You Need To Get High

"You're too...clean," Tyrell said. "I got something for you, if you got the cash."

Lois Lane blinked. "You want me to pay you...for ****?"

The Black man fetched a small vial with a twist-on cap from an inner pocket.

"Shit ain't free! You go down there straight, they gonna know you're a cop or worse. Most of the women we drag down there are high or drunk. You're neither. So if you want to do this...and it's my dick on the line as well as your skin...you're going to snort this shit. And you're going to pay for it."

The reporter sucked in her breath. She hadn't anticipated this, but it made a terrible kind of sense.

"How...how much?" she asked.

His dark eyes met hers.

"How 'bout...everything you have on you. Hand over your wallet."

The reporter sucked in her breath. Without cash, her options would be very limited...but she had little choice, and Tyrell knew it. Begrudgingly, Lois fished out her wallet and passed it to Tyrell under the table. Deftly, he pulled out the couple hundred dollars, leaving the one credit card and the fake ID that went with it. He passed the empty wallet back...and the vial.

"One snort, each nostril," he said, and carefully took a clean handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to Lois.

Lois swallowed...her hands didn't tremble as she twisted off the cap. Accepted the handkerchief. Anyone looking would see the hot club-goer blowing her nose...