We walked for maybe a good three blocks before I noticed the guy following us.

At first I just assumed he was walking in the same direction. But then we turned a corner, and sure enough, after a few not-so-subtle glances behind me, I confirmed: he was still there.

"Michael," I whispered, staring straight ahead as to not alert our stalker. "Michael!"

"What?" he huffed. "I'm very busy. My favorite steakhouse just got a bunch of new-"

"Shhh. He's right behind- Wait. Don't look now."

"You're talking about Rusty, aren't you?" He stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk and turned all the way around. "'Sup, Rusty?"

Rusty nodded silently in greeting.

Even though it was only September, the night air was already chilly. That, combined with Rusty's presence and the fact that we were basically in some alleyway, made for a very unsettling atmosphere.

"Who is he anyway?" I asked Michael.

"I suppose an appropriate term could be 'backup'."

That disturbed me further, but I didn't get much time to ponder it. I suddenly became preoccupied with looking at the four guys leaning against the side of the building in front of us. One stood out in front, flanked by two others, each wearing dirty white tank tops and baggy jeans.

The one in front straightened up and lifted the large cowboy hat he wore to wipe his forehead of sweat. He was the only one to wear a cheap-looking gold chain around his neck.

At the sight of Michael, he broke into a huge, innocuous grin. "Thought you weren't comin'!" His voice had a friendly country twang to match his hat.

I stood back, frowning as they launched into an intricate handshake. "So... you're Ralph?"

"Rolph," he corrected. "Howdy."

"Rolph, right-"

"So anyway," he interrupted, looping his arm around Michael's shoulder. "We gotta discuss plans, you and me. Got a location or what?"

Location for what? Committing a crime? Maybe it would be fun to commit a crime. A minor one, of course. Nothing too intense. Maybe just, like, a quick vandalism. "So, are you guys, like, a gang?" I asked them.

Rolph narrowed his eyes at me. "We ain't no gang. This here is a cartel."

I laughed. He stared at me. "You can't be serious," I said. "A cartel? With... four people? I thought the whole drug lord thing was a joke. Since, you know, you work at Walmart and all."

"I like Walmart," he said.

"I like Walmart too, I just don't-"

One of the guys was scowling at me. Fists balled, lips in a tight line. I swallowed my words. "You sure do got a lot to learn about this business," Rolph remarked, shaking his head like a disappointed mother. "This fellow here is Buck." He patted the scowling guy's shoulder. "Like a dog, he is. Rip you to shreds. That's lesson one for you. Don't let anybody fuck with you."

"Yeah, don't turn my young, impressionable roommate into a drug dealer," Michael said. "Thanks."

"You're lucky you got Mikey here to take you under his wing," Rolph told me. "Stick with him, and you could get anything you want. Booze. Dope. The finest selection of puss-"

"I don't want that," I muttered.

"Whatcha want then?"

I didn't answer and instead walked up to Buck. Everyone deserved a second chance, right? "So," I said. "Ever killed anyone?"

Buck flashed me a scowl. A second later, his eyes flicked back to the street behind me, ignoring my existence. "They don't talk to people they don't like," Rolph said.

"Why don't they don't like me?" I muttered.

"Takes a while for 'em to accept ya. Not everybody cut out for this life. For the things we gotta do."

"Not everyone is cut out to go to parties?"

"You can't just show up. You gotta look like you got something to offer. You know, bring a couple grams and show 'em off. Then you watch. Slip somethin' in your pocket when no one's looking. Split as soon as you arrive. I don't be seeing you, you don't be seeing me. We seeing each other, we got a problem. We take what we find. Meds. Cash. Lots of old lady jewelry."

"You go to parties and rob them," I clarified. He nodded excitedly. "And you never get caught? Like on a security camera?"

"Nope. Never have, never will."

I wasn't so sure about that, but I didn't want to crush his dreams.

More importantly, I didn't want Buck to crush my windpipe.

