Honeyslinger ep.2

Ven: “The regulation of sugar through rationing, had as planned, impacted American's health. In fact the fallout from the new legislation had caused painful contractions all over the States. But, one thing congress failed to realize, the important thing for my situation at least, is if you cut off an addict you get what Mr. Eckard's industry likes to call adverse side affects. I serviced the worst of the addicts, but supply did not meet demand. This created a gap; my product needed to be supplemented to erase the lingering side effects. That was Mr. Eckard's angle. Sugar had been regulated, and around the same time pot had been legalized. Everybody was like a kid who wanted the flavor lollipop their best friend had. Bongs and coffee shops with hash rolls were everywhere, but now what they really wanted was a cookie. I had even once seen a guy with a tourniquet on his arm melting icing over a spoon. Mr. Eckard had offered me a fine line, I could give my customers some of the products he was offering me, to deal with the side effects, but if I gave them the drugs that they had forgotten about like, opiates, hallucinogens, that sort of thing, I would put myself out of business.

Reporter: “So what did you and Mr. Eckard decide?”

Ven: “I decided to keep Mr. Eckard where he belonged, away from me, my employees, and my clients.” “My business, filled a purpose, that purposed didn't include playing doctor. Eliminating the troubles of my client base would mean eliminating their number one reminder to visit me. Mr. Eckard would have been added risk.

Reporter: “Let's go back to my first question. I started to ask you how you became a honeyslinger. I think that question has answered itself seeing how much drive and cunning you have. The better question is why did you become a honeyslinger.”

Ven: “Ahh. Umm. Lets skip that question, if you don't mind.”

Reporter: “Sure, you and Mr. Eckard ended up on bad terms, did he not receive your rejection well?”

Ven: “The decision to turn down Mr Eckard's offer was business he knew that, but Mr Eckard was also a man of drive and “cunning” as you put it. My refusal wasn't going to stop him from getting what he wanted. I may have been the best in the business, but my organization wasn't the only source. Mr. Eckard took his plan elsewhere, to dimmer minds with their heads in the clouds. I was fine to have him out of my hair but It wouldn't stay that way for long. Mr. Eckard had linked up forces with a guy named Ivan. Ivan wanted the life of a rock star, and he knew success when he smelled it, so for him Mr. Eckard was a natural fit. In the beginning Mr. Eckard romanced Ivan, because Ivan had what he wanted, street cred, a network, a customer base. He showed Ivan what being at the top was like. But, Ivan was weak, and Mr Eckard found it easier and easier to play the puppet master, pull all the strings and run Ivan's business. Before Mr. Eckard got into the game honeyslinging had been just that. No hard drugs, few guns and agreements between slingers. Ivan's crew started edging in on my territory more and more. I didn't pay much attention, things had always been peaceful. Just a little bit further and we would have a meeting. Then the day came, a shoot up on one of my shops near the border. The store front was a hardware store, but in the back is a couple of bakers and a delivery boy. I have it all on security tape.”

Tape: The sun was setting on the street and the low orange glow of dusk lights everything up. An suv pulled up outside and three men got out and walked in the store under the camera. “Is there anything I can help you boys with?” the store clerk asked. A young man with a slender face and a pale complexion turned to the clerk as the other two men walked towards the back. “Of course. I was wondering how you got your store to smell so nice, so sweet?” Ivan said with a smirk. The clerk reached under the counter but he was too late, Ivan had already pulled his gun, a 1911 with ivory grips, a present from Eckard, special for this job. Ivan pulled the trigger twice and walked to the back of the store where two of his thugs were waiting by the back door, guns drawn. “Lets go.” Ivan commanded. The first thug breached the door and immediately was hit in the chest by a shotgun round and blown backwards out of the door. Eckard had wanted nothing to go wrong with this job. He had outfitted Ivan with a flash bang just for such an occasion. Ivan pulled the pin and threw the flash in the door and waited for the bang. It seemed like a vast amount of time between the throw and the bang, but once it went of Ivan ran into the door. First went the cook with the shotgun. Next was the second cook, who was on one knee covering his eyes with his forearm pointing his pistol at the ground. Finally there was the delivery boy or serf-slinger. He was so disoriented he wasn't even looking at the door anymore. Ivan went over and pulled the gun out of his hand and shoved him to the floor. The were here to send a message, the delivery boy would live, but he would wish he was dead. Ivan and his thug rolled the boy over on his back and Ivan spoke to the slinger “Tell Ven that Ivan sent you.” and then Ivan stomped his heel into the slinger's solar plexus.

Ven: “Who uses flash bangs, FBI, CIA, Homeland Security? I'll tell you who doesn't, thugs. That's how I knew it was Eckard. The initial pact and peace between slingers and between Ivan and I had been broken. A war had been started and sitting at the top of it all was Eckard.

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Checkup

I'm working on the second episode of Honeyslinger now. What do you think will happen between Ven and Mr. Eckard? Leave a comment and let everybody know.

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M&G EP. 1

The smoke hangs in the air, drifting, just around and above Michelle and Grant's head. In the background the speakers softly play some blues. The bar is empty except for the two and the barkeep is out of sight somewhere in the kitchen.

