Dario DeJong paced back and forth in the foyer of Jay Dee's run-down house in Del City. The neighborhood had gone to shit, of course, especially after the tornado, and no one complained that Dee's yard was covered in weeds and tall, dry grass - it matched the pothole filled street beyond.
The house belied Dee's wealth. The Nigerian had built up quite an empire with just a strong arm and a few loyal thugs. But he kept a low profile, so the police didn't know that he was the cause of the recent rise in prostitution in Oklahoma City.
Dario was pacing because his numbers had been low recently. He only had three hundred dollars for the week, and Jay wasn't going to be happy. When he'd first signed up, Dario had liked the man. Jay wasn't stingy, and he paid his whores with either a 30% cut or 15% and a little heroin, or meth if that was their shit. He also protected them well from the cops, hiding them for weeks, if necessary.
But the pressure of running a business, and competition from another pimp was starting to change Jay. He seemed angry a lot of the time, and where before he'd been understanding about a slow week, he was starting to crack down. Dario wasn't slacking; there just wasn't as much work for a twink like him right now. Money was tight, and most guys (women rarely hired him) wanted pussy.
"You may see him now,'' Fenn Gopa said, looming at the now-open door. Fenn was an old - well, not friend - acquaintance of Jay Dee, also Nigerian, but unlike Dee, Fenn was huge. Both had the extra dark skin of Africans, and a thick accent that made `him' sound more like `heem'. Fenn was something of an enforcer, though he rarely had to resort to the Desert Eagle holstered on his waist.
Dario nodded, walking meekly, fawn-like to the door. He'd learned long ago that too much confidence only made other men feel uncomfortable around him. He sashayed to the door, used to pretending to be exactly what people expected to put men at ease.
Fenn took up a post next to the entrance to Dee's den, alongside another big, black man who rarely spoke. Dario took in a deep breath as he sought audience with the `king'.
"Dario, Dario!'' Dee said in a big voice, standing up when his employee entered. "I am so glad to see you. Come in! Close ze door, you know I trus' you.''
Even though Dee wasn't as large as his bodyguards, he still had forty pounds on Dario. But there had to be some truth to what he was saying, because no one had bothered to pat him down for weapons. Not that he would ever consider such a thing! Slowly, Dario closed the door, turning to face his employer with a polite smile, and a "Hello.''
"Is a good day, no?'' Dee boomed. "I zhink ze Gods are smiling. Have a seat.'' He strode behind his desk, plopping into his office chair and leaning back with both hands behind his head.
Dario took the folding chair placed neatly in front. He didn't mind - the chair was the right size for him. He sat at a perfect ninety degrees, hands resting on his knees. "I don't have much,'' he said, looking down.
Dee leaned forward, putting his elbows on the desk. "Dario,'' he said, composing his thoughts. "You know I understand. I say zhat when we first meet, no? Not every week is good. How much?''
Dario sighed. "Three hundred...and five.''
"Nyah! Tosk, tosk...'' he said, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "A cute leetle boy like you? I find zhat hard to believe.''
"I...'' Dario stammered.
"You take ze 30%? You know I worry about you, Dario. How you going to live on thirdy dollaz a week? Or ... you ain't holding back on me, are you ...?''
Dario froze. Dee had couched the accusation in what sounded like genuine concern, but nonetheless, it was there. He was asking if Dario was stealing from him. He'd never felt the need to do that before. "No! No,'' he repeated. "I would never do that.''
Clapping his hands together, Dee stood up. "Of course you wouldn't. I know zhat. You are smarter zhan zhat. You want a drink? Beer? Whisky?''
Dario's throat was parched, but not because he was especially thirsty. "Water, please.'' he said, politely.
Dee gave him a wide smile, his bright, white teeth gleaming out against his dark, black skin. "I don't zhink I have any.''
"Nothing is fine,'' Dario explained.
Dee walked over to the mini fridge in the corner anyway, talking as he walked. "I am afraid ze contract, she will be changing, Dario. Of course I trust you - it's ze ozzers I am worried about.''
Dario blinked. Dee had never suggested a contract change before. Finances must be really bad.
