“Beep, beep, motherfucker!” Solomon leans out the open window, his voice pitching over a gust of wind that whips my hood back. “Get in before you freeze your nuts off.”
The only person I could call was my boss.
The same guy who helped get me into this mess.
I limp to the car on a pair of crutches, every step reminding me just how much my life has unraveled. Sol watches me approach, one hand on the wheel as he smacks a wad of gum between his teeth.
When I’m finally settled, he shifts the car into Drive and whistles under his breath. “Jesus, kid. You look like hell.”
“Thanks.” Better than looking dead, I suppose.
“Can’t believe they set you free already. Damn. It’s like a fuckin’ drive-through these days.” He shakes his head with dismay, pulling out onto the main road. “Hope they fed you, at least. Did you get a toy with your Happy Meal?”
My good leg bounces up and down, jarring my injured leg and making me wince. “Ate enough. No toy, but possibly a lifelong limp.”
“Brutal.”
The bullet missed my femoral artery, just barely. That’s what the surgeon told me—some doctor with tired eyes and a voice that didn’t match the gravity of what he was saying. Another inch, and I’d be gone. Instead, I got emergency surgery, a blood transfusion, multiple nights in the ICU, and a hospital bill I’m praying is all covered by state insurance.
A gunshot wound to the thigh isn’t the kind of thing you just walk away from, no matter how much I want to. My future will be filled with a boatload of follow-up visits and months of rehab.
Sol spits his gum out the window, then rolls it back up. “Listen, man, I feel like shit for what happened. Can’t help but feel responsible.”
My stomach sinks at the reminder that I have nothing but loose change and lint in my pockets and an empty fridge waiting for me at home. “It was a team effort.”
After all, I had options. I chose the path of most resistance, which involved theft and carjacking.
I press two fingers to my forehead, rubbing away the migraine as my mind flashes with visions of no heat, surviving on cans of beans and jellied cranberries leftover from Thanksgiving, and showering at the neighbor’s house while Rock shreds two sets of drums—his kit and my ears—and rambles off conspiracy theories.
It’s a horror movie reel I’m forced to watch, while Christmas lights glitter from pine trees and rooftops, whizzing by in a multicolored stream outside the window.
I haven’t gotten a paycheck since before Halloween, thanks to the man on my left. My rent is long past due, my savings account is in the negative, and my phone is moments away from being shut off.
Tugging the hood over my head, I lean back and stare at the snowfall carpeting the earth. Sparkling, weightless, free of burden. The opposite of this feeling that hollows out my chest.
“Yeah, well, you’re due for a lucky break, my friend.” Plucking a cigarette from the dashboard, Sol reaches for his lighter and flicks the little wheel, smoke pluming from the embers. “I made a call, pulled a few strings, and managed to get some cash together that covers your wages since your last paycheck. Plus that bonus I promised.”
My eyes flare, a shot of cautious elation zipping through my chest. “Shit, really?”
“Pop the glove box.”
I pull it open and spot a white envelope stuffed with bills. Sighing with the first breath of relief in months, I snatch it from the compartment and glance at what looks like a few thousand dollars. “You have no idea how much this helps.”
I realize it’s my own fault for agreeing to this under-the-table bullshit; I should have known better. But when I was laid off from my welding job last year due to the factory closing down, I was desperate. The woodworking ad on a local listing’s post caught my eye.
It was supposed to be temporary while I got my custom guitar business off the ground. And I guess that’s the thing about temporary plans. They have a way of stretching into permanence when you’re flat broke. A false sense of security.
One month turned into three, then six, until a full year of late nights in freezing warehouses slipped by as I sanded down someone else’s vision for cash that barely covered the rent.
“Get yourself a good lawyer and some new clothes.” Sol snickers, eyeing me up and down. “Can’t have you showing up to work looking like you moonlight as Dexter.”
I sift through the money before dropping the envelope on my lap. “It might be a bit before I’m back on the clock.”
“I get that. I’ve got you covered for a few weeks. You have someone to look after you?”
My jaw tics through the lie. “Yeah, my neighbor. Rock.”
“Good deal.”
