Roland Spencer sat alone in the office of Spencer’s Tires and Rims. A few weeks ago Dante Fulsome had gunned Yolanda Thomas down on the floor only a few feet away from him. He peered over the rim of his glass of whiskey at the spot where Yolanda’s body had laid and grimaced. In front of him on his desk a cell phone rattled around. Across the screen of the cell phone was a number Roland didn’t recognise but he knew who was on the other side. It was Antwan Dixon. Word had reached Roland a few hours ago that Antwan had broken his leg in a pickup game. Apparently it was so bad the doctors were talking about amputating. As if the boy hadn’t been through enough over the past month or two he had this to contend with. Antwan had never been an excellent student, he’d never needed to be, but without basketball his life was going to be hard. Without Antwan playing basketball Roland’s life was going to be even harder.

It was only a matter of time before Billy Brown’s boys came calling. Spencer had entered into a Faustian pact with Brown that was contingent upon Antwan becoming a Gamecock when the time came. Now the boy would never play again Spencer’s very own Mephistopheles would drag him kicking and screaming to Hell. That much was certain. There was no corner of the world that Spencer could run to that Billy Brown wouldn’t find him. He knew that better than most. There was nothing that man couldn’t do. He’d toppled the Norman family at the height of their power after they’d ruled the roost in Pickett County for nearly a century. If he could do that he could find Roland. Worse, Roland wouldn’t put it past the man to extract his pound of flesh from Antwan if he did run. He wouldn’t risk that.

No, for once in his life Roland would meet his fate like a man. He’d lied to himself long enough. All the talk of being a self-made man had been exactly that. Talk. For once Roland would meet his fate head on. The phone in front of him rattled again and Roland felt a knot in his throat. He wanted to pick it up and tell Antwan everything was going to be okay but he couldn’t bring himself to. He gulped down another mouthful of whiskey instead and opened the top drawer of his desk. There amongst a few personal effects was a black Colt M1911 that Roland had bought after that mess with Chew and Dante. He placed it on the desk in front of him and eyed it for a while. Maybe he could gun down whoever came round that corner and take the fight to them. Maybe he could get them all. Billy Brown, DJ, Jim Brown, and whoever else was still left standing after the past few weeks.

Roland chuckled at the idea. He’d never used a gun in his life and he’d more than likely end up shooting himself before he managed to shoot anyone else. He chuckled again as he glanced down at the Colt. Roland’s smile disappeared as he lifted the Colt from his desk and slowly placed the Colt beneath his throat. Roland’s eyes closed and his finger pulled back on the trigger gently. The sound of the cell phone rattling around the table in front of him sprung his eyes open again and Roland threw the Colt down on the desk in front of him again. He sighed heavily and poured himself another drink. This time he made sure to fill his glass to the brim.

It was twenty minutes until Roland heard the sound of the door to Roland’s Tires and Rims opening. He remembered the last time men had entered his business in the middle of the night looking for him. He’d escaped with his life then. He wasn’t so sure he would this time around. He downed what remained of his drink as two shadows crept into sight and the outlines of DJ and Jim Brown appeared. He would barely have been able to make them out in the darkness if not for the moonlight glinting off of Brown’s glasses.

DJ pointed down to the Colt on the desk in front of Roland. “We’ve had a long night so I hope you’re not of a mind to use that thing.”

“No,” Roland muttered with a shake of his head. “I’m not going to use it.”

Jim Brown nodded to DJ instructively and DJ gestured to Roland to place the Colt back in the desk. Roland made sure his hands were in sight as he moved the weapon slowly from the desk and back into the draw beside him. 

Once it was in DJ crossed his arms and leant against the doorframe of Roland’s office. “You know what this is about?”

Roland nodded.

“Let’s go take a ride then, Roland.”

Roland stood up from his seat slowly and took one last glance around his office. Perhaps it had been ill-gotten, perhaps he never would have made it without Billy Brown's help, but for a while there Roland had been somebody worth knowing. Twenty years ago he’d sold stolen watches out of a suitcase and today Roland was known the county over for something good. Something positive. That was worth it. That was worth something at least. His cell phone rattled on the table one last time and Roland thought of Antwan sat somewhere wondering where Roland had got to. He’d done right by the boy over the years, nobody could deny that, even if it had been for the wrong reasons. He hoped Antwan would remember all the good he'd done for him.

DJ clicked his fingers at Roland impatiently and Spencer nodded politely and followed after them. As he flicked the lights shut to the neon sign outside bearing his name he said a silent goodbye to Spencer’s Tires and Rims. And to everything and everyone he’d ever cared about.