Page 102 of Dirty

Lefty came out behind me, and Smokey soon followed. The entire time we walked down the hallway, Smokey lagged behind, fucking with his vape as he walked.

Crip led the way down another corridor, and into the shop. After walking to the center of the floor, he stopped and turned around.

“You the last one out of the dope house the other night?”

Lefty gave a confused look. “What dope house?”

“Dope house we gave all the girls a ride out of.”

Lefty put his hands on his hips and shrugged. “Hell, I don’t know.”

Smokey stepped between them. His vape was gone, and his hand now held a small snub nosed pistol. “You’re a god damned liar. And, if you reach for your hip, I’ll put one in your heart.”

“God damn, it Smokey,” Crip said through his teeth.

Smokey raised the pistol and pointed it at Lefty’s head. “I’m not fucking around, motherfucker. Take your right hand, reach around your gut, and pick that piece out from underneath your shirt with two fingers. Think about doing anything slick, and I’ll put one right between those beady fuckin’ eyes.”

I took a step back and looked at Pee Bee. He did the same.

Crip, who was behind Smokey, took a step to the side.

“Crip,” Lefty said dryly. “Can you help me out here?”

“Fuck him,” Smokey said. “This is between you and me, motherfucker. You’re making me out to be a liar, and I’m a lot of things, but that ain’t one of ‘em. Now, snatch that piece out from underneath your shirt.”

With his shirt untucked, I hadn’t noticed he was armed. It came to me that Smokey patting his hand against his hip in the office was a signal.

Lefty reached for the gun, lifted it from beneath his shirt, and held it by the grip.

“Take it, Cholo.”

I took it from Lefty’s hand, and stepped to the side.

Holding the pistol rock-steady, Smokey cleared his throat. “I’m gonna ask the questions now. I saw your ass come out last, motherfucker. I saw you get on your bike. And, you know, the more I’m thinking about it, you couldn’t have got the money that night. There was too much of it. You hid the shit, didn’t ya?”

The tension hung in the air like a thick cloud.

Lefty stared back at him.

“I’m gonna ask once,” Smokey said. “If you lie, I’m gonna drop you where you stand.”

“Where’s the money you took?” Smokey asked.

Lefty glared at him. “Crip. C’mon, Brother. You’re running this show. We go back too far to let--”

“Answer the question, Left,” Crip said.

Smokey pulled back the hammer of the pistol. “I shake like a squirrel on crack,” he said. “With this hammer back, I wouldn’t take too long to answer. This cheap fucker might just go off. Where’s the money?”

Sweat rolled down Lefty’s cheeks.

Then, he let out a sigh.

I wanted him to say he didn’t do it. That he took a shit. Hell, anything. And then, as I tried to convince myself that it couldn’t be him, he responded.

“It’s in my bedroom closet, in a duffel bag,” he said.

It seemed like an hour passed after he responded, but I’m sure it was only seconds.