Greyhat: Issue 5 -Jay-Z is a Lizardman

 “Pass the spliff would you?” Rosa said it with an extended “ee” sound, and not a short “ih” sound. Cretin.

I took another long drag off the finger-sized joint and passed it to my left, always to the left, who passed it to Rosa. “Another round?” I grabbed my phone off the night stand and checked my messages. Nothing.

“Can't,” Raul took a long hit off the joint before handing it back to me. I put down my phone and took a massive, lung-filling hit. “I only have Giancarlo's babysitter for another...” he held up his wrist, parallel to the bed,” ...oh! Thirty minutes. I have to jet,” he jumped up from the bed and started putting his pants on. “How's my hair look?” He turned to us.

“Great!” I said winked and held up two thumbs.

“Don't listen to him,” Rosa swatted me and took the joint, “he's an idiot. There's a comb in the bathroom. Use it. And the scope, I can smell the cum on your breath from all the way over here,” she took a massive hit, filling the space in front of her with hazy smoke. “And I can't either. I have to show in a few hours,” she shooed me out of bed.

I reached to grab the joint, but Rosa pulled it away. I recoiled in faux-shock and held my hand to my chest. She held the blunt in front of my mouth. I took another fat rip and then started to get my own pants on. “You could probably use the Scope, too” I said to Rosa, “I'm not saying your breath smells like asshole and alcohol, but I'd hazard that even a five-year-old would say that you like to eat tossed salad with your mimosa, if you catch my drift.” I pulled on my shirt, buttoned it up leaving the top two undone, wrapped my coat on, and stuffed my tie into my front pocket.

“Well, it tastes like I just ran drank from a used toilet bowl full of vodka,” she turned the corners of her lips down and scraped her tongue against her top teeth as she pushed out between her ruby-red lips, the lipstick a bit smeared on the left side.

“Ditto,” Raul said from the bathroom after a gargle and a spit. “Probably because you snowballed me his load after you fulched it out of my ass,” he emerged from the en-suite with his hair perfectly coiffed, adjusting his double-Windsor.

“Or after I snowballed you his load after fulching it out of your ass,” I adjusted my french cuffs. I managed to get the shirt off without undoing the cufflinks, but getting it back on without messing with them was far trickier.

“Alright, alright,” she took another long drag off the doobie before passing the roach to Raul, who killed it with a final diaphram-buster. “Now both of you get out of here, I have to get ready for my show.” Raul and I had congregated by the foyer. She held a finger-phone to the side of her head and mouthed “call me.”

I held my hand to my chest and mouthed “moi” as theatrically as possible. She revolted, shook her head “no,” pointed at Raul, angled her head down, gave him the eyebrow, mouthed “you,” and air-kissed him. I scrunched my face at her and left the room. Raul lowered his left eyebrow, gave her a kissy face, and left with me.

“So, how long have you and Rosa been working together?” I shoved my hands into my pocket as we waited for the elevator.

“Oh, you know...” he shoved his hands into his own pockets and angled his head down, eyes fixated at something invisible on the ground which he fake-kicked.

“Look, I don't really care,” I shrugged as the elevator dinged open.

“I know, It's just...” he palmed the bellhop a bill inside a strong, two-handed handshake.

“Right, don't worry about it,” I brushed some fake dust off my shoulder. “Think nothing of it.”

The bellhop turned the corners of his mouth down and visibly resisted a wretch. “Sir, would you like a breath mind?” He held up a box of Altoids.

“Oh shit,” I cupped my hand in front of my face, breathed out, and then sniffed in. It was rancid. “Please. Christ, I'm sorry you had to smell that,” I took several mints and lined the inside of my mouth.

“I've smelt worse,” he looked off to the corner of the elevator as a shudder wracked his young body.

The elevator dinged on the bottom floor, “You sir,” I said as I palmed him a bill myself as we got off, “are a trooper. Keep fighting the good fight,” I doffed my fake cap before the brass doors slid shut. “Anyway,” I addressed to Raul as we crossed the lobby and arrived at the glass double-doors, “it was a good time,” I held out a hand.

Raul took it and shook it firmly. I felt a piece of paper in my hand, I palmed it back and put my hand in my pocket casually, “It was a joy, my friend,” he smiled warmly and exited. I held back and pulled out the note. It read Raul.for.hire@hitbox.com xoxo and had a weird logo underneath it: a hammer crossed with a piece of wheat inside a triangle that itself was nested inside a shield. Underneath that was Lorenzo's pizza 7/21. It made just about no sense to me, so I stuffed it into my wallet, shoved it into my back pocket, and walked out the door.

“Perfect,” I said as I looked over the car and then palmed the valet a bill in exchange for the keys. He held the back door open for me and I climbed in, doffing my faux-cap as he shut it behind me. “Home, please” I told the car. It silently whisked me away. My phone started buzzing. She was calling me. I pulled it out and answered, “How did you know I was done?”

