Dario DeJong glanced around the large room, wheeling the desk chair over to Jay Dee and lifting his limp body into the chair. The first (or second) most powerful pimp in the Oklahoma City area had fainted, but Dario couldn't blame him. Anyone would faint to watch another person morph into a near-perfect mirror image.
Dario grabbed the bottle, but nothing on the label made him begin to suspect that the tonic inside was anything other than spring water drawn from the mountains of Poland. He did notice the address on the label said Jefferson, TX. Everything seemed different when you looked down and your hands were big, strong, and Black. The Midwestern prostitute wondered at his own revulsion at those strange hands and wondered if he was a little more racist than he thought.
Or maybe he just knew he was in extreme danger. This wasn't some sitcom where Dee would wake up and think this was all a dream. He would come for Dario, and as far the young man could tell, he was trapped as Jay Dee's long lost brother. Actually - that might work, if he had a bit more time to plan. Assuming Dee's right-hand bodyguard, Fenn, bought it, Dario could pretend to be visiting from Nigeria unannounced and walk right out. Unless Fenn knew Dee didn't have a brother.
But all those explanations were temporary solutions for a permanent problem. No, his only hope was for the potion to work again. Perhaps if he drank it, he'd change back? It seemed like a long shot, but that was all he had at the moment. Uncorking the bottle, he took another quick gulp, about the same amount he'd tried the first time. He felt it tingle and rushed over to the mirror, but nothing changed.
He was still a six-foot-tall Nigerian.
Annoyed, Dario put the bottle, corked, in his pocket. He considered the window, but the cameras would be on and the guards might see him immediately. No, he had to -
The door began to open.
Frantically, Dario turned the swivel chair away to hide Dee's lifeless body, and kept his back turned to the door.
"Sir?" Fenn's voice called out. "Eez everteen' aight?"
Dario coughed, hoping that any oddness in his voice would sound like a frog in his throat. "Yes, Fenn," he tried, with his best Nigerian accent, "We ah talkeen."
"Sorry, sir, I just heahd a tump."
"I tell you what," Dario said, coughing again. "Zhees will take time. I will stay here wiz Dario - you and zhe ozzers can go home now."
"But sir...?"
Without daring to turn around, Dario just repeated his order. "Go home."
Holding his breath, Dario breathed a sigh of relief when the door closed and Fenn Gopa ordered his men to stand down. Even they knew how little threat a prissy little boy from Del City truly was. Little did they know that if he wanted, he could do whatever he wanted to the unconscious pimp.
Finally alone, Dario relaxed, if only one iota. He had no idea when Jay would wake, so he passed the time skimming over documents on Dee's desk. Dario's suspicions were borne out. The Nigerian pimp was hemorrhaging money due to competition from Gavin Lebaron, and one by one, he was being convinced by his men to tighten restrictions, demand more money, push more drugs, and make more examples of his employees. Fenn was the most vocal about stepping up their game and showing Lebaron that they really did mean business from the barrel of a gun.
Dee fought every step of the way, but money always won out in the end. He also found a note taped on the bottom of the desk that read "54, 34, 12", which could only be for the wall safe. Dario took stock - there was no sign of him changing back anytime soon. Jay was starting to stir in his chair. How would he take it, when he came to?
