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Hawley Crenshaw

I have what you want, and I got what you need.

0 · 395 views · located in Main Street 1

a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by NotAFlyingToy

Description

The Who wrote:She's got the power to heal you,
Never fear!
She's got the power to heal you,
Never fear.
Just a word from her lips,
And the deaf begin to hear.


You talk about your woman? Well, he's got lots of those women all lined around the block, but they aren't looking to go on his ride. Oh no. They're looking for work, and Hawley Crenshaw has what they need. Yessir, a simple dose, five minutes of delectable Zerocayne, and you got yourself a wonderful, translucent journey down the block as a comatose man with a comatose mind.

Be weary, however; the journey don't just last five minutes. Oh no. Five minutes is the first leg.

You see, partner, if you're on the Z-train? You're hooked for life.

Hawley's the man to go to. He has what you want, and he's got what you need.

Best get those pills ready.

So begins...

Hawley Crenshaw's Story

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#, as written by NotAFlyingToy
Hawley was bored.

It was the boredom of knowing that he should work, that he should keep his profit margin's exceptionally overbalanced, but having very little to do otherwise. His girls hadn't been producing the same kind of green that they normally did, for quite some time. It made him more than a little sour that the paper wasn't flowing as usual, that the high-town men of Wing City weren't into the sex and drug scene as much as they used to be, but it was only with passing irritation that he considered the topic.

It wasn't like he was going to change jobs anytime soon. He was cozy as the most reliable dealer on this half of Wing City. He had his own crew, his own ladies, his own product. The green little vials that he stocked in his coat, a substance stolen off of some Derelict doctor drunk off his ass one night, had proven to literally die for. It got you hooked, it got you high. What else could a dealer ask for? He shifted against one of the wooden poles of the deck, watching the ocean lap against the boardwalk. His usual Tuesday night position.

He ran one hand through the thick black locks of hair. In one life, Hawley could have been considered beautiful. But a madman with a knife and a refused debt had ruined that for him quickly. Now one of his eyes was milky white, a conflicting image to the pure green of the opposite iris. It had not only afflicted his appearance, but his outlook. All debts were collected by outside sources. And all women weren't taken unless the weaponry of their takers was eliminated.

He didn't advertise his product. Enough knew him that they'd come to him for a shot of Z. And he'd gladly accept the green.

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#, as written by NotAFlyingToy
He noticed the girl, huddled and walking with a box of tissues in hand, and felt as if a little crosshair circled his vision and centred upon her. Target sighted.

Three things flew through his mind: The first, was that she was an obvious junky, class three or four, in his book. She needed to get high, or drunk... whatever she could to nab and grab drugs. And drugs were the bottom line.

The second? She was dirty, smelly, and strangely inviting, to a certain type of man. Hers was the kind of form he was always looking for. That sucker of a Doctor, (Shine, was it? Lit? Some type of light source) would go for the likes of her.

The sucker of a doctor would probably even marry the likes of her.

The third? She was probably broke as fuck.

The first two didn't concern him so much as the third one did. He couldn't do anything with the prospect of not making money. But if she proved useful in... other ways...

He strode towards her, the tails of the longcoat whipping behind him in the coastal breeze, his mismatched eyes never straying from his prize. "Hey!" He called, in a loud, booming voice, hoping to nab her attention.

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#, as written by NotAFlyingToy
"I am. Lookin for a bit of spice, sugar?" He allowed his tones to drip with honey, inviting and deep, hoping to intice her with what he had to offer. "You're looking like you need a bit of happiness in the cold, a little something to numb your bones with from this dreadful wind we're having. I have just the thing; simple and easy, and it'll get you right back on your feet, true."

He smiled, opening his coat to reveal the vials, glowing faintly green in the sunlight. "Made by the famous Doctor of Robotics, Mr. Light. This stuff was intentioned to keep patients numb and in a state of euphoria for up to twelve hours, depending on dosage, for cybernetic implant experimentation. I guarantee you that you'll be seeing Mother Theresea with a moustache being taken by green aliens. This is exactly what you're looking for, my sweet. True."

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#, as written by NotAFlyingToy
He laughed, wondering at the order of thoughts. First on the list was if he was police, second on the list was wondering if he would give her a freebie.

