Olenick tossed his putter on the counter. It banged heavily on the tile, knocking two glasses over before sliding onto the floor. Westly rolled his eyes as he approached him with an extended hand.

“Westly Gibbons Private-,” he began.

“Straight Razor, from what I hear. So, Anthony says you’re smart. Smart enough to catch some crazy bitch. But not smart enough to avoid getting swamped in the Clayton scandal,” Olenick sneered.

Westly laughed under his breath.

“True, but a least I was misrepresented. Can you say the same about Justine Glacier?”

Everyone fell silent as Olenick stormed to face Westly.

“You will shove that damn attitude when you are in my house,” he said through his teeth.

“Mr. Olenick, I am just here to find out what happened to your son.”

“He’s dead. Some bullshit perv who likes little boys,” Olenick said dismissively.

“Really, with all his clothes on? It sounds more to me like he was drugged, then killed to send you a message.”

Olenick threw his hands in the air in disbelief.

“You’re over thinking it. Just do your little look around so I can get this over with.”

Westly bit his lip.

“Alright, but avoiding the obvious message is making you look very suspicious.”

Olenick seemed taken aback by Westly’s callousness. The woman on the couch snickered. Olenick slammed his glass on the table, pointing at the two on the couch.

“Talk to them. I need to see my wife.”

Without another word he stormed into the backrooms. Westly shrugged and turned to the people on the couch. He started at the woman’s neck. She wore a thin diamond necklace that covered over the deep scar she had on her neck. The pale foundation she used to mask it further did not help, save to give her a ghastly appearance. The man’s eyes were so close together that it almost looked like one cohesive eye. It didn’t help that he squinted heavily at his phone. Westly took the chair the older woman had recently vacated and stared at them. The woman continued to force back a smile.

“You think a kid getting poisoned is funny?” He said with distain.

She stopped smirking and sneered at him.

“It’s not my fault if Olenick can’t keep track of his own damn kids.”

“Maybe you killed him cause your own pain wasn’t enough.”

“That is disgusting! I don’t even know what you are talking about,” she snapped, though still trying to remain aloof.

“That nasty scar looks like an accident. But you and I know better. Studded leather being pulled by a leash. Saw a prostitute hung last year with the same marks. The question is, are they self-inflicted or are they from some kinky role playing? In any case shows you like to cause pain. Perhaps pain to little boy.”

She shook her head frantically.

“That is not true-”

“Help me out then. If your sadomasochistic self didn’t do it who did?”

“He was drugged!”

“By who?”

“I…,” she stammered.

The man looked up from his phone and sleepily glared at him.

“Cute trick but I don’t see how wasting our time with you is going to catch the guy who did this?” He said with a sniff.

“Getting enough sleep Graham?” Westly quipped turning his attention to Graham.

“What?”

“Have you been getting enough sleep. Your pupils are dilated, and your wrists are limp.”

“Fuck off,” Graham snapped.

He flipped off Westly, and his hand shook his middle finger uncontrollably. Westly scoffed as him.

“So, both of you like to get numb? Guilty conscience?”

Both turned their face from him.

“Nah, both them are too weak to cope living in their tiny brains. So, she punishes herself with violence and he punish himself with medication.”

The words jumped up seeming out of nowhere. Westly looked down at the young boy on the floor, staring at his game with his legs crossed. His eyes were watery from wrinkled contacts. His hair was blonde, but it looked dyed, which was odd given the boy’s age. Westly turned his attention to the kid.

“Alright, you seem to know everything. What do you think happened to your brother?”

The boy lifted the headphones off his ears but didn’t look away from his screen.

“He didn’t listen to Father and I.”

“Why did he need to?”

Brandon sighed, but still focused his puffy eyes on the game.

“We told him not to talk to the men from the RMCA when they came by.”

“Brandon what are you doing?” Graham hissed.

Oliver stepped back in shock but Westly remained motionless, save for folding his hands.

“The Rocky Mountain Citizen’s Army came by here? What were they looking for?” Westly continued.

“Father deals with a lot of people. Not all of them are clean. Take you for example.”

Oliver tried not to laugh.

“So, your brother pissed off one of the RCMA members and they impaled him on the course?”

The boy sighed again.

“Do I need to spell it out?”

“I mean it would make my job easier.”

“You have to know Father has business dealings that go deeper than just textiles.”

“Such as?” Westly continued.

“Brandon shut up! We don’t need this hack poking around our lives.” Graham shouted.

