DIABLO
Abel was already settled in the battered armchair near the fire, like he owned the room and everything inside it.
Tomorrow’s newspaper lay open in his hands, folded neatly, as if the future were something he could read and control.
A glass of neat bourbon sat within easy reach, catching the firelight. The smell of smoke, old leather, and whiskey hung heavy in the air.
“Good evening,” he said when I stepped inside, not even looking up at first. One finger tapped the headline. “Bank job tonight. Tell me, Diablo, that one of yours?”
The door closed behind me with a soft click. “What do you want?” The words came out colder than the room deserved.
“What I want is company,” Abel replied, finally lifting his eyes. “Was starting to wonder when you’d stop hiding and join me.”
“My l
