the smuggler’s bible


Mercy pays a punk on the corner twenty bucks to betray his confederates and reveal where the cool kids hang out. He doesn’t even act guilty.

“When people like you start asking,” he says, “time’s up anyway.”

Well, time enough yet, Mercy hopes. The spot is in an alley behind some kind of tire place. She kicks the door open. The college kids blink in the light.

“Okay, you freaks,” Mercy says, flicking the catch on her switchblade. “Somebody’s going to tell me what the fuck yassify means. And the first one of you who rolls an eye loses it.”