Don’t Get Caught
I slide the bag across the table, the hooded figure opposite me peering inside.
“Where the hell did you find this?!” he whispers in surprise.
I shrug knowingly and cock my head.
“Places. Pay up,” I say, gesturing with my hand for the money.
“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, fumbling in his worn coat pockets for bills.
He pulls out a wad of cash that looks like more than enough, but I’m not so stupid so as not to count it first when he slides in across the counter. He sighs impatiently as I flip through all the bills, counting once, then twice.
I nod in satisfaction, tucking the cash away in the waistband of my shorts. I pat the bag and push it into his chest. Then I turn on my heel and get the hell out of the abandoned store.
It’s not good to stick around when you’re selling drugs.