Matheus stood on the fire escape, quietly tapping out a drum solo on the railing. He didn’t know how much time had passed, but he thought longer than twenty minutes. Below, a guard leaned against the side of the building, smoking a cigarette. Matheus considered sneaking down and pickpocketing the pack sticking out of the man’s coat. At this point, he didn’t have to worry about lung cancer anymore, right?
The guard finished his cigarette. He walked to the end of the alley, before resuming his position holding up the wall. He lit another cigarette.
“Screw this,” Matheus said. He didn’t know what happened to Fletcher, but promise or not, he had no intention of scarpering off without Quin. For one thing, Matheus still owed him for the fingers. Maybe once they escaped, Matheus could throw him out of a moving car. Onto the freeway. In front of a garbage trunk on its way to drop off a load. That seemed an appropriate response. Not like Quin would die or anything. Just be in a severe, agonizing amount of pain. Perfect.
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