Hustler

As the soft melodies of early morning birdsong drifted through the air, Fang Lang stirred from his slumber, the early, golden rays of sunlight filtering through his ceiling window and casting a warm glow across his room. With a deep sigh, he blinked his eyes open, the realization dawning upon him that it was Thursday, September 6 — the day Isabella Washington had instructed him to return to her club.

A heavy weight settled in Fang's chest as he contemplated the secret he had yet to share with Mr. Hehrb and his fellow Dogs. He had ventured into the illicit world of drug trafficking as a means to procure funds for a ticket back to Hong Kong, but now found himself entangled in dealings with an actual client.

"Another day," Fang murmured softly, the words carrying the weight of his apprehension as he swung his legs out of bed and onto the cool floor. Determination etched into his features, he embarked on his morning ritual with fervor, pushing himself through a rigorous workout regimen of push-ups, sit-ups, and other calisthenics. After 45 minutes of intense physical exertion, Fang rose to his feet, his muscles singing with exertion as he made his way to the bathroom.

The warm cascade of water from the shower rejuvenated his senses, washing away the remnants of sleep and invigorating his spirit for the day ahead. With meticulous care, Fang attended to his grooming, washing his face, brushing his teeth, and combing his hair until it lay sleek and neat. Dressed in his stylish grey uniform, he surveyed his reflection in the full-body mirror, the gleam of his dog tag catching his eye. Taking a moment to hold the tag in his fingers, Fang traced the engraved letters with a sense of solemnity.

"K-9 of the Miami Dogma," he whispered to himself, his gaze ablaze with determination. He eyed the white streak on the right side of his head. "Mm. Really need to dye that somethin' else."

Descending the staircase to the first floor, Fang was greeted by the tantalizing aroma of breakfast wafting through the air—a comforting blend of sizzling bacon, fluffy eggs, warm biscuits, and freshly cooked pancakes. The familiar scents filled his senses, making his mouth water as he walked to the Dining Hall.

In the expansive dining room, all five Dogma members sat, relishing their meals. Shepherd sat in the center, at the very end of the table, with Dober and Bully on his left, and Dane and Pitt on his right. An empty seat beside Pitt held a plate of food awaiting Fang. Shepherd was the first to spot him.

"Good morning, K-9. Take a seat, your food's still hot," he said. "Mr. Hehrb's orders for today are simple — standby mode. Come and go as you please, but answer the call when it comes. Capiche?"

Fang nodded. "Capiche, Boss. Actually, uh, I wanted to run something by you."

Shepherd's eyebrow arched. Everyone else ate quietly, alert.

"I made a new client my first day here, Bella Washington, ever heard of her?" All eating ceased. Shepherd paused, his expression inscrutable.

"No, I haven't. What deal did you make?" He spoke firmly.

"Sold her about 20 grams for about $2,000. I plan to bring more today. A loyal client could pay off," Fang explained. "She owns a club, right down from SEXXY LAD—"

"Stop. Hehrb never made a bad hire. I'll give you 2 ounces," Shepherd decided, a hint of pride in his eyes.

Fang smiled. "Thanks, Boss."

"It's a pleasure to see ambition. Reminds me of myself. Respect it."

The gang nodded in agreement, finishing their meals. Pitt grinned, "Look at the new guy, making moves."

Benji began clearing the plates as Fang stood.

"Take Bully with you," Shepherd ordered. Bully stood, his expression unchanged.

"Miami ain't safe alone, capiche? Stick together."

"Got it, Boss," Fang replied. He and Bully turned to leave the room.

"Grab some Takis!" Pitt called out.

"Grab some rillos for me!" Dane added.

"Sure thing!" Fang replied before they exited, heading for the garage.

Fang expertly maneuvered the van out of the garage, navigating the bustling streets of Miami with ease. Bully sat stoically beside him. As they neared Club Space, the neon lights and booming bass of the nightlife district grew more pronounced, signaling their arrival.

Upon entering the club, they were engulfed by a wave of sound and energy. The air was thick with excitement, mingled with the scent of alcohol and sweat. Neon lights danced across the walls, illuminating the sea of bodies on the dance floor, each one moving in sync with the pulsating music. Laughter and conversation filled the air, overwhelming the two a bit.

Making their way through the throngs of people, Fang led Bully to the VIP section, where the atmosphere was even more electric. The music throbbed louder, the lights flashed brighter, and the crowd, though smaller, seemed to buzz with anticipation. As they reached the same door from Fang's previous visit, Fang knocked with a sense of purpose, the sound cutting through the din of the club like a drumbeat in the night.

