’s a pretty good name.”

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t be handing it out so easily.”

“It’s not been easy! I’ve been trying to find you all week!” he whined. I found myself smirking.

Well, I had no problem giving him another round. I'm sure part of me was hoping for this exact opportunity. But I was hardly going to play along with someone acting needy.

He followed me around the bar, dropping hints that even a man with no hands could easily pick up. It was equal parts amusing and annoying.

I stepped outside to smoke and he followed suit. The cigarette looked tiny in his huge hands.

"Listen," I started, pushing my hair back out of my face, "I don't like troubling myself with people that can't be useful to me."

"Oh, come on, I'd say you got some pretty good use out of me last time," he boasted, cocking an eyebrow. There was a deep scar cutting through it about midway, which I reached up to trace a finger over. He looked at me with fairly obvious motives as he leaned into my hand.

"So you want to be my bitch, is that it?"

"... Well," he trailed his eyes away, then brought them back, accompanied by a hungry smile. "What's so wrong with that…?"

I took him someplace where I could show him just what he was getting himself into. Something dark took over me that night, as I was completely unrestrained in how I used him in every way I wanted. He was tied and bent and filled from all sides, his watering eyes and muffled screams only egging me on further as I carved possession into his body.

His hair was barely long enough to grab, but I held a chunk of it and wrenched him around to look at me while I continued to pound into him from behind.

"Well? Is this what you wanted?" I mocked, but one look at his face told me that it was.

A shiver shot up my spine.

I remember wondering what sort of person he was, and feeling compelled to find out.

I flipped him over so I could watch him properly until I'd finished, my curiosity only growing with each expression of pain and pleasure he made.

"That was great!" he told me with a satisfied sigh, while I lit up a cigarette. "My back was hurting for ages and that totally sorted it out!" he laughed. "Thanks."

He reached for his clothes and made an attempt to leave but I caught his wrist and hauled him back to the bed. "Where do you think you're going?" I asked, annoyed. "Weren't you the one that wanted me to sleep over last time?"

Not that there was any sleep to be had that night. I started right back up where we'd left off and was determined to keep going until he was a complete mess, but the stamina of a 20-something proved to be a formidable foe. So much so that I was almost late for work.

I hadn't slept a wink, but damn if I didn't feel energised. Once again, it seemed like one night with that man had added ten years to my life. And I still didn't even know his name.

The deal with the supply group was finally accepted. Work seemed to be looking up. I wanted to see him again.

I paid a visit to a local information broker before making my way to Reggie's that week, and I had the misfortune of meeting a new hire there. About a year later, the broker was dead, and his position was taken over by that new hire, but the information was just as good (if not better) so no one had any complaints.

I walked to Reggie's after that, having learned that there would be an attempt on my life soon. I had been feeling quite untouchable that week, so strolling into the lion's den with a neon sign around my neck saying "free meat" seemed perfectly reasonable.

During the walk, I crossed paths with that man again.

"Headed to Reggie's?" he asked with a smile that didn't quite reach his hungry eyes.

"Seems so."

"This is becoming a regular thing. Do you always go this day of the week?"

"I suppose I do."

"Well I guess I can save a lot of time if I know which day to go down."

I realised that he'd been going there every night in the hopes of seeing me. The thought made me laugh.

I took out a cigarette and considered asking for his name, but didn't get the chance.

"We're being followed," he told me in a quiet but casual tone.

"I know," I sighed, vaguely looking at the reflections of windows to watch the shadows and guess how many there were. "I'll meet you at Reggie's: you take care of it."

"Wa-? Why should I?!"

"I'll buy you a round for each head."

"Deal," was his immediate response. I left him to it, half wondering if I might never see him again.

It barely took him fifteen minutes.

"Eight rounds it is!" he declared, panting, when he walked up to the bar.

I learned from that, that even if he was fairly new to the underworld, he could be useful. And those muscles weren't just for show.

After the eight rounds, he was dead drunk and passed out on my shoulder. Reggie made some comment about that, but I pointedly ignored him.

I decided to take him back to my place, since it would be easier for work and I hadn't had my fill of him yet that night.

He asked some questions in a half-conscious stupor while I undressed him, and I don't remember all of it now but I wish I did. It was probably the start of things.

The start of him asking questions.

It didn't phase me much, because they always seemed fairly innocent. He was obviously new to everything and simply curious, so I naturally felt myself filling a mentor-like role.

Just imagining myself like that gave me an awkward happiness. I tried to act like my mentor had with me, but with a lot of sex added in, of course. I distinctly remember discussing my recent deal with the supply group while ravaging him in the shower.

