“I need a word with you,” Austin said, hitching his hip against the table.
“Okay,” I replied slowly, wondering why he sought me out after all these years. “What’s up?”
“I want what you stole from me.”
I blinked. I felt my jaw drop. Perhaps he saw my bafflement, for Austin’s face puckered, however briefly, in confusion. “Dude,” I said slowly. “I haven’t seen you in five years. I didn’t steal any shit from you.”
“My security cameras picked up the thief,” Austin continued, his eyes calculating, chilly. “A big guy in our high school’s lettermen’s jacket, your number on it. Your head, your face.”
“Are you shitting me?” I snapped. “What did I allegedly steal?”
“Ten kilos of fentanyl.”
I sagged back into my chair, staring at his cold face, bitter eyes, numb with shock. “That’s – that’s impossible. One, I don’t have my old jacket anymore. Two, I didn’t fucking steal anything, man. You got it wrong.”
“I don’t have it wrong, dude. You’re on Candid Camera. You should have smiled.”
Icy cold washed through my veins, chilled my blood. Austin and I weren’t friends as such, but we’d shared many ashower room, many a coach’s yelling how we could do better. His stint in jail obviously turned him into a hardened drug dealer. And drug dealers weren’t to be messed with.
Or stolen from.
I stood up. While I made no threatening move, Austin also straightened, and I knew he had a gun on him. “You got it wrong,” I said coldly, firmly. “I don’t know you, or your business. I didn’t steal anything. Get the fuck out of my office before I do a mariachi dance on your face.”
Austin smiled. “Just give it back, Brody. No harm, no foul. Nothing else will come of it.”
“I don’t have what you want, dipshit. You’re not listening.”
“Oh, I’m listening all right. I saw you on camera. You may not have known you were stealing from me, but you did it. Just give it back, and you’ll never see me again.”
“Stay away from me, Austin, and you’ll be a lot safer. I’m not stupid enough to steal dope from a dealer, you know that. Just think for two seconds, then go find the real thief.”
He shook his head slowly. “You’re in for a world of hurt, bro. I’ll mess you up, then your family. Then I’ll go after everyone you ever cared about. Got a dog? I’ll hang it from the tree in your front yard.”
I advanced on him with my fists clenched. “Come after me, my people, and it’s war. You want a fight? I’ll give you a good one. You won’t escape it unscathed, punk. Whatever you do to me, I’ll give it right back. That what you want?”
Austin stood nose to nose with me, not giving an inch. “I want my property. Or you’ll lose everything you hold precious. Including your life.”
With a tight smile, a baring of his teeth, Austin paced a few steps back. Like Sammy, he saluted me. “Be seeing you, bro.”
Eel like, he slid through the door and was gone. Too pissed to think properly, I paced my small office in frustration and nolittle worry. Okay, I admit it. I was scared. I performed quick mental math. Twenty-two pounds of fentanyl. Easy enough to grab, I guessed. It’s street value – in the millions? I’d no idea what a gram of the shit was worth. I wasn’t a dealer in shit that killed people.
Austin was. Millions of dollars’ worth of merchandise gone, taken, would piss off any dealer.
Any thief caught stealing that volume of supply would earn a Columbian necktie for himself.
I rubbed my throat as I paced. “Dammit. How can I prove I didn’t? I can’t. Obviously, Austin believes I did. Christ, what a clusterfuck.”
***
My truck is too distinctive.Loud, a classic ’73, brightly colored. I watched my mirrors the entire way home, expecting a tail, jittery, nervous, my mouth dry. I’d little doubt Austin already knew where I lived, had done his homework before confronting me. A tail was superfluous. Surely he knew I didn’t have a dog, yet he threatened my nonexistent mutt, anyway.
Did that mean he didn’t know everything?
So I watched my mirrors. I took a long, roundabout way home. I stopped to watch traffic pass, expecting a long, black sedan to drive slowly by in search of me. Hours after I’d normally be home, I pulled, exhausted, into my driveway.
Once inside my house, the door locked, I didn’t turn on any lights. I stood beside the entrance, my back to the wall, listening. The air conditioner kicked in, a low comforting hum. I heard the ice cubes drop into their tray in my fridge. A car passed by on the street, headlights cutting through the dusk, to disappear without slowing.
I didn’t own any guns. Instead, I carried my weapons within me. At last, believing I stood alone in my house, Iventured away from the door. Still without lights, I inspected every room, every closet, peeked behind the curtains. No intruder waiting to slice my throat and pull my tongue through the slit.