Brandon grinned and for first time looked up at Westly. His grin was filled with braces, each tooth keystone had a red rubber band, giving his teeth looking of spotted blood.

“Sorry Straight Razor. Rest is on you.”

Brandon powered off his game and walked out of the room; as he walked out, he stood behind the man and tapped his nose with an evil grin. Westly was unnerved by his monotone way of speaking for his age and the lack of remorse over the death of his brother. Westly stood up and took Oliver by the arm and led him away from both of them.

“Ollie, I need you to be okay with what is going to happen next.”

“Wes-”

“Just trust me. We’ll still get paid.”

“Wes, I swear-”

“I can’t prove how the kid died without it.”

“Okay,” Oliver agreed reluctantly.

Westly reached into his coat and produced a single black rubber glove. Snapping it on his hand, he strode over to Graham. Like a fork he jammed two fingers into Graham’s nose with such force that it lifted him out of his seat and over the top part of the loveseat. Westly pushed them hard into Graham’s face, cracking his cartilage. He gave one final push and threw him fully over the love seat, wedging his finger deep into the nose before he popped it out like a cork and Graham toppled to the floor letting out a painful screech.

“What the hell is your problem you son of a bitch!” He yelled holding his nose.

Westly ignored him and examined his fingers. The glove was coated in a yellowed silver and white dust that clung to his finger next to the blood and mucus like barnacles on a ship. Westly showed his fingers to Oliver.

“Yep, damn it, P1Ga5 known more commonly by its street name Sunshine. By looks of this shit it’s not the RMCA’s normal mixture, this was cooked in a lab. A prestigious one by the look of it. So, do you have a dealer or did Olenick have one of his labs cook this up?”

Graham pulled himself up, still dazed from having his nose nearly pulled off. Blood slowly started dripping down his nose in large bubbly drops that stained his white shirt. His eyes fixed on Westly with feral rage. He ran full speed at him in a wild attack. Westly stepped back and slapped him across the eyes, knocking him to the floor again. Graham writhed on the floor in tears as the blood from his nose filled his mouth.

“They didn’t tell you about that little side effect. Dulls your sight, makes everything a little blurry and your eyes super sensitive,” Westly said with distain as he grabbed the man by the hair. “Oh, and if you ingest too much it turns your skin yellow. Especially if you are minor!”

The woman bolted back to the bedroom. Westly turned back to Oliver.

“Call Detective Buckley, Centennial PD, tell him if he matches our rate with Olenick, I will give him a large supplier of Sunshine. If he refuses, tell him you will take the same offer to Detective Quincy. Call them both and let them duke it out I guarantee that by the end of it one of them will be our new client.

Oliver stood dumbfounded as Graham attempted to wiggle himself out of Westly’s grasp.

“Head up to the tenth green. I will meet you there shortly, but you have to leave now,” Westly barked.

Oliver was in shock. The sight Westly had left took all the words out of him but he obeyed and left. Anthony lumbered up to Westly dumbfounded.

“Detective Gibbon-”

“Did you know that the RMCA slaughtered two Centennial city council members’ kids by crucifying them down at Castle Rock?” Westly snapped.

“Yes…”

“And you still work for a man who was in business with them? He likely helped make the shit that they fed to his son!”

Westly slammed Graham’s face into the wall.

“So, who’s your dealer? One of the street garbage or do you get special treatment?”

“Let go of me!” He screamed back.

“Try again.”

Westly punched him in the kidney.

“You short them is that it? Take too much? Double dip. Come on Graham the RMCA only kills kids to send a message. So, tell me the damn message.”

Graham fell silent and shook his head.

“Have it your way.”

Westly dragged him into the kitchen. He flung open the freezer and grabbed an ice pack. He smushed the ice on Graham’s eyes. He started to scream again, small weeping spurts, trying to cry.

“You’re insane,” he cried.

“Funny, I was going to say the same thing to you. Sunshine is seeping out of your pores like sweat and you pissed off a gang that isn’t afraid of crucifying kids. You will be wishing for my treatment when they come back, now give me a goddamn name!”

Olenick and Roxane returned to the kitchen. Olenick rushed Westly snatching his putter off the floor as he did. Graham cried, gurgling saliva and blood.

“Chet,”

Westly was able to avoid the head of the putter which Olenick dug into the wall but the shaft caught his shoulder causing him to let Graham go. Graham tumbled to the floor as Westly ducked away from another one of Olenick’s swings. Westly backed himself into the living room. Olenick pursued him gripping the putter like a hatchet, wildly knocking several items off the shelfs and counters.