Michelle: So, what do you do for a living?

Grant: I read books mostly.

Michelle: For a living?

Grant: Yeah. But you probably want to know how I earn my money.

Michelle: That's what I'm asking.

Grant: I'm a pilot, I rent out my own bush plane to those brave enough to try.

What about you? How do you make your money?

Michelle: I'm a receptionist. I answer phones, questions, and complaints all day.

Grant: What do you do for a living?

Michelle: I go to empty sports bars and drink with strangers.

Grant:That's a letdown.

Michelle: Why?

Grant: It seems like there's more than that.

Michelle:What can I say? I guess I'm not a very interesting person.

Grant: No, substance can't be faked. You've got something and it doesn't involve strangers in bars. What do you do for a living?

Grant holds this intense look in his eyes but his smile is soft and unassuming. Michelle looks around the bar and takes a moment to gather her thoughts. She'd been asking herself the same question lately, which is probably why she ended up here. “My work keeps me alive” she answered. Grant had thought as much. People were his living, and she would soon know that fact too. Grant stood up and plopped down a napkin with a number on it. “When you get tired of my question bugging you, give me a call, I'll see what I can do.” Grant let his sentence hang and walked out of the bar leaving Michelle to think.

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Checkup

Let me know what you think about the first episode of Honeyslinger. Do you think it would have a hard time establishing a valid premise? Think again http://parenting.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/02/01/should-we-regulate-sugar/

Also, I wanted to let you know I'm working on a different series based story line at the moment. Hopefully I'll get the first episode of that series out in the next few days.

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Honeyslinger ep.1

Reporter: “So, how did it start?”

Ven: “A scale and a bunch of frozen burritos, just small timing it. I worked from the ground up, just like every other small business, the American dream. The difference is I did what no one else was willing to do, delivery.”

Reporter: “Lets put that on hold for a minute. Tell us about the “Hot Coffee” incident.”

Ven: “Hhm. Okay. I was sitting in my office one morning eating my breakfast, a bagel, and reading the Newspaper. The world hadn't gotten any less terrible since yesterday. I was waiting on a client, when another one busts through the front door, Dale. He made a beeline for me and threw a gun in my face. His was very red and angry. “You made me fat!” Dale shouted “All of your stupid carbs and calories, I never should have trusted you!” Dale hated me. All of my clients did, not because I was mean to them in any way, but because they hated themselves. I had what they all wanted, but none of them possessed, self control. It had been different in earlier times. At my peak, I was sixty some odd pounds overweight. I never took up two airplane seats, or had rolls, or had to wait for my own elevator, all plights of most of my customers, but I loved the decadence of the greasy sugary treats I served. After awhile I couldn't keep something my father had said out of my head “You can't measure yourself by the people your around, or you'll become one of them.” My clients thought that they had made that leap. They thought that they had stopped measuring themselves against society, when in reality they had just stopped measuring themselves. And I measured myself against them. That had all changed a few years back, I stopped dipping my finger into the pot and took control.

I looked to my left and to my right. Dale had marched in ignoring his most keen sense, it would save me. Dale followed my eyes and looked around at the long tables full of different desserts, interrupting his enraged thinking. “Dale, what have you got on your pants?” I asked “Huh? Oh. I spilled hot coffee in my lap.” His words were slurring. “Dale, your slurring your words. Have you eaten? Your blood sugar is low. Come with me.” I walked straight back from the chair I had been sitting in, and as I walked I talked. “I am really sorry about your trouble. Let me make it up to you. Stay here.” I stopped at the vault door opened it and walked in, Dale turned and looked back at the table full of desserts. I came back out with a funnel cake in one hand and a soft drink in the other. “Dale. This is for you, on the house.” I said. Dale looked at me, opening and closing his dry mouth. “Don't make me shove it down your throat. I don't want to have you passing out on my floor.” Dale holstered the gun that had hung limply by his side into his waistband. He took the funnel cake and the soft drink, and turned and walked away. I could have just as easily put a bullet into his head, but the funnel cake would do the job for me in time and without any strings. On his way out Dale passed my next client coming in. “I hope I'm not too early” the man said glancing back at the now closing door. “No, right on time. That was just a little customer appreciation.” I said. “I like a man who knows his business” he replied. “Then you've come to the right place. Please, have a seat.” He wore a three piece suit that was blue with pinstripes, his button up shirt was white, and his tie was red. Change a few colors and the quality of the fabric and his suit would be a carbon copy of mine. He took off his jacket and laid it on the bench end nearest my chair and we both had a seat.

I started in “Mr. Eckard is it?” “Yes” he answered. “Let's cut out some conversation and get down to business. A man of your means, and waistline, did not get where you're sitting now without considerable thought and effort. Why are we talking?” Eckard pursed his lips and stared at me intently. “Fine. What do your customers need that your not giving them?” he asked. “A tailor and a libido” I answered. He snorted and smiled lightly. He grabbed something out of his jacket. It was a business card for Eckard Solutions, a publicly traded pharmaceutical company that had a product on every shelf. “Your a drug rep?” I asked. He forced a laugh. “As much as you are a honeyslinger, Mr. Ven.” he replied. “Surely you can see the brilliance in us having a partnership.”

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