#mrnmbrs

“I’m not going to lie,   I was surprised when I saw your print.” Numbers began speaking with neither a greet- ing nor an invitation. He took the stool to her right at the bar,  sat a drink before her,  then sipped his own. “Then they showed me the video.”

“Listen to me, you piece of shit burnout.” Numbers willed his tone calm, but each word was spat so slowly and so deliberately that his anger was, nevertheless, perfectly discernible. Understandably, though. He did just have to transport and dispose of a corpse across state lines, all while six-fucking-pounds of kush sat in the trunk. He should have known better than to let Stillo anywhere near his shit.

Numbers gritted his teeth.          Her voice really was like nails against a chalkboard and he had to resist the urge to tell her so.    He’s felt mace before and was not about to try it again.

“I was under  the  impression  that  we had come to an agreement,  Ms. Johnson.”     Numbers had welcomed himself in and began speaking without invitation.    He was never a man to shy away from high risk situations, but confronting  the  Secretary  of  Homeland Security was ballsy even for him.    Frustration was making him bolder.       “You keep your dogs off our heels and the syndicate keeps off yours.   But, yesterday, I got word that three of my guys have been arrested.        Under investigation by homeland security.”