Garner arrived at Danny’s trailer, the dilapidation of the place a stark reminder of the grim world he’d re-entered. With its peeling paint and broken windows, the trailer squatted on its haunches like a decrepit beast. Inside, the air was thick with stale cigarettes and neglect.

“Nice place you’ve got here,” Garner said, eyes scanning the filthy interior.

Danny, lounging on a worn-out sofa that first tasted ass when Jackie Kennedy wore pink pillbox hats, just sneered. “Don’t need to be fancy to do business, Nash. You should know that.”

Their small talk was terse, laden with the weight of a past neither man cared to revisit. As abrasive as ever, Danny seemed to take pleasure in jabbing at old wounds.

After a few minutes, Danny’s attention turned to the matter at hand. “Let’s see if this crystal is as sweet as you claim,” he said, a malicious gleam in his eyes.

Garner handed over a sample, his fingers steady despite the turmoil. Danny piped and lit it with the expertise of a connoisseur, his nod of approval sending a wave of relief through Garner.

“Damn, Nash, you weren’t kidding. This is good stuff,” Danny admitted, a rare note of respect in his voice. “Fifty grand sound fair to you?”

Garner nodded, a semblance of a plan taking shape in his mind. “Sounds fair. I’ll bring the rest tomorrow.”

Danny’s smirk returned, as sharp as a knife’s edge. “Don’t play me for a fool, Nash. I know you. The stuff’s in your car’s trunk. You think I’m a fuckin’ retread?”

Garner’s heart sank. He’d underestimated Danny’s cunning.

“Go get it, now,” Danny ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Garner stepped out into the cold night. This was a dangerous game, and he was walking a razor-thin line.

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