╭-°—✞—˚✧❨✧˚—✞—°-╮

╰-°—✞—˚✧❨✧˚—✞—°-╯

The target house belonged to Cathy, a woman in her 70s with a plethora of medication and vintage jewelry. Michael claimed to know her granddaughter, who was throwing a party that night. In exchange for getting Rolph in, Michael got a cut of whatever money he made from the stolen goods - or the rough equivalent in weed.

This was all explained to me as we walked through town. Buck, Rusty, and I were coming along to pose as more guests, taking the spotlight off Rolph, who would slip away when the time was right.

"I don't know about this," I whispered to Michael. "A lot could go wrong."

"It's not a big deal," he assured me. "You and me, we don't even need to do anything. We just go to the party like normal. I know Meg. It'll be a good time."

The house was huge. Two stories, with a two-car garage and sleek white driveway. A tall, wiry brunette answered the door. She had a full sleeve of tattoos and several more along her collarbone. She looked a bit older than us, mid-20s maybe.

"Michael? What are you doing here?"

"Hey, baby." He leaned against the doorframe with a sleazy grin. "Heard you were hosting tonight. Thought I'd stop by. You know I've been dying to see you."

She fidgeted, as if weighing her options. Threw a glance past his shoulder at Rolph and the guys. "Who are they?"

"Just a couple buddies. Big house, you got room, right? Hey, listen, they got weed." He gestured to Rolph, who fished a plastic baggie from his pocket. "What do you say?"

Meg chewed her lip. "Isaac's over."

"Great!" Michael smiled wide, adjusted himself. "Isaac. Great guy. Great... uh... you two..." His brows rose. "Back together?" Her anxious expression dropped to a sneer. "My bad. None of my business, right? So, how about it?"

She sighed before stepping back. "Don't fuck up the place."

Gentle music played inside, something slow with low vocals. A few people sat on the L-shaped couch, watching a show on the huge flat-screen TV. Michael bumped Rolph's shoulder and together, they wove through the living room and disappeared, Rolph's head low under the brim of his cowboy hat.

Shit.

I was alone now. Meg stood in the corner, murmuring under her breath to a tall, pasty guy in all black. Black hoodie, black jeans. Black beanie with a white skull on it. He held a joint to his lips, inhaling deeply. I named him Skull Hat.

"Hey... Meg." I forced a smile. "How's it going?"

She and Skull Hat both regarded me with the same look: unimpressed and slightly annoyed. "Can I help you?"

"Uh..." I glanced at the people on the couch. Why did I agree to this again?

"Are you sure you're old enough to be here?" Meg asked. "Who are you, someone's little brother or something?"

I bristled at that. They were both taller than me, and it pissed me off. I hated being short. "I'm Michael's roommate, actually."

"Roommate." She nodded vaguely. "Okay. You smoke, right?"

"Yeah." It wasn't a total lie, I thought. I'd smoked cigarettes. These things couldn't be that much different.

"Here." Meg took the joint from Skull Hat and took a hit, then passed it to me.

I looked at the joint skeptically, then raised it to my lips. I had never smoked weed in my life, but I knew you were supposed to inhale deeply. I took a hit, filling my lungs with smoke. For a second, everything was fine. Then I started coughing. Every time I would gulp in some air, it only made my throat dryer and I coughed harder. Skull Hat walked over and took the joint away from me.

I covered my mouth with my arm and backed a few feet away, trying to catch my breath before people started staring. "I think I- excuse me," I choked out, trying to inhale properly. Meg cackled.

I wandered down the hallway, my breathing slowing gradually, until I found the bathroom. The door was ajar and I could see a man inside. As I cracked it open further, I spotted a familiar cowboy hat.

"Rolph, what are you doing?" I groaned. "I have to use-"

"Shh," he whispered. He had the cabinet behind the mirror open and was searching through numerous bottles of pills. "I'm working."

I coughed again into my elbow, hard. "Fuck."

