“What up Red?”
Not a thing he says, lifting the red brimmed cap so his eyes barely shine out. They’re cold, and bloodshot, and I retreat from meeting his gaze.
“You good if I go in?”
“Sure thing Jackson, you and me straight.”
I slide past, not wanting or needing to continue the conversation. I can hear the low thumping before I enter the building, and smell the incense burning into my nose. A young blonde lays out on the couch across from me, she’s barely conscious.
A part of me wants to go to the kitchen, grab some water and wake her up, but it’s not why I’m here.
I head down the poster covered hallway, past images of superheroes, dead comedians, and one strange mickey mouse and enter into Rahkim’s lair.
He sits with his back to the door, his large frame holding the room in center, carving out his space with little effort.
“Hey Jackson. You got my money?”
See I like Rahkim. He gets right to the point.
I reach into my pocket, and pull out the green, sweaty, payment.
—–continued.