Page 114 of Never Never

“Yeah, well, in America, we have a different saying,” I say. “Die young, leave a good-looking corpse.”

Krye doesn’t chuckle. Or even smile.

“I’m serious, mik. Whatever you’re thinking of doing, you⁠—”

“Baba?”

Overhead, the joists creak and someone’s feet pound across the floorboards.

“Are you home?”

Fuckin’ Zuzu.

“I’m coming, çupkë,” Krye calls. “Give me thirty⁠—”

But she doesn’t. Of course she doesn’t. I have barely enough time to stuff the gun and clip back in the zigzag blanket on the washer before she pounds down into the basement, all smiles and energy in a Tigerlily Fitness top and matching black leggings.

“Aha,” she says, seeing me. “So it was your stupid bike in driveway.”

“It’s not stupid,” I say, out of habit, and then curse myself for walking right into it again. Fuckin’ Zuzu.

“Thank you for confirmation.” Her smirk widens. “Hate to think I had slashed wrong tires.” She turns to her father. “Baba, I⁠—”

“Dritë e syrit,” Krye interrupts, the barest hint of frustration in his voice, “can this wait? Business,” he explains. “With Mr. Pan here.”

Zuzu goes still. Her face blank. And what if anything she sees in or on or about me, I honestly have no fucking idea.

But she nods.

“Sure, sure,” she says, and leans over to kiss her father on the cheek once more. “I will be upstairs, raiding your fridge.”

She jogs back up the stairs, but pauses at the top.

“Your little friend Wendy is a good fighter, you know?” she calls down. “You should be proud.”

I don’t move until I hear the last of her footsteps fade away. Then I stuff the gun in my waistband.

“Thanks,” I say, and dip my head at Krye. “I’ll, uh, get out of your hair.”