"Gotta be careful with weed. Can be folks think they're buyin' it and turns out it's that fake spice shit or somethin'. Seen a guy rollin' around the ground, seizing, arms and legs going everywhere..." He shook his head sadly.

I swallowed hard. "Where was that?"

"My place," he said. "After I sold it to him."

"Oh god."

He dumped one of the orange pill bottles out onto the counter. "Want one of these?" he offered.

I squinted and walked over. "What is it?"

He shrugged. "Somethin' for old people. A lot of this shit is for old people. I was hoping for painkillers. Last time I was in an old person's house it was Oxy central. This is heartburn or somethin'."

I picked up one of the pills, studied it for a second, then put it in my mouth.

"Side effects include headache, dizziness, stomachache, rashes, diarrhea, constipation, and oh, my personal favorite. Death."

"Lovely." I peered outside, looking both ways to make sure the coast was clear before heading back to the living room. "Well, have a great night, Rolph."

The couch was empty, except for the last cushion, which was occupied by a guy with a fuzzy red beard. I was making my way over to sit down when I felt someone's arms wrap around me from behind and pull me into a tight hug.

"Hello, Benjamin."

"There you are," I said, smiling to myself.

Michael laughed and dropped onto the couch beside me, one arm carelessly around my waist. That '70s Show was playing on the TV. The ginger guy chuckled and popped a potato chip in his mouth.

I wriggled in discomfort. Were we sitting too close together? Was anyone looking? Would they think anything of it?

"Hey, Blondie." Meg appeared, tattooed arm extended to offer Michael a plastic cup. "Got you a drink." Clinging to her arm was a girl with shiny glossed lips and messy space buns, barely able to stand upright. She was wearing a band tee and black miniskirt with ripped fishnets. One of her Vans was missing from her feet. "Oh. Meet Violet."

"What's up." Uncharacteristically courteous, Michael didn't appear interested in Violet. Instead, he was flashing suspicious glances between Meg and Skull Hat, who stood smoking his joint from the corner.

Skull Hat = Isaac?

Michael downed a mouthful from the cup, tapping one foot impatiently on the carpet. "Is this even a party?" he snapped suddenly. "Look at these people. Totally fucking dead. Let's liven it up. Play a game or something."

"What do you want to play, Michael? Scrabble?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of strip poker," he said.

"Strip poker?" Meg said, raising both eyebrows.

"I'm in a stripping mood," he smiled. He jumped on his toes, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Attention! Strip poker is happening now, I repeat, stip poker now. Do not try to join late."

The guy with the fuzzy beard looked over. "Shut up. I'm tryna watch TV."

"Wanna strip with us?" asked Michael.

He shook his head and gripped his stomach. "Too much gut."

"Okay, then, just the hotties." He looked at Violet while Meg walked away. "Well, and you."

Meg returned with Skull Hat in tow. "If anyone's stripping, I knew this pervert would wanna come," she said, elbowing him. He grinned with a full set of yellow teeth.

"I'll join," a female voice said behind me. I turned, one foot on the first step of the stairs, then widened my eyes as I recognized the short blonde.

"Amy?" My mouth dropped open. "Oh my god. Hey! What are you doing here?" I grabbed Michael's arm, trying to get his attention, but he was busy advertising his game to random people. "Jesus, Amy. Sarah literally hates me now because of you. Is it true you told your friends they had to, like, fuck fifty people or something?"

She smirked. "No... that was my... evil twin."

I laughed. "What?"

"Yeah, her name's... Lame-y. She's trying to ruin my name." She flipped her wispy hair over one shoulder.

I giggled again. Everything seemed funny now. And Amy talking about Lame-y seemed really, really funny to me.

She walked up to the stairs and almost collided with me as she attempted climbing the first step. I think she was drunk, because we kept bumping into each other the whole time and laughing. I'd barely had one conversation with the girl, but right now, we were basically besties.

After all, it was good to have an ally when descending into the pits of hell, or in my case, ascending.