Page 8

I hop out and walk across the lot to the main office hub.

A few other drivers hang out inside on the couch in the corner with coffee, enjoying a little evening quiet before heading home. Some I recognize as being “in” on the whole deal, the others are just honest folk making a decent living. It’s hard to tell sometimes. Generally, I keep to myself in here.

I head down the hall to the office in the back, hearing Daniel Quinn’s voice shouting louder and louder with each step I take.

“You tell that punk son-of-a-bitch I said no tattoos!”

I stall in the doorway to listen in, settling in next to Doogan in the frame beside me. I nudge him on the arm and fire a questionable glance at Daniel. He gives me a nod. You’ve seen it all before, it says. No worries.

“I don’t care what he said his mother said, he’s only thirteen!” Daniel shouts into his phone. “Don’t scream at me like that, you little bitch. I’m just trying to be a decent fucking father figure.”

I stifle a chuckle as Doogan’s lips twitch.

Daniel looks up at us and waves me in. “Look, Ma, I gotta run. I’ll see you at church on Sunday.” He drops the phone onto its cradle and leans back to stare at me. “And just where the fuck have you been?”

I step inside with my hands raised. “I came as soon as the pick-up happened. They were late today, not me.”

He holds out his hand. “Gimme it.”

I reach into my pocket for the envelope. “So, I can’t help but notice you’re a little tense today...”

Daniel snatches the envelope from me. “You haven’t heard?” he asks.

“Heard what?”

He gestures at Doogan to step out. Doogan nods and leaves, closing the door behind him.

Daniel rips open the envelope and reads the slip inside. “Aw, shit,” he mutters.

“What is it?” I ask, though I don’t really care.

He holds up the paper with two fingers and I take it back.

“TBD?” I read.

“Canon McGregor was killed last night,” he says. “Six shots to the back. Found face down in an alleyway — on one of my streets.”

I drop the paper onto his desk. I honestly couldn’t give two shits about any of this. It’s got nothing to do with me. “You guys kill him?”

“Fuck, no! Of course not!”

I raise my hands. “Sorry.”

He yanks at his already loose tie. “Everyone thinks we did,” he says. “The dealers have put our business on hiatus. Nine out of fifteen trucks so far tonight. All to be determined for tomorrow’s pick-up.”

I feign concern. “Well, that... sucks.”

“They don’t want to deal with me if I’m starting a mob war — but I didn’t have Canon killed. I can’t believe this day I’m having. First, there’s⁠—”

I tune out for a moment. Mob bullshit. Mob bullshit. Blah blah blah. I have one of those trusting faces. It makes it infinitely easier for me to pick up women but, at the same time, it makes everyone want to just spill all their beans on my shoes.

“Sounds awful,” I say as soon as his voice drops.

“You don’t know the half of it.” He spins around and pops open his safe. “Anyway, here’s your cut from last month.”

I perk up and take the envelope from him. A quick peek inside shows a thick stack of old money. I don’t bother counting it. I stuff it in my jacket. “Thanks, Daniel,” I say.

“See you tomorrow, kid.”