Critique me bois

What made , Friday night on Parris corner ? The mind-blasting bass from the numerous unamed clubs ? The hoots and screams from the bars and taverns or the buzzed couples that stumbled out of them linked arm in arm often in tears. Was it the buzz of the MPD helicopter drones are they zipped dizzily in their patrol circles ,ready to call in a squad car at any moment.
Was it made by the unfortunate residents ? The orchestra of modern life that ran out from their cracked windows the sounds of crackling holograms , shrieking kids , drunken fathers ,beaten wives and mistresses spoiled in cheap jewels.
Was it the imposing shrimp of “Hunks Diner” an enormous billboard that towered over the rest of the buildings , drenched in lustrous (stolen) yellow neon that was so rarely seen outside of the higher level districts. Was it the bottom level string men sitting in this bottom level diner ,breathing in the rich stench of sea-food,cheap beer and easy waitresses. Their suits stained with blood,acids and industrial material that accompanied the grinding work they did.

No

It was Cyper.

Cyper who was there every Friday , sitting in between a disconnected pair of buildings , a residential with a red door and small rave/bookshop with a black one. His feet stuck out of the curb but his body was tilted back so his head was hidden in the shadows , not struck directly by the heli-drones flash. He wasn’t an idiot.
He wore a yellow sweatshirt with a faded purple anchor on the chest , it was slightly unzipped revealing his white t-shirt with red Neo-Pacific characters. They spelled Hot Pho. His boots were heavy , his fathers old military issue , steel capped and still carrying dirt from Siberia. The white and grey digital camo cap that titled down over his eyes was also a military relic. His hands were protected by tight,medical gloves that kept him safe from the poison he peddled.

In the tip of the right boot were four vacuum sealed baggies , holding between them an exact 4.5 grams of DRUG an amount no one tied up would be able acquire. But tonight , was no regular night. He’d turned down his usuals with distaste and the odd drunks slobbering about needing to reach higher. This Friday he wasn’t a regular corner boy , this had been an arranged piece of work. When he’d come down to the docks and when Rosenthal had offered it to him Cyper had practically ripped it out his mouth knowing there were literally hundreds other corner boys hungry for a chance to shine.
Meet an unspecified and non-descript customer , hand him his good and take the money. The money was good even his small cut was good. Enough to treat him and his certainly appreciative mates too a good night out. Not on Parriss corner.
The danger of it was quite clear too , there was an endless number of ways for this to end up with him in a ditch or in the MPD interrogation rooms. To prevent either of those equally miserable fates he’d taken a small bump of DRUG and brought his revolver along a light-weight piece of white steel-plastic.

Where the fuck are you.

Cyper couldn’t help but think over and over, it was difficult knowing when someone would turn up in his trade ,quoting 0000 hours as an established meeting time the host could expect an arrival at anything between 2330 hours or 0030.
It was now 0101 and his contact had crossed the threshold and Cypers comedown had begun.

“ I’m sorry I’m late “ The voice came from behind him , he turned around to see a large dark shape standing at the end of the alley. He blinked a few times trying to get rid of the colorful haze over his eyes. He wasn’t sure how to act , people always approached him head on , never from behind which looped into somewhere deep in the city even he avoided. Getting to his feet , he tried to quickly make a plan of approach. The first words he said would be key to establishing this relationship.

“ Come closer will you ? “ stepping into the unlit was the last thing he was willing to do.

The contact took two steps , but still hung back. His head tipped back in invitation.

Cyper took his two steps , and slipped the revolver from his back pocket to inside his sleeve. The force of the hammer against his palm secured him. If he stabs me, or shoots me. The helis won’t even flag it. I’ll just fall down.

“ Have you got what I need ? “ , his voice was strained and the words seemed uncomfortable in his mouth. Every dragging second that passed by Cyper was more and more sure that’d he really didn’t want anything to do with this person. I could bend down, draw and...put a hole in his chest ?
A perfectly fine solution for about a minute but if he was a contact for someone big a pair of strings would be sent around to put a bullet in him and if he was a cop he’d get ousted by his small criminal circle and most probably beaten to death in a holding cell.

“ Yeah, “ He bent down , kicked his boot off and tossed the content into an open palm. His contact , opened it up , took a brief look at the contents. Sniffed , smiled a smile of white teeth that didn’t belong in the mouth of someone of these dealings.

He heard the fist crack against his head , before he felt it and once he felt it. Cyper was down in a puddle , a tooth scattered out into the street and two streams of blood that trickled down his cheeks , from his nose and his mouth.