Tyne had a
dark secret. She was a kind of Moriarty to the community. As a youth,
Tyne had been denied the best affections of her father. Bart Bitters
had been criminally intelligent, and moderately successful, but as a
father he was distant and dismissive.
When Tyne
was fifteen years old, her mother had left them, seeking a new
beginning overseas. She had severed all ties, and Tyne had never
heard from her again. Meanwhile, Tyne's father, Bart, had taken
advantage of every boy who took any interest in his daughter. His
limited success at small time gaming, soft drugs, and a minor
protection racket, had left Tyne convinced that good never triumphs
over evil. However, she was not allowed to capitalize satisfactorily
on evil herself.
Because of
community scrutiny, Tyne was never physically abused. On balance, she
learned to reduce every boy her age to a creature. Like trained
Poodles, they did her bidding, and all protestations of “I'll do
whatever it takes, just ask me, I'll do anything,” failed to win
her respect. Tyne was superstitious about her virginity, and if she
masturbated, Tyne masturbated women, avoiding anyone she believed to
be sexually active.
Adolescent
rebellion led Tyne to leave her father's fiefdom, just as her mother
had done, and she took with her a developed predilection for
torturing cats. Dark curiosity and a manipulative turn of mind had
soon led Tyne into a romance with the dark arts. Tyne attributed her
successes to magic, and had never met anyone who could successfully
refute her opinion.
While Tyne
enjoyed the intimidation factor associated with introducing herself
as Satanic, it also had severe social repercussions. Meanwhile, law
enforcement took a jaundiced view of any religion dedicated to
mayhem, and Tyne wanted to avoid undue scrutiny of her avocation, of
dealing drugs. As a result, she became reticent about the entire
subject of piety.
It was to
Tyne that Frank turned. Tyne had a system. To make a buy, the
customer had to go to a shopkeeper with whom she had a prior
agreement, and buy Cosmopolitan magazines, at the inflated price of
$10 above retail. The shopkeeper would then certify the magazines to
Tyne, who would trade the relevant number of magazines, for the key
to a locker containing the desired stash.
Frank duly
danced the dance, and Tyne banked $40, the price of four “dime
bags,” of cocaine.
The whole
time, Laurence was mulching a flower bed, oblivious to the
clandestine activity around him. Out of politeness, and obedience to
parental training, Laurence studiously avoided eavesdropping, and
blithely expected reciprocal privacy in return. As such, Laurence
barely inconvenienced the miscreants.
