Page 40 of Demise

“Just wanted some popcorn,” she says, moving over to the couch. She flops down with a small huff.

I stand in the living room, looking around at the house she and Samuel shared. I don’t like being here.

“What did you do today?” she asks.

“Had a meeting with some old friends,” I reply, walking over to the couch and taking a seat beside her. I reach for the popcorn, wincing a bit.

“How’d it go?”

I laugh tiredly. “Not good.”

My phone vibrates, and I reach into my pocket and pull it out. It’s Paul.

I sigh. “I gotta take this.”

She doesn’t say anything as I walk into the kitchen. “Yeah?” I answer.

“We need to talk, brother. Meet me for breakfast at Ma’s.”

He doesn’t wait for my response before he hangs up. I hang my head, resting my hands on the counter. I know this isn’t going to go away. Sweep is in some real trouble and so am I. I don’t see how we’re going to get out of this without doing some time. It looks like all our bad has finally caught up with us.

I scoff. “Here’s to never getting caught.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Bexley

I pull the throw on the couch across my legs as Danny walks back in, stuffing his phone into his pocket. He removes his coat and lays it across the back of the couch.

“Who was that?” I ask.

He clears his throat. “Paul.” Taking a seat beside me, he rucks his sleeves to his elbows, revealing black ink. My eyes focus in on his forearms before I look back at the TV.

“How’s he doing?” I ask.

“Paul? Paul’s fine,” he says.

I don’t say much else. My mind is too full of questions to even know where to begin. Why is he here? What’s going on? Where’s Johnny?

“So, listen,” he says. “I’ve got some stuff going on. Some kinda serious shit, and I’m not sure how it’s going to turn out.”

“What do you mean?”

He tilts his head. “I mean, in the morning, I’ve got to have another meeting. Then I’m going to take a few days off to myself. Try to heal up a bit, but then I’ve got some stuff I gotta take care of, so I’ll be gone a while off and on.”

“Danny, stop half-speaking and tell me what the hell you’re talking about.”

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. His eyes go to the TV. “I was watching this earlier,” he says. He chuckles. “That George Bailey didn’t know how good he had it.”

“Most people don’t until it’s all gone,” I say.

He looks over at me, his eyes filled with an emotion I’m not ready for. He reaches over and runs his hand across my foot before giving it a squeeze. “I’ve missed your feet,” he says.

“You missed my feet? How odd.” I smile tiredly.

“I used to grab your pinky toe when we were younger, remember?”

“Yes, I hated it.”

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