PRETTY SURE THE LADY—MAN?—I stood next to on the corner of 131^st and Chestnut at two in the morning was a prostitute, but who the hell knew these days? I just hoped I wouldn’t have to introduce myself to the ladyman’s pimp and fill out a job application as continued punishment for my non-arrival at the warehouse fuck-up with Hill.

I arrived at the corner at exactly one fifty, had even allowed myself enough time to circle the neighborhood and figure out the best exit strategy if it came to that like it had at the yellow house. I debated taking the crowbar from my car with me in case someone started up another fireworks show, complete with rat poison and fat Texan men with seventeen chins, but decided not to. It wouldn’t fit under my hoodie and jacket anyway.

The streetlight buzzed and flickered over our heads, and mosquitos swarmed it every single time it brightened. When the light blinked out, the mosquitoes dove down to the hooker who clapped them between her/his black-gloved hands. They left me alone, probably because I hadn’t doused myself in what stunk like a cocktail of cotton candy and maple syrup.

I narrowed my eyes at every car that passed, which was a surprising amount for an early Monday morning. Some of their drivers could’ve been just as shady as me, on their way to a crooked business deal or a top-secret two in the morning fuck. Most of them were probably headed home from work or someplace innocent like that, though, which was exactly what I wanted to be doing. Going home to Paige.

“You got a ciggy, sugar?”

Those were the first words spoken to me by my late-night partner under the streetlight. Even from that voice, I couldn’t tell if it belonged to a man or woman. It was both feminine and deep, female and male, just like her/his 1980s blond hair metal band curls that never budged.

“Uh.” I patted my jacket even though I knew I didn’t have any. “No. Sorry.”

“S’okay. We been standing here a while, huh?”

“Yeah.” It was two fifteen last time I looked. Hill had sent me here so I could hurry up and wait, which should reserve him a special place in hell. I hated waiting.

“I’ve been here so long that I took a break and went to that donut shop around the block,” she/he said. “You know which one I’m talking about?”

I shook my head, wondering why the potential hooker had chosen now to strike up a conversation. Was she/he the one I was supposed to meet here? Hill hadn’t exactly spelled out for me what I should be doing or who I was to do it with. Or maybe the ladyman had decided I could be trusted with donut talk after the fifteen-minute silence test.

“Best Dressed Donuts, that’s what it’s called. They have donuts with little mustaches and pin-striped suits made out of frosting and ones with little tiaras, real tiaras made out of candy...”

“Sounds amazing. I love donuts.” And I did but I had no fucking idea what a tiara was.

The ladyman fished out a rolled-up white paper bag from a red backpack on the ground and held it out to me. “I couldn’t eat both of them, so take it.”

A car slowed at our intersection. At first I thought it would stop, but it just touched its brakes before turning.

Was it really a donut in the bag or was this what Hill wanted me to take as part of his master plan for me tonight?

“Go on, take it.”

Giving someone, especially a stranger, their uneaten donut was outside my realm of expectation. Especially tonight, or any night I was fetched to do something for Hill. If it really was a donut, no way would I pass that up because I had never met a donut I didn’t like. Unless the ladyman had her/his grubby, unwashed, STD’d hands all over it.

I took the paper bag, slowly in case the ladyman changed his/her mind, and tested its weight. Felt like a donut, smelled like a donut, must’ve been a donut. Didn’t mean I would eat it, though.

“Thank you...?”

“Alex.”

The gender-neutral name fit perfectly. “Thanks, Alex.”

Alex nodded. “You’re welcome.”

A dark suburban swerved to the curb and idled there, thumping a type of music out its open windows I had never heard before. Something like two harps smashing together mixed with whales and a mess of drumbeats behind it. The white guy behind the wheel sat facing forward, an unlit cigar plugged into his mouth, his entire face droopy with what was probably boredom, complete disinterest, or both.

With a heavy sigh, Alex picked up the backpack and moved toward the passenger door. “Don’t you be waiting too much longer.”

For some reason, I almost said, “You too.” I didn’t like the looks of that guy or the sound of his music. It didn’t go unnoticed that Alex had given me the donut and not him. Once Alex folded into the passenger seat, the suburban squealed its tires to get out of there fast.

A strange quiet settled over the corner of 131^st and Chestnut once the car disappeared down the street. With Alex gone, the mosquitos swarmed me. With all my swatting, I worked up a sweat underneath my hoodie and jacket. It would be better if I took at least one of them off, but the hood covered most of my face in case there were cameras around and the jacket added bulk. Good old Dad’s political dreams would be smashed into a pile of dick-knuckle if I was recognized.

In a lot of ways, Alex’s life probably wasn’t all that different from mine. Trapped, desperate to change things, to make things right. It was all a long, hard road filled with a ton of waiting on someone else’s schedule. There had to be a better way, but I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t find it.

