“What the fuck are you doing here?” Knox spits out at them.
Atlas lifts the bag again. “You asked us to.”
Griffin narrows his gaze. “Where’s Hermes?”
“Busy,” Bas answers, speaking for the first time. His voice is gravelly and warm.
Griffin and Knox keep untrusting looks on their faces, but Knox’s leans more toward rage.
“In the office,” Griffin directs and turns on his heel, expecting to be followed. Knox steps aside and waits until Atlas and Bas have passed him to trail behind.
Not once do they glance my way. Not once do they seem worried about me. I’m not sure if I should take their lack of concern as a compliment or an insult. Maybe they think I’m capable of taking care of myself, or maybe they knew Benny had it handled.
Once they’ve disappeared down the hall, Benny relaxes his shoulders a fraction, but not completely. Both hands come back to the bartop, and he resumes watching the TV.
I open my mouth, but Benny interjects, “Not now.”
Rolling my eyes, I decide to join Benny in watching the boring-as-hell show.
That was hardly the first drug deal I’ve witnessed, and clearly, it’s not going to be the last either.
I shouldn’t ask questions because I don’t need anyone asking questions about me either. But I can’t stop curiosity from trapping me in her tangled web.
Jumping up from my relaxed position, I announce, “I’m going to see if there’s anything to snack on in the kitchen.”
Benny grunts, his eyes never straying from the screen.
On light feet, I walk to the kitchen door but turn and head for the back hall at the last minute. Fingers crossed Benny doesn’t notice. But when I step into the shadows of the poorly lit hallway, I swear I hear Benny let out a sigh.
Gliding my back against the wall, I tiptoe to the office door. Hostile voices fall from the room along with a single stream of light. The door is open barely an inch. When I’m right next to the door, I crouch down and listen intently.
“We weren’t due for an order for another week,” Griffin says plainly.
“Well, I can’t let the good people of Mystic River go without,” Atlas jokes.
“Our supply is fine,” Knox informs curtly.
There’s a small creak, like someone took a step or leaned in a chair. “Have you been buying from another supplier?” And that’s the second time I hear Bas’s voice. I take it he’s not a talker.
Griffin’s voice is adamant. “Absolutely not. Our word is as good as gold. We told you that you would be our exclusive source, and we’ve stuck to that.”
“Then what seems to be the problem?” Atlas asks.
“We’ve run into some…competition.”
“What kind of competition? Our bud is top of the line. You shouldn’t have any competition.” Atlas sounds slightly insulted but mostly annoyed.
So, Griffin and Knox buy weed and sell it.
Thank God.
I was worried it was something like fentanyl.
Griffin sighs. “A new player is offering a different product, and it’s getting people hooked quick and bad. Once a customer goes to the new dealer, they don’t come back to us.”
Now that guy is the one with shit like fentanyl.
“I see,” Atlas grumbles.
