Haunting-Adeline

This must be dear ol’ Fernando. Just who I was looking for.
Fernando’s eyes are wide with fear and based on the crack pipes si ng
on the table behind him, I’d say most of them are high off their rockers.
Not so good.
They get trigger-happy when they’re tripping on whatever substance
they injected into their red veins.
And I got six of those happy fingers on triggers.
“Who sent you?” Fernando shouts, emphasizing his ques on with a
wave of his gun.
“I sent myself,” I answer dryly.
Why do they always think I’m working for someone else? I don’t work
for anyone but myself.
The man holds his gun above my head and shoots it off, a emp ng to
scare me.
See?
Trigger happy.
I don’t flinch. Instead, I take the me to look at my surroundings be er.
There’s a table to my le , li ered with guns, ashtrays, empty beer cans,
and another crack pipe.
Perfect.
“Don’t make me ask again, cabrón,” the man says, his finger caressing
the trigger.
“You Fernando?” I ask, keeping my body as s ll as ice. The man’s brows
jump in surprise, and I see the paranoia leaking into his eyes from here.
He’s not going to be much help like I had hoped. He’s buzzing too hard.
“How you know that, huh? You following me?”
I smile, baring all my teeth. “It’s what I do best a er all. I heard you’re
the main man around here. Running the show and all that.”
He shi s. The asshole can’t help but feel a li le pride, I just know it. Like
he’s doing something good in the world, when all he’s doing is plaguing
hundreds of li le boys’ and girls’ nightmares.
“I was hoping you could help me out, man.”
“Yeah?” he patronizes. “You think so? You think I’m going to tell you shit,
man?”
He fires off another shot, this me next to me. Too close for comfort.
Enough to feel the heat of the bullet. I s ll don’t flinch, and if anything,