𝙇𝙊𝙊𝙆𝙎 𝙏𝙃𝘼𝙏 𝙆𝙄𝙇𝙇! • 𝙧𝙖𝙛𝙚 𝙘𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙧𝙤𝙣

eight

CHAPTER EIGHT
[8]
song: how soon is now? by the smiths

"This is the good shit, man." Barry says, tossing a small baggy to Rafe, who sat on the old couch outside Barry's trailer.

Rafe dipped his finger into the white powder in the bag, then brought it to his tongue, the familiarity of the drug being a sort of comfort he couldn't find anywhere else. His eyes roll back into his head as he leans back on the couch.

Barry sits down at the chair next to him and opens up a beer can. "Am I not gonna get any props for last night? That was some quick thinking." Barry chuckles.

Rafe was annoyed. He didn't get an ounce of sleep the night before. Summer's dramatics, and her little performance this morning weren't of much help. He rubs his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. That was good." He brushes it off, and then he let out a breathy laugh. "Really good."

Barry shrugs like that part was obvious. "Personally I think that deserves a tip. I could've just ran off but I finished the job. For you."

Rafe looks at him through half closed eyes, careful not to get too impatient with him, as not to lose his partner in this. He reaches into the pocket of his shorts, pulls out his wallet, and flings a one hundred dollar bill in his direction.

He watched with an amused look, as Barry quickly leaned to the ground to pick it up off the grass. Rafe owned him now. Not just financially, but he had everything to put him away if he ever turned his back on this. He could squeal that Rafe was in on it too as much as he wanted. But no one was gonna believe the washed up drug dealer who squat in a trailer in the middle of nowhere, over a Cameron.

"The hell you doing all this for anyways?" Barry says, stashing the cash in his pocket before taking a swig from his beer.

Rafe watched him carefully, never intending to tell him the reason behind all of this. "For fun."

Barry looks at him like he knew that wasn't the truth, but continued on. "So we good now, or not?"

Rafe stretched his neck, and let out a sigh. "Not yet. There's a charity event tonight at The Island Club. I need you there—"

"Shit," Barry clicks his tongue and cuts him off. "Why do I have to do all the work?"

"You want the fucking money, or not?" Rafe leaned forward and spoke sternly.

Barry's lip twitched. He was well aware that Rafe Cameron was crazy. He could see it in his eyes. "Whatever, man."

Rafe wiped his nose, running his tongue over his teeth as he regained composure. "You don't even have to kill anyone. Just try to."

—

The annual summer charity event didn't have that usual enthusiasm this year. People seemed hesitant to laugh too hard, to smile too much. It seemed inappropriate when four people had been brutally murdered in only a week and a half.

Maybe they should've cancelled it. Maybe they should've told that poor charity that the money should be going towards funding an investigation— but they didn't. Because the people of Kildare County would never give up a chance to flaunt their money and their status, to feel good about themselves as they donate to some cause they knew nothing about.