I lower my head quietly. I perfected this in prison. The art of being quiet. I don't want to say out loud what I'm thinking. I can't. That pebble of guilt is rolling around the base of my throat. Making it hard to speak.
I barely know Nate or his daughter anymore. Why is he trying to act like there's some strong connection between us when there isn't? He's trying to hold me to some sort of old-school, army buddy, drunken promise that they made when they were half blitzed on beer. That's a mistake. He doesn't even know the half of it. I can't promise him or anyone anything. Not now. Not ever.
"You realize things didn't quite work out that way," I say turning my head to look at him straight on. It's the first time I notice that Nate actually looks like dog shit. "I wouldn't know Ariana if I walked by her on the street."
Nate shakes his head regretfully.
"Truth be told I didn't think Jack was going to ever leave Philadelphia. Philly is in his blood. Still to this day don't really know why he did. And then I didn't think we'd lose him so soon after that. I thought me and him had more time. Now it seems as if I don't know where the time went. You two were supposed to grow up best friends. Not strangers like this."
I don't want to talk about this shit anymore.
He's muddying the waters with this conversation.
I can't feel guilty about what I need to do.
If what Bucky says is true. Nate is a drug dealer. A heroin dealer. Just like all the others. I make no exceptions. Stealing from him will be an honor. And after I take all of his money and save my ass in the process, I'm out.
Neither he or his daughter will ever see me again.
* * *
