The darkness of the room’s corner concealed him. He waited, oversized .38 special in hand. It really was a special .50 cal he’d picked up, but in his hands it seemed small. It looked just like a .38 Special, just enormous, unless he was holding it.
Come on punk, he thought. You know you want to come meet your maker. Maximillion Reginald, known to his friends and associates as Max Red, was an enormous, and powerful black man. He had been blessed with a rare gene, one which gave him the ability to see in just about any light, making his job much easier. Max was a detective, not the best, but damn good. Unlike others in his profession, Max could work where others couldn’t.

“Max!” the thug called out, “I just want to get the neon-pink drawstring pouch from the back room and get outta here. Can we make a deal?”

“I was paid Donny, you know the deal,” Max Red said from behind the large column that was barely concealing him.

“Max, just give it to me and I’ll go. I know the score, you versus me and I loose. But I could take you down, it’s possible. Not likely, but possible. Since you ain’t a cop, I figure you’ll let me get it an go. What’cha want for trade?” Donny called out.

“Get me the Conroe Report and it’s yours,” Max replied.

“The Conroe Report! Sheesh Max! you gotta be kidding? Steel’s involved in that operation. Ain’t ya seen the news? How I’m supposed to get that?” Donny whined, “Anything else we could trade for?”

“I could use a new atomic nebulizer for Moll,” Max said.

“Moll… your wheels?” Donnie asked.

“Who else?” Max grunted.

Bang! the shot rang out.

“Donnie, that was close. I thought we were talking?” Max called out.

“I thought you were going to be reasonable, you know they haven’t made an atomic nebulizer since before The Core was borne,” Donnie barked.

“Fine, fine! What about Stacey?” Max said.

“Who’s that?” Donnie asked.

“She’s that black market chick that says she can get you off world. She’s that rogue AI,” Max replied.

“Wha? You wanna a date?” Donnie quipped.

“No, just an introduction. I gotta get off this world. I’ve a load I need to deliver and I’ve been stuck here for eight years now. I should have listened when they said don’t take corridor sixteen. Donnie, I gotta say, your world sucks,” Max replied.

“I know a guy. He can get you in ta see her,” Donnie

Turning Max squeezed through the office door. Most doors weren’t built for him and he often had to bend over and squeeze through. Once in the office he grabbed the boss’ desk and pulled. The welded metal frame screeched out loudly in protest as it slammed against the wall.

“One minute Donnie,” Max called out.

He stepped over the unconscious owner, who had made the mistake of telling Max he couldn’t have his cigar box back. Once at the back he looked around and found the safe in the wall. Grabbing the safe, he wrenched it out of the wall and walked back out.

“Here, it’s in this,” Max said, tossing the safe all the way across the room.

Clunk! the safe rang out as it crashed into the front wall. The neon lights from outside lightly caressed the floor through the breach.

“Sheesh! Max! For the love of God be careful. You almost hit me,” Donnie cried out.

“Uh, sorry. Just take the pouch and go. I’ll be at Lenny’s Bar in an hour. Bring me that introduction,” Max ordered. “Donnie,” he said, stepping out from behind the column. As he stepped forward, his strides accentuating his words, he lit his cigar. “Don’t make me regret giving you that,” he said. His two finger cigared hand pointed over Donnie’s shoulder.

Donnie looked up, fear in his eyes, “I… I won’t. No need to kill me!” Donnie cried, his palm slamming down on the ground behind him, his other hand coming up.

“He he he,” Max chuckled. “See you in an hour,” Max said, striding past him out into the night.

***