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“You sold one yesterday.” The words drop like stones in water.

Wade’s hand drifts toward his waistband as rain patters on. “Listen, you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. I suggest you get a move on now. Sounds like you need to find your missing product, and it ain’t with me.”

“Don’t.” The man’s voice is quiet but commanding, enough so that Wade’s hand stutters for a second before continuing on its path and settling on the outline of his weapon.

Without warning, the buyer’s right hand flashes out, the barrel of a gun stopping Wade cold, his own hand stalled on the grip jammed in his waistband.

Then the man says, “Don’t reach for it.” He waits until Wade’s hand edges away, then takes two slow steps forward. “Put the bag on the ground. Step away.”

Wade tries to laugh, but it comes out wrong. “Fuck, you’re a cop?”

“Do I look like a cop?” the man replies, and, honestly, with his nice shoes and the casual threat in his voice, he really doesn’t.

The whole script spins off the rails. Wade is shaking, and I can tell he’s regretting every decision that led up to this, because this is not how these exchanges go. Not that I’ve watched that many, or, well, any, but even my limited experience says this should be over already, and neither of them should know anything about the other.

“Walk away, man.” Wade tries to back toward the truck.

The man says calmly, “You owe my employer product for six units, and repayment for the original loss.”

Wade’s about to bolt; I can see it, but then he looks at the man’s face and thinks better of it. He slides the backpack off his shoulder and tosses it at the buyer’s feet.

The man doesn’t even flinch. He stoops, picks up the bag, and unzips it. Shoves a hand inside, feels around, then grunts as if confirming something. “Where’s the rest of it, Wade?”

“I told you,” Wade lies, “I bought that batch from a buddy. I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“You took six and sold one, so why are there four only half-full? Were you seriously expecting a buyer to see these and not notice?”

Wade lets his shoulders sag and says, “Listen, I can get you the rest. I just—didn’t bring it all, you know? Didn’t want to get jacked, or stopped, or whatever. I got people watching me, man. I swear I can get it to you, just give me a day—”

The man exhales through his nose, not amused. “You think I care about your problems?”

Wade licks his lips, desperate. “Look, I’ll bring you double next time, okay? I just—look, I fucked up. My bad. But it’s nothing I can’t fix.”

The man looks almost disappointed. “This isn’t about the product,” he says. “This is about whether you think you can steal from us and get away with it.”

Wade’s face goes slack. “Come on, man. I told you I’ll make it right. Please. Please, just—I can get you the guy who put me onto it. He said the shit belonged to some out-of-town crew. Said nobody was watching it. I swear to God. Milo—his name is Milo. He gave me the address and everything, man!”

The man sighs. “Oh, we know Milo, Wade. I just paid him a visit a few hours ago.”

Wade’s mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water before he splutters frantically, “I’ll pay! I’ll pay whatever you want.”

The man’s arm comes up, quick and businesslike. There’s a soft popping sound, like a cap coming off a bottle. I don’t even register what happened before Wade’s head jerks backward and something dark sprays across the truck window behind him.

His knees collapse first, and then the rest of him follows, shoulder striking the side of the truck before he crumples onto the pavement.

I clamp both hands over my mouth, fingernails digging into my cheeks, pressing until my teeth break the skin on the inside of my lip.

Don’t make a sound.

Don’t make a sound.

Don’t make a sound.

The man looks down at Wade, who doesn’t move. Blood spreads beneath his head, the rain already thinning its edges into pink.

My bladder lets go from the fear, but it doesn’t even bother me, because there’s a man dead in front of me, and if I look hard enough I think I can see little specks of brain matter or bone or—I don’t even know—splattered on the side of the truck.

No.