Curious, I opened the paper bag to find a donut with pink frosting and a jeweled-crown-like thing sitting on top. Ah, so that was a tiara. I didn’t feel any smarter knowing that.

A black sedan with tinted windows and a massive silver grill on its front turned the corner from a block away. It veered to the right and stopped. The window rolled down, and a small, graceful hand wiggled a finger at me.

Was this some kind of proposition? I clicked the buttons on my jacket sleeves, a nervous habit, while my stomach turned in on itself. Good thing I didn’t eat that donut.

The inside of the car was dim, made even darker by the black, very expensive-looking dress worn by the woman in the passenger seat. The thick-necked driver had his head turned so I couldn’t see his face. The woman’s blood-red lips tipped into a smile as she handed me a small brown paper bag without a word.

I took it, the second paper bag handed to me in one night, though this one was much heavier than the first. She must’ve known to hand it to me and not some undercover cop who could be lurking somewhere, which made me think I was being watched. And I probably was, by Hill or someone else to make sure I didn’t fuck up again.

The woman pressed the button for the window, and the car sped away.

Okay. Well, now what? A donut in that bag and in this one... Money, loads and loads of money, filled the bag almost to the top in perfectly stacked bundles. So, was I supposed to take it, give it to Hill? I stepped closer to the streetlight as if it would help me weigh my options. Sweat leaked down my sides, which drove the mosquitoes even crazier.

Not fifteen seconds after the car left, another eerily similar one pulled in to take its place. The window rolled down, and a pale, muscular arm shot out to grip the side of the car.

I stood there melting while mosquitoes dive-bombed me and the donut bag because I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do. Was this guy here to pick up the money? Or was this a really popular curb to pull up against for no reason?

The hand outside the car flipped over, palm up, like it was waiting for something to be put on it, confirming that, yes, yes I was a jackass.

I stepped to the car, and almost, almost, put the bag with the donut in his hand. Wouldn’t that have been fucking hilarious? No. No, it wouldn’t. I didn’t have a death wish. Sweat poured off me so fast I thought I might pass out. I wasn’t thinking all that clearly, but somehow the right bag wound up in the guy’s hand.

He immediately dumped the money in his lap and started counting. Really, dude? Here? I wanted to tell him that but instead swatted at the swarm of mosquitos that splashed in the pools of sweat on my neck.

He glanced at me and wiped his startlingly red hair off his forehead. “Ya’ made me lose count. Stop moving.”

His luck o’ the Irish accent nearly made me crack a grin, but I remembered I wasn’t in a Lucky Charms commercial. Damn Irish and their awesome accents.

He counted, the driver flicked his gaze to the rearview mirror, likely looking for cops, and I stood there while I was eaten alive and trying to stay upright. I guessed I would be dismissed after he was finished counting like the lowly dog I was.

A squeal from down the block kicked my heartbeat into overdrive. Not tires, but human. The Irishman and the driver must’ve not heard it over the idling engine, but it came again, closer this time. A red blur of movement shot down the sidewalk in our direction, along with hysterical laughter and a steady squeaking noise.

What the hell? I couldn’t look directly at whatever it was for fear I would be seen, so I didn’t know if I should take cover from a charging madman or just stand my ground.

The Irishman didn’t seem to care what was happening anywhere other than his lap or directly out his window, but the driver narrowed his eyes at the rearview mirror.

“We’re about to have company,” he said.

I ducked my head deeper into my hood, clicked the buttons on my jacket sleeves, and backed up a step toward my getaway route so I wouldn’t freak the fuck out. Mosquitoes suffocated me while the insane laughter and the squeaks grew louder.

The driver drew a gun from under his seat and set it on his lap.

Shit.

“Keisha!” a male voice shouted from just up the sidewalk.

I risked a look, ready to run if I needed to, but I was too late. A red tricycle smashed into my leg. Mad giggles erupted out of the drunk driver, a little black girl.

“Keisha, you should be in bed. Momma’s gonna kill you.” A boy, maybe fourteen, rolled the tricycle backward enough so he could pick it and the girl up. “I’m so sorry, mister.”

“Get out of here,” I hissed, then looked in the opposite direction.

They needed to leave here and fast. Kids like them had no business being out this late when the wicked came out to play.

When their footsteps faded, the driver put his gun back under the seat and sighed.

“I lost count again,” Irish said and started counting all over.

I wanted to fucking punch him in the throat. Instead, I glanced up the sidewalk to make sure the kids were a safe distance away. The girl struggled in the boy’s arms. The toes of her shoes dragged behind him next to the tricycle’s back wheels. They turned at a sidewalk that led to a small house. When they made it inside, it was a little easier to breathe.

“Okay,” Irish finally said. “It’s all here.”

Without another word, they drove away, leaving me alone at the corner of 131^st and Chestnut with the mosquitoes and a pink tiara donut.

I guessed that was it, then, so I dropped the donut in the trash on the way to my car. One of Hill’s minions didn’t deserve a crown anyway.