7.13: The Beginning of the Bad

 WARNING: The words d--n, h--l, b---h, and p--s are used. There's a few references as well that push the rating, so yeah.
 

Wren's POV...

   I sashayed out of the salon, with my newly streaked hair. My mint green highlights matched my sparkling zebra tank top and mini skirt. Mum forced me to put on a long sleeve shirt under the tank top, but couldn't convince me to wear leggings. They were so yesterday and, since she wouldn't buy me fishnets, I didn't have any to match. Thank goodness we were on winter break and mother was at work, otherwise I don't think I could have escaped the house long enough to get my highlights. I'd been saving for over a year and finally I had enough to get a top of the line job done. It was a shame they couldn't last forever.
   I began walking towards the road, ready to hail a cab. it was freezing cold; I wasn't walk home in this outfit. I liked to think that the hotter you look, the quicker you get cold. Tank tops and mini skirts were the skimpiest thing I own; I was trying to make everyone jealous, not earn a reputation as class slut. I didn't make out with a different guy everyday behind the bleachers or smoke in the bathroom or do it in the back of someone's pick up truck in ninth grade and I hardly skipped class. I didn't pay much attention to whatever the hell the teacher droned on about, but was still passing every class with a C. I didn't even bribe the teachers with money or a little student-teacher tongue to tongue. I used my damn brain and logic; that's what you needed in life, not Shakespeare.

   "Hey, hot stuff!" I heard some jerk who was prancing out of the tattoo parlor hat was connected to the salon shout. "Over here!" I rolled my eyes, ignoring him. I wasn't trying to provoke anyone who wasn't in my grade; I didn't want middle aged creeps catcalling, I just wanted the other seniors going insane over me. I wanted attention from high school guys, not guys who dropped out of school and were high. "Hey, look at me. You deaf?"
   I glanced around, hoping a cab would roll by; I didn't want to have to deal with him. Why was he calling out to me? If you compared me to the cheer leading bitches, I was dressed like a nun. I shivered, as the snow started sticking to my skin. I regretted not wearing jeans or at least knee high socks or tights. I was freezing my butt off.
   "Hey, black head girl. I can tell you can hear me. I can tell and it pisses me off that you won't listen."
    "Look, creep, do anything to me, touch me and I'll scream." I turned to face him.
    "Let's talk. All I wanna do."
    "Nah."
    "Come over here."
    "Leave me alone if I do?"
    "Yeah, sure."
    "Fine." I said, prancing over towards him, making sure to shake my assets a few times and flip my hair. Up close, he looked younger... I'd say hotter as well, but he had a weird patch of hair of his face. If he shaved that and smiled a bit and stopped yelling at girls, he'd defiantly be cuter. I could tell he worked out; he muscles bulged through his shirt... if only he shaved and wasn't a giant son of a bitch. "Hey, how old are you?"
     "Why?"
     "You look younger then I thought you were."
     "How old did you think I was?"
     "Late twenties."

   "Dude, I'm eighteen. Can you tell?"
   "Look, dude, if you shaved your damn face maybe I could tell." I snapped, not liking the fact that he called me dude. Who used that word anymore?
    "Chill out. I was teasing. I'm eighteen and you're, what, fifteen?"
    "Eighteen, too. Senior at the local high school. You attend?"
    "I'm enrolled... doesn't mean that I attend."
    "So no."
    "That would be correct."
    "If you did, you'd know me. Maybe I'd know you." I glanced at him. If he got his act together, he could play some spring sport and get in with the jocks. He had the attitude, now he just needed to both showing up to tryouts.
    "You're what, the lesbo couple's daughter?"
    "Shut up, jerk."
    "Best you got?"