He said he wasn't affiliated with any particular group yet, but had done odd jobs with some of the chop-shops and cleaners since moving to the city. I considered hiring him, but had a distinctly difficult time deciding where he would be best suited. Something close to me would be preferable, but he didn't have the experience. His public image, as well, was too tarnished to be associated with someone like me.

We would meet every week, always at the same time and place. Sometimes we would stay together the next day, but mostly we went our separate ways by morning. Just knowing he would be there for me made my trips to Reggie's feel exciting.

And I still didn't even know his name.

But I would learn it soon enough. It felt like I'd made some cosmic mistake in learning it after so much time had passed, since that's when everything began to fall apart.

I'd visited the information broker for something unrelated, but before leaving I decided on a whim to ask for the name of the man I'd been with.

Duke Peers.

And then, that night, while frantically dealing with the aftermath of that supply group canceling their deal with us, and the wasted money and men, I scoured for the name of whoever had bought them out from under us.

Duke Peers.

I froze in place while staring at my computer, and suddenly several thoughts flickered across my mind.

It wasn't just the supply chain.

"Peers" was a name that had been taunting me for some time.

Many of the Cadwell-owned facilities overseas had been taken over by someone with the same name. And, recently, even some domestic businesses were getting bought out or taken over by force.

The hotel he was staying at. It used to be one of our fronts, but three weeks after knowing him the building was handed over to a Peers, and I discovered there was a whole chain of hotels with the name popping up.

It's not like everything I talked about with him was stolen from me, because I surely would have known sooner. But few and far between, business was failing regarding projects that I'd spoken about with him.

How convenient, then, that our weekly appointment was drawing close.

And this time, I brought my gun.

Despite the rage that was consuming me, I still was painfully aware that I couldn't cause a scene in Reggie's. So, I held my tongue until I took him to a secondary location.

In a parking garage some miles away, after being tempted by the promise of car-sex, I could finally teach him what happens to those that betray the Cadwells.

My men were already waiting for us, hiding, but I needed to take the first shot. As a matter of pride.

I opened the door for him and he looked around before letting out a little laugh. "I guess the car-sex is off the table," he accurately surmised.

"Correct."

"But now I'm thinking about table-sex. Sure there isn't time to bend me over a table real quick, before you fire your load and have your men all over me?"

I punched him. It landed on his mouth, so his teeth did some damage to both of us. His lips were thoroughly split, thanks in part to the rings I was wearing, but my knuckles were just as bloodied.

While I was still registering the pain of the punch, he'd pulled out a gun of his own and shot my right leg.

The men positioned around the parking garage rushed in, but he was like a fucking blender with how he cut them all down singlehandedly. I didn't even see him take any damage. All I could do was watch from the ground as he took everyone out, and even amidst all that I just found myself wishing there was someone like him working for me.

He'd just finished taking care of everyone else, and was turning towards me, when a car burned rubber to pull up beside him. The door opened and he smoothly moved to enter.

Genuinely believing that may be the last time I ever saw him, I felt compelled to ask. Just for peace of mind. "Was everything you did with me planned? Did you ever feel anything for me?!"

He looked down at me with emotionless eyes. "Of course it was planned. But, please don't misunderstand all this as an act of hate. I actually have a lot of respect for you, Callahan."

That was the first time he'd called me by name.

He drove off, and I was left to sit in my own blood, along with that of several subordinates.

There was certainly a mix of thoughts and emotions when the next week rolled around and the day of our usual meet-up arrived.

He was nowhere to be seen when I entered the bar. I looked at Reggie and he lowered his head.

"You're a damn fool," he sighed, the disappointment in his voice stinging like a slap to the face.

He clearly knew.

"The roof," he told me, without even meeting my eyes.

I limped up the stairs, feeling sufficiently disgusted with myself.

"Duke," I seethed upon seeing his familiar silhouette against the setting sun.

"Oh, so you did learn my name," he smiled. "Pretty good, right?"

I lit up a cigarette as I made my way closer to him, the wound in my leg prickling with each step. "So, you finally got what you wanted," I noted.

"You have no idea what I want. You just know that it isn't you."

That hurt, arguably more than the gun shot.

I was close enough then to see that the wounds I left on his lips had several stitches. "I suppose I was the last one to feel your unscarred lips," I queried, tracing a finger over my own.

"You're seriously underestimating how much I can get up to in a week."

It was not a good night for me. "You must be staking a claim to this city," I growled, changing the subject, "so we won't be able to avoid each other. But know that, from now on, I'll only associate with you in business or in hell."

"This business is already hell." He turned away to survey the skyline.

He was right, and as such I had nothing more to say.

He turned back to me one last time and asked, "it was fun though, wasn't it?"

Thinking back, I have to concede that it was. But, at the time, I just shot at him.