Everything had turned to shit.
The voice in his head was tongue-tied and his bravado had gone AWOL. Getting shoved out of the zone so quickly had thrown him into shock and he tried desperately to kick start his mind.
His last handhold was gone and he was drifting without an anchor. Things seemed so surreal and his mind followed its own path.
To Jacob, Mort was a cesspool with too many rats and too little debris to stand on. Regardless of who you were, everyone was neck deep in shit and doing their best to either tread water or grab a handhold. Of course the big rats had already claimed the best places and sat back to watch the others drown, or occasionally snap off the head of the ones that jumped up to take their place. It was one big "king of the hill, predator and prey" fight and he had seen that even as a child. Survivors have to have good instincts to stay out of the fray and they have to find a niche. A good handhold would have helped too, but he didn't realize until later how important it could be.
The voice in his head had been clear when it told him what to do and Jacob had listened. He enrolled in Meny a year early with false papers and jumped into the financier package where he could learn at SLA's expense. The program fit like a glove and he was making serious moves and building connections even before graduation. The few associates (he couldn't call anyone a friend) had told him that he was overextending and pushing the envelope too far, but he knew they were wrong. If they didn't have the balls to push things, it certainly wasn't going to keep him from evolving into what he was meant to be. Jacob Harm finally had no doubt where he was going and how to get there, but he had missed something important. Even the best operators sometimes need backup and he was working solo without a net. It cost him again and again until he learned. Instead of calling it a mistake, he called it weakness.
According to his "Father", three of the best avenues to get at a mark were through the target's compassion, his conscience, or his desperation. Intelligence, skill, and a little "body English" sealed the deal, but the sells you could really enjoy always started by playing those angles. Maybe it was a little predatory, but the years of beatings in Hell's little orphanage had driven the point home pretty well. The things that "normal" people saw as virtues, such as honor, trust, and love, were just angles that could be exploited with a good delivery and he had those covered before he was twelve. The flip side was that he had lost something important along the way that he could never get back. By knowing how much he could use others, he saw how he could be used in return. Trust was a liability and Needs only led to weakness. Jacob wasn't going to face his until he absolutely had to, and then only on his terms.
When he began to feel any loneliness, Jacob decided that he just needed a break from himself, a simple distraction from the grind but any break from the fast pace was unnerving. He was manic as long as things were happening, but the quiet of downtime ate at him like a bad case of fleas with the voice in his head being the main irritant. It took every opportunity to preach and complain, absolutely not shutting up until he knocked himself out with drugs or strong drinks. Sometimes, it got worse and the voice's tone changed to that of one of the old nuns, harping at him to work harder or reminding him of what he "should" be doing instead of wasting time and treading water. For a while, he wondered if he might be crazy, but there just wasn't any way. After all, a lot of people have a voice in their head, but only the crazy people argue with it.
What he decided he needed was a handhold or an anchor to keep himself grounded and the best one he found was women. They were the ultimate disposable resource and he went through a typical cycle: use or use up, lose interest, discard, and repeat as needed. The fact that they often had a lot of emotional baggage didn't matter to him because it wasn't like he was after a relationship. Unfortunately, that was exactly what ambushed him just when he had decided that no one could matter to him but himself.
The first one had been Angela and she had proven to him that some people, granted a very select few, could shake up his world. It was the first time he had needed someone more than they needed him, but he couldn't help himself and was actually happy. Of course, it was just a matter of time before he screwed things up, but that didn't make him cautious. Balls before brains, the little voice said right after he crashed and burned and it quickly started working glass and salt into the wounds. He swore off relationships again , but then he caught that damn bug again. This time, however, he had built up a little immunity.
Her name was Julia and she was a gorgeous brunette with dark eyes and nice legs. Just like Angela, she was also a dancer and Jacob couldn't help but pick up on the similarities between the two. She was also a little younger and a lot wilder than Angela, but the lower mileage gave her a higher bullshit tolerance and that worked out well. Julia patched the holes in his life without complaints and she even thought she loved him. Jacob wasn't delusional enough to convince himself that he might care back, but acknowledged that he liked her. As long as she put out when he wanted it and he had a place to crash, he was happy. He finally had something else to keep him grounded and ended up needing her in spite of himself
"Let 'em get close and you pay the price," the little voice taunted from the background. "Better a User than Used, dumbass."
