There’s no problem that drugs and money can’t fix

The clock over the mirror in Benny’s Bar had struck 1 a.m., and the joint’s raucous energy now simmered at a low hum.

Cousin Jake chugged his beer, adjusted his Stetson, and told Garner to spill the beans from his meeting with the biker who could fix any problem.

“So, Maddox’s plan,” Garner began, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s all about Danny having stepped into Scarab territory. Maddox and the Scarabs, they’re not gonna let that slide.”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “What about the meth you sold to Danny? Aren’t you on the hook, too?”

Garner shook his head. “That’s the leverage. I hand over the fentanyl to the Scarabs, and they take care of Danny and his crew. An ‘unfortunate accident,’ Maddox called it.”

Jake smirked, a mix of disbelief and admiration. “That’s it? Just hand over the goods, and poof, problem solved?”

“That’s it,” Garner said. “But Jake, we can’t breathe a word of this. Ever.”

“No problem, cousin. I never told you what Maddox did for my dad, did I?”

Jake signaled for another round, then turned back to Garner, his demeanor shifting from serious to jovial. “Hope you’re good to drive, bro, ’cause I’m about to get hammered!”