Bad Things by Varian Krylov Read Free Book Online Page B

loud-talking partiers he’d been waiting all night to photograph against the city’s neon and the aura of the orange street lamps.
    “Sit down,” Brian blustered when Carson entered. “Kid, I like you.”
    Weird how something that should sound nice could sound so unpleasant. He wasn’t so hot on Brian calling him ‘kid,’ either.
    “I’ve had to deal with my share of flaky bartenders. But you seem to have your head on straight.”
    “ Thank you,” seemed like the right reply to the dubious compliment.
    “ I’m curious how you’d feel about taking on more responsibility. More responsibility that comes with more pay. Potentially a lot more pay.”
    Carson could practically feel the cool weight of the 85mm Zeiss in his hand, instead of waiting another three months in his B&H shopping cart.
    “Yeah. Of course I’d be interested.”
    “ Your car’s in good shape? You can get around no problem?”
    “ Yeah. No problem.”
    Brian sat there staring at him for at least a minute; long enough that Carson started to wonder if he’d had a stroke or something. But finally he said, “The thing is, I need to know I can trust you.”
    “Yeah, of course you can trust me.”
    Brian’s mouth opened in that horrible grin of his. “Well, the thing is, everyone says you can trust them. But only about ten percent of them are telling the truth. I’m not talking about piddly shit, like you don’t do chargebacks on your register to pad your pockets. I’m talking about a certain honor. Discretion. Because if I choose you to take on these responsibilities I’m talking about, your actions are going to reflect on me. So if you’re careless, or sloppy, or stupid, I’ll look careless, sloppy, and stupid in front of the men who have put their trust in me.”
    Who did Brian think he was? A fucking congressman or something?
    “ I understand. Discrete. I mean, working here, I don’t get off a shift and tell my friends who’s coming into the club. I mind my own business.”
    Brian did that weird, frozen staring thing again. Finally he said, “So, if I need you to run an errand for me, you think you can deliver a package without getting nosy about what’s inside?”
    A silent alarm went off in Carson’s brain. “It’s not drugs, is it? Or drug money?”
    With that hideous smile, Brian laughed like Carson had just asked the stupidest question in the whole world. “No, not fucking drugs. Do you think we’re running a fucking drug cartel, here?”
    “No. Of course not. I just, I didn’t want to get myself into something crazy without even asking. So, yeah. Of course. I can deliver something for you. No problem.”
    “ Well. We’ll do a trial run, and see how you do.”
    Brian handed Carson a piece of paper with a man’s name, the name of a hotel, and an address. Then he gave him the package—a brown padded envelope like something they’d ship a book in. But whatever was inside was lighter than a book.
    “You take that to him tonight. Right now. And if Max doesn’t have any objections after he meets you, I’ll have another delivery for you in a couple days. If you start doing this regularly, I’ll pay you a grand a week. Sound fair?”
    A grand a week? For running a few errands? Sounded too good to be true, but then again, they were paying him ridiculously well just to make Manhattans all week. Just seemed to be their style.
    “Very fair,” Carson said. “I’ll be sure not to do anything to undermine Max’s respect for you.”
     
     
     

     
     
     
    The next time Xavier got stuck manning the door at Gomorrah, it wasn’t a wasted shift, at all, because one lone smoker, tipsy and garrulous, decided to chew Xavier’s ear off as if they were long-estranged drinking buddies. He was probably a talker, anyway. But some people, you put a drink or two in them, and the tiny bit of self-control they have evaporates. Then they start telling you all the dirty secrets they know they’re supposed to hide and be ashamed