    "Just because I have two mothers who are perfectly happy and have been together for forever doesn't mean you get to call be the lesbo couple's daughter. I am my parents daughter and who gives a damn if they're straight or not? It's their business, not yours or any other fool's who thinks it is."
    "I was kidding."
    "Don't. My parents could move from this state to another and their marriage wouldn't even be recognized. I'm tired of people who make fun of them. Love is love and you don't criticize it just because it's between two women. Got it? You're lucky I don't storm off; I have no tolerance for those ignorant, intolerant comments."
    "You're fired up."
    "I want my parent's to get respect."
    "Fine. Sorry, gee. Look, I have to tell you something. Wanna go someplace private?"
    "No, I want to go someplace well lite with people around. I don't know you, you don't know me." I shrugged, rolling my eyes at the thought of me actually agreeing to go someplace with him of all people.
    "There's a bar that never check your ID right there." He gestured across the street.
    "I don't drink. I'm under aged."
    "So am I and I've tried beer. Still here today, perfectly okay."
    "I wouldn't say perfect." I mumbled, following him across the street to the bar.

    We walked inside, the bouncer not even stopping us for a moment. You's think for a town that only has one bar they'd pay better attention. Sadly, or shall I say luckily, they didn't. I followed him up the stairs, past the jukebox and broken down arcade game machines and trashy bar and bartender who had a bad dye job; mine clearly topped hers.
   "What's going on? Whay do you need me?" I asked, once we'd found a quiet corner to chat in. The bartender could see us; if anything got out of hand, he'd be bale to step in and help.
    "Need money?"
    "I guess. I won't steal though."

   "Really? I had you pegged for a bad thief type of person."
   "No stealing." I said once more. "And I'm not bad, just... and attention seeker. I like causing a little bit of a mess. I'm occasionally troubled. Not bad, though."
   "Is that what you call it? Troubled."
   "You heard me." I glanced at him, wondering hwy I was wasting my winter break talking to him.
    "I did. Lucky for me, it isn't stealing. Good thing, too... the boss would have..."
    "Have what?"
    "He's got a temper. Running rings around Washington, Oregon, Montana, the Dakotas, and northern California is stressful."
    "Rings? What type and in six different states? Who is he?"
    "Not for me to say. Let's just put it this way, I know very little. That  very little, is more then you know, though. You tell any things won't end well. What you now know is enough to tick off the boss."
     "What would he do to me?" I asked, feeling nervous. I wasn't bad, I didn't break laws.

     "Let's just say, he's disposed of several people... they're no longer alive to tell the story of their disposal, though. He's the master who plans it all out and if you say no, he sends his hit men to take care of you. Hasn't been caught yet."
     "Is it real? Are you serious?" I snorted, trying to sound like I didn't believe him, when, truthfully, I did.
     "Read the news lately? You hear about the body found in Olympia National Park?"
     "Really?" I gasped. He had to be lying... mother cancelled our camping trip because of that body that was found back in September. I believed him, but at the same time it felt too odd. What did they want with me of all people? I was a senior in the damn local high school; I wasn't even a high school criminal. "That's him? Your boss planned it?"
     "My boss' boss' boss See, now this is secret. Other then the whole kill thing, it's the worst I know. I tell you, you tell anyone, you're dead. I'm not suppose to tell, but... dammit. You're cute and I haven't recruited anyone in the past two years, when I first began, and I think they're gonna come after me. Look, Washington's divided into four regions. Each state has a different amount of regions, depending on convenience and where each ring is. I don't know how the hell they do it, but whatever. Each region has one person overlooking it. Okay? Each state has one person who looks over everything, ya know, those are who the region managers report to, the state managers. The state managers, there's six of them, report to the big boss."
     "I think you're lying. It sound too cartoonish. Like a movie or something." I turned, ready to wlak away, when he grabbed my arm."
     "I'm not. Please, don't leave. If you do, both me and you are in trouble."
     "Liar."
     "No, dammit bitch, I ain't."

