"You coming today or what?"
Static hummed for half a second before Roxy's voice came through, half-bored, half-distracted. "Um… kinda busy here. Think it'll take time."
Paul looked at the ceiling. "Oh."
"Mark already knows by now," Roxy said. "Don't think anyone will doubt you for entering."
"You won't be coming?"
"Well…" Roxy trailed, some faint sound in the background, probably a lighter flick. "How about this? You come with me for now. We'll hit the place together later."
"But where, why?"
"Wait outside your apartment. I'll be there in five minutes."
The line clicked dead.
Paul stared at his phone screen a moment longer before slipping it into his pocket. Five minutes. Roxy's "five minutes" usually meant ten or fifteen, but he still went down.
Nothing better to do anyway.
The street smelled like warm dust and stale oil, the evening wind dragging wrappers along the curb. Someone's TV was echoing faint laughter through an open window above.
Seven minutes later, a beat-up sedan turned the corner. The headlights flickered twice before going steady. Paint scraped, the left mirror cracked, one of the doors dented inward like a half-healed scar.
Roxy leaned out the window with a grin. "Hop in."
Paul opened the passenger door. It squeaked like an animal refusing to die.
"You really need to fix this, you know that?" Paul asked, sliding in.
Roxy laughed through his nose. "Adds character."
The engine coughed once, twice, then finally caught. The whole car trembled like it wasn't ready to move yet but still did anyway. The air inside smelled of tobacco, cheap deodorant, and something metallic.
"Where are we going?" Paul asked.
"You'll see."
"Not another bar, I hope."
Roxy smirked. "You'd wish."
Paul leaned back, eyes tracing the streetlights through the window. They passed a line of stores closing up for the day. Metal shutters rolling down, signboards flickering out. The sky had that strange half-light—blue fading into orange, like it couldn't decide whether to give up or not.
Roxy turned up the radio halfway, then turned it back down. "Man, this city never sleeps. Even the rats here look like they got shifts."
Paul glanced at him.
"That a joke?"
"Maybe."
They didn't talk for a while. Just the hum of the car and the occasional curse when Roxy hit a pothole too late. Paul's gaze wandered across the city. Familiar streets blurred past, but each one looked different when night started to grow teeth.
They drove past neon signs, cracked alleys, and the quiet parts of the city that everyone pretends not to see. By the time they stopped, it was close to seven. The air had shifted—cooler, heavier. Music thumped somewhere far off, basslines bleeding through walls.
The place looked like something pulled out from the edges of the city map. Houses scattered around like dice thrown by a lazy hand. Some small, some bigger—patched with tin roofs and broken fences. Old bikes leaned against walls, a few cars parked crooked. Smoke curled up from a bonfire near the center where a few men stood laughing, bottles in hand.
He counted maybe fifty people around. Some sitting on the steps, some fixing bikes, some just staring at the ground like they were waiting for something to happen. A dog barked somewhere and was told to shut up.
Paul stepped out, pulling his hoddie tighter. Roxy locked the car and nodded toward one of the bigger houses near the far end. Two floors, windows tinted black, loud voices leaking from inside. The kind of place that looked harmless until you walked too close.
He didn't say much—he didn't need to. He followed Roxy through the narrow path, boots crunching over gravel. The ground smelled like spilled gas and wet dirt.
Roxy walked with the same confidence he always had. Shoulders relaxed, smile half-loaded, like he owned the place. He wasn't wearing anything fancy—just jeans, dark leather jacket—but the way he moved made space open around him. That was Roxy's trick. He didn't talk his way in; he made you believe he was already there before you could question it.
Paul watched everything. Every face, every corner. Some of the men nodded to Roxy. Some just stared at Paul a little too long. Not threatening, not yet—just curious. He didn't return the looks.
They don't know me. I don't know them. Simple as that. The moment I will look away they'll vanish like a steam.
Inside, the air was thicker. Smoke. Perfume. Grease from fried food that clung to the walls. Music from a speaker that had seen better days. The room was wide, dimly lit by yellow bulbs hanging too low. People were scattered around the couches and tables, laughing too loudly, drinking too fast.
Paul caught the faint shine of a gun tucked behind one guy's back pocket. Another man was counting bills on the table like he'd been doing it all his life.
He followed Roxy to a side room—smaller, quieter, door half open. Inside, three men sat. One of them, big build, heavy chain around his neck, barely looked up.
Roxy greeted him casually. "This month's delivery."
The big man grunted. "You got it?"
"Always."
Roxy placed the black duffel bag on the table. The zippers rasped open. Inside, small packets—wrapped clean, lined up too perfectly. The air shifted. One of the men stepped closer, pulled out a few, checked them under the light.
Paul stayed near the doorway. He didn't move. Didn't speak. Just watching. The sound of paper tearing, glass clinking, small words exchanged too quietly to catch. He thought about how routine it all looked. No tension, no rush. Like they'd done this a hundred times. Like a business meeting without paperwork.
The man nodded. Another guy brought a small metal case—cash. Unfolded in thick stacks. The smell of money always the same. Roxy checked the edges, flicked through a few bundles, smiled, zipped it shut.
"Pleasure as always," Roxy said.
"Also tell them we're expanding a little." the big man said. "So we need more quantity."
Roxy thought for a moment, and nodded. "I'll notify him."
Paul watched them shake hands, quick and clean. That was it. Transaction over. Words done. He didn't even realize when his body started feeling a bit lighter—some kind of relief or boredom, he couldn't tell.
They walked back outside. The air was cooler now, the fire in the middle burning lower. People's voices were softer, like the night itself was asking them to shut up. Paul's boots scraped against the gravel as they made their way to the car.
Roxy tossed the bag into the back seat, stretching his neck. "Easy money, huh?"
Paul didn't reply. He just stared at the ground, the small rocks glinting under the weak light.
"You're quiet today," Roxy said.
"I'm always quiet."
"Yeah, but this quiet's got something else on it."
Paul ignored him. His eyes drifted again—habit, maybe instinct. The sound of a bike revving somewhere nearby. Someone shouting in laughter. Then, between the gaps of people moving, his gaze froze.
A man across the open space. Lean build, loose shirt, one hand in pocket, the other resting on the car. He was talking to someone. Something important maybe?
Julian? The fuck is he doing here?
The thought came too easy. Too certain. He blinked once, twice, like maybe it was the light playing tricks. But no. The face. The stance. The way he tilted his head slightly as if always thinking about something. It was him.
He didn't move. Neither did Julian. The distance between them was maybe twenty meters, maybe less. But for a second, it felt thinner. Almost close enough to hear his breathing.
Roxy was saying something, voice blurred out. Paul didn't catch a word.
Julian finally nodded his head and shook hands. Like he closed some deal. Suddenly he looked behind... Someone watching him.
Then he turned away, brushing the thoughts aside. Just like that. Gone behind the crowd, swallowed by the dark.
Paul stayed standing, hand on the car door, not getting in yet. His chest didn't tighten. His face didn't twitch. But something—small, thin—stirred behind his ribs.
"Yo," Roxy called, waving a hand. "You good?"
Paul blinked once, turned to him. "Yeah."
He slid into the passenger seat, shutting the door. The noise outside faded into a dull hum as Roxy started the car again.
As they drove off, he looked out through the cracked window, the lights outside bending and breaking like reflections on water. No one said anything. The silence sat heavy, familiar.
Maybe it was Julian. Maybe not. Maybe the mind playing old tricks again.
Didn't matter. He wasn't planning to find out. Not yet.
The car rolled on, swallowed by the night.