He continued, "You see, I know you got more potential. You jus' need zha motivation! You will have a minimum, Dario, but nuzzing you can't get.''
"But -''
"A cute boy like you will figure it out. Cruise ze parks for desperate pedos, you know. Truck stops. Look, I don't need to tell you how to do your job.'' Dee had opened the fridge, grabbing himself a beer and rooting around.
"...how much?'' Dario asked, the hair on the back of his neck rising.
"Five hundred. A week.''
Dario felt his pulse slow. That was doable. He averaged almost a grand. But if times were tight, that number would go up - he knew it would. "And if I miss it? Some weeks are slow.''
"One or two times, no problem, Dario. Ah, Vitameen Water. Is zhat okay?''
"Yes. But after that?''
Dee stopped at his desk to plant the beer there, then walked over to Dario, saying, "I will have to reevaluate my trust in you.'' This time, he wasn't smiling.
Dario gulped, finally feeling thirsty. He grabbed the bottle from Dee's hand, surprised to find a corked bottle. Something...Polish? He twisted the cork out. "That won't happen,'' he promised, though he couldn't really know for sure. He'd always liked Jay Dee, but this new look he was giving was unsettling.
"No, I don't suppose eet will,'' he replied, walking back to his desk.
Lifting the bottle to his lips, Dario took a quick sip. "Blech!'' he said, lowering it immediately. It was sour and bitter all rolled up in one. Whatever passed for health sure tasted bad.
Dee sat in his chair and swiveled so that he was turned away from Dario. "Gavin Lebaron is getting on my turf. He's giving away crack to my whores and taking zhem from me. Don't you go to him, Dario.''
Dario coughed quietly, his hand to his lips. He wanted to acknowledge his employer, but he was having trouble talking. His skin started to ripple and his head was swimming. He had to set his feet apart to keep from falling off the chair, instinctively leaning over to settle the bottle next to the chair on the carpet, still uncorked.
"I do trus' you, Dario, because you always take ze money, and not ze drugs. But times are tough, and Lebaron is not a good man. He wants all his boys and girls hopped up and dependent on him. I don't.''
Dario fell to the floor, but he was small, and the carpet muffled the impact. He crawled on all fours, watching as his arms began to grow, and his skin turned deathly black. The color washed over him like a plague, and he knew he must be dying. Had Dee poisoned him? Why would he be talking like this if he had?
Or maybe someone had given Dee the Vitamin Water in an attempt to poison him. Perhaps Fenn? It didn't matter anymore, as Dario reeled wordlessly on the ground, his entire body aching as he lay there.
"I don't want to hurt zhem, or you, or anyone, but I will. I have. But you won't make me hurt you, will you, Dario?''
"Nnnrgh!'' he gasped, trying to stand on legs that were straining at his white capris. His loose tank top wasn't so loose anymore as he grew bigger and bigger. Desperately, he kicked off his shoes to free his feet.
Finally, Dee noticed and said, "Dario?'' and spun around, eyes wide as he looked upon the young man, shifting in front of him, turning black, bulging in every direction, and struggling to breathe. "My...God...'' he gasped once, and then, amazingly, he fainted.
"Heeeep...'' Dario gasped, but his employer would be no use like he was. Instead, he writhed, slowly dying, until finally, the sensations were done.
But the pain stopped.
Dario blinked, confused.
He wasn't dead.
He was more than a foot taller, and forty pounds heavier. The blackness of his skin wasn't a disease, he realized. He was just Black. Frantically, launched himself to his feet and ran to the back of the room where there was a mirror and his jaw dropped.
He looked like Jay Dee.
Not exactly, no, but same skin color, height, weight, build. His facial features bore more than a passing resemblance. Anyone who looked closely would tell immediately that he was `off', close enough to Dee to be his brother. The water wasn't poison - it was magic!
"Oh, fuck...'' he said softly, not wanting to alert the guards. He had no idea what they would do, or think, about what had just happened, but the odds that they would kill him were pretty fucking high. Dee himself might, if he hadn't fainted. Was this going to...wear off? Would Dee remember it, or forget why he fainted? How long would he be out?
"What do I do?''
