Fly and the Whiskey Bottle Pt. 2.

Smoke hung like an impending cloud of doom over the myriad crowd of people . People Fly had his eye on. Every single one of them. That's how he thought. Everyone was a threat, and he simply wouldn't allow himself to be taken by surprise. He wasn't "Going out like that." Back firmly planted against the wall tucked neatly in the corner away from the windows. They call it gun shooters syndrome, and Fly was infected.
"You sure you don't want yourself a drink Mr. Fly?" The tanned and pungent man asked through a glassy stare. " Naw man, you keep 'dat shit fo' yourself, I'm straight." "You sure? Business like this can get somewhat... Unnerving. I find... That it takes the edge off the conscience if you know what i mean?" "I get paid NOT to have a conscience" Fly said without batting an eye. Cold, thought Mr. Sellers. That's just what he was looking for. Someone who could pull a job off clean, efficiently, quietly.
"I'll take "dat drink white man... Shit lil niggah, yo' ass NEED a drink muthah fuckah. Ain't no harm in toasting to the success of our new business arrangement. 'Specially if his ass is paying fo' 'da shit. You ARE paying fo' 'da shit right?" Whiskey offered Fly his signature wide smile as he downed his drink and the drink Mr. Sellers had bought for Fly knowing Fly wouldn't touch it.
" I mean shit, way i see it we done hammered out 'da details all we need to... Job's set for 'da night. We got it all worked out... Now it's time to just chill and enjoy the company, check out 'da females, drink 'dis muthah fuckahs free drinks and... You know, shit... Get numb and silly an' all 'dat shit man . Cut loose lil niggah, shit." Fly didn't like the situation Whiskey was putting him in. He didn't like the fact that Whiskey knew it too, and did it anyway. He decided to concede this little battle to his drunken friend and let him have his night. Fly would get even, and take great joy in doing so.
The vibration from his phone caught Fly off guard. He was busy surveying the room and just didn't expect it . It was a text... "Dishes done baby? We good Daddy?" Fly simply responded,"Waters in the sink. Still needs to be drained." With that he closed his phone, looked at his watch and stared daggers at Whiskey. It was going to be a long night but somebody would be waiting for him when he was done. He began to piece together his revenge plot for Whiskey fucking with him, and it just brought a smile to his face.