Tattle Tales
March 9th, 2021
Starring: Mercer (male, 18), Trace (male, mid 20’s)
The hallway of a crumbly fourth floor walkup apartment, late afternoon. Mercer stands at the doorway, outfitted in his private school uniform (embroidered blazer, slacks, boat shoes) and wearing a backpack. Trace (t-shirt, shorts, a tattoo or two showing) opens the door.
MERCER
Your room.
Now.
Trace stares at Mercer, then sighs, turns, and walks a few steps down the hall, to the first door on the left. Mercer follows.
They reach Trace’s room. Some posters, some collectibles, a grimy unfilled fish tank, with a full bed with a standard metal frame. Mercer closes the door behind them. He sees it doesn’t lock, so he takes a folding chair and slides it against the door, under the knob. Trace stands, still surveying Mercer:
TRACE
My roommates are here.
MERCER
Good. So let’s be quiet.
He motions with his hand to the bed. Trace raises his eyebrows like, “really?” Mercer nods his head, as in “damn right.” Trace sits on the bed. From his slacks pocket, Mercer takes out handcuffs. Trace stifles a laugh.
TRACE
Wow.
Mercer takes one end of the cuff and hooks it on Trace’s wrist. With the other end, he clicks it around the metal bedframe. Mercer walks to the chair at the door and sits down.
TRACE
Care to read me my rights?
MERCER
An order’s missing from the stash. Three handles and fifth.
TRACE
Oh
and...
MERCER
I’d like to know where it went.
TRACE
Same here. I probably paid for it.
MERCER
I pay you to pay for it.
TRACE
It’s still out of my pocket—
MERCER
It’s my loss.
TRACE
Whoever’s L you want it to be, it’s news to me.
MERCER
Five people know that code.
TRACE
Have you talked to your other cronies?
MERCER
They’re next.
TRACE
So I’m first stop. Why am I the first stop?
MERCER
You live closest to school. And you're the most rebellious.
TRACE
I haven’t done a thing.
MERCER
I’ve got inventory missing. Someone’s doing something.
TRACE
I wouldn’t. This is a good gig, why would I screw it?
MERCER
When you see the market and realize you could do it all yourself.
TRACE
No way.
MERCER
Not even the thought?
TRACE
Do you want to see my Venmo? It’s clean. I’m not going behind your back.
…
MERCER
I changed the code.
TRACE
I’m gonna need it. I’ve gotta make a run for tomorrow—
MERCER
I know.
TRACE
So give it to me.
MERCER
Not until I sort this out.
TRACE
This is probably some miscommunication. Someone missed a text, or they’re running late.
MERCER
We can’t afford that. Clients are expecting. Deliver late, they’ll find another hookup.
TRACE
Why do you have to tell me? I've been nothing but Mr. Reliable.
MERCER
I want to make sure the standard’s set. You don’t blab, and you don't make mistakes. My reputation depends on it.
TRACE
Aye aye.
…
...
You know, you could probably do without the Breaking Bad theatrics. You’re selling Vodka to tenth graders.
MERCER
This is a business. My business. I run it how I like.
TRACE
Well if you didn’t try to be Pablo Escobar, maybe you wouldn’t be having issues.
MERCER
Maybe if were as ambitious as me and Pablo, you wouldn’t be buying minors alcohol to pay rent.
TRACE
Actually, it’s for my student loans. But don’t you worry about those, Daddy’s taking care of your tuition.
Vanderbilt, right? Early decision? Congrats.
Mercer is thrown off, but tries not to show it.
TRACE
Yeah, I can play games too, bud.
You’re not some kingpin. You’re a rich kid with a bright future and a lot to lose.
MERCER
That's your counter-threat?
TRACE
It’s a fact.
Just remember who’s doing your work for you. Someone lets something slip to the wrong person, it all comes crumbling.
MERCER
I'd really caution you against that, Trace. That wouldn’t be fun.
TRACE
What would happen? You’d take your silver spoon out your ass and beat me with it?
From the breast pocket of his suit jacket, Mercer pulls out a Glock airsoft pistol and unloads a clip of pellets into Trace. Trace squeals in pain as they make impact, stinging his skin. Mercer puts the gun away, watching him writhe. He slips the chair out from under the door and turns back to Trace:
MERCER
Stay put, I’ll be back around. Maybe with some real firepower.
Daddy’s got a 12 gauge.
Mercer opens the door and strides out, leaving Trace anchored to his bed.