"You not gonna talk?" Latisha asked for the third time, glancing at Gun as he leaned against the car door, looking ready to throw himself out of the moving vehicle.
He took a long drag of his cigar, exhaling slowly. "What do you wanna know?"
"Thought you quit that shit," she replied, lighting her own cigarette.
"Ditto." He shrugged. "I'm stressed."
"Yeah, all dudes are," she said with a smirk, easing into traffic. "How long do you have till repayment?"
He laughed bitterly, staring at a billboard of Lil Wayne. "Five hours."
Her eyes widened. "Jesus. How the hell are you gonna make $100k in five hours?"
"Yeah… I wonder," he slurred, his words heavy with alcohol. He was far too drunk to think straight, let alone form a plan.
Latisha glanced at him, popping the tab on a can filled with familiar pink pills. She swallowed one with ease.
"I know a place you can get the cash," she said nonchalantly.
He snorted. "Oh hell no. You're not driving high."
She shrugged, blowing smoke into the air. "You want the money or not? Because we both know the bank is gonna be all over you since your mom didn't use collateral."
Gun's jaw tightened. "It's like she basically scammed them," he whispered.
Latisha leaned closer, her voice low. "Or she's taking the fall for someone else."
Gun swallowed hard, the weight of it all pressing on him. He didn't have time to sort through the truth—he needed that money. Without thinking, he popped one of the pills she offered him.
When the car pulled into a beat-up junkyard, Gun followed her out, glancing around at the towering piles of rusted cars and junk. The pills started to mess with his perception; everything seemed absurdly enormous.
They approached a small container guarded by two burly men clad in black tactical gear, the word "AMOS" stamped across their chests.
"Buyer or seller?" one of them asked.
Latisha held up her ID. "Buyer."
They stepped aside for her but blocked Gun.
"He's with me," she said sharply.
They let him through, and she leaned in, her voice low. "Stick close to me."
"Or what?" he asked, smirking as he pinched her.
Without hesitation, she twisted his ear.
"Ah, shit!" he hissed, pulling back.
"Or you'll get yourself killed in here," she warned darkly. "Be a good boy."
He straightened up, following her as they entered a dim, purple-lit hallway. The deafening bass of music hit them like a wave, and when they emerged, Gun realized they were in a casino—though it was nothing like the glamorous ones on TV. This was darker, grittier, and far more dangerous.
The games weren't poker or slots but a twisted version of roulette. On a green table sat towering stacks of cash and cards.
A man in a gold suit with dyed green hair and gold-plated teeth smiled at them—a chilling grin that sent shivers down Gun's spine.
"This is Big D," Latisha said, gesturing at the man.
Gun tried not to groan. Of course, it was a "Big D."
"Can this pussy play?" Big D asked, his grin widening as he slammed a bundle of cash onto the table. "I'll bet $100k he'll run out the door."
Other men followed suit, slapping down their stacks until the total hit a staggering $1 million.
"One million dollars. Going once," Big D drawled as a woman approached with a small box. She opened it to reveal a gold-plated gun.
Two men dragged someone forward—a trembling man in nothing but boxers.
"This one owes me eleven million," Big D said, counting on his fingers mockingly. "Took a loan from one of my safe houses and hasn't paid up. Shoot him, right between the eyes," he pointed to the man's forehead, "and the money's yours."
Gun stared at the stacks of cash, at Latisha, and finally at the man kneeling in front of him.
His hand trembled as he picked up the gun, aiming it at the man's head. The man shut his eyes, bracing for the shot.
But Gun couldn't do it. His hands shook so violently that the gun slipped from his grip. Big D caught it with ease, laughing as Gun bolted from the casino.
Latisha was hot on his heels as a gunshot rang out behind them, the sound echoing in the cold night. The wind slapped his face as he stumbled into the open air, panting.
"What the fuck was that?" she yelled, catching up to him.
He turned on her, his chest heaving. "Is this the shit you do?"