Chapter 8: The drugs

“A simple job, and you have to do it tonight,” Victor said. He looked at me. “There is a man. His name is Leo. He owns a small shop. A jewelry store. He owes me money. A lot of money. He has been… avoiding me. He lives behind the shop.”

Victor took a key from his pocket. He placed it on the small table between us.

“This is for a storage room. Behind his shop. The room has a back door. You will go to that door tonight. You will use this key. You will go inside. You will take a black box from the top shelf. You will bring it to me.”

I looked at the key. It was old and brass. “What is in the box?”

“That is not your concern,” Victor said. “Your job is to get it. Can you do that? Or is that also too… dirty for you?”

“I can do it,” I said quickly. I wanted to prove him wrong. I wanted to show I was not weak.

“Good,” Victor said. He leaned back. “Jaxon will drive you. He will wait outside. But he will not help you. You will do this alone.”

Jaxon looked at Victor. “Victor, is that wise? She has never—”

“She has to start somewhere,” Victor interrupted, his voice cold. “Or she has to leave. Her choice.”

Victor looked back at me. “Well? Do you accept the job?”

I looked from Victor’s cold face to Jaxon’s worried one. I looked down at the key. It was just a key. It was not a gun. I was not shooting anyone. I was just taking a box. A box that belonged to Victor.

This was my chance. To show I was strong. To show I was not weak.

I reached out and picked up the key. It was cold in my hand.

“I accept,” I said.

Victor smiled. A real smile this time. “Good. Go now. The sooner, the better.”

I stood up. My legs felt stronger now. I had a purpose.

Jaxon looked at me. He gave a small, almost invisible nod.

“Let’s go,” Jaxon said.

He turned and walked toward the door. I followed him. The key felt heavy in my pocket. It was not as heavy as the gun. But it was a start.

I was going to do this. I was going to prove myself.

I walked out into the night, Jaxon by my side. The mansion door closed behind me once more. But this time, it felt different. This time, I was walking toward something. Not away.

---

The night air was cold. It bit at my skin as the bike stopped. Jaxon cut the engine. We were in a dark, quiet street behind the shops.

“There,” Jaxon whispered, pointing to a narrow alley. “The green door.”

My heart was a drum in my chest. I felt sick.

Jaxon turned to me. He held out a small, black piece of cloth. It was a mask. “Put this on. Now.”

His voice left no room for argument. I took it. My hands were shaking so hard I could barely tie it behind my head. It covered the lower half of my face. Now, only my eyes showed.

Jaxon then gave me two more things. A small, powerful flashlight. And a gun.

The gun was cold and familiar in my hand. The same weight. The same deadly feel. I was not going to use it but I had to take it.

“Remember, the box is on the top shelf,” Jaxon said, his eyes serious. “In and out. Fast. If you see anyone… you know what to do. You can’t be seen. Not with your face.”

I nodded, my throat too tight to speak. The gun felt like it was burning my palm.

I turned and walked into the alley. It was dark and smelled of rot. I clicked on the flashlight. The beam cut through the blackness, showing the dirty green door.

I took the key from my pocket. It scraped loudly as I pushed it into the lock. I turned it. The lock groaned open.

I pushed the door. It creaked.

Inside, the air was filled with dust. I shone the light around. Shelves stacked high with junk. Tools. Boxes.

My light swept upward. There. On the very top shelf, pushed to the back. A black metal box.

My heart leaped. I just had to get it and go.

I saw a ladder. I started to climb, one hand holding the flashlight and the gun, the other gripping the ladder. It was clumsy and slow.

I reached the top. I had to put the flashlight in my mouth to free my hand. The cold metal taste filled my mouth. I reached for the box with one hand, pulling it toward me. It was heavy.

Suddenly, a light came on in the main shop.

I froze. The flashlight fell from my mouth and clattered to the floor, its beam dying.

A door squeaked open. An old man stood there, holding a baseball bat. His eyes were wide with fear.

“Who’s there?” he yelled. “I have a bat! I’m not afraid to use it!”

I stayed still, hoping the darkness would hide me.

The old man fumbled for a switch. A bare bulb overhead came on, flooding the storage room in a yellow light.

He saw me. On the ladder. With the box. And the gun in my hand.

His eyes went from the box, to the gun, to my masked face. His bravery vanished, replaced by pure terror.

“Please,” he begged, dropping the bat. It clattered loudly. “Take it. Take the box. Just go. Don’t hurt me. I have a wife. Please.”

My finger was on the trigger. I had to leave.