Page 32 of Never Never

“Just, you know.” I roll my cigar back and forth between my fingers a little. “Stuff.”

“Hm. Stuff.” I hear Krye’s whistling breath as he takes another puff. “You have sorted out with my daughter, she tell me. Yes?”

“Yeah. Zuzu’s fine.” More than fine; she practically knocked my lights out. Guess she takes after her dad. “This is…different stuff.”

“Different stuff,” Krye repeats.

To that, I say nothing. Just stare hard at the glowing tip of the cigar, the paper and tobacco and whatever the hell else burning down all slow and smoky and red.

If I tell Krye what’s really going on, he’ll drop me like a hot potato. Because, yeah, he did warn me against making Hook mad, and yeah, that is more or less exactly what I did, but, in my defense, it was pretty goddamn satisfying in the moment, and in the moment is where I tend to make my best decisions. All my decisions, really. It’s just now, when the moment has passed, that I end up getting my ass handed to me. Usually, I’m able to come up with some kind of…spontaneous solution. A bob or weave, depending.

But usually I’m not dead broke. And usually, I’m not in the fucking doghouse with the crew. With my crew.

Krye must pick up on that, too, because he changes the subject.

“Where is your friend? Always with you, blonde-headed…”

“Tink.”

A sour taste takes over my mouth as I say it. And I don’t think it’s just this nasty-ass cigar.

“Yes, Tink. Where is he today? You need his bail money or something?”

“Hah.” As if. As if I’d bother to bail him out, given everything.

“No, you’re right.” Krye chuckles again. “Would be him bailing you out, no?”

I clench my fist. “That him,” I say pointedly, “is a her.”

Now Krye’s the one spluttering on his cigar.

“What?”

“Tink,” I say. “He’s a girl. She’s a girl.”

“No shit?” he says. “One of those…” He looks at his bodyguard and says some Albanian shit, and the guy says some Albanian shit back, doing some Albanian hand gestures for emphasis, and even though I don’t speak the language I think I pick up what they’re putting down.

“Nah, nah, not that,” I interrupt. “She’s not…she’s a girl. For sure. Always has been. It was just a…disguise, I guess.”

“Disguise,” Krye repeats. His bodyguard grunts. Doesn’t look convinced, but then again I wouldn’t peg him as an ally to the LGBTQ+ community anyway, so he can get fucked.

“Yeah,” I say. “I mean, no. A lie. It was a lie.” The cigar’s crumbling into ash, and I catch it just in time to tap it off in the crystal tray on the side table. I may be a slob, but I’m not about to get stuck with Krye’s upholstery cleaning bill. This couch looks like it’s made of genuine rhino leather or some shit.

“Mm,” Krye murmurs. “Women.”

No shit, women, I think. “Yeah,” I murmur. “It do be like that.” I fold my arms, lean back, and close my eyes. This is just going from bad to worse.

“Zusanna’s mother,” I hear Krye say. “She lie to me, you know.”

“Huh?” I jerk my head up in spite of myself. Because a Krye lore drop—here, now? I have to say I’m intrigued. “She did?”

“When we were young, yes.” Krye folds his arms over his bare chest and raises the cigar to his mouth. He’s staring out the window now, speaking almost like I’m not even in the room. “Come I found out, she was married to another man. Promised, ever since I know her. If I had not taken her to United States, she would have stayed with him. Backup plan.” He chuckles. “But, can I blame her?”

He looks at me now. Pulls down the corners of his mouth, shrugging. My own mouth, meanwhile, is hanging open. Krye’s a lot of things, but I’d never take him for…what, a reverse cuck?

“I mean, yeah,” I say. “Yeah, of course you can. Freaking…polygamy by omission, or something? Isn’t that a crime?”

Krye snorts. “Oh, like I have leg to stand on with crime?”