The Broker

In a dimly lit room of a rundown motel, out in the middle of nowhere, a man sat contemplating his next move. Cigarette smoke, mingled with the aroma of musk, hung in the air. A golden brown acoustic guitar was leaning on a stand in the corner by the bed. Papers laid scattered across a round table in the opposite corner, beneath a bourbon colored light fixture.

Stacks of money sat on the nightstand next to a grimy overflowing ashtray and a bottle of half-empty whisky. A demon skull overlaid on a red X, decorated the label of the bottle. Mangy maroon drapes were drawn to allow the near full moon to shed her light into the room.

Silver streaked black hair slicked back over his oblong head, with a few strands dangled over the right side of his wide forehead. Scars decorated his greasy, hollow cheekbones, while a deep cleft split down his chin. Stubble spread like a rash across his face and down his neck. His electric blue eyes told a forlorn tale of a tragic life gone wrong, while shaded bags under his eyes whispered tales of sleepless nights.

He sat on the bed propped up on both hands, with his elbows locked. His gangly right leg crossed over his left knee and his head cocked back on his shoulders. He was looking at the ceiling or some unseen presence.

A little black leather-bound book laid on the bed next to him. Its pages wore coffee stains, cigarette burns, and were yellow and faded from use.

He perched forward, grabbed and scanned the book for a brief moment before tossing it to the…