“Yo Harp!”
I take a deep breath through the nose, bracing myself for another barrage. Whatever that big ape says to me, I ain’t going downstairs. I can’t face the guys again and their disappointment in me. If they wanna yell at me, let it be another day.
Joey knocks on the door.
“What is it?” I say.
“Grocery run. You chippin’ in or what?”
I sigh and sit up, rubbing my temples. “Yeah. One sec.”
“Come on, bro. You can finish jacking off later. I need that dough.”
“All right. Hold your horses,” I say, trudging over to the dresser—which, besides the bed, is the only furnishing in this spartan room—to grab my wallet.
Unable, apparently, to wait fifteen second, Joey opens the door. The probie’s standing behind him. He looks a little shook up from the fire. His face is dirty, and I can tell he’s still full of adrenaline.
“Pay the piper,” Joey says.
“Uh, I . . . I’ll have to get you back. Short on cash. There are only three bucks in my wallet.
“All good, man. Probie can spot you for now. Isn’t that right?” Joey says, turning to probie.
“Uh . . . as long as he pays me back.”
Joey’s palm slams the probie’s shoulder with thunderous force. “Isaid, the probie can spot you. Isn’t that right, probie?”
“Y-yeah. No problem.”
“Don’t worry,” I say to the kid. “I’ll get you back. I’m a man of my word.”
Joey scoffs, ever so slightly, but I ignore him.
Manny appears behind them, puts one hand on each of the their shoulders, and smiles. “So what’s the plan?”
“Collecting for a grocery run,” Joey says. “Harper’s broke ass can’t even dish out twelve bucks.”
“Typical,” Manny says, shaking his head. “Marcus is downstairs. Wants to talk to us.” Manny looks directly at me now. “All of us.”
“I’ll be down in a sec,” I mumble.
Once the guys are out of the room, I walk over to my closet and pull out a flask from the inside pocket of my Carrhart jacket.
But before I unscrew the cap and take a long, cleansing swig of vodka, my phone buzzes. It’s Paul Greene, my lawyer.
Anxiety rips through my body. My palms instantly turn moist. I let it go to voicemail. When he calls, it’s never a pleasant conversation. I take a sip from the flask before heading downstairs.
My thoughts race as we sit in the living room. What did Paul want? I’m having trouble paying attention to or caring about anything else that’s going on at the moment. Including this meeting. I should listen to the voicemail.
Detective Marcus Hargrowe sits in a fabric armchair, holding court. He takes a sip of coffee from the steaming mug the probie prepared and immediately makes a face of displeasure. “What is this swill?”
Joey leans back on the couch and directs his voice over his shoulder at the probie. “Detective says your coffee’s garbage, probie. You gonna let a cop waltz in and insult you like that?”
The probie walks around the kitchen counter holding two more mugs. He sets them down on the coffee table in front of Dennis and Jax.
“I made it twice as strong as last time,” the probie says in defense.
“Better make it three times as strong next time I come around,” Marcus says.
