“You have three hours. Show me what you got, Jersey boy,” he says before leaving me.
The five bags of Molly in my jeans pocket feels like lead, and my gut is telling me the fucker set me up to fail.
I glance around to make sure I don’t see a cop car or a slew of them anywhere.
He won’t sic the cops on you, bro. He’s got a business to run.
I cross the wide deserted road of neglected buildings that sit quietly beneath an overpass. Cars whiz by at top speeds, drowning out any noise below.
This is a perfect place to kill someone. I pluck the blade from my boot while keeping my eyes peeled. It’s a small switchblade, so it easily fits into the front pocket of my jeans. I don’t want to scare the homeless or have them pull a knife or a gun on me.
I saunter over to an old man who is sifting through a shopping cart. He looks up and snarls.
Taking a step back, I lift my hands. “Whoa! I’m not here to cause trouble. I just want to talk.”
His neighbor, an oily-haired woman in her forties, perks up from her sleeping bag outside her tent. Both are glaring daggers at me for disturbing their peaceful night.
“Do you get much company around here?” I ask, keeping my hands in the air.
The old man cocks his head, his skin leathery and wrinkly. “Not sure of your question.”
The lady sits up straight, sliding her tired eyes up and down my body like she wants to fuck me. “Are you a cop?”
A shudder works its way through me, and I need a shower.
“No, ma’am.” My polite manners filter out. Mom taught me to respect my elders. “I’m wondering if you’ve seen drug deals go down around here?” No sense in sugar coating what I want. It’s not like she’s about to call the cops.
“All the time,” the old man says. “Racing too.” A glint of excitement is stamped in his cloudy green eyes.
I toss a look at the wide street. I picture myself behind Ray’s Aston Martin as excitement bubbles inside me.
Oh, for fuck’s sake. It’s just a car.
“So, you’ve seen drug deals?” I’m not sure I believe him. The only sign of life is these two. “Any bars or clubs around here?”
The old man squints at me. “You’re one of those party people who likes doing drugs and getting naked. Aren’t you?”
I edge back at his odd question.
“You might want to check the building two blocks down.” The lady points to my left. “Kids act like crazy folk at night in there around this time.”
It’s almost midnight, and I’ve heard scuttle around campus about big raves going down somewhere in the city. I’m guessing that’s what the old guy is referring to.
Before I say thanks, I spot a weathered, worn ball cap in a carriage near the old man. “Sir, I’ll buy that hat from you.”
He grapples for it with shaky hands. “Twenty bucks.”
I pay the crotchety old man his money and place the dirty gray cap on my head. I don’t know if the hat will do its job, but I can’t afford for anyone to notice me.
Making my way the two blocks, I keep scanning the street for any sign of life or Ray and his goons. I wouldn’t put it past him to be lurking in one of the buildings. But I don’t see anyone. And if what the homeless lady said is true about a party, I’m scratching my head as to why I don’t see any cars parked on the street.
But as I get closer, the highway noise is overpowered by the thump of loud music, and a garage on my right is packed with expensive vehicles. None are an Aston Martin, that I can tell, but the Mercedes and the BMW are still worth a pretty penny.
A guy about my age stumbles out of a graffiti-strewn building in front of me as the bass of the music rattles the broken windows. Rushing to the curb, he bends over and pukes.
I hang back for a second in the shadows until he’s done so I can ask him some questions. I’m still cautious that Ray set me up. With my luck, the cops are on their way to break up the party going on inside.
When he finishes, he spins on his expensive leather loafers. Rich kid, for sure. He probably drives the Lamborghini I spotted back there.
