The faucet inside had stopped. So had the clank of plates and jangle of cutlery. Henry turned away from Al, sick of this fat bastard’s racist cracks and half-baked get-money schemes. Michelle stepped out, watching from the steps with her arms crossed on top of her stomach, standing in the exact same spot she’d found Henry drinking coffee this morning. Felt so long ago now. A faint recollection, the kind you couldn’t be sure was true to what had actually happened, or was just the memory of the last time you’d remembered it, tones embellished by nostalgia, edges smudged by time. At this point, all he wanted was for Al to shut up and fuck off, so he looked up to Michelle as if for permission, or backup. Her posture straightened. Although she bore no resemblance to his mother other than the wet-cigarette color of their skin, the expression she made now reminded him of Mom. Of the sad-stern tilt of her head whenever Papa was lecturing or yelling at him, her way of silently telling the boy to be patient, to please just wait and hear the man out.

Al reached over, squeezed the top of Henry’s leg. Drew a zero with his thumb on Henry’s inner thigh before letting go, sighing.

Who did Henry think Al was, huh, dude? He ought to know by now that Al would never, ever do anything to put him in danger, because, duh. Al got it, knew Henry wanted jack shit to do with the game, and Al didn’t blame him one bit, what with a baby on the way. And that was exactly Al’s point. He wanted to do this for his friend—his best friend—to get that little family of theirs going on the right foot and forward, and so Al would take care of everything and still split the score right down the middle. Fifty-fifty, because fair was fair. He would drive all alone, all the way up and back from Canada to pick up the gear on his own, no biggie. Would measure and press every last pill himself, if Henry weren’t cool with helping out with that either. Al would even make the drop-off over in the city solo if he had to. All he needed was the cash to get things going, but from then on out he could keep this shit moving along on his own, unless, of course, Henry ever wanted back in at some point later on down the road. But for right now, one step at a time, dude. Baby steps. Little baby-girl baby steps.

$11.40