Free Gone ’Til November by Wallace Stroby

murked in the alley,” he said. “That was Philly Joe from around the way.”
    “So?” He set the Beretta on the nightstand.
    “His people gonna be looking for you.”
    Morgan went to the bed, opened the bag. Inside was a ziplock plastic bag filled with greenish-gold marijuana. C-Love stood near the door, watching him.
    A plane came in low overhead. The lamp on the nightstand rattled.
    “That’s good shit,” C-Love said. “Best hydro around right now.”
    Underneath, two brown plastic prescription bottles without labels. He twisted the top off one, saw the Vicodin inside.
    “What you need that shit for, dawg?” Mikey said. “You never told me.”
    The tablets were five milligrams each. Morgan broke one in half, put it on his tongue. He dropped the other half back in the bottle, put the cap on. He went into the bathroom, palmed water, swallowed it.
    “That shit will fuck you up,” Mikey said.
    Morgan drank more water, came out of the bathroom.
    “You scarfing down those pills so quick,” Mikey said, “you don’t even see what else is in the bag.”
    Morgan looked. There was a black plastic bundle at thebottom, ends taped shut with duct tape. He drew it out, knew what it was. “This for my trouble?”
    “That’s an advance,” Mikey said. “I need you to take that little trip for me. Shit I told you about.”
    “How much is in here?”
    “Five Gs.”
    “Not much.”
    “For expenses, for now. Traveling money. Good timing, too, since Philly’s boys looking for you. There’s that thing with Rohan, too. Gonna be a while before all that shit quiets down.”
    “You talk to them?”
    “That Trey Dog crew? Can’t do that just now. They’re screaming for blood, and they know you with me. I can get messages back and forth, with an intermediary. But I gotta watch my back on this, too.”
    Morgan sat on the edge of the bed. “Tell me about this trip.”
    “Told you some of it. Pipeline’s been dry since the Colombians went down. Even if they beat the case, they ain’t gonna be up and running anytime soon, if ever. Now I got this RICO shit hanging over my head, and these lawyers, man, they keep wanting more.”
    “Go on.”
    “Word was some Haitians down in Florida had a good line on powder, shit coming in through the islands. They the new power down there now. Making mad money. We set up a meeting, place called Belle Glade. Curtis went down there.” He nodded at C-Love. “It looked good. They had their shittogether, steady source, but they don’t know me well enough to want to do business. And those voodoo motherfuckers don’t trust anyone didn’t grow up poor and barefoot like them.”
    “So you sweetened the deal?” Morgan said.
    “You know my cousin Leon? He in Rahway now, longtime, but he used to run those corners down near Baxter Terrace. His son Derek was wanting to get ahead, put some work in. Smart boy, too. Going to Rutgers, wanted to be a teacher or some shit. But he got a little one now, a baby mama, too. He needed cash, you know? He came to me, wanted me to help him out, bring him along a little. So I gave him a shot.”
    “You sent him down there?”
    “Set him up good. Route, expenses, every damn thing. He had a cash advance for the first shipment, prove we were serious.”
    “How much money?”
    Mikey twisted a thick gold ring on one finger. “A lot, man. More than I could afford.”
    “How much?”
    “Three hundred fifty K. I threw in some iron, too; as a gift. Island boys love their guns.”
    “Why didn’t you send the twins?”
    “With their jackets? Some cop pull them over, think he hit the lottery. Derek was clean. No sheet on him.”
    “What happened?”
    “Some shit I still ain’t figured out. He got pulled over in some cracker town down there. They say he drew on a deputy, but that’s bullshit. They capped his ass and took my money.”
    “You know this?”
    “Much as I need to. I ain’t known Derek to ever carry, but he might have been, I don’t know.