Dust

"Why so nervous, kid?"

The gun shook in Tiny's hand. He pulled his sleeve along his forehead, and it came off damp despite the chill of the late summer's night. He closed his eyes and breathed deep. Not long now, not long, and it's all over. He clasped the gun in two hands and rose to his feet, puffing out a calming cloud of mist into the night.

"It's nothing," Tiny replied, squaring his eyes at the older boy.

Zeke nodded, apparently satisfied.

Tiny shook his head. Was it nothing? He could feel his body getting weaker, his mind losing focus. He was getting tired. It wouldn't be long before he passed out, only to wake up… different. Tiny's hands started shaking double at the thought. He needed some Dust, and he needed it soon.

The lights of the warehouse switched on and off. Just a flicker to someone who wasn't looking for it, but to them, it was a sign. It was time.

"That's you, kid," Zeke said to Tiny, pointing up high at an appropriately tiny window. The reason they'd brought a "kid" along in the first place.

"That alarm better be off, or I'm getting left high and dry," he told Zeke.

"If Tiger says they're off, that means they're off," he replied impatiently, looking everywhere but at Tiny.

He would have told Zeke to shove the climb up his arse, but he'd heard the phrase "what Tiger says, goes" from too many mouths in too many different contexts not to take it as truth.

The rest of the group leaned back against the corrugated iron wall, too impatient to watch Tiny risk a couple of broken legs for the job. Tiny shook his head, tucked the gun into his pants and set off to work.

He leapt from a stack of pallets onto the roof of a shipping container, skipping from one to the other without breaking pace. He ran up the wall and grabbed onto the beams that stuck out past the roof, monkey-barring his way across until he was just out from the window. He hung, looking directly at his reflection before lifting his feet and kicking it in. He could hear it smash on the concrete below, the only sound that greeted him from inside the warehouse. So what Tiger says really does go.

He kicked out the rest of the shards and swung in to sit on the edge, stretching out his feet to find a foothold and getting nothing but air. He pulled himself in and hung from the window frame, lowering himself to the point just before the point of no return. Still nothing but air. He lowered himself past that point, returning not an option, returning never really being an option. His fingers were straining. He stretched his toes out until they barely scraped the wood of a storage crate. He let out a ragged breath and waited for the rest of his body to catch up to his feet, realising he was back on solid ground, somewhat. A little dizzy, he dropped and climbed his way down to open the door from the inside. Zeke flashed him a smile as he entered the warehouse.

"Better than expected, kid," he slapped him on the back, "granting that 'expected' was a short drop and a hard stop."

Tiny held the door for the others as they filed past, each with looks of grudging respect or grudging indifference. Then, as the last of them entered, Tiny silently slipped off his shoe and slid it to wedge the door open a crack.

Zeke led them confidently through the isles with the half-light of one far-off bulb and the blue light of his phone. He knew exactly what he was looking for. Outside they heard a truck pulling up.

"That's us boys," Zeke said over his shoulder. "Let's get this stuff and get out quick. We've got 30 minutes, no more".

He picked up his pace and left them in the relative darkness.

"God, you do look like shit". One of the others mentioned it this time, the blonde one.

Tiny looked up at him, trying to focus with the shitty light quality and a spinning head.

"It's-"

"Don't say nothing. I'm sick of hearing nothing. Your being on this job means my brother misses out on a cut. He'd have climbed that wall in half the time and wouldn't be shaking about it after."

Tiny looked down. His hands were still shaking. He was thirsty as well. God, he was thirsty and dizzier than he had been when he was dangling 30 feet up. He swallowed sour spit. Soon.

He gripped his fingers tight around his gun and pulled it out, waving it with a steadier hand.

"It's just, well, I've never actually held one of these before," Tiny replied.

Blondie laughed. "Whaddya mean you've never held a gun before? I knew we should have picked Alfie on this one. This guy's a fucking amateur."

"Ssshhhhuthefuckup," Zeke hissed.

Tiny looked forward, ignoring Blondie for a second. Zeke had stopped in front of a packed shelf on the back wall of the warehouse. He shone his phone light over the label.

‘Marius Industries – Youvelix 10mg.’

"Tiger is gonna love this," Blondie said, licking his lips.

"I reckon I care more if Lily loves it or not," Zeke said under his breath, but not quietly enough. Tiny couldn't help but speculate on whether that was on purpose.

The other boys gave each other a look.

Was that tension Tiny sensed? A power struggle in one of the most powerful gangs in the city. A divide between the heirs apparent of the city's underbelly? Tiger and Lily were the two-headed snake, but maybe they were just coiled together, one trying to constrict the other.

Tiny should have been paying attention, but his head was swimming too deep to come up for air. He looked over at the box. So close… He wanted to reach out a hand, to dig into the treasure, but he kept it close instead, using it to push his wet hair back. He should wait for another second, see where the tension led, do some espionage and all that jazz. This information could be vital, but there was something much more vital to him at that moment. Besides, he was always more of the smash-and-grab kind of guy.

