the smuggler’s bible


The passage winds downward, sloping through the ruins under the old house. Gregor can hear water flowing. The wall is damp under his palm.

“Jesus. I thought this was your basement. Didn’t this place get inspected before you bought it?”

Gregor puts a finger to his lips and points to a gouge in the wet rock. “That’s the plumber’s sign,” he whispers. “Came down after the water heater last week.”

“So are we here to get him?”

“No,” Gregor says, grip tightening around his baseball bat. “But I promised I’d bring his tools back if I could. For his son.”