"Dear girl, if I was a cop, do you think I'd be here, on the Boardwalk, without a shred of backup in this getup?" He waved his hand down his coat, showing off the steel-toed shitkickers and longcoat. "Most law enforcement officers I've had the lack of priveledge to know don't go around dressed as the very people they're meant to protect against. Even the undercover officers wouldn't be this disgustingly dressed, I assure you."

He cocked his head, pondering her second query. "Aha, I missed the best part, my dear. You see, the first sample - a five minute system shock - is free. Supply is in high demand, you see. And I find that most customers who try before they buy always come back, satisfied." Or hooked. For life. "So you see, it's a win-win situation for you. I can't arrest you, and you can get a little taste of heaven. What do you say, my dearest?"

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#, as written by NotAFlyingToy
He smiled, wide, his teeth unnaturally white in the sunlight. "It's called Zeroycane Anastesia, deary. But that's quite the mouthful, wouldn't you say? I prefer to call it Z."

He jingled the vials, smiling wider. Check and mate. He had her. Now he needed to deliver the goods. "It's wonderful, darling. You won't feel illness or pain or cold. You'll feel warmth and picture pleasant dreams and thoughts. It's the perfect thing for winter, and the fun thing to do for summer. You've never tried anything like it, my dearest. Truth. And you'll never find anything like it again. Truth."

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#, as written by NotAFlyingToy
Gotcha, bitch.

"You haven't been asking the right people, my dear. I prefer to think that it's so good because of the closely guarded secret it represents."

He laughed. "Oh, you expect me to subjugate you to the excellence of Zero on the middle of a boardwalk? My dearest, I just couldn't let you sample this succulent substance without ample... atmosphere." He lifted an arm, indicating a wooden door that was labelled "Hawley's Medicine", the shit-eating grin still plastered across his pale face. "My clinic is but a few meters a way. It's well-lit, it's clean, and it's without any sort of implication. I do not wish your body, nor your harm. That'd be bad for business.

"What I wish for you is to try some Z in comfort, think upon it, and come back for some more. It's all I ask, and it's what I guarantee."

He awaited her response, doubting very much she'd deny him.

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#, as written by NotAFlyingToy
He smiled, opening the door with practiced ease after the very short walk, waving her in. It was cozy inside, with candles burning brightly on the walls, which were painted a pleasant mocha colour. Across the back wall was a row of couches that were made of pale leather, immaculate and obviously upkept, maybe a year old. On the floor was plush light blue carpeting, that was speckled with grey. A single mirror was on the wall to the right, and on the wall to the left there were needles and a sink, with fluids and soaps used for disinfecting and cleansing them.

There was no repeat business in corpses.

"Make yourself at home, my dearest. I'll prepare the Z. Truth." He walked towards the cleansing station, taking a syringe and putting it through it's paces; cleaning the needle, the inside, filling it with soapy Club Soda and rinsing it, in fluid motions.

"How long have you lived in Wing City?" He asked, making small talk as he worked.

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#, as written by NotAFlyingToy
He smiled over at her, the needle completely prepared and ready for injection. "My name, my dear, is Hawley Thaddeus Crenshaw. I was born in a town not far from here, have a PhD in Medicine, actually. I wanted to be a doctor, but life takes you strange and funny places, doesn't it."

He approached her, getting down on one knee next to her own. "What's your name, my dear?" He made a show of using one alcohol swab to clean the tip of the metal needle thoroughly, and then tossing the remains in a nearby trashcane. Using his thumb and forefinger, he tested the pump, inspecting it thoroughly. When he was satisfied, he drew one of the green vials from his Jacket, shaking it.

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#, as written by NotAFlyingToy
He smiled up at her as he pushed the needle into the vial, moving the plunger out so that the green liquid filled the syringe, glowing faintly in the well lit room. He listened to her name, his lips turning upwards even wider. "Bug. Such an odd name. Then again, there's not much these days that's definably 'normal', now is there? Normal's a setting on a washing machine; that's what my mother always said. Truth."

He sat beside her, listening to her query as he squirted a small drop out of the precious liquid out of the syringe, tapping it to get the bubbles out. There was just a small amount, barely enough to fill the 5 mg marking. It was enough to take her to delightful places. "I got this scar from a disagreement, I'm afraid. A gentleman with a razor blade and a drop of poison didn't exactly enjoy the way I price my product. Unfortunately, he did it right in front of the Wing City Police station, and so I didn't get in immediate trouble."

