Tell Them This When I Die

Big Fish, Little Fish

Eris doesn't like the starting hours. She doesn't like how empty the pit feels at nine, so she usually goes up to the penthouse until ten, then goes down and gets to work. She likes to get night sellers out of the way by eleven o'clock, and then she can do whatever she likes. The cops assume the deals happen at two, three in the morning, but Eris is too organized to let that happen. She doesn't sell to addicts; she sells to the smaller dealers. That's why the cops want to take her out—take out Nyx, take out half the drug movement in the city.

Eris pulls the Maserati into her parking space at nine-thirty-three, with twenty-thousand dollars of fentanyl, cocaine and ecstasy in the trunk. Peter is unloading the car immediately, and Eris almost—almost—gets to the stairwell to the penthouse before Nikolas pounces on her.

"Your other boyfriend is here," he says. "And I'm tired of running away from him. He's been asking for you for the last half-hour."

Eris glances over to the foyer. Through the glass, she can see Adam at the counter, talking with his hands. He looks over at her, then his face relaxes with relief. He makes a get-over-here-right-now gesture.

Eris passes by Nikolas and walks into the foyer. Kayla is on hostess tonight, taking fees and sending whoever wherever. She gestures to Adam as Eris walks in.

"He left his car here. I told him the policy, but he says he knows you. Says you can confirm it's him."

Eris doesn't look at Kayla, but she's impressed with how well she's playing the chirpy-girl act, since Kayla is anything but chirpy.

"I can, in fact, confirm that is Adam," Eris says. "You can let him into the parkade."

Adam turns to her, annoyed. "I've waited hours for you. They wouldn't call you, wouldn't give me your number—"

"You can have my number, Adam," Eris says.

Adam grits his teeth, and his knuckles turn white over the side of the hostess counter. "It's enough, Eris. Your policy makes no sense, your employees have no hierarchy—nobody here has any clue how or where to reach you, and you've made me hours late for work."

Eris knows he's late for work, obviously. He won't get to the station until after ten, meaning that if he had planned the buy for today, he won't be able to do it anymore. If any of Eris' buyers had called to say they have to move to tomorrow, Eris would've known they were cops. If Adam always planned the buy for tomorrow, which must be the case since no one called and moved, then at least Eris has narrowed down the suspect buyers and confirmed nobody tonight will be of issue.

"It is policy, Adam," Eris says to him. "I'm sorry you're late for work—"

Adam waves his hand, and it gets awfully close to Eris' face. To her utter embarrassment, she flinches slightly. He notices, but neither of them acknowledge it.

"Come on, Eris," he snaps. "You've been fucking with my head for the last twenty-four hours, and we both know it."

Eris watches him speak. He's talking about her flirting, the incident on the couch. He has no clue why he acted the way he did. He has no clue just how much Eris has been messing with his head.

"I was out today, Adam; I wasn't being deceptive. Yesterday was on you."

"Like hell it is. You're trying to get me off your case. If my supervisor knows what happened, then he'll move me elsewhere. Is that it?"

Not quite.

"I'm not responsible for the things you did," Eris replies.

"I think you might be," Adam says, lowering his voice. He knows he was drunk, but he also thinks it's utterly unusual that he doesn't find Eris nearly as ethereal and sensual as she looked last night.