     "Prove it." I said, suddenly feeling courageous. "What do you want with me? Who found me and told a manager or boss or whatever the hell you call it? How did they find you?"
     "Look, I can't-"
     "Goodbye, then."
     "No! Don't, you- I could die."
     "I don't think you're telling me the truth." I was in deep waters; one wrong movement and I was drowning, one right one and I was floating to the paradise island of information.
     "The Washington manager found you. How? I don't know. There's ways of getting info I don't know about. Look, they want you to sell."
      "Sell what?"
     "Cut the innocent act, bitch."
     "Call me bitch one more time and I"ll cut you."
     "There's the rebel, they found. I sell mostly the white powder-"
     "Coke?" I asked.
     "Like this." He said, holding up a small bag. "Believe me now?"
     "Put that up!" I whispered. "We could get caught! I can't get caught with a druggie."
     "I don't use really, I sell it. Mostly to Appaloosa Plains bums who are middle aged alcoholic and the occasional addict chick who will offer her body for a snort. Usually we'll sell those ladies the stuff that knocks 'em out."
     "How much will I get paid?"
     "Depends. We mostly need someone to peddle steroids to dumb high school guys and gals who want to win, pot cause they want a harmless high to get them away from high school, and somebody to cut the serious stuff." He wiggled the plastic bag in front of my face. "Flour, baby powder, don't care, what just cut it with something."

     "What if I say no?"
     "You'll end up badly." He shrugged. "We've been over this."
     "I know... I just can't wrap my head around it. How did this begin here? How did it get here?"
     "Oh, simple. Everyone has a different story, but I like this one. This girl, I don't know what the hell the bitch's name was. Anyway, she moved here, a gold digger, to marry a ancient dude. Her husband then died, she missed her family and didn't know how to do anything other then sex, so she started doing these drugs. After she found herself this sugar daddy firefighter, she started paying for the drugs instead of offering assorted sexy fun time tasks. Her firefighter boy toy knocked her up and kicked her out, she became depressed, had this bitchy toddler kid thing who eventually ran back to the firefighter dad of hers, and her whore of a mother happened to OD. The end."
     "That's horrible! How can you tell the story with feeling bad?"
     "Look, it's probably exaggerated. Just tell me, will you do it?"
     "Fine." I sighed. I was intrigued; this seemed so  unreal, yet here he was, a classmate of mine, convincing me to sell steroids and crap.
     "Great. You know, you can't escape, though. Right?"
     "Please." I rolled my eyes. "Look, if I'll be gone more and sneaking around, you know my overprotective parents will try and mess with stuff."
     "Think of a cover. Hell, I don't care. I gotta report to my region manager who's in town today only. Okay?"
     "I know!" I exclaimed, my mind slyly thinking of the perfect excuse. I just wanted to dip my toes into the pond and see what he was talking about, see if this hardcore drug scene he told me about was real and my excuse would be perfect. "The New Year's dance. Go with me."
    "I'm not gonna pretend to be your damn boyfriend just so you can peddle."
    "My parents will never suspect that I'm lying. Please. Look, I won't if you say no. Besides it will be easy, just act like you give a crap about me and shave your damn face."
    "If I do, I get to take twenty percent out of your salary until we fake breakup."
    "Whatever." I rolled my eyes. "Boyfriend."
    "My girlfriend's bitchy." He sighed. "And will look damn fine in a dress."
    "That's right." I said, as he leaned forward, to whisper in my ear.

   "I get the dirty deeds done to me, right?"
   "Ew!" I pulled away from him. "Look, just... not unless we're actually dating. I'm not a slut." And with that, he smirked and turned away, hurrying off to find his boss. What had I gotten myself into? I go to the salon to get mint green highlights and I end up with a job and fake boyfriend who supposedly has been dealing since he was sixteen. Life sure gets interesting pretty quickly...

NOTE: This is my one hundredth chapter for The Janes Legacy! Can you believe it? Over a year ago, I published the first chapter and now we've reached one hundred chapters. One hundred! I knew that legacies had a lot, but one hundred! I'm still amazed by the fact... thank you to everyone who's been reading. Thank you to the lurkers who haven't commented and to the person who's commented on every chapter. Thank you. (P.S. If you're wondering why I published three chapters in one day, this is why. Also, the next chapter won't have as much language in it.)