“There is no honor among thieves. Only consequences.” —John Rebell
The Setup, The Betrayal, The Escape
Cards Drawn:
Seven of Swords – A silent betrayal. A hand in your pocket before the deal is done.
Two of Wands – A decision must be made. The world shifts on one bold move.
Eight of Cups – Walk away or burn with the wreckage. Choose your peace.
They were supposed to split it fifty-fifty.
They say trust is earned.
James Cobalt didn’t believe in earning it. Not anymore. He believed in leverage. And leverage is cold math: who needs who, and for how long.
Ray Santiago needed him.
That’s why Cobalt was already sitting in the safehouse, boots on the table, revolver cleaned and reloaded with three .38 rounds. Just three. The rest he’d left in the trash. Symbolic.
The fan above ticked like a metronome. It was just past midnight when the knock came—two short, one long. Their signal.
Ray stepped in looking like a ghost that hadn’t slept in weeks. Gaunt, twitchy, eyes darting.
“You alone?” Cobalt asked.
Ray nodded, but didn’t meet his eyes. He dropped the black duffel on the floor. It sagged like an empty lung.
Cobalt raised an eyebrow. “That all of it?”
“Count it if you don’t believe me.”
“I already did.” He hadn’t, but he didn’t need to. Ray was always light, in money and morals.
Ray flinched, the way liars do when the ground moves under them. He went for the fridge, grabbed two beers. Cracked them both. Offered one to Cobalt like old times. Cobalt accepted it, then wiped the rim with his sleeve.
“I heard about what happened in Phnom Penh,” Ray said, slumping into the opposite chair. “Hell of a mess.”
“Yeah.” Cobalt took a sip, watching him. “Mess I cleaned up.”
Ray fidgeted. “Look, I know you don’t trust me—”
“I don’t need to trust you. You were useful.”
Ray bristled, then laughed to cover it. “Still the same cold bastard.”
Silence grew between them. Thick. Sticky.
Then Ray reached for the duffel again.
That was the moment. The point of no return.
Cobalt moved like smoke. The revolver was in his hand, cocked, leveled. Ray froze. Wide eyes. Sweat beading.
“Don’t,” Cobalt said flatly. “Just don’t.”
Ray raised both hands. “Jesus, man. I was just gonna show you what I brought.”
“I already know what you brought.” He stood up slowly. “Nothing but excuses and an early grave.”
Ray swallowed. “So what, you gonna shoot me?”
Cobalt spun the cylinder and let it click to a stop.
“Three bullets. Two of us. Let’s see how lucky you feel.”
Ray paled. “You’re out of your goddamn mind.”
Cobalt smiled. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just tired of being polite to traitors.”
He raised the gun.
Click.
Ray gasped.
Cobalt stepped closer. “One down.”
Ray’s voice cracked. “Don’t do this, man. We go back.”
“You went back,” Cobalt said. “I moved forward.”
He pulled the trigger again.
Click.
Ray nearly collapsed in relief. “You’re bluffing.”
“One round left.” Cobalt leaned in close. “Want to bet your life I didn’t save it for last?”
That’s when Ray broke. His body trembled. “Fine! You’re right. I shorted the bag. I owed a guy in Manila. I was gonna pay you back—”
“You just did,” Cobalt cut in.
He turned and walked to the door.
Ray blinked. “What…? That’s it?”
Cobalt stopped at the threshold. “You think this was about the money?”
“Then why the head games?”
Cobalt looked over his shoulder, eyes hard as tempered steel. “Because I needed to know if you were worth saving. You’re not.”
He tossed a folded note onto the table. Ray picked it up with shaking hands.
“You have one hour. I suggest you use it.”
By the time Ray stumbled to the window, the alley was empty. No bike. No sound.
Just three spent casings on the table.
Three blanks.
The real cash was already stashed in a rusted fuel drum by the riverside—bagged, sealed, and gone. Cobalt had never intended to share it. Not after Manila. Not after Bangkok. Not after watching Ray sell out a girl for a passport and a ten-percent cut.
Cobalt didn’t do revenge. He did closure.
And closure was a one-way street.