“Roxie call the police and have them pick this low life up,” Olenick yelled.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Westly responded.

Westly reached into his pocket and produced the latex glove still covered in Sunshine.

“I got a glove with his DNA on it covered in Sunshine that two witness can corroborate came from here. He just gave me a name of a dealer and your other son admitted you have done work with the RMCA gang. That is plenty for a warrant to search your house, your business, and a lot more. You let me walk out, and I tell them I found this glove on another poor idiot.”

Olenick’s hands waned on the putter. His face turned a dark red and his eyes pierced through Westly. Westly shrugged with a half-smile.

“You’re fired!” Olenick growled.

“My lawyer is on the phone with two Centennial narcotics detectives. I will be employed again within the hour. Oh, and if you want to come after REI with that bullshit contract that you made me sign, I used another name. Sorry.” Westly smirked.

He began to walk out the door, stopping in front of Anthony.

“My gun?”

Anthony reached into his coat and handed Westly his revolver.

“I was wrong about you,” Anthony gurgled.

“And yet the world keeps turning. I’ll let myself out,” Westly said.

Westly left out the back door and began to walk up the fairway. The course was large, spreading out across the land, offsetting the brown unkempt ground with the lush green of grass that was so neatly carved it looked painted. The fairway itself beveled inward, creating a deep artificial canyon that ran all the way to green. Each house built along the course was bordered with thick dark pine trees. The beveling combined with trees made walking across it feel you like you were a land all to yourself. Westly made it halfway up the fairway when he spotted an opening in the foliage. Not big enough for an adult to cross comfortably but manageable. Westly peered through the opening. He could clearly see the tenth green from where he was standing. He sighed.

“Failed to mention that,” he mumbled.

Pushing through the trees he made his way to the other fairway. The twigs and small cacti latched themselves to his jeans making the journey uncomfortable. Making it through the other side a little scraped and stuck but looking right down on the tenth green. Oliver was standing on the green pacing back and forth. The majority of the green seemed normal save for the center which was stained an orangish brown. He made his way up to Oliver.

“I just heard from Olenick that we are no longer under his employ. I mean honestly Wes, that has got to be some kind of record. Also, what is this about you torturing his kid brother?”

“Olenick wanted a smoke screen. That is why he had the paperwork, the murder mystery style of everyone sitting in the living room, knowing full well that if I couldn’t figure it out that would not only discredit me, but would pull all eyes off his other business practices.”

“You’re saying we were a patsy?”

“Oh, most definitely. What did the detectives say?”

“Buckley agreed to match our price.”

“See all worked out for the best.”

“This isn’t a good thing Wes! You may not get it, but every time you break someone’s nose or do what it is you do, that shit come back and plants itself on my desk and I have to find a way to still sell you.”

“Just keep the lawyers off my back and I will be happy. Why should I give a shit as to why people like me?”

“Yeah. Did you manage to get anything else from the Olenicks?”

“A dealer maybe, Chet something?”

“That shouldn’t be hard to track down,” Oliver said with sarcasm in his voice.

Westly knelt down next to the hole. The rim was stained dark red, encrusted with blood, but the rest of the hole was that orangish brown. Oliver knelt down next to him.

“Lab created Sunshine sounds a lot like-” Oliver stared before Westly shot his hand up.

“I don’t want to think about him right now.”

“I am just saying he could have.”

Westly ignored him and began digging in the dirt. He pulled up a handful of grass and soil. He rubbed the grass through his fingers, breaking it up, leaving a sparkling orange residue.

“Do you have a fountain pen?” Westly asked.

Oliver handed him a blue fountain pen. Westly dabbed a little on his thumb. The orange residue faded to a weak orange inevitably disappearing on his fingertip. He brushed his pants violently.

“Shit, it isn’t the RMCA doing it, it is the War Wolves.”

“Are you sure?”

“This is Hunter’s moon. Sunshine leaves a yellow residue; the Wolves changed the recipe to be longer lasting. It leaves the place more Orange than Yellow.”

Oliver stuffed the pen back into his pants and ran his fingers through his hair.

“Myron made himself clear if you-”

“I know, Ollie.”

“What do you want to do?”

“I have to make a meeting with Myron.”

“Anything I can do?”

“Call Holly”

“Why?”

“Cause without her I’ll be dead.”