The Blacklist

The street is filthy. As I walk through it, I can’t help but scrunch my face in disgust when my nostrils fill up with that wretched smell coming from the trash scattered all over the sidewalk. “I simply can’t believe that I have to meet this man at such a gruesome place,” I think to myself as I stop next to some shop called ‘Things n Stuff’ to wait for the aforementioned. I take my phone out of my soft brown coat’s pocket to distract myself from all the commotion around me, but I can’t seem to concentrate on it with all the noise around me—dogs barking ceaselessly, women screaming at each other, cars honking loudly. I then decide to call him. “Hey it’s me. Where are you?”

“I’m at the cafe I told you to go to. Where are you?”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I forgot about that. I’m not far away so I’ll get there in five minutes,” I say as I pick up my pace and start walking in the direction my phone’s GPS signals me.

On the way there, I sense a strong smell of booze and piss on the sidewalk; it’s a horrible place, but I have to admit it’s a good meeting point no one would suspect a federal agent and America’s most wanted criminal would be at—let alone together.

I quickly arrive at the cafe and see the man waiting for me at one of the tables. I sit down across from him. “I can’t believe I’m actually here… with you.”

“Well, life is unpredictable in its own twisted ways. I suppose you want to get into your mission, or whatever this is, right away?”

I take a moment to look at him and analyze and capture his features: a black fedora, expensive glasses on top of the hat, several wrinkles that indicate clear signs of aging, a fancy black and white suit, and that piercing gaze of his that made me feel weak and vulnerable.

I shake my thoughts away and decide to respond. “Yes, please. I need that list as soon as possible. And I also have a massive desire to get out of this neighborhood as soon as possible, if you may.”

He chuckled. “Fair enough. I’ll give it to you on one condition: my immunity.”

“And why would I ever give you that?”

“Because you need me,” he said with a smirk. I pause for a moment and contemplate whether this whole thing was worth it or not. “Fine but I need the full list of the criminals first or no deal.”

“You got it.”

We shake hands and exchange clashing glances at each other while simultaneously grinning creepily as a way to not show our deep hatred for one another.

Being a federal agent is tough and dangerous, and we often have to make deals with devils to help others in need, but I never thought I’d have to do anything like it with Satan himself.

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