Gabe Devira not only looked like a gangster, he even lived like a gangster.
I grabbed a bus to the seediest part of the city, where the last stop showed a stretch of abandoned buildings, overgrown greenery, and damaged roads. There was dirt and grime everywhere as far as I could see, and a few extremely malnourished faces peered blankly into the glass as the vehicle rolled to a stop.
The driver gave me uneasy glances as I crept down the steps and landed on the muddy cobblestones. I couldn't blame him; even if I was dressed simply, he had picked me up from the college busstand. No student would ever be caught stepping into a place like this, not unless they were involved in something vulgar and shady.
I pulled my baseball cap lower, tucking a stray strand of honey-brown hair underneath
