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Carver was another guy from the old neighborhood, though he’d been a bit younger than the rest of us by a couple of years. Even so, he climbed up in the underbelly relatively quickly. Selling drugs to college-aged kids on spring break, mostly.
He was tall and a gangly sort of thin with this ridiculous mop of frizzy orange-red hair, a mass of freckles, and brown eyes. He still hadn’t grown out of the wearing clothes five sizes bigger than his actual size thing either.
Honestly, the real reason I kept the connection with Carver had nothing to do with him per se, but more to do with his brother’s job working for the police department, and able to… impact shit if it was necessary. And for the right price.
“Long time no see, man,” Carver greeted me as he swiped some old chip crumbs off his passenger seat, something that didn’t occur to him until the moment he saw me look down at them.
That alone should have been a red flag, a sign that Carver was not someone who was five steps ahead, like I generally chose to be. Hell, he wasn’t a single step ahead.
I just didn’t know that until it was too late, until we were pulling up to the house where the guy, Len, who owed him money was located.
“Whoa whoa, wait,” I said when he went to immediately climb right out of the car without even discussing the plan.
Because, of course, Carver didn’t have a plan.
“What? Wanna get back to Miami before two. The chick I’m fucking gets off her shift at The Green Flamingo then.”
The Green Flamingo was a strip club that catered to the locals instead of the tourists. Which meant it was scuzzier with a ‘look the other way’ policy when it came to ‘extras’ going down in the private dances.
“I don’t even know who the fuck we’re looking for, Carver,” I reminded him.
“Oh, right. Len is about here,” he said, motioning to his brow. “With black hair and eyes. And he’s got a septum piercing.”
“And is he going to be the only one in there?”
“I dunno.”
He didn’t know.
Christ.
“Does he carry a gun?”
“Dunno.”
“What do you know, Carver?” I asked, shaking my head.
“He owes me money. I want it back. That’s what I know. I didn’t think you’d be such a fucking pussy about this.”
With that, he climbed out of the car, leaving me to slam my head back on the rest, take a deep breath, then follow. Because there was no other choice.
I had a gun.
I had extra bullets.
I’d been in sketchier situations.
It was going to be fine.
Even if I was partnered with a complete fucking idiot.
It was no wonder Carver never really got something bigger going for himself. It was easy work to sell drugs to tourists. It wasn’t so simple to build an actual organization. It required planning and two-step thinking. At minimum.
“Over here, man,” Carver called. Called. When we were supposed to be sneaking up on this fucking guy.
My stomach twisted hard, dread working its way up my spine and curling around my throat.
“No,” I said, shaking my head, then pointed toward the front for him, and the back for me.
