“What are Kingdoms without Justice? They’re just Gangs of Bandits.” - Saint Augustine. Our drug kingdom will not devolve into a gang. Lisa and I agreed we would use our funds for justice and peace.

The brunette waitress with golden highlights, a red and white checkered fifties dress uniform, and a forced lip-only smile guides me to a six-person cherry red Formica and chrome-trimmed table. Fifties music, Elvis’s Blue Suede Shoes, softly plays in the red with yellow splashed diner. The place smells of grease, lavender, and lingering smoke. The bright red plastic and chrome silver chair has a little round burnt hole on the seat, and the six-person table wobbles when I place my elbows on it.

“Something to drink? Coffee, tea, juice?”

“Orange juice, please.”

I sit in the middle of the table, facing the double glass door entrance, neon posters decorate the walls on either side. My three candidates will sit across from me. I have budgeted two hours for the interview. Lisa wants to hire all three, but I need to trust them more than the background checks sitting in my backpack on the seat beside me. When a person builds a drug empire, they need to trust the people in the organization, especially their first employees.

Officially, we only need salespeople, but I also want someone to help with production and my sick father.

Aurora arrives first, fifteen minutes before the stated time. Her long brunette hair shines in the rising sun. Her sheet tells me of her intelligence and drive, and she has worked in retail, but she has homophobic tendencies. Short, almost as short as gymnast Taylor, her baggy black pants hide her chubby hips, but her black sports bra accents her massive chest, with the white, unbuttoned dress shirt drawing attention to her jumbo selling assists. As she approaches, I admire her subtle makeup, highlighting her pale skin and wide smile.

I stand and shake her small, child-sized hands.

“Aurora.” “Morgan.”

She sits across, to the right, and a lilac scent wafts in the breeze. My fingers slide up and down the hard, worn table surface, pushing around a bit of spilled sugar.

“While we wait, tell me about yourself,” I say.

Aurora pushes her hair back behind her ear, smiles with whitened teeth, and raises her blue-shadowed eyes, “Straight A’s, University next year, Med School in the future.”

All this I knew from her profile sheet.

“Something to drink?” the waitress interrupts our silence.

“Carmel Macchiato.”

“More orange juice, Dear?”

“No, thanks.”

Aurora pulls her phone out and places it on the table. Her eyes jump between me and the phone.

“What do you do for fun?” I ask.

“Water skiing in the summer, reading year-round.” I like her. She might make a good helper.

Candidate number two arrives, tall, gangly, in black jeans, and a white Morbid Angle shirt under a simple black leather jacket. His black military hairstyle makes his thin, black face appear gaunter and older than his sheet indicates. The waitress greets him and his dark eyes glower down at her.

Punctual, he overstrides to sit across from me before I can stand.

“Drink?” the waitress asks.

“Coffee, Black.”

“Morgan, Aurora.” I gesture between us, staring at his fowl expression.

“Dawit.”

“Waiting for one more to join us,” I state as I grab the menu.

The red and yellow plastic menu promises exciting waffle creations and boring egg combinations. While my body will like the omelet better, I have never had a whipped cream, fruity waffle creation. Mom hated places like this.

“Just us five? Do you need help holding those?” Dawit smirks and turns to Aurora.

“Yeah, five, because your balls are so small,” Aurora frowns, but the corners of her eyes rise.

Dawit smiles and turns back to me. His scent of strong spice has a slight urine undertone to it. His testosterone must have spiked from the nature of the interview and Aurora’s breasts sitting beside him.

I want to say something snarky like Aurora, but I stay focused on observing Dawit. I don’t care if he acts sexist. Most sixteen-year-olds act sexist, but can we trust him?

The waitress returns to get our order.

Our third arrives, a most average Hispanic boy, medium height, medium build, blue jeans, white t-shirt with Taylor Swift on the front. He waves to us and wanders over. His curly hair bounces while his amber stare darts around the restaurant and scrutinizes the three of us. “Hey, sorry I’m late, my visa ran out.”

Late, and a joke? We need serious, not a clown.

“You have one second to order,” I say.

“Ice water, shaken, not stirred.”

Dawit tosses his menu towards the waitress, “Eggs over easy, hashbrowns, bacon crispy.”

Aurora places her menu in front of her, “Spinach Egg White Only Omelet.”

All the waffles scream for attention, “Which waffle do you recommend?”

“The most popular’s strawberry, but blueberry banana’s better.”

“Blueberry banana, please,” I hand the menu to her.

Before I can greet everyone, Lisa texts, “One of the three is a traitor.”

“Which One?”

“Figure it out.”

I glance at the three. Jorge lays back on the chair, only two legs holding him up. He’s the traitor. Dawit sits tall while staring out of the corner of his eye at Jorge, and Aurora scrolls on her phone.

