Chapter Text
Negan was driving down for a business trip from New York to Georgia. This would be his first time in Atlanta. He’d just had his ‘69 Camaro serviced for the trip. He could have flown in on his private jet, but he figured the lone drive down would be relaxing. The money was nice, but his job was beyond stressful. Being a corporate raider was a ruthless business.
The stress of his job didn’t only affect him, it spread to others. Others he was supposed to be close to. His girlfriend, most recently ex-girlfriend, Lucille, was fed up with being neglected. It had gotten to the point where she was speaking to his secretary more than him. She packed up her things and left him last night. She was supposed to join him on this business trip.
Now he would need to find an escort to accompany him to several business meetings and social functions over the next seven days. That shouldn’t be a problem with his suave looks. He possessed a wickedly handsome smile and knew how to rock some serious scruff while wearing a fifteen-thousand dollar suit. Hell, he knew he was good looking. His money had nothing to do with that. Though he was never quite sure, when someone made the attempt to flirt with him, if it was for him... or his money.
He could have anyone he wanted, male or female. And he's had quite a few of each. But they all lacked the one thing he was looking for. The ability to laugh. Everyone in his bubble was stiff and humorless. None of them knew the meaning of the word fun. All business. No pleasure.
He remembered how much fun he had as an adolescent. Cliff diving into Lake George. Skipping school to hang out with friends. All night parties that his parents knew nothing about. He was the epitome of a real wild child.
He longed for moments like that now. To just be able to cut loose and not give a damn about what anyone thinks. High class living could be a real pain in the ass without a break from the norm every now and again.
What he wouldn't give to hop on a public bus instead of in a limousine. Sink his teeth into a greasy burger that he eats with his hands instead of pâté with fifteen different forks on the table. He sighed, eyes focused on the road ahead. Maybe some day.
***
Rick rolled over naked in bed, fumbling to shut off the infernal ringing that was coming from an old fashioned alarm clock. With no air conditioning, the Georgia heat made it impossible to sleep in clothes. It's 8pm. He's getting up before most people put head to pillow tonight. He's starting his new job. He's broke, he's hungry and the rest of his half of the rent is a week past due.
He rubbed his eyes and looked over to the other bed in the room. Empty. His roommate, Daryl, didn't come home again today. Probably too drunk to find his way home, he thinks. Maybe he's been arrested. Maybe something worse. But Rick can't afford to worry about that right now.
He showered in cold water because this shitty apartment building has never had hot running water. The building owner doesn't mind to demand the rent when it's due, but asking him to repair something is like pulling teeth. He was the very definition of a slumlord.
Digging through his grocery bag that was serving as a dresser, he pulled out a pair of bright blue bikini briefs. Looking in the dirty mirror on the door, he ran his hand down the front and adjusted himself. He turned to examine his backside. He raised an eyebrow and admired his own anatomy momentarily. It isn't out of vanity that he does so, he's just well aware that this is, quite possibly, his only chance at livelihood now.
His one pair of jeans are hanging over the curtain rod. They're still damp, but at least they're clean. He used several safety pins to close the sizeable rip in the leg. As he's pulling on a pair of socks, he reflects back to when he bought these jeans.
His wife— ex -wife Lori always went with him when shopping for clothes. She had a knack for fashion and loved for her husband to show off his fit body. Nothing, she said, accentuated his ass like a pair of tight Levi's.
In reflection of Lori, he thinks back about how, exactly, she came to be his ex-wife. She came home from work early one afternoon and found Rick fucking his best friend/partner of 5 years from the local police department, Aaron, on their bed.
At the time, Rick didn't consider what he had done cheating . It wasn't like he was sleeping with another woman. He realizes now, of course, that coming home and seeing another man's dick in your husband's ass... is definitely cheating.
He understands what he did was wrong. But he was only acting in, what he considered to be, self defense. Lori had been carrying on a not-so-secret love affair with another officer from the same police department, Shane, who claims to be the father of Lori's unborn child.
Rick fell hard into a self-destructive, downward spiral and lost everything. His home, his wife, his job. He had nowhere left to go but Atlanta. He knew the one person that wouldn't turn his back on him was Daryl.
The two of them went to school together, from kindergarten to graduation. They were inseparable. They weren't brothers by blood, but it was the closest thing either of them had to real family.
After high school, Daryl took off on his own for Atlanta. He had ambitions to become a millionaire. For whatever reason, he just knew that Atlanta is where he would find his fortune.
When Rick made it to Georgia and found Daryl, he saw that he was down on his luck, too. He was barely getting by. Some days he ate, some days he didn't. Booze was cheaper than food. He always managed to get his hands on a bottle.
