The Devil’s Share

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Authors: Wallace Stroby
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bastard?”
    â€œSometimes. His money’s good.”
    â€œBut he’s slow on paying, isn’t he? Everything we did for him over there, all that shit we helped bring back. We should’ve got a bigger cut from all of that. We’re the ones took the risks.”
    â€œIt’s never that easy,” Hicks said. “Things like that, you have to wait, find the right buyers. Let things cool down before you make a deal, see any money.”
    â€œMore bullshit.”
    â€œBut the way you’ve been going, threatening him, saying shit about talking to the FBI, well, that only makes matters worse.”
    â€œI wanted him to know I was serious.”
    â€œHe knows. That’s why he sent me up here with your money. And as soon as he has the other thirty together, I’ll bring that up to you, too. Then we’re square. But he needs to know you’re still on the team, that your allegiances are intact.”
    â€œI just want what’s owed me, that’s all.”
    â€œI know. And you’ll get it.”
    Greggs nodded at the kitchenette. “There’s beers in there.”
    â€œBest thing you’ve said yet.” Hicks got up, bent over and opened the short-boy refrigerator. Inside were four loose Olympia cans, a bottle of peppermint schnapps, and a curling slice of pizza on a paper plate. He took out two cans, kneed the door shut. “I didn’t know anybody drank that peppermint shit after high school.”
    â€œIt does the trick. Keeps me from having to go to bed sober.”
    Hicks popped a can, foam oozing out. He handed it to Greggs, opened his own, sat back in the breakfast nook.
    â€œSorry about the smoke,” Greggs said. “You’re still living healthy, I see, kind of shape you’re in.”
    â€œI try.”
    Greggs looked at his cigarette. “I never used to smoke. At least not before I went over there. Now I’m doing like three packs a day. Calms my nerves.”
    â€œMust get expensive. The VA rep still come by?” He drank beer. It was thin and lukewarm.
    Greggs snorted out smoke. “They’re done with me, I think. I did the counseling at first, listened to their bullshit. They wanted me to move back into the house. Sharon did, too. They didn’t understand I was just fine out here.”
    â€œMaybe you should try to get out more. Be healthier for you. Get some fresh air. Interact with people.”
    â€œFuck people.”
    â€œHow the neighbors feel about you living in your driveway?”
    â€œFuck the neighbors, too.”
    Hicks laughed. “You haven’t changed, sure as shit.” He sipped beer, nodded at the .45. “Nice weapon—1911? Can I take a look?”
    â€œIt’s fine where it is. You’ve seen one before.”
    â€œYou getting paranoid in middle age, Arlen?”
    â€œJust careful. So where’s Durell?”
    â€œKabul, last I heard.”
    â€œYou stay in touch?”
    â€œNow and then.”
    â€œAnd Sandoval?”
    â€œNot so much. Sandy’s stateside now. We were a good team while it lasted, all of us.”
    â€œUntil it went to shit,” Greggs said, and drank beer.
    â€œWe had a good run.”
    â€œYeah, well, I’m not doing much running these days.”
    â€œYou know what I meant. So what’s your plan? Sit around, drink yourself to death?”
    â€œIt’s a thought.”
    â€œYou used to be one squared-away motherfucker. What happened?”
    â€œWhat do you think happened? That good run we had cost some of us more than others, didn’t it?”
    Hicks ran a thumb around the rim of the can. “You ever tell Sharon anything about all that? Kind of thing we were doing over there?”
    Greggs shook his head, tapped ash. “That what you came all the way here to find out? If so, you wasted your time. She doesn’t know shit about any of that.”
    â€œJust asking,” Hicks said. He drank

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