“So, I know one of you is a traitor.”

Jorge almost falls backward, catching himself, before returning to sitting, wide-eyed and smiling. Aurora puts her phone screen-down on the table while Dawit asks, “Who’s the rat? Jorge, right? Do you want me to cave his face in?”

“Make sure you hit me on my left side, not only is it my ugly side, but I have a cavity that needs removing.”

“Fucker,” Dawit’s knuckles turn white.

“Children, time to focus,” I say to get their attention. The threat of violence has my adrenaline and estradiol spiking, so my vagina tingles as my heart rate increases.

The three glance at me before Aurora flips over her phone, Jorge leans back on two chair legs, and Dawit releases his fist.

“Tell me how you are feeling about the interview?” I glance at Aurora.

Aurora sits taller, thrusting out her massive chest, and pushes her hair behind her ear, “Great. I have a lot to offer to the position. I’m smart, detail-oriented, and a great people person.”

I could work with her. I will offer her the assistant position in addition to the sales. Dad will also like her cleavage.

I shift my gaze to Dawit.

“Fine,” Dawit keeps staring at Aurora’s cleavage.

I shake my head at the childishness of the tall boy. Salesperson only, and will need supervision, which might pose a problem as he doesn’t show respect to Aurora and me. I need to ask more questions.

“Jorge?”

“Oh, I love getting up early to meet five new people,” he gestures towards Aurora and her massive breasts.

“They are nice,” Aurora purrs, glancing at Jorge and leaning forward to show more cleavage. Dawit’s mouth opens more. I frown, but my heart skips a beat.

“What about you? Do you like what you see?” Jorge gestures to Dawit.

Dawit, so focused on Aurora’s chest, misses the gesture.

Aurora and Jorge share a smile. What does she like in him? He has no distinctive features, shortish, curly brown hair, no style, and a smooth complexion, with a roundish, pudgy face. Worse, his boyish charm, and blend-in-the-background appearance, make him an ideal spy.

“Tell me about a time when you fucked up and what you did about it?” I glance at Jorge.

His face lights up, shining in the barely perceivable flickering fluorescent lights, giving his dark black hair silver highlights. He leans forward and I get a whiff of mint.

“Never happened, but, if say, hypothetically, I may have dinged my parents’ car, I may have arranged the garbage can such that Mom would hit it and think she caused the ding.” His face mimes the movement of the garbage can and the car hitting it.

“Fucking, Coward,” Dawit says.

Not sure if that makes him a coward, but I will never work with him.

I gesture at Dawit.

“When I was younger, a couple of big kids in my grade picked on me. I went home, grabbed my dad’s six iron, and returned to school. They outran me, but they never bothered me again.”

Lime and spring flowers invade my senses. Dawit’s dark cheeks redden.

“Bullshit,” Aurora says from behind her phone.

“Yeah, who returns to their bullies and asks to play golf? And gets rejected?”

I almost laugh at Jorge’s comment. Instead, I rub the small cut in the table, tracing the smooth edge.

“I didn’t want to play golf. I wanted to hit them.”

With a shake of the head, I open my mouth to comment when Jorge interrupts, “Sorry, my bad.” Nice diffusion, but the jerk needs to learn not to talk over me.

“Children. Aurora?”

She glances up from her phone, startled.

“What was the question?”

“What did you fuck up, and what did you do about it?” Dawit interrupts.

“Right, I thought you asked who I fucked that I hated, though, that was a fuck up. The guy kept calling me for weeks after, such an annoying asshole. Not even good in bed. I had my uncle - my friend’s uncle, like an uncle to me, talk to him.”

I text Lisa, “Aurora’s smart, resourceful. Dawit’s serious with anger issues. Jorge’s devious, untrustworthy, but fearless, sharp-witted.”

I glance between the three of them, then down to my interview outline on my phone.

“The position requires you to approach people, make conversation, and sell them our product. Each of you needs to get the number of someone in the restaurant.”

Jorge smiles, Dawit frowns, while Aurora glances down at her phone.

“Jorge, get the waitress’s phone number.”

“Good luck, Asshole,” Dawit says.

“My asshole needs it, fuck does it feel tight,” Jorge comments and slaps Dawit’s shoulder. Dawit growls and swats at his hand.

Jorge tentatively stands and shuffles over to the waitress, who scrolls on her phone.

The two converse and she smiles while his arms flail around accenting different points or arguments that he makes.

Returning to the table, Jorge grins, “Got it. No problem.”

“Bullshit.” “Yeah, bullshit.”

I roll my eyes at the childishness. “Let’s test it,” I say.

Jorge pulls out his phone, fingers the screen, pauses, and then shows the table his phone, “Date tonight?” in a yellow box, while below in a green box, “Yes!”