He explained to Rick about how he turned tricks. It wasn't a glamorous job, but when it paid, it paid well. A hundred bucks for one hour. He told Rick that he was having a hard time keeping the rent paid, but with the two of them working together, it would be a breeze.
Rick slipped a tight, black tank top over his head then stepped into his boots. When he gets ahead enough financially, his first plan of action is to buy a new pair. The pair he's standing in now are falling apart at the seams. He imagined, after all of Daryl's big talk, he'd be rolling in dough soon enough and could buy anything he wanted.
He brushed his teeth, twice, and flossed very carefully. He was adamant about oral hygiene, especially now since he couldn't afford a dentist. He was lucky to afford the toothpaste. He gave his scruff a quick touch-up and threw on a belt, ignoring the constant growl coming from his empty stomach.
Grabbing his leather jacket and a handful of condoms from Daryl's stash, he shoved them into his boot and deemed himself ready to go. His ears were assaulted with the sounds of arguing coming from the stairwell as soon as he opened the door.
“Look lady! You being a single mother is not my problem! Your rent is two weeks past due! You either pay me now, or you get the fuck out!”
Rick panicked. He knew he would be faced with the exact same fate if he walked down those stairs. He slipped back inside the apartment and crawled out the bathroom window. Lowering the ladder, he shimmied down the fire escape and dropped down to the sidewalk.
He walked past the bar Daryl frequented. He decided it was worth a shot and went inside. “Anybody seen Dixon?”
Someone motioned their head in the direction of the stairs. He spotted Daryl, sitting in the lap of man who resembled the likeness of Jesus.
“Daryl. Where the fuck is the rent money? It wasn’t in the jar.”
“Oh yeah,” Daryl said, slurring his words. “I used it to throw a party last night. It was a kick ass party, too man. Cops and every fucking thing.”
“Are you shitting me?” Rick was pissed. “Are you fucking shitting me? I gave you every last penny I had, Daryl. What the fuck are we supposed to do now?”
Daryl provided no answer. He went back to kissing his new friend Paul. Rick was having none of his shit. He grabbed him by the arm and pulled him down the stairs.
“The fuck?” Daryl was fighting to free himself from Rick’s grip.
“C’mon! We gotta go to work. If we don’t pay the rent, we’re on the fucking street.”
Daryl pulled free and made one last stop at the bar. He ordered a shot of tequila. Rick helped himself to the cocktail garnishes while the bartender’s back was turned. Gathering as many cherries, orange slices and olives that he could fit in a napkin. The bartender discovered his hands in the bowls and snapped.
“Get the fuck outta there man! This ain’t a fucking buffet!”
Rick ran out the door with the first meal he had managed to scavenge in two days.
***
Negan's GPS is being a little bitch right now. He's managed to get himself lost. He sees an older man on the side of the road.
“Excuse me. Can you tell me how far I am from Atlanta?”
The man looks up and thrusts his arms toward the sky. “You're already here, sir. Welcome!”
Negan savored his southern accent and friendly demeanor."Could you tell me where I might find the St. Regis hotel?”
The man leaned in and gave him specific directions. Negan knew he should have written them down, but he simply thanked him and drove on, hoping he would remember.
***
Rick and Daryl were the only two males out on the busy Metropolitan tonight. Since male escorts were harder to come by out here, they could charge more than the average twenty bucks.
“I got a good feeling about tonight.” Daryl said. “We're gonna hit fucking pay dirt, brother.”
Rick was starting to feel nervous now. He had never done anything like this. He's had two lovers in his entire life. His wife, and the one-time hookup with Aaron. He was far from shy, but this was a different level of crazy for him. Fucking guys for money.
“Man I'm starting to feel fucking stressed. I mean, I've spent weeks looking for a job here. Nobody wants me. What if the same shit happens out here? I got nowhere else to go.”
“Hey,” Daryl said. “You gotta have confidence, man. These fuckers pick up on that shit. You gotta own it. Work it. They'll want you. And remember, we're the boss out here. We say who, we say when, we say how much.”
Tires screeching from behind them caught their attention.
“Oh shit!” Daryl said, excitedly. “Check this shit out!”
They watched the black Camaro go by, then slam on the brakes. The car waited. Rick looked up, eyes as big as frisbees.
“God damn!” he said. “That's a fucking ‘69 Camaro!”
Daryl rolled his eyes. “Nah, man. That's rent! You should go for him. Don't take less than a hundred. Call me when you're done.”
Rick nodded and took his jacket off. He took a deep breath and headed toward the rumbling engine of the car.
“Work it!” Daryl shouted. “Work it! Own it!”
Rick added a little swagger to his step and ran his fingers through his hair.He leaned into the passenger side window. “Hey sugar. You looking for a date?”