DEVIL SMOKE

Copyright © 2015 Max Henry

Published by Max Henry

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Max Henry is in no way affiliated with any brands, songs, musicians, or artists mentioned in this book.

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Published: November 2015, by Max Henry maxhenryauthor@outlook.com

Edited by: Lauren McKellar

Cover Image: Eric Battershell

Cover Model: Don Allen

Cover Design: Louisa of LM Creations

Formatting by: Max Effect

NOTE TO READERS

Devil Smoke is fifth in the Butcher Boys series and needs to be read in sequence to be fully appreciated.

If you haven’t already, please read the series in the following order:

Devil You Know

Devil on Your Back

Devil May Care

Devil in the Detail

Devil Smoke

PROLOGUE

From the moment we’re born, we’re graded. How well we feed as a baby, how fast our tiny bodies grow, our first word, our first step. And all the while our parents wonder, is it enough? Are they doing enough?

This fear of the inadequate, this need to fit in with what’s associated as ‘normal’ is passed on to us as children. We start school, join a sports team, and again we’re critiqued on whether our best efforts are enough. Did we get acceptable marks on that last test? Did we score a home run in the weekend’s game?

Enough.

Who’s to decide if we’re enough? Surely if you manage to get up each morning with your health intact, then that’s a success on it’s own? What is it about the human psyche that constantly seeks affirmation that what a person does is acceptable by the standards of their peers?

I want to give you a fairytale about a man who carried the burdens of expectation with him day to day and found a way to shake them. I want to give you a fairytale about a man whose fear of inadequacy was shaken, and who found an acceptance of himself that allowed him to make choices without hesitation.

But I can’t, because life has no magic eraser. Ailments of the mind are never cured, simply managed.

No. All I can offer you on this gifted day, wherever you are, is the promise that this story—my story—can prove that sometimes our demons don’t need to be fought. That sometimes, the only way to win is to play the same game. That sometimes, all it takes is the comfort of a kindred soul for you to be able to dance in the dark, hand in hand with the monsters that have hidden under your bed since that day you first failed and weren’t enough.

Because you know what?

You are enough.

So get up and fucking believe it.

SLIDE

Bronx

“You don’t have to do this.” Ty leans forward in his seat, elbows resting on his knees. “Nobody’s forcing you to.”

I hesitate with the card poised over the four lines of coke I’d been cutting, and sigh. “Man, you know as well as I do that the people you’re fuckin’ sending me in to slaughter with do this shit for breakfast. If I’m goin’ to have to get wasted, I want my first hit to be among people I trust.”

He nods, and eases back in his chair. The scowl on his face tells me he’s still not convinced.

I can’t expect him to understand. Ty was married to the stuff for years. It almost killed him twice. He’s worked hard to get himself away from the grip cocaine had on him, and here I am willingly sticking it up my nose when I’m the perfect example of health and wellbeing.

Crazy.

But it’s a necessary evil if I’m going to convince not only Eddie’s crew but also myself that I can be a part of their world.

Hooch sits to my left, rolling a dollar bill into a makeshift straw. He inspects the job I’ve done cutting the powder ready to snort, and nods. “You want first rights?”

I stare down at the stuff, and shake my head. “Nah, you go first.”

He shrugs as though it’s my loss, and pulls the tray of goods towards him. A couple of deep breaths later, and two of the lines are gone. Hooch holds the bill out toward me, and I take it, eyeing the end that’s been stuck up his nose.

“Brother, you can’t get squeamish about shit like that,” Hooch says with a laugh.

“It’s better if you don’t think about where half the gear you’ll use comes from,” Ty agrees. “It’s not always clean, but when people are that far gone they don’t care. Best you can do is avoid it by carrying your own kit.”

I scrub a hand over my face, feeling like such a newbie to all of this still. Give me a room loaded with iron and I’ll make myself at home, but throw me in to a room full of recreational drug users and I feel as green as the first day I stepped foot inside a gym—confused and not sure where to start.

“Dive in, brother.” Hooch pushes the remaining lines my way.

I ignore the pointed stare coming from Ty’s chair and lean over, sticking the dollar in my nostril and blocking the other to take the first line. The bitter taste hits the back of my throat, and I swallow a couple of times before switching nostrils and inhaling the last line. My nose tingles, and I wriggle it side-to-side trying to shake the creeping numbness. I glower at Hooch as he rumbles a deep laugh beside me, rubbing a finger under his nose as he does.

Ty watches on, serious as a heart attack.

“How you feel?” Hooch asks.

I look around the room, at everybody going about their business like my body isn’t about to crack out some crazy reaction. I’ve been warned what it feels like. I was prepped on what to expect, but the unknown, the knowledge there’s no turning back now has me on a high of its own.

“Not so different,” I say, leaning back in my seat.

“Give it a minute.”

Ty shifts in his seat, fingering the ankle of his jeans, all the while trying not to look at the gear still laid out on the table. He’s failing miserably at hiding the war waging within as he stares intently at the dollar bill that’s slowly unfurling itself beside the small metal tray. I’m just thankful Hooch had the foresight to make sure there was just enough of this shit for the two of us, otherwise my gut tells me we’d be wrestling Ty off the table.