chair. “Are you gambling?”
“No.” Not at this very moment, anyway.
“Stil hanging out with that drug-dealer friend of yours?” E.
had intercepted him on an errand Chance had asked him
to run in exchange for money Wesley owed him. Wesley
hadn’t known for certain what was in the gym bag, but
he’d had a pretty good idea. E. had allowed him to take
the bag back to “where it came from,” without any
repercussions.
“He’s not a bad guy,” he said of his friend Chance.
“He’s going to land you behind bars…or worse.”
Wesley wiped his hand over his mouth to keep from tel ing
her that her boyfriend, Leonard, was also keeping
company with his drug-dealing friend. “I’l take that under
advisement,” he responded, standing. “Are we through?”
E. pressed her lips together, then gave a curt nod. “I’l see
you next week. Take care of that arm.”
Wesley left the building in a foul mood. By the time he
rode to Chance’s condo, his arm was throbbing.
His chuffy friend grinned widely when he opened the door.
“Dude—you’re alive!”
Wesley howled in pain when Chance pul ed him into a
choke hold hug. “Watch my arm, man.”
“What happened to it?”
Wesley set his jaw against the pain, leaning over and
holding his arm. When he could talk again he said, “My
loan officer decided to take a pound of flesh.”
“Is it broken?”
“No. I don’t think that would hurt as bad.” Although
Carlotta might argue the point.
Chance dug into his pocket. “Here, dude, take a couple of
these.”
Wesley stared at the white pil s suspiciously. “What are
they?”
“OxyContin. It’s great stuff, man. Wil make you feel good
fast.”
“Thanks.” He took one and swallowed it dry.
Chance dumped the rest into Wesley’s hand. “For later,
dude. If you want to feel like you’ve just been laid by the
woman of your dreams, chew it. Want something to
drink?”
“Soda, if you have it.”
“Coming up. What the hel happened to you?”
“I went to try to patch things up with The Carver.”
Chance’s eyes bulged. “Dude! Are you suicidal?”
“I thought it was the best thing to do, under the
circumstances. He was going to come after me
eventually.”
Chance cracked open a can of Mountain Dew and handed
it to Wesley. “So what did he do to you?”
“Cut me up a little.”
“Really? I always wondered if the rumors were true. Did he
use a bowie knife?”
“Switchblade.”
“Cool.” Then his friend blanched. “I mean—fuck. That had
to hurt like a son of a bitch.”
“Yeah.”
“And he wanted twenty-five grand?”
“Yeah. A fee for pain and suffering, he called it.”
“Sorry I couldn’t help you out, man.”
“That’s okay. I got it.”
“Where?”
“Friend of the family.”
“Sweet. So does that clear your debt with The Carver?”
“Hel , no. Like I said, that was just a fee to let me keep
breathing. I stil owe the guy, like, twelve grand. But I’m
making payments.”
“I’m glad you’re back. I have an economics exam next
week. Think you could take it for me?”
Chance’s sense of self-preservation was more keen than
anyone’s he’d ever met. “Sure. Meanwhile, I need a game.
Can you keep your ears open?”
Chance grinned. “Sure.”
“I’l need a bankrol . Same deal as before—you pay the sit
fee, we split the winnings?”
“Deal. I’l make some phone calls right now. Have a seat,
man, and let the drug kick in.”
Wesley walked into the living room—a bachelor’s dream
of black leather furniture and oversize electronics.
Predictably, the large flat screen was showing porn, this
one of a homemade variety. What the film lacked in
quality it made up for in candid angles. Wesley switched
the input to the latest Xbox gaming system and pul ed up
Poker Smash. He settled into a chair and played a few
hands. The adrenaline and the caffeine helped to speed
the painkil er through his system. He glanced around
“No.” Not at this very moment, anyway.
“Stil hanging out with that drug-dealer friend of yours?” E.
had intercepted him on an errand Chance had asked him
to run in exchange for money Wesley owed him. Wesley
hadn’t known for certain what was in the gym bag, but
he’d had a pretty good idea. E. had allowed him to take
the bag back to “where it came from,” without any
repercussions.
“He’s not a bad guy,” he said of his friend Chance.
“He’s going to land you behind bars…or worse.”
Wesley wiped his hand over his mouth to keep from tel ing
her that her boyfriend, Leonard, was also keeping
company with his drug-dealing friend. “I’l take that under
advisement,” he responded, standing. “Are we through?”
E. pressed her lips together, then gave a curt nod. “I’l see
you next week. Take care of that arm.”
Wesley left the building in a foul mood. By the time he
rode to Chance’s condo, his arm was throbbing.
His chuffy friend grinned widely when he opened the door.
“Dude—you’re alive!”
Wesley howled in pain when Chance pul ed him into a
choke hold hug. “Watch my arm, man.”
“What happened to it?”
Wesley set his jaw against the pain, leaning over and
holding his arm. When he could talk again he said, “My
loan officer decided to take a pound of flesh.”
“Is it broken?”
“No. I don’t think that would hurt as bad.” Although
Carlotta might argue the point.
Chance dug into his pocket. “Here, dude, take a couple of
these.”
Wesley stared at the white pil s suspiciously. “What are
they?”
“OxyContin. It’s great stuff, man. Wil make you feel good
fast.”
“Thanks.” He took one and swallowed it dry.
Chance dumped the rest into Wesley’s hand. “For later,
dude. If you want to feel like you’ve just been laid by the
woman of your dreams, chew it. Want something to
drink?”
“Soda, if you have it.”
“Coming up. What the hel happened to you?”
“I went to try to patch things up with The Carver.”
Chance’s eyes bulged. “Dude! Are you suicidal?”
“I thought it was the best thing to do, under the
circumstances. He was going to come after me
eventually.”
Chance cracked open a can of Mountain Dew and handed
it to Wesley. “So what did he do to you?”
“Cut me up a little.”
“Really? I always wondered if the rumors were true. Did he
use a bowie knife?”
“Switchblade.”
“Cool.” Then his friend blanched. “I mean—fuck. That had
to hurt like a son of a bitch.”
“Yeah.”
“And he wanted twenty-five grand?”
“Yeah. A fee for pain and suffering, he called it.”
“Sorry I couldn’t help you out, man.”
“That’s okay. I got it.”
“Where?”
“Friend of the family.”
“Sweet. So does that clear your debt with The Carver?”
“Hel , no. Like I said, that was just a fee to let me keep
breathing. I stil owe the guy, like, twelve grand. But I’m
making payments.”
“I’m glad you’re back. I have an economics exam next
week. Think you could take it for me?”
Chance’s sense of self-preservation was more keen than
anyone’s he’d ever met. “Sure. Meanwhile, I need a game.
Can you keep your ears open?”
Chance grinned. “Sure.”
“I’l need a bankrol . Same deal as before—you pay the sit
fee, we split the winnings?”
“Deal. I’l make some phone calls right now. Have a seat,
man, and let the drug kick in.”
Wesley walked into the living room—a bachelor’s dream
of black leather furniture and oversize electronics.
Predictably, the large flat screen was showing porn, this
one of a homemade variety. What the film lacked in
quality it made up for in candid angles. Wesley switched
the input to the latest Xbox gaming system and pul ed up
Poker Smash. He settled into a chair and played a few
hands. The adrenaline and the caffeine helped to speed
the painkil er through his system. He glanced around
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