They were high on adrenaline and liquor, but one was trailing behind. Mason. He wasn’t laughing. He looked sick. He walked slightly apart from the group, checking his phone, looking over his shoulder. He waved off the offer of a ride in the limo. I’m going to walk a bit, clear my head, I heard him say. I’ll grab a cab later. Suit yourself, baby brother.
Dominic cheered. Don’t have nightmares. The limo pulled away with the six brothers. Mason stood alone on the sidewalk. He lit a cigarette, his hand shaking so badly he dropped the lighter twice. He started walking down Fourth Street, heading toward the quieter part of town. Perfect. I moved out of the shadows. I didn’t run.
I walked with a silent rolling gate that made no sound on the pavement. I closed the distance. 50 yard, 30 yard, 10. He stopped at a corner, waiting for the light to change. There were no cars, just him and the ghosts he was trying to drink away. I stepped up right behind him. I could smell the expensive scotch sweating out of his pores.