The voice reeled him back into the present and he swallowed carefully, trying to push his shock past the lump in his throat and nearly choking. Gradually, his senses came back to him and the dull cacophony of laughter rattled around him like rats in walls. His eyes were like dried plastic and he blinked several times to wet them before he could pull them away and stare at the Gaff. There was no way he could hide what he was feeling and he wasn't going to try.
"I didn't think so," she said, the same smile on her face. The Gaff had brought her laughter back under control and was savoring the moment. "Your friend Bryce told us where you were holed up, so he wasn't entirely uncooperative."
More than anything, he wanted to dive across the table and squeeze her throat until her eyes popped out, but his arms wouldn't move. The laughter of the men around him gradually died down and Connor's hand came down to rest on his shoulder and hold him in place. As far as Jacob was concerned, it was only he and the Gaff at the table and he ignored it.
"Imagine my disappointment when," The Gaff continued. "Instead of your cowerin' carcass, we found your street whore instead. She swore she hadn't seen you in over a week, but you can't believe what one uh her kind says anyway."
Her eyes were hard and mocking, but the effect it should have had on him was lost. Jacob was still in shock, but the anger was burning through the fog and he felt his face tighten. There weren't a lot of things that Jacob could say he could say he actually cared about, but this stung like a splinter in his eye.
"After all, everyone knows that whores lie for a livin!" she laughed and the men around her joined in on the joke. The sound grated on his nerves, but was drowned by the bass of blood pounding in his ears.
"You fucking-"Jacob began as he started to rise but suddenly Angela was at his elbow. His anger heeled and he quickly covered the box along with his rage. The tension at the table was still there, but it had turned low key for the moment.
"Here are some drinks compliments of the house," Angela said, shining her smile across the group as she set the tray of drinks in the center of the table.
Jacob nodded, figuring that a stiff drink would make him feel better and reached for one but Angela slapped his hand away.
"Hey asshole," she snapped. "This drinks are for customers, not freeloaders. You don't get anything else until you pay for it, got me?"
Jacob nodded as she turned and made her way through the men and back to the bar, feeling suddenly confused. Connor snapped him out of it when pushed him back into the chair. As he watched the men around him take the drinks off the tray, he knew he really needed a stiff one right now but wasn't going to get one any time soon.
"You were about to say something, Harm?" the Gaff asked.
The men were watching him carefully and Jacob looked around at their faces, getting the kind of clarity he only got when he was beyond angry. Details came back to him and he remembered that the short fucker's name was Malcolm and the one with the bulky coat was named Gray. None of it mattered too much and he focused on the Gaff as he took in a breath. The monster on the other side of the table had cut out every part that had made Julia a woman and stuffed it in a box just to prove a point. Without a handhold and with a dead man's hand, nothing mattered anymore.
"Yes I was," he said. Connor casually set his drink down and moved close, but didn't stop him from standing. This time he was the one who drew out the pause and the Gaff waited patiently, unperturbed. Jacob leaned forward to look down on her and placed his hands on the table.
"I'm going to have more than what's in that box cut out of you, bitch."
The Gaff's expression went from calm to quizzical and he was sure she was snickering. Whatever she was feeling, it certainly wasn't fear and the men around him began to chuckle along. They all knew he wasn't a fighter or a tough guy and it was easy to laugh at a mouse when it tried to roar.
"You're dead, you fucking psychopath," he added, but they only began to laugh harder and he gritted his teeth. They weren't taking him seriously, but he knew something that they might.
Jacob flipped the box open and tossed the contents across the table, splattering the Gaff's face and front of her suit with red pulp. She jerked backwards in her chair, swatting at the gore and screaming in a dialect he couldn't understand but he enjoyed the reaction. A heartbeat later, Conner and Malcolm had lunged in and pulled him away from the ranting loan shark. The expensive suit that made her look like she had any class at all was completely ruined. The Gaff was finally wearing her true colors.
"TAKE CARE OF THIS BASTARD NOW!" she snarled. "NOW!"
The two men jerked Jacob backwards away from the table, but he managed to keep his balance and stood upright indignantly. The look of hatred on the Gaff's face was almost worth what he knew they were about to do to him and he spat. She was feeling wasn't half of what he wanted her to.
Malcolm tugged on his arm like an impatient child to get him to the door, but he managed to hold his ground and pulled back. It was a crude tug of war until Gray stepped up and replaced the Frother's hands with one of his own.
"If the man doesn't want to die in the rain, that's fine with me," he said as he escorted him towards the restroom. "There's a facility for this sort of thing."
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