“Fake,” Dawit mumbles.

“Give me your phone,” Aurora says.

“Can you not see it from there? Shit, did it turn invisible to everyone else.”

She reaches for the phone, but he pulls it away.

“Give me the phone,” I interject, holding out my hand.

“Naw. It’s not the waitress, just a friend of mine.”

“I knew it! You’re such a fuck up,” Dawit stands, peering down at Jorge.

“So stupid,” Aurora adds.

Jorge shrugs and sits. Dawit glares at Jorge but sits down, spreading his arms into Aurora and Jorge’s table space.

I rub my finger up and down the table. Smart guy, using his friend, but stupid to get caught, however, he did come clean, after getting caught.

“Dawit, you need to get the male waiter’s number.”

His frown deepens and I get a whiff of his metallic sweat, with dilated pupils, which means his adrenaline has spiked. Behind the bluster cowers an afraid little boy.

“Fuck off, I ain’t gay.”

His knuckles whiten and I stop playing with the table. I sit tall and stare up at him. “Do you not want the job?”

He lessens his frown but tightens his fists - fight or flight. I can almost taste his adrenaline in the air.

“Sure, but fuck it. Selling drugs does not mean sleeping with guys.” He glances down at his fists and forces his hands apart, placing them on the table.

“I’d do it,” Aurora whispers and giggles.

I continue to stare at him. “You need to be brave.”

His hands tighten, but he forces the fingers down wide on the table, “Try me.”

A fighter. We could use a fighter. “Later, maybe, but right now, you need to get up and do it.”

His brown dilated eyes stare at me, challenging me. Fuck him. He wants to test me - go for it. I will not bend to a child, no matter how big they get.

“Fuck you.” But he stands and walks over to the waiter. He peers down at the young waiter, says something, then returns to the table.

“Did you get it?”

The waiter grabs a coffee pot and turns to the table.

“Fuck no, I asked for more coffee.”

At least he answered honestly.

“Coward,” Jorge mumbles.

“Fuck you!” Dawit pushes Jorge out of his chair onto the floor.

Dawit jumps up with his fists out while Jorge glances up. I stand to intervene. Aurora stands with her phone pointed at the boys.

“You seemed familiar. I remember you,” Jorge smiles from the floor.

Dawit stands over him. Metallic fear radiates off him, “Get up.”

Jorge casually stands up, “You used to be small and always cried at the edge of the playground.”

Dawit steps into Jorge, chest at Jorge’s chin, “I’ll make you cry.”

“You’re right. Now I remember him. You’ve grown.” Aurora smiles and steps closer with her phone.

Neither boy moves.

“Coffee?” the waiter says.

“That cup,” Dawit points without turning from Jorge.

“Dawit, you need to sit down or I will call your parents,” the waiter says as he fills Dawit’s cup.

“Fine,” Dawit sits hard in his chair while spreading his arms onto Jorge’s portion of the table.

Aurora giggles, “Becky can’t believe how much you’ve grown. She used to babysit you, right?”

Dawit glances at Aurora and then down to the table. A few deep breaths later, he turns to me. “So?” Dawit asks and stares at me.

“Aurora, you need to get the businessman’s phone number,” I gesture to a lone suited man, who eats eggs and reads his phone.

She smiles, waddles over with her large breasts bouncing, barely contained by the sport’s bra, leans over, resting her hands on his table, and says something to him. They talk for a bit before she returns to the table.

“Done,” she says as she holds her phone to show the text from an unknown number, “Saturday - 5 pm - Stella’s.”

“I guess I know who’s paying for dinner on Saturday,” Aurora smiles at me.

“Slut,” Dawit mumbles.

“Enough, Dawit. No more!” I almost shout.

To his credit, he glances down and appears sorry, like a young child scolded by his mom. He will work fine as I can control him.

Jorge, the traitor, Dewit, a salesperson, and Aurora, sales, and my assistant.

Our food arrives. Whipped cream melts over the plate-sized waffle and leaks off the edge of the plate. My heart thumps with the idea of that much sugar.

“Need hot sauce,” Dawit yells to the waitress.

“Details. Twenty-five percent is your cut - if we bring you on.” I say before trying the dessert breakfast.

“Normally, it’s fifty percent,” Aurora says while salting her omelet.

“Consignment, no upfront costs for you. Maybe in the future, we will allow you to buy.”

“Not usual, but I’m ok with it,” Aurora says. She takes a bite and adds more salt before having her second piece.

Interestingly, she knows about how the business works. Nothing in her file said she’s done anything with the drug trade. Maybe she uses drugs recreationally and has chatted with her dealer.

I scrutinize her while nibbling on a sweetened strawberry, which has too much sucrose, the insulin in my blood increases to combat the overabundance, causing a slight tremor in my hands and my legs to bounce.