He forced a smile and tapped Blondie on the shoulder, who turned with a suffering look on his face.

"Lost boys don't use guns," he said, eliciting a confused look from Blondie.

"What are you on about dickhead?"

Tiny wiped his hair back and forced out a smile. "I'm answering your question from before. No, I've never held a gun before because the Lost Boys don't really use guns".

"What the fu-"

The gun in Tiny's hand had already slammed the question back onto his mouth, and he crumpled to the floor. Tiny turned to see Zeke's gun pointed at his heart. Fuck, the others didn't make it then. Before he could cry out, beg, scream, or do whatever he intended to do with his last breath, a steel bat crushed the hand holding the gun. A follow-up took Zeke right across his mouth. Similar things happened to the other three lads in the group as blunt weapons flashed from the darkness leaving crumpled bodies in their wake.

"Cutting it a little fine, aren't we, boys?" Tiny said, secretly shitting himself. He genuinely didn't like guns, especially the ones pointed at him.

"Perfect timing if I were to say so myself," Slightly said, calm as always, with his steel bat resting against his shoulder.

"The truckies gave us more trouble than we thought," said Nibs, his grim expression visible over his freshly lit cigarette. "Now, let's load these boxes and get out of here before these boys wake up".

"Righto, boss," said Slightly, and he set himself to the task, "Come on boys, help me out. This stuff is heavy for a bit of Dust". He said the last with a grin despite the effort. It was a good haul. A magnificent haul if you were enthusiastic. Too good of a haul if you were pragmatic. Tiny was too tired and too shaken to be anything but thirsty.

The boys left with the crates, but Nibs hung around.

"You alright?" Nibs asked as he inspected the goods.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he replied, tucking his shaking hands in his pockets, "just need a minute, you know?"

Nibs looked over him with a half glance, then picked up a crate on his own.

"Hang back here while we load this up. One dart, then we're out, you hear?"

"I hear".

Tiny sat nonchalantly as Nibs went off, leaving him alone in the half-light. He let a deep breath out and shut his eyes for a moment. Now, right fucking now. You will die if it isn't this very instant. The screaming got louder and louder until it was almost apocalyptic.

He jumped to his feet and opened the closest crate, grabbing a packet of 'Youvelix' and ripping it open, scattering white pills across the floor. He dropped to his knees and crushed the closest one with the butt of his hand, then bent over to sniff the powder. You're a fucking junkie, Tiny. Have the stuff in front of you for ten seconds, and you're already on your knees. He was disgusted with himself, but the feeling was overwhelmed as he felt the Dust rush through him. His entire body tensed, his muscles tight to the point of tearing, then loose enough to drift away. He managed to relax, although his pulse was still racing. His vision cleared, and his mind became sharp. He breathed out. He was young again.

He got to his feet quickly, noticing the mess he'd made.

"Damn it."

He scraped up the pills and stashed them in his pocket, shutting the crate and lifting it. No one is going to miss one box. Not as much as he would.

"You need help with that?" Nibs asked from around the shelves.

"Yeah, I reckon so."

He grabbed the opposite handle, and the two carried the box out of the warehouse. Nibs gave him a long sideways glance but said nothing.

The two emerged into the glare of headlights. The truck steamed as it idled, and they rounded it and loaded the crate onto the back with a heave. Nibs made to leave, but Tiny grabbed him by the arm.

"When you sent me to get good with The Natives, you said we were in to steal a bit of Dust. This isn't a bit, Nibs. It's the whole fucking pie. There's a lot here, enough to put us all away for a long time. It's life if the cops find us with it, death if someone else does. So what's the play?"

Tiny whispered so as not to let the other boys hear the doubt in his voice.

Nibs glanced at him, unreadable as always, then hopped up onto the tray.

"You know the Tinkers own the Dust trade in this town. They sell it to the suits in the city and their wives up in the Hills for a price that makes big pharma look like Santa Claus. I've convinced them there's a market for it down here, on the streets. All they need to do is lower the price, and we will tap them into a market that wants to stay young just as much as the bourgeoise do. More even.

They set this up for us, and we've got all the avenues to sell it. So what's the play, Tiny? The play is we sell this shit, and we sell it for all its fucking worth. And then we add our fee on top so we can skim off it. If we don't sell it, they'll kill us. But then again, without it, we're dead anyways. Simple? Now get up here so we can leave."

Tiny thought he could see something in Nibs. He was like a book with no words, but the broken spine could tell you enough. He was scared. It was life or death now, and he was in over his head. They all were.

"Do the others know?"

"There are only two outcomes for this, win or lose, but there are a million avenues to explore on our way to them. The boys know the stakes, and now you do. All of them. You in?"

He held out his hand to help Tiny up. Tiny took it. Nibs gripped hard and flashed Tiny a wicked smile, his eyes lighting up with a fevered gaze.

Fuck, Tiny thought to himself as he got dragged into the truck. Nibs isn't scared. He's enjoying this.

Nibs banged twice on the cab wall, and they started moving.