I turn the key, the lock clicks open and I step back from the door. He puts one hand on the knob, tucks the other one up under the tail of his silvery jacket and rests it on the butt of his piece. He looks at me again.

– Last chance. Anyone in there, now’s the time to tell me. I see someone I’m gonna go bang bang.

I shake my head again.

He nods.

– OK.

He pushes the door open, makes sure it lies flat against the wall so he knows there’s no one behind it, then nods me in. I step in and he follows me, closing and locking the door behind us. He goes to fasten the chain, but it’s broken, so he puts his hand on his gun again and looks the room over, peeking under the bed, looking in the closet, and sticking his head in the bathroom. Then he claps his hands and points at me.

– OK, hoss, let’s see it. On the table there.

I stick my hand in my pocket, dig out the twenty or so gram bags of coke and dump them on the table. He presses his lips together and shakes his head.

– Not good, hoss, not good. That’s a very felony-looking pile there.

He fingers the bags.

– You got enough weight here to cause you some problems right out the chute. But all packaged up like that? Shit, that looks like intent to distribute to me. What do you think?

I look at the floor and shrug.

– Uh-huh. You got any more? Better tell me now. I gotta take this room apart I’m gonna be irritated.

I nod.

– Yeah.

– You got more?

– Yeah.

– How much?

– A half.

– Half ounce?

– Kilo.

He blows Jager-scented air out his nostrils, pulls a Kool from his breast pocket and lights it.

– That is some serious weight. You got it here?

– Yeah.

– In this room?

– Yeah.

– Uh-huh.

He blows a cloud of smoke.

– Where?