“I have a bug on your phone,” she waved at her phone's front-facing camera before sitting down and adjusting it such that her face and cleavage filled the entire frame. “I saw your GPS trace starting to leave the du Cleffe.”

“I thought I turned GPS off on my phone,” I adjusted my phone until my own face fit the full frame from a higher angle. The lower one was making my nose look huge.

“You did,” she smirked. “Are you on your way home?”

“I am,” I lowered both my brows and pulled my mouth to a side.

“Good,” she started walking, but kept her face in frame. “We need to talk about something very important when you get back,” she had the tone that made my heart sink several levels. That “we're breaking up” tone.

“Uhh,” I furrowed my forehead and raised an eyebrow, “I don't like how you said that,” I pulled my mouth to the side dramatically for emotive effect.

“It's not like that,” she stopped in the kitchen.

“Alright,” I raised my brows high. “Hey, quick question, you know what this is?” I pulled out Raul's card and showed her the logo.

“Oh yeah,” she squinted at the screen. “The Parksdale Group. They're like the pretend Free Masons or the Elks or whatever. They have 'secret' meetings around town. I say 'secret' but they're pretty well known. I'm guessing you got it on a business card or something?”

“Yeah,” I turned the card over. It was blank on the other side, just the text on the front. “My buddy Raul gave it to me.”

“Yep, that's how they get ya,” she smirked and raised an eyebrow. “You get an invite and a location, then they send you on a treasure hunt. The whole thing is all smoke-and-mirrors cult shit. Robes and chanting and ceremonies and the like. A couple of the hackers on the message boards are always trying to recruit people. It's actually pretty neat if all that cloak and dagger shit gives you a boner.”

“Yeah, I'm not really looking to join the Illuminati and discuss how the president is actually a Lizard-Person,” I scrunched my nose. “What about business connections? Any big names in the organization?”

“Well,” she pulled her cheeks up but didn't smile, “yes and no. There are a TON of big-name banking CEOs and tech firm giants that are a part of the Parksdale squad, but the whole thing is super anonymous. You'd never even see their faces.”

“Yeah,” I made the same face at her, “but there are like, after-parties and secret handshakes and all that shit. I could totally go to some CEO with a hack and give him the cocka-doodle-doo, yeah?” I put the back of my hand under my chin and wiggled my fingers.

“I mean,” She picked up a joint and took a fat drag. Her cleavage heaved. It kinda got me chubby. Jesus she was a looker. “I guess? I dunno. They kinda Scientology your ass, too.”

“Fuck, you mean...” I trailed off.

“'Tiered membership,'” she croaked, holding the smoke in as she made airquotes.

“Yeah, fuck that noise,” I scrunched my nose, hard, and shook my head. “Money pit, bro. Didn't you see what happened to Will Smith?”

“Yeah, steer clear, my man,” she exhaled a massive cloud. “When will you be home?”

“Dunno, soon? I'm at the turnpike,” I pulled out of frame and craned my head to look out the deeply-tinted window. “Why are you so ansy?”

“Oh, you know,” she bit her lower lip and turned her head to the side. Her lids were heavy and she had on a ton of smoky-eye. Bedroom eyes, I believe they're called.

“Slow down there, Cornea Pila Regina,” I pulled the corner of my lips down and my chin into my neck, “what happened to your anti-dick stance? And, aren't you trying to revive Vibranatia?”

“I sold Vibranatia like, months ago,” she took another massive hit, this time off a vape pen. “And I don't want your dick,” she exhaled, the phone turning into a white cloud, her face slowly emerging as the vapor dissipated. “I have a Japanese robotics firm making me a new one. Fully mobile with a rudimentary AI and over twenty-five servos in the face alone. I'm pumped.”

“And how much is this costing?” I scrunched my nose and cocked my head to the side.

“Too much,” she vaped again. “But, it's an investment. I already have a ton of guys on the forum who want one if mine turns out good and the robotics firm said they'd profit-share. So, potentially, negative dollars?”

The 'Cedes pulled into the garage. Before I could open the door just a wall of loud techno music assaulted my ears. I made my way through the hallway and into her room, where the music was at near-deafening levels.

“HEY!” I shouted standing right next to her. She didn't flinch. I punched her shoulder.

“Ow!” she explained as the music cut off instantly. She pulled the earplugs she had in out and started rubbing her shoulder. “That was rude,” she frowned and looked up at me, batting her eyes quickly.

“Was that some of my shit?” I sat down on my customary chair and looked at the screen.

“Yeah, your Vegas set from last year,” she spun around and puffed on her vape. She was sitting in her chair with her feet against her chest. “I still can't believe they let you spin at EDC.”

“I was on one of the smallest side stages,” I sneered, “the only person who really listened to my whole set was some methed-out tweaker having one of the worst rolls of his life.”

“That's not true,” she clucked her teeth and patted my back, “there was also like fifteen drunk frat kids and half a dozen mormons.”

