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“Do you know where you bought the narcotics?”
I shoot my head up in her direction. “Bought?” Did she have the load. The three kilos of Moroccan Snow I got sent here to pick up? That was never meant for the streets, not like that. One kilo could be cut into hundreds, the price in the millions. Roughly thirty million. “Narcotics?”
“Yes. The drugs in your system are very deadly. We’re not quite sure how you pulled through.”
Good question.“I don’t know.”
“Very dangerous chemicals were found in your system, Mr. Morano. What happened to you can happen to more people if we don’t get that batch off the streets.”
I snort and shot my eyes before shaking my head lightly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Mr. Morano, this city is preparing for a national emergency. The cocaine in your system was laced with different substances, including concentrated neurotoxins from different sources. Your body responded to high doses of anti-venom. We’re not sure how much you took, but you got lucky.”
“Lucky?” I scoff as I stare down at my predicament. Luck would have been me delivering that load to my father’s private jet. Losing millions of dollars isn’t luck for the King of the Underworld. He sent me out here to get it, entrusted me with it, when he knew my return was risky. He didn’t send an army to keep this as secret as possible.
When my father gets wind of this, murder is too light of a sentence. He’s going to fry hide in the newest batch of olive oil. Then he’ll mill the bones into powder. Mine included, probably, if I don’t get his packages back.
At least the police don’t have it, or they wouldn’t be questioning me about it. But I’m not stupid enough to snort Moroccan Snow in its pure form. No one is. The vendor told me to be careful with the contents, even sweat could dissolve it. But the cop is right, though, I should be dead.
“Mr. Morano, any help you can give us would be appreciated. My goal is to put this Coalition of Bandits to a stop.”
I crack a smile atCoalition of Bandits.Then, quickly go stoic.“I don’t know anything.”
She sighs and comes closer, leaning over the metal rail to whisper. “I’ve looked into your past. You’ve helped the police before with a missing woman. If you can help us save people, we can help each other.”
Don’t react,I tell myself. They didn’t do shit except put my name into the bullet raffle.
“I know you think your cousin was abducted by them.”
Leave my baby cousin out of this.
“I read the reports. I know how much she meant to your family. She was named after your mother, right?”
This is how things went wrong the last time. Establishing rapport with a good cop, doesn’t exclude a bad cop from tracking down information.
“Ma’am, I’m not sure what you want from me when I don’t know anything.”
“I may be new, but I know how things work on Pink Street, Styx.” She comes closer, as if hiding the words she speaks. “I come from a town like this, where no one ever knows anything, and those who do, disappear. Like you did.”
No, not like I did.I disappeared thanks to my mom and dad. The Petals disappear involuntarily. A fate I suffer if I don’t get the hell out of here.
“No?” She stands up straight and distances herself, inheriting a more obstinate demeanor. “Let me blunt: we know why you were shot, and we think it’s the same people responsible for the drugs,” she continues. “I can help you. I can protect you.”
This woman is delusional and wrong. Two different entities completely, but noted. The Moroccan Snow was never meant for this place — too small scale.
“Thank you,” I tell her kindly. “But when I say I don’t remember, it’s not because I’m keeping silent and refusing to share. I really don’t remember, and I have no clue when I worked with the police before.”
Her head ticks back in surprise. “Mr. Morano you were shot, you overdosed, and you’re sitting here like a wounded animal before a hunt. I’m the one keeping the mob from tracking you down, so I suggest we help each other. You tell me things, and I’ll tell you things.”
I won’t be alive for long if I don’t get to my mother or reach my father. I feel along the gauze. Little raised bumps from stitches slide over the pads of my fingers. “What kind of things could you tell me?”
She glances down at where I’m feeling.“The bullet nicked an artery but it wasn’t a major one. You had some blood loss and a concussion, but I’m sure the doctor will tell you more once he comes in. Frankly, I don’t think anyone really expected you to wake up.” She glances over her shoulder again, I’m not quite sure who she’s looking for.
“You said I was lucky.”
“Someone heard the gunshot and called into get help. A little bit longer and you wouldn’t be with us anymore.”
Mom.“Who called it in?”
