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KANE SIX MONTHS AGO “I s this the place?” Jude’s voice carries on the wind, doing nothing to interrupt the fucking chaos below. “Unfortunately, yes,” I say. Most of the streetlight bulbs are burned out—only three work across the entire street. But as his dark eyes scan the area below, carefully observing the sketchy-as-fuck neighborhood, he looks like a grim reaper with a thirst for blood. The place reeks of so much poverty, we had to leave Jude’s motorcycle and my car at the gas station to avoid standing out and rented a Hyundai to reach this fuckery of human society. The stench of piss, vomit, and rotting trash fills the air, thickening and swirling in the night’s stale humidity. From up here, we have a perfect view of the grimy streets, of the skittering shadows moving like ghosts beneath flickering streetlights. Small-time dealers lean against the walls, barely hidden in the dark, slipping bags of powder or pills into greedy hands, their eyes darting around, their rancid breath pol