Page 108 of Hell and High Water

“You know? That sounds like a really good deal.” I grin, Devonde matching my elated expression, relief clear on his face. He gave me exactly what I wanted. Confirmation. “And you know what sounds like a better deal still, Devonde?”

“I can think of a few things…”

Desperate fucker.

“How about you thank whatever god you pray to that I’ve let you keep what you have now? How about you take whatever I give you and kiss my fucking boots for the pleasure of being allowed to serve?”

Devonde’s face drops, confusion and rage warring across his features. It’s shock. I have him stupefied. Straight dumbfounded.

He looks even more serpentine when he gapes at me like that. Like he wants me dead.

The feeling is mutual.

Devonde is a relic. He’s just like my predecessors back in Cali. Old, complacent monuments to a crumbling system. Family. Loyalty. Subterfuge.

This is the digital era. That shit doesn’t work anymore.

Attention spans can’t accommodate familial ties to an organization that expects them to follow orders blindly.

Thugs these days want…

Money. Toys. And to feel like they’re the star of their own fucking TV show.

So I feed them that lie. I buy them the newest gear. I give them what they think is free reign over a microscopic kingdom of their own.

It makes them feel in control. I let them go nuts.

Because they want control, but they don’t have the brain power or the ambition to see anything through. They want someone with vision to handle the details, the semantics.

The result is a flashy, dangerous game they don’t realize they’re playing until they’re in jail or dead. All of it works for me, to distract the law and my adversaries from the big moves that I make, right out in the open.

Because the more money I get, the less anyone gives a fuck about wrong or right.

As long as they get a slice. Then, once I own them, I can take it all away.

I snap back to the moment as Devonde composes himself.

“I don’t think I like what you're implying, Mr. Vice.”

“Please, there's no need to get worked up. Because the more upset you get, the more outraged you feel, which only makes it harder to accept the facts.”

“And what are those facts?” he grits out between grinding teeth.

“You’re done, Oliver. I want your company, sure. If you want to run it, even better. Less headache for me. But I already own most of your men.”

“Lies. My men are loyal.”

“You’re right. Some of them were.”

His face contorts, realization dawning on him.

“If you think I'm going to stand by for one second and let you completely wipe me out of the picture, you've got another thing coming!”

“Oh, tell me what I’ve got coming, Devonde. What do you have to threaten me with? You barely have enough to keep your property tax paid, last I checked.”

“You know nothing!”

“I’m everywhere, you sack of shit! I’m already inside your organization. I’m in your bank accounts, I’m in your bedroom at night watching you try to sleep!”

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