Page 54 of Demise

“Basement,” I reply. “Where the fuck are you?” I’ve been trying to get in touch with this man since before we left.

“Out back. Meet me.”

I hang up the phone as Sweep walks up to me. “Bones needs to speak with you.”

“Well, I gotta take a piss. I’ll be back in a few.” I pat him on the shoulder and head up the stairs. Looking down, I see Sweep taking a seat at the bar. I slip into the broom closet—that is the secret entrance to the casino—and out into the kitchen of the restaurant, which shares the same building as Red.

I look for the exit. Sliding my gloves on, I make my way down the stairs. Car lights flash at me so I jog over.

“Smells like fish in here,” I say, climbing into Nugget’s car.

“Yeah, your mama just left,” he says.

“My mom’s dead, asshole.”

He frowns. “My bad. So, what’s going on? How the hell did they get away?”

“Sweep was on to me. I had to do something, so I set the druggie up. The bitch shot him. He’s dead.”

“Do they know anything?”

I shake my head. “They had their suspicions, but I think I covered it well. I don’t think we gotta worry.”

He nods. “Good.” He reaches into his glove box and pulls out a brown baggy. I place my hand in my hoodie’s pocket.

“Heroin?” I question.

He shrugs. “So what?”

“So, you ain’t taking that from the warehouse, are you?”

“What if I am?”

“Then you’re more ignorant than you look. Bones will have you killed if he finds out.”

“I murdered his fucking brother.” He laughs. “He ain’t gonna find out about this if he hasn’t found out about that.” He puts some on his finger and brings it to his nose, sniffing. “So, I got…” His body slumps and he slows his movements.

“You got what?” I ask.

“I got news,” he says, his voice lazy. He blinks, looking toward the windshield.

I hit his shoulder. “What fucking news?”

“Moretti. He knows.”

My heart kicks up its beat. “Knows what?”

“’Bout Bones.”

“The fuck you talking about?” Panic takes ahold of my throat. I look around, paranoid.

Nugget hangs his head. “He knows we took them,” he says, attempting to point at himself.

“You and Miles?” I ask.

He looks over at me and winks. “He doesn’t care. He wants him dead.”

I jerk my head back. “What? Wants who dead?”

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