“Ok, you know what I mean,” I shrugged the pat away. She was wearing a barely-there set of daisy dukes, and I just noticed, no panties. “What did you want to 'talk' about?”

“Oh, Bern called,” she adjusted to sit criss-cross-applesauce, her revealing pants still particularly revealing. “Eyes up here, buckwheat,” she did the little V-finger eye thing.

“Sorry, it's just, you know...” I didn't break eye contact with her exposed “area.”

She slapped me. “Deal with it,” she lifted my chin and forced eye contact.

“Sorry,” I rubbed my cheek. “Thanks, I needed that.”

“I know,” She turned back to the computer. “I'll give you one guess who put out the hit.”

“Swiss Black?” I turned to the computer.

“You got it,” she pulled up a couple websites. “Now, here's where it gets interesting. Guess who commissioned your little harlot's latest art show?” She clicked around and pulled up a couple social media profiles.

“Swiss Black?” I repeated.

“No, A guy named Anders Blegojego,” she brought up a picture of a square-jawed, portly man.

“And he works for Swiss Black?” I furrowed my brow.

“No, he works for a firm called Blankeship Holdings,” she brought up a company profile.

“And they own Swiss Black?” I squinted, trying to make out the text on the massive screen.

“No, Blankeship Holdings is an investment firm that 'pre-bought' that little slut's work for about a Million-large per painting, as an 'investment in future valuation,'” she brought up a news article explaining it all.

“So, how does all of this relate to Swiss Black?” I shook my head and threw my hands up.

“Oh, it doesn't,” she turned to face me, casually dropping her left hand to subtly hide her snatch from my line of sight. “I just hate the bitch.”

“Uggggggh,” I spun in my chair and threw my hands up. “Is this what you desperately needed to talk about?” I stood up out of the chair and put my hands on my hips.

“No,” she widened her eyes and batted her eyelashes at me again, gently frowning and sniffling. “No, that was the Swiss Black thing. Also that Agent Milonoski wants to talk to us in private.” She sniffled again.

“That fake innocent shit doesn't work on me,” I pulled my brow down farther.

“Your heart is made of ice,” She snapped out of character instantly.

“I know,” I straightened up and folded my arms. “I was married to the 'harlot' for a very long time. I'm immune.”

“Well,” she planted her feet on the ground and leaned back in her chair, folding her hands behind her head. “I'm not planning on putting panties on any time soon, want to head to the gay bar and try to score?”

“I just had hot, sticky sex with Rosa and the hitman she was working with. They planned on killing me for the bounty, but we ended up just fucking it out,” I cocked my hip out.

“So, is that a yes?” She cocked a single eyebrow.

“I mean, yeah,” I shrugged.

“Perfect,” she snapped up. She was also not wearing a bra. The sweatshirt she was wearing was cropped to reveal her shapely, toned mid-section. She wasn't skinny, by any stretch, but she was tight. Not an ounce of cellulite on her. The previously-mentioned rap guys would refer to her as “thick.” It was pretty irresistable. The sweater also had most of the neckline cropped so that it would sit off-shoulder, Clarissa Explains It All-status, just, you know, without literally anything else on underneath it.

“Where do you want to go?” I looked at my watch.

“I mean, what time is it?” she looked at her phone.

“Like 2:30?” I felt a buzz on my leg. E-mail from Raul. 12:30, xoxo.

“None of the clubs are open until like 6, and it's not like there's anyone there until like midnight, anway,” she crossed her arms and flopped back down into the chair.

“So what do you want to do, instead?” I flopped back down into my chair, as well.

“Well, now I'm all super horny,” she started rubbing her nethers with both hands.

“I mean, we sort of have a pact,” I raised an eyebrow, flared my nostrils, and cocked my head.

“I know, I know, no fucking each other without a third party,” she shoved her arms into her armpits crosswise and hunched her head down.

“And again,” held my hands up next to my head, “what ever happened to not liking dick?”

“I don't,” she stayed hunched over. “But I'm horrnneeeyyy.”

“Have you ever thought that maybe,” I held a finger to my chin, “we should show a little restraint and just, you know, not have sex when we feel like we want to have sex, and wait for a contextually-appropriate moment?”

She looked me dead in the eye, stone-faced, and furrowed her brow. “Bwahahahahahahah,” she and I broke out into simultaneous laughter. “Are you fucking joking? We're fucking rich man! The world is our oyster. An oyster I want to have licked whenever I feel so inclined.”

“True that,” we high-fived. “I mean, what's the point of holding thousands of people's lives ransom if we can't enjoy selling our souls, amirite?”

“Exactly,” she turned to her computer. “So, hookers and Chinese takeout?”

“Sounds good to me,” I reached into my jacket and checked my phone. No messages. “Do you know a place where we can get both?”
“I know Chinese food and cocaine, and cocaine and hookers, but no Chinese food and hookers,” she pulled up some code stuff and started clacking away.

“Well, just order some Chinese food and cocaine and I'll find some hookers, Ok?” I pulled up my address book and leafed through my contacts.