Chapter 6
Whispers of Betrayal
The city breathed a damp, metallic scent that night, a cocktail of exhaust fumes and something far more primal. Rain slicked the streets, turning the neon glow of the liquor store signs into blurry, seductive streaks. I watched it all from the cracked leather seat of my ’64 Impala, the engine a low, guttural purr beneath me. Jazzy was beside me, her silhouette sharp against the dim dashboard lights, her eyes scanning the street with an intensity that mirrored my own.
“You sure this is the spot, Jazzy?” My voice was rough, a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the car’s aging frame. We were waiting for a meet, a handshake deal for a shipment of product that would keep the beast fed for another month. The air crackled with anticipation, a familiar hum that always preceded the drop.
She gave a short, sharp nod. “He said third alley past the old theatre. Said he’d be in a black sedan, no plates.” Her voice was steady, but I heard something else beneath it, a subtle tremor that snagged at my attention. Jazzy. Always so damn steady, yet sometimes I caught her at the edges, frayed and uncertain.
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