"Oh, hush." He said, at her meek protest about needles. "I guarantee you the pain that you'll feel will be warmed and ebbed away immediately. If it doesn't fade, I'll be sure to give you a vial for free. How's that?" He smiled charmingly, gently lifting her arm and extending it.

"May I proceed, Bug?" He said, half-dead gaze meeting her puffy, red, and disheveled eyes.

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#, as written by NotAFlyingToy
With careful strokes he wiped at her skin, just above the vein he wanted. The Alcohol swab came away from the ordeal a black, smudged mess, but he paid no heed to it. Of course she was dirty. Poor thing probably lived in a cardboard box, somewhere.

He pressed the metal into the first vein he found, without hesitation. It was a well practised move, one that he had done even as a doctor, and not one of the low lives that pushed their drugs on the near-innocent.

"Now, my sweet Bug," he whispered, pulling the plunger to mix a little blood into the serum, first, and then pushing it in, slowly. "embrace heaven."

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#, as written by NotAFlyingToy
He rubbed the skin of her neck between thumb and forefinger, smiling at her. "How do you feel, Bug?" He whispered, softly. "Do you feel the sun? Do you hear the clouds moving? Can you feel the room's warmth? What colour is your mind? What colour are your dreams?"

"You'll want the sting, want the needle again. And I'll be here when you want it. Ride it out, Bug. You have three minutes left. Ride it out."

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#, as written by NotAFlyingToy
He smiled at her. "And now you can, Bug. And now you can."

He had learned that stimuli had positively affected the people that were caught under Zerocayne's spell. He tried it now, watching her reaction as his fingers trailed up her bare arm, down her clothed thigh until they rested on her knee. He circled the pads of his fingers, around and around, on her knee, watching the reactions she gave.

He'd seen some strong reactions before, but never the one she gave off; as if she was hovering, vibrating to a tune that only she could hear. He had taken the drug himself when Thomas invented it, but he'd managed to fight through it, using the antidote he had cooked up mere days later. The smile he reserved for women under the spell of the Z he wore, now, his eyes transfixed on her throat.

"One more minute, Bug. Take it home."

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#, as written by NotAFlyingToy
He smiled at her, standing over her with his hands in his pockets, relishing the feelings and bliss she must be experiencing, envying the way she had just given herself over to it. It made him crave... no. No, he was finished with that, now. Finished with pricking and poking his skin with questionable materials. As she came down from her high, and he counted backwards from thirty, he began re-cleaning the utensils he used. Swabbing the needle, rinsing the syringe, and heating the boiling water to erase all traces of Z.

"Three, two one." He called, whirling to face her. In seconds, he was bounding across the room, knees on the couch as he stared down at her, eager as all hell. "How do you feel, Bug?"

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#, as written by NotAFlyingToy
"Deep breaths." He said, smiling at her. "Deep, deep breaths."

He set about answering her questions as he sat back against the arm of the couch, bending his legs until his knees were blocking her face from his vision. He stared upwards at the ceiling fan, watching it whirl around and wobble. "To answer your questions? Yes, it's most definitely legal so long as you identify who you got it from and confirm that you're an experimental test subject of Light Industries."

"As for the second query, the answer is no." His tone took a sharp turn as he sat up suddenly, glaring at her. "The deal was a shot of five minutes for free. If you want the hour dosage, it's five hundred a vial. For half a vial, it's two-twenty. Both of those prices exclude syringe. I also accept payment by the miligram."

He rattled off his prices quickly, never moving his gaze. "I take cash."

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#, as written by NotAFlyingToy
He took the bills, flattened desperately in his hands, his fingers tight around the green paper. He had heard this spiel before, the begging, the pleading. She didn't say the words, really. Not right out, anyways. But he could see the gears turning in her head, and he could hear the pleading in her voice, calculating how much money she could make, how many tables she could wipe or tricks she could turn.

It had worked masterfully, his plan. It always did. Taste-test, bait, sinker.

