The promise of easy money hung in the humid night air like a heavy scent. I sat across from Chole Blake, watching her tear into another skewer, the grease glistening on her lips under the dim, buzzing fluorescent lights of the tavern. I took a slow drag of my cigarette, weighing the risk. My life was already a series of complicated entanglements; what was one more?
"If I take this job," I said, leaning forward until the table creaked under my weight, "when can I start? I’m not looking to sit around and wait for a miracle."
Chole’s eyes lit up with a predatory spark. "Really? That’s the spirit, Sean! Actually, tonight would be perfect. Let me make a quick call to clear things with the boss."
She dropped her half-eaten skewer, wiped her fingers on a thin paper napkin, and pulled her phone
