The fake officer kicked the ruined door open.
Rain blew in behind him.
He raised his weapon.
I threw the pool cue like a spear.
It hit his throat.
Not enough to end him.
Enough to steal one breath.
One breath was wealth.
I crossed the space, slammed his wrist against the doorframe, stripped the weapon, and drove my elbow into the side of his jaw.
He dropped.
The second officer fired from outside.
I pulled the first down as cover and rolled behind a thick wooden support post.
Two rounds tore through beer signs behind the bar.
Neon died in sparks.
The room smelled like rain, cordite, and old fryer grease.
The second officer yelled, “Give us the watch, Ten!”
So that was real.
Not the envelope.
Not Mason.
The watch.
I looked at my wrist.
Scratched black face.
Plain band.
Dead man’s gift.
Reeves had pressed it into my palm nine years ago while bleeding out in that burned schoolhouse.
