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Nick wasn’t in the mood for a party, but Cary had said it was “mandatory”, whatever the hell that meant. Everyone seemed genuinely amped. Apparently Cary’s mom was some kind of mythic stripper-slash-siren who showed up out of the blue, hosted epic ragers, and then disappeared into the abyss.

When Cary wasn’t around, they’d also mention the part where she sometimes took one or three of them to bed at those parties. He’d expected them to be nasty about it, talking shit and razzing each other. But he honestly believed them, because half the guys sounded wistful, and the other half went dead silent and stared at the floor. Not too many women left a crew like Cary’s dumbstruck and blushing.

Nick figured Cary’s folks had to be good looking to have produced a mug like his. It regularly astonished him that Cary bothered with a job – an illegal one, sure, but still a job – looking like that. He’d gone and seen Face/Off in the theatre that summer, and he had to admit if he were gonna swap with someone, he’d probably pick Cary if only so he never had to work again. He could just live off endorsements and shit. Modelling. Or whatever.

John observed Nick removing a portion of powder and watched him mix in a measure of talc, before reaching over Nick’s shoulder for a pinch and cleaning it off the back of his hand with a snort.

“Fuck, I swear Nick, you’re an artist.” He licked his finger. “Doesn’t feel cut. Doesn’t taste cut, neither.”

Nick did a bump of the uncut portion.

“You’re such a purist,” John scoffed.

Nick gave him the finger.

They finished shipment prep and then Nick tossed John the keys to his Pontiac Sunfire. “You go, I’m not in the mood.”

“Get in the damn car, Nick.”

“I don’t get the big deal, man. It’s just a party. We have them every goddamned day that ends in ‘y’. Why is Cary making such a big deal about this?”

“Cary and Linette don’t get along so good. He likes to have a big buffer between him and her. As many of his people around as he can.”

“What’s the big deal with Linette?”

John laughed. “You’ll see when we get there.”

“Older women aren’t really my thing,” he grumbled.

“Linette is every man’s thing.”

“Tired, used up old cunt just isn’t my idea of a good time. Doesn’t he have a sister or something?”

John grabbed Nick by the shirt collar and slammed him up against the wall.

“Cary’s got a sister,” John said, his voice deadly calm. “But I strongly suggest you not be using the word ‘fuck’ as a verb around her. You feel me?”

Nick nodded, a little taken aback. John was notoriously upbeat, a cheerful keeper of the peace liked by all, with a square wife, two kids, and a minivan. He was a button-down looking motherfucker, easily mistakeable for a substitute teacher. If it weren’t for his raging coke habit, he’d probably have been a volunteer at hospice or some shit.

He’d never seen John so much as squash a spider, let alone shove someone against a wall. Well except for that one time he shot someone. But that was totally a misunderstanding.

Linette might be the one crawling into their beds, but he had a feeling he knew who they all secretly wished they were dicking. And he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t suddenly much more interested in party attendance.