BLOOD AND LOYALTY

Maggio is late.

I lean against the hood of the car, watching the street sweat under the flickering neon glow of a liquor store sign. My cigarette burns low, just a bitter paper taste now. Prewitt stands beside me, arms crossed, jaw tight.

“Something’s off,” he mutters.

“No shit.”

Maggio was supposed to be back twenty minutes ago. Said he was gonna pick up a package, but Maggio always takes too long. Runs his mouth, gets comfortable in places he shouldn’t.

Across the street, a homeless woman sits on the curb, wrapped in a threadbare coat even though it’s a warm night. A Styrofoam cup rests at her feet, empty except for a few quarters.

She’s been there all week.

I reach into my pocket, pull out a crisp twenty, and walk it over.

Her eyes flick up, cloudy but sharp. I drop the bill in her cup.

She snorts. “This for me or for you?”