Avenue Of Sins

part ten

Author's Note: It's been a long time and I apologize for that completely. I guess, there was a massive part of me that didn't want to let these characters go. But enough time has passed and it's finally time. If you choose to finish this little story of mine after all this time, thank you so much! Cheers. (An epilogue should follow shortly.) xx

Bill swayed, stumbling the same way he would when he met the bottom of a bottle of Jim Beam, he caught his step after being pushed off center by Alma. Once on even footing he stood there, the sound of the slamming door in his face was still fresh, ringing in his ears along with the thumping bass of the DJ's speakers. He lifted a booted foot from the floor for only a moment before setting it back down, straining against the need to go after Alma. To tell her he was sorry, but no. This was in his plan. He had been rehearsing this in his head for weeks and he had to perfectly execute the mental bullet list he had made for this very night. Once again, he plucked a cigarette from his diminishing pack and tossed it to the coffee table to his right. Lighting it, he looked out the floor-to-ceiling two-way mirrors toward the stage and saw a bare-chested Chastity lightly coming to her feet from a perfect spin around the pole. This was her last dance of the night meaning there were only a handful of dancers left with the night's finale ending with Cooch. Taking a glance at his wristwatch he saw that there was still an hour and a half before the club closed. He felt his original plans changing as time felt it was closing in on him suddenly.

As he puffed away at his cigarette, he realized that he had to have Craig meet in his loft a bit before closing. He figured it'd be too weird to have him stay behind considering he wasn't part of the group who stayed after hours. He didn't think that part through enough. He had missed some finer details, dwelling too much on how to get Alma out of the picture. Although he was successful at getting rid of her, he was now stuck deliberating on how he could fix what he had done rather than the task at hand. She was right, right about a lot of things but he couldn't admit to that. He imagined going back home alone, finding it empty, void of Alma's presence that he loved being around so much. It pained him to think about but also he felt he deserved it. He couldn't imagine she'd see him the same after their confrontation, much less be around someone who she thought didn't love her.

He took a deep drag of his cigarette as he approached the cabinet near the back of the loft. That, not only housed his weathered leather moto jacket – of which he rummaged the inner pocket for a three-ounce bag – but also provided a cover for his secret cash safe. The three-ounce stash of cocaine was cut from the kilo Alvin had recently delivered two weeks earlier than usual to keep up with demand. Bringing it over to his desk and taking a seat he produced from a drawer the mirror tray Myrna would use to roll her joints on. He sliced the bag open with the switchblade he kept in his back pocket as the cigarette perched on his lips burned into the filter. The avalanche of white powder spilled onto the tray concealing his reflection in the mirror that frankly, he'd rather not face anyway. He tossed the cigarette onto the clean ground, leaving it to burn out on its own. Taking the razor blade that always accompanied the tray, he gave the powder a rough chop before dipping his switchblade in, inhaling several substantial bumps from the uncut supply. It was overkill even for a man his size but he wanted the laser focus only narcotics could give him.