Garner Nash rolled into Rock Springs with the Honda’s engine humming a low, tired tune. The neon lights of K Street flickered in the night, casting long shadows that danced across his face. He parked outside a dingy bar, its half-lit sign proclaiming “Utamoh & Thumo Club.”

Inside, the air was thick with tension and the clatter of pool balls. Garner scanned the room, his eyes landing on Chet Skrim, sitting at the bar and signaling for another beer. Chet was a nasty piece of work who’d used Garner in prison — and despite the risks, Garner planned to use Chet now.

“Chet Skrim, as I live and breathe,” Garner said, sliding onto the stool opposite him.

Chet’s eyes narrowed. “Garner Nash. Never thought I’d see your face on the outside.”

“I’m a free bird now with a proposition. And merchandise. Top quality.”

Chet eyed him, skepticism etched in every line of his face. “What kind of merchandise?”

“Crystal,” Garner whispered, glancing around. “Fell into my lap like a gift from the gods.”

“I might know a guy. He’s not going to be easy to convince, though.”

“I can be very persuasive,” Garner said with a smirk.

“All right. I’ll introduce you. I want a significant fee for brokering this.”

“Of course,” Garner said.

“And another thing,” Chet said. “If this goes south, you’re on your own. You got that?”

“Crystal clear.”

Chet made the call. “He’ll meet us out back in 20 minutes for a taste.”

Text and photo copyright © 2023 L.T. Hanlon. All content in this post is fiction.