Most pimps and drug dealers kept their work separate from each other, operating in their own capacity. Most families that he had run into during his travels had worked in a similar fashion; this is Tony, he runs the prostitution ring, or Mike here runs the heroin racket. Mike, come say Hi to Scarface, here.

Hawley didn't see the point of this.

Why couldn't the two 'rackets' - though he was loathe to call it such a barbaric name - be combined in an effortless, flawless way? Why couldn't he have his cake and eat it too, so to speak? That was why he approached mostly females for his 'taste-test' swap. He needed to gather his numbers, keep the girls coming back to him.

And then, he began his two-step 'payment plan'.

"My dear Bug," he said, taking the money and tucking it back in her palm, closing her fingers, so pale in his white walled clinic, closed around the wad of dough. "My dearest. This is not enough money." He shook his head, his tone light, his gaze hard. "This cannot even get you a drop of the nectar. This cannot even buy the syringe. How would I make any money if I gave out favors? No, no. I'm afraid it's five hundred for an hour. Two-twenty for half an hour."

He stood from her, turning his back. "You know the way out, dear." If she left, she would wander the streets, trying to find cash, and he'd invoke the plan then. If she begged...

If she begged.

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#, as written by NotAFlyingToy
He cupped her cheek, smiling at her. Hook line. Hook line and sinker.

"No," he said, kindly. "though, there is one thing that I've done in the past. It's my... well, payment plan." He stood dramatically, whirling and pacing the floors, his fingers knotted near his stomach. "It usually allows girls to live near complete comfort, with a limited but available supply of Zerocayne... but, of course, I doubt you'd be interested in that." He said the last part in a rush, looking at her in a panic.

"Such grace as yours wouldn't consider living in such a debacle. Forgive me, forgive me. There is no possible way I can adjust my prices. Truth."

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#, as written by NotAFlyingToy
He smiled, broadly, hiding the disapproval that her dirty body was still on his couch. It hadn't bothered him when she was sampling his wares because he could taste victory, but now that she was basically wriggling into his fine leather with her stench...

Hawley was becoming annoyed.

Still, the smile remained plastered on his face. "Such an ugly word. I like to think of it as your agent, or advertiser. I'd provide you with a bed to sleep in while on duty, food while on duty, bathing materials while on duty," Which you sorely need, junkie. "and Zerocayne. Three hour's supply a week. You'd even get to keep a margin of the profits. I only ask that you give most of the gre- er, funding, to myself. We can work out percentages later."

He tilted his head at her, eyeing the way her body was placed, his gaze flicking back and forth between her and the couch. Get off it, you smelly bitch. Get off of it.

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#, as written by NotAFlyingToy
Now his jaw hurt, so he gave up the act of smiling at her.

"Whenever I call you, you come. I have important clients that will want to know that you're clean, and I'm sure that you have no moral objection to doing most of what they will ask for. I usually schedule them in a row. Thus, there are no hours. But there is a requirement. In return, I'll offer you the full protection of my men." He sniffed.

"I grow tired of these questions, Bug. Are you willing to pay, or are you on board with the plan?"

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#, as written by NotAFlyingToy
He laughed, expecting this. "I'll get you one. It'll be cheap, and you'll only be able to answer calls, but I need you reachable at all times."

He walked towards the counter where the needles were located, still speaking as he rummaged through cupboards. "You will be here tomorrow, at noon. You will stay here for a day, and have full use of the facilities, entertain a guest as a trial, and then you will leave. I'll have given the phone by then. From that point onwards, you're part of my employ."

He pulled a piece of paper - an official looking document detailing their agreement. In small, six-point arial font, a small disclaimer used words like
not liable for abuse
,
torture
and
sex-slave
. He covered the small disclaimer with his thumb as he waved her over, holding out a pen with his other hand.

"Sign this, make it official, and I can hand you your first batch right here."

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#, as written by NotAFlyingToy
He snatched the paper away, frowning at her, his eyes taking in her form, her submission. Excellent. Everything was now excellent.

He rolled the contract up and threw it back in the drawer that he recieved it from. "Excellent." He murmered, completing his earlier thought out loud. With a wave of his hand towards the door, he smiled. "Our business is concluded, then. Meet me back here at noon. Whatever you bring with you, you can keep at the house for one day, no longer."

He turned to walk upstairs, calling over his shoulder at her. "Goodnight, Bug."

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