The door opened. At the entrance, instead of Victoria Vasquez, a formidable man blocked Fang's path, towering over him with a menacing presence. Standing at least 6 feet tall, he loomed over Fang's 5'7 frame, his piercing gaze scrutinizing Fang while he sneered, flicking his wavy, brown hair. "Who the hell are you?" he growled.

Undeterred, Fang stood his ground. "That's none of your concern. I'm here for Bella."

"Bella?" the man snarled. "Since when did you two meet?"

Before the tension could escalate, Bully intervened, brandishing a black butterfly knife against the man's throat with swift precision. Despite the threat, the man remained unfazed, his arrogance evident as he taunted them.

"You have no idea who you're dealing with, do you?" the man scoffed, his haughty demeanor unwavering.

Bully said nothing, his gaze piercing into the man's soul as he inched the blade closer, emanating a simmering violence.

"Raul!" Bella Washington's sultry voice emanated from behind the imposing figure. "I am conducting business with that man. Stop fucking interfering."

The man, with his clean-shaven, scarred face set in a perpetual scowl, huffed and retreated from the door. Fang pushed it open, leading himself and Bully inside.

Bella approached casually, planting a wet smooch on Fang's cheek and cupping his cheeks in her manicured hands."Your product did amazing, Fang," Bella cooed, smiling as she handed him four bands. "My customers are devouring it, quite literally. Here's 50% of my earnings, plus the same amount I paid you last time. I'd like to purchase more. Please tell me you brought additional stock, darling."

Fang smirked, retrieving the 2 ounces from his jacket pocket, neatly packaged and compact. "Two ounces. $120 a gram. A fair price for the quality, wouldn't you agree?"

Bella's smile faltered. "No. I want exactly what I got last time, Fang. I do not need a whole damn two ounces. I ain't like you all—I ain't involved in the drug business like dat. I merely offer it as a service at my establishment."

Fang's smile vanished, and he furrowed his eyebrows. "You said it did amazing, Bella. Why refuse double?"

Bella smirked. "I'm aware of who you are, K-9. The company you keep. While I may not be directly involved in the drug trade, I hear things. Your presence here poses a risk to what I've built. Purchasing this cocaine entails risk. Is it truly worth it?"

Bully scoffed, but Fang remained composed, steadfast in his belief that he could convince her. Mr. Hehrb's words resonated in his mind.

"I could use a man like you, Fang Lang."

Exhaling, Fang proposed, "A hundred a gram, the Dogma gets 70 percent."

"K-9...!" Bully seethed, though he allowed Fang to manage his own client negotiations. He resolved to stand firm, folding his hands together.

"Hmm... no, honey, $90 a gram, and I'll grant you 50 percent, just as before." Bella observed her nails.

"Bella... tsk, tsk, tsk," Fang smirked. "You're correct. Purchasing this product indeed carries risk, but it also enhances reputation. Miami Dogma is everybody's hometeam, didn't you know? People will flock here when they hear they can get a gram for $100. It's $120 at the SEXXY LADY."

As Bella listened, her eyebrows twitched. Fang maintained eye contact, aiming to lower her guard. Their eyes locked, a smoldering intensity boiled between them.

"Your customers will crave more of this coke, Bella," Fang asserted, his tone conveying his words as mere logic and not something complicated. "You don't have to necessarily be in the drug business to be in the money business. And if you're in the money business—which, judging by this place, you are," Fang gestured, and Bella nodded in agreement. "Then the Miami Dogma is gonna need those percentages. Ya get me?"

Bella fell silent, her gaze drifting to the room's walls. Raul, the man from earlier, lingered against a far wall, observing.

"We've acquired a new product as well—we could expand to heroin," Fang proposed as a final resort. Bella's dark eyes returned to Fang, her thoughts inscrutable. She bit her bottom lip and sighed.

"Alright, Fang. I'm sold."

Fang smiled. "Then it's settled."

He tossed the bag of coke on the table, like their previous transaction. Bella retrieved two additional bands from her snakeskin purse and extended them to Fang. "Here's to the beginning of a lucrative business relationship."

With six bands in hand, Fang distributed three to Bully. They concealed them in their jackets, nodding at each other resolutely. Fang turned and went to shake Bella's hand, maintaining eye contact and flashing a charming grin. As he was about to pull away, she did something unexpected. Pulling him in closer and bringing her lips to meet his ears, she whispered,

"Hold on, I'mma give you my number."