Love & Bullets: Chapter 3

The third chapter of the year’s most epic noir novel.

(New to this? Check out Chapter 1 and Chapter 2.)

When Bill started out in the game, he operated on the assumption that nobody would ever understand his trip, so why bother trying to explain himself? As a young hustler, he spent nearly all of his time listening, because people love to talk. If you listen long enough, you can understand how someone thinks, and their life becomes an open book written in 40-point font.

On a long-ago Monday night in an everything-neon sports bar, Bill scanned the crowd and decided on his mark, a guy in a lime-green polo shirt glued to the football game on one of the establishment’s many big-screen televisions. All the mark’s details added up: The washer-softened tips of the man’s shirt collar, the timepiece a passable imitation of a more expensive brand, the soft cheeks indifferently shaved. As Bill knew too well, there is nobody on this planet more vulnerable than a broke man who aspires to luxury.

Bill’s own desires ran to sleek black sedans and Japanese whiskey, first-class seats and prime weed. That meant Bill, like any fine young predator, lived through periods of glorious wax followed by humiliating wane. He liked to think that pattern gave him insight into people’s hopes and fears.