Chapter Thirteen
A Greek tragedy.
“You helped me. In weird sort of way.” Stoyanov stood, trembling against a nearby fence post as the adrenaline exited his system. He pulled a squashed pack of smokes from his back pocket and sparked one to life. “No more gear. No more boosting. I’m clean and legit.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Swear down, man. I’m clean … well, apart from the smokes. Sober for six months. I even have a job at the airport, handling luggage. Early mornings and night shifts. A ball ache but it’s real work. Real money. No bullshit.”
“How did I help you with that?”
“After what happened, after I got picked up by police, and with the injuries I had, the cartel figured I couldn’t have ratted. I did my time, so they knew I couldn’t have cut a deal either. Once inside, I was free, c
