Two weeks later, Osa's one-bedroom apartment had cardboard boxes teetering to the ceiling, their beaten surfaces casting long shadows over the scuffed hardwood. Dust and packing-tape tang hung in the air, overlaid by stale cigarette smoke clinging to grimy curtains.
The heat pressed against the cracked windowpanes. Osa eyed the thermostat warily—cranking the air conditioner meant a higher hydro bill, and his landlord was quick to nickel-and-dime him for every kilowatt.
He sighed, turned away from the thermostat, then answered the persistent knock.
Noah slipped inside before Osa could finish locking the door, sidestepping a stack of taped-shut crates. "Why is all your stuff packed?"
"Because the neighbours are eyeing me suspiciously. We shouldn't have conducted a drug deal in plain sight. We were seen." Osa exhale a deep breath. "Now, I need to find a new place to live."
"You can rent an apartment from me. I just kicked out a woman who wasn't satisfying her customers' needs."
"Hell, no." Osa crossed his arms over his sweaty t-shirt. "You're the reason why I've to move."
"I can help you. First month of rent is on me." Noah grinned, stepping closer.
"Why do you want to help me?" Osa gritted his teeth.
"Because your Coke is the best I've ever had. I can get you bigger clients, more cash."
Osa shook his head. "Are you trying to put me in jail? I stick with trusted clients to keep a low profile."
Leaning in, Noah's voice dropped. "Come on, man. I've got connections—cops, judges, fixers. Bribes smooth everything over. You'll walk away clean with just a slap on the wrist. Trust me—I know a low-key spot in the city where we can keep this running without a hitch."
Osa stared at the piles of boxes, his pulse drumming in his ears. Finally, he exhaled. "Alright. But one slip, one mistake—and I'm dead meat. Understand?"
Noah's grin widened into a pact-sealed handshake. "Crystal. I'll help you get out of this joint."