I turned to see if she was alone. She was. Then, in my stupor, I searched for my fallen cigarette. I couldn't find it. A hard rain was coming, and all I wanted was one last smoke before it crashed down.
“Give it to me or I swear to god, I'll bash your fucking brains in!” She thrust forward just to pull away again; keeping the brick raised, ready for another strike.
Through my fog, I couldn't help but notice that it was such a beautiful night out. Brisk and clean. I turned over so my ass was more firmly seated on the blacktop. The world still spun around me, but I d been thrown from my bike enough to know that the feeling would eventually fade.
“Do it!” she screamed, dropping the brick and pulling out a gun. It was a tiny thing, maybe a twenty-two caliber pistol. Not much stopping power, but it would certainly ruin my day. Why was she in such a rush? It wasn't like I was going anywhere.
My head finally started to clear, I realized that she wasn't sent by Wrex for some sort of indirect revenge. This was all Tash, and she didn't want to get caught. All junkies were opportunists. Well, who was I to delay her? I pulled out my wallet, folding all the cash as I held it up. “This is a bad idea, Tash.”
“I'm the one with the fucking gun! Put the money on the ground. What? You think that because we fucked and shared some happy junkie moment, that we're friends?”
Being reckless, stealing, arson, murder; all that shit I could handle. It was shit like this, letting my guard down and giving a damn...
That's what really got me into trouble.
“If you take this money, it'll kill you.”
“Are you fucking serious? You're going to threaten me?” Tash racked her pistol. A perfectly good, live round popped out of the ejection port on the top of the gun. She probably saw on TV that cocking a gun is what you do when you want to raise the tension, or show that you mean business. All it does in real life is just waste a round and make you look foolish. She'd obviously never fired a gun before.
Tash looked worried for a moment, like she wasn't sure if it would spontaneously fire, but she soldiered through and re-aimed the gun back at me. I lightly shook my throbbing head in amused disbelief, damn near laughing out loud at how absurd it would be if this was how I went out; accidentally gunned down by a junkie in a parking lot.
I tossed the wad of money on the ground by her feet, confident that, as stressed and hurried as he was, she wouldn't take the time to count it. Then I laid back on the cold pavement and looked up at the night sky.
Tash snatched up the cash, got in her car and disappeared from my world. She had no parting words for me. She'd thought I'd been threatening her. Funny thing is, it was a warning.
I'd only put about two hundred in my wallet, so it wouldn't be the haul she'd be expecting. It would be enough to get her a few balloons... or whatever they were calling doses of heroin these days.
With that much money though, she'd probably get talked into an up-sell and buy a full gram. Properly separated that would last her a week, maybe two, but if she fucked up the dose amount she'd just nod off and never wake up.
I sighed and slid a hand over my face, reminding myself that she wasn't my problem. Hell, she'd robbed me. I didn't owe her shit. Still, I've always had a soft spot for junkies.
I forced out a smile, it was bitter like sour candy. “Just another day in paradise,” I chuckled, knowing full well that one of these days that soft spot was going to get me killed.
The cherry tip of the cigarette rolled its way to my palm, burning me enough to recoil from it. “Hey, buddy. Thought I lost you.” I reached over and grabbed it. I laughed again when I put it in my lips. “At least I know that you're trying to kill me.”
Closing my eyes, I breathed that soothing cancer in as deeply as possible. I held the smoke in until it turned my lungs to ash, hoping it would burn away my soul, or at the very least, my goddamn nagging conscience.
My pocket vibrated. I let the smoke escape, it streamed from my nostrils.
“Yeah?” I asked, not bothering to look at the number. I knew it was my club calling.
“Hey, Ronin. We need you in south Jersey to back Repo up ASAP,” Tee said. He was an old friend from our club's mother chapter. I hadn't talked to him in awhile.
“Hey, Tee, it's been— Did you say Jersey? That's Knights' territory.”
“Remy sent Repo to broker a deal with their regional Pres. This is some serious club negotiation shit.” Tee was always good for laying it out as it was.
“Our Red Bank chapter isn't running protection? They're a hell of a lot closer.”
“It's a small meet, neutral location. Only one enforcer on each side and Remy wants that someone to be you.”
“Sounds fun. I've been dying for a hoagie anyways. You ever been to Carmen's Cold Cuts?” I asked.