Scene 1
Weise flicked the ersatz Cuban cigar in his hand, dropping its ashes on the carpet floor. He had been smoking for a while as he waited for the mediator, filling the room with smoke. He knew by doing this he would bother that queer suit-clad guy—who was a known wellness freak—, but that was part of the plan. Both the smoke and the ashes on the floor. He would soon take out the next cigar and continue with it.
They were on the backstage of a club. A small room turned into a makeshift office, lit by a dark blue floor lamp in a corner and a few weak purplish light tubes on the walls, with two long sofas facing each other and a low table in between with a few magazines and a big empty ashtray. All else was dead space, besides a bunch of graffiti stacked over each other on the back wall to the side of the sofas. It looked like there was a competition to be the last graffiti sprayed to cover all the others.
The low frequencies and the kick of the modern music from the club could be heard several walls away. It invited for a few drinks and a few dopes. Not the time, unfortunately.
Weise saw his intention working when the bald mediator first entered the room and encountered the thickness hanging in the air. He stopped beneath the doorframe, a bloated weekender on hand. The face was that of horror for a split second. Afterwards he adjusted both his suit with one hand and his face, then continued in to sit on the sofa opposite to Weise and his team. He cleared his throat as he glanced at the three other members behind Weise, guarding him in silence.
Milan, a red-haired diva with a slight tan. She stood right beside Weise behind the sofa, her arms crossed under her chest and her eyes judgmental over the mediator. Paus, a scrawny young guy with clear nerve issues. He examined the walls of the place as he scratched his own wrists. And last, Mule, a big dark man—clearly too big to be normal. He was way back, leaning on the darker wall with a bent knee. Some thought he was mysterious. Weise, however, knew that he was only shy.
The mediator’s eyes shook as he switched between each team member, taking a snapshot of each of them. This was the first time they were all called to join Weise in the meeting. An odd request. The mediator appeared intimidated. It was probably Milan and her over-the-top femme fatale act. A common bluff of hers. Or, maybe, the bald guy was just doped already. That would explain why he took so long to get here. It was difficult not to indulge in this damned district, after all.
The mediator sighed, then held a cough from the smog. “I bet you all wonder the circumstances,” he began, his voice soft like a monk.
“Quite so,” Weise replied with the hoary voice of a real grown man. An act, in truth.
“There isn’t much to talk,” the mediator said. “Not this time, so, I’ll get to the point real quick. I got contacted for a line of jobs—ten jobs—offering a total of twenty million martins, net and cash, split in five hundred thousand for each job.”
Milan let a small laugh out, “You’re getting scammed, man,” she told him with her alto voice. “That’s absurd.”
“Is there even that much money circulating on Mars?” Weise added.
The mediator grinned. “I’m just as surprised as you. I’m afraid I didn’t think twice before accepting. You see, they were quite straight forward with everything. I mean, I already got the first five hundred thousand right here.” He tapped the weekender beside him. “We’ll be getting the pay in advance for each job.”
“Show us,” Milan said.
The mediator opened the zipper just enough to show a bit of the bloated insides of the weekender. All eyes turned to check the bag full of papers in different hues of orange. Then, he zipped it shut again.
“Speak,” Weise told him, interested.
“The terms are simple,” the mediator said. He cleared his throat with a hand on his mouth as he leaned forward in a serious gesture. He frowned at the smoke around him. His annoyed face pleased Weise, who almost couldn’t hold a smile back. “One,” he started. “Do the job quietly, no glory, no story, no word to anybody, not between yourselves, not to the guy in the mirror. Two. Do the jobs on the exact agreed dates and time of day, no delay and no hurrying. Three. Ride only the vehicles provided at the specified spots. Four. Dedicate yourselves to the ten jobs and the ten jobs only, no other commission can be taken in the meantime. Five—” he stuttered and swallowed his own saliva. “Five. After all the ten jobs are done, all parties involved will retire, no more commissions, no more contact with any mediator or mercenary. Zero. This is a definite goodbye for all of us, and there will be no takebacks after agreeing. And lastly, six. I was instructed to only share the details of the commission after you accept and sign an NDA contract provided to me by the contact directly.” The mediator let out a long breath and leaned back on the sofa, trying to relax as he put his arm over the length of the head rest of the sofa.
Weise took a puff of his cigar and exhaled the smoke in such a way that it turned out as big as possible in front of him. He frowned at the mediator, each wrinkle a mark of veterancy. “So, we have to say yes and sign a paper for you to tell us anything. Risky stuff.” He flicked the cigar, dropping ashes on the floor. He saw the mediator look at the ashes as they hit the carpet. He could see the outrage behind the bald man’s acted calmness.
Eyeing him down, Milan asked, “Was it the same for you?”
The mediator grinned with his eyes shut from the smoke and replied, “Yes.”
“So, you already signed.”
“Yes, I already signed mine, so I’m in this for good.”
Weise took another puff of his smoke. “Who’s our contractor?” he asked.
“I can only say what I already said.” The mediator pointed up with a finger. “Now, here are the papes.” He opened a side pocket of the weekender, took a bunch of raw documents, and slid the four contracts separately on the table, each several pages in length. “Look, if you don’t accept, I’ll find someone else. Just saying.”
Weise took the papers and passed them over his shoulder to Milan, who passed them to the other two. “What will be your cut this time?” he asked the mediator as he skimmed the contract.
“Same as always.”
Folding the paper tight with her fingertips, Milan told him, “Thirty-two is way too much for the total amount for this job,” She leaned over the sofa with a hand on the head rest, pressing down with her own weight. “You can go lower this time, I’m sure.”
“How much are you thinking, then?” The mediator twisted his head to one side as he faked a smile.
As he read the contract, Weise told him, “Twenty.”
“Twe—”
“Let us go equal this time,” Weise stared at the mediator over the paper as he interrupted him. “Let us all have twenty percent, no more, no less. Take it and retire like all of us.”
“That’s four million for each,” Paus said, looking at the graffiti up close.
The mediator entwined his fingers, both elbows on his thighs. “So, I take it you’ll accept.”
Milan leaned over Weise and told him in a low voice, “No way back, Weise.”
Weise thought, looking at the paper in his hand. He hadn’t read much of it. Too much of a hassle. “Are you with me?” He asked Milan. She nodded as she tapped his shoulder. Then, he looked at the mediator as he put the paper down on the table and told him, “We’ll do it.”
The mediator smiled and clapped his hands together. “Great, then. Let’s begin.”
