“Fine. Whatever. Do what you have to do.”
“Men might come into the shop. They might ask for a shirt called the happiest shirt alive. If they request that, take their cash, go into the back, open one of the boxes my men dropped off, and give them one of the bundles. Do you understand?”
I blinked at him. “How much money are they going to give me?”
“Don’t worry about that. Just keep the money at the bottom of the register. I’ll collect it at the end of the day.”
“And what bundles?”
“They’re wrapped in shirts. Also don’t worry. They’re all the same.”
I chewed my lip. “Are you sure about this?”
“You can handle it. If they ask for more than one shirt, get more than one bundle.”
“Right. More than one bundle of drugs.”
He didn’t smile. “I’m trusting you, little diamond. Don’t let me down. If you need something, there’s a phone hidden at the bottom of the top box. It has one number inside. Call that number, but only if it’s an emergency.”
I looked away and he released my wrist. “I can handle it.
I climbed out of the car and didn’t look back. He lingered there as I unlocked the door and slipped inside. I stood in my empty showroom, my heart racing in my chest, as I looked around at all the shirts I’d spent so much of my life designing and selling.
Today was the day it all changed.
The first guy came in around noon. He was younger than I expected. Patchy facial hair, sweatpants and a t-shirt. “Uh, do you have the, uh, happiest shirt alive?”
He looked nervous, like he wanted to throw up.
I smiled but I wasn’t sure why. I wanted to try and make him at ease, I guess.
“Yep, we have it. Stay right here.”
I walked into the back and opened the top box. It was full of tightly wrapped black t-shirts. I picked one up and felt the fabric: cheap cotton weave. Probably cost ten cents in bulk. I carried the shirt back out front and handed it to the guy.
He took it and looked confused. “Uh, I didn’t think it was actually, uh, a shirt.”
I stared at him like he was the biggest idiot in the world. Because he probably was. But I guessed drug addicts weren’t all brilliant people, and felt a strange pang of anger.
“That’s what you paid for. Now get out of here.”
He took a step back, hesitated, then turned and left. The door swung closed behind him.
I sighed and rubbed my face.
I wondered if someone thought about my brother like that at some point. I could imagine Jason, his goofy half smile, his endearingly dirty hair, his rumpled shirts, standing in front of some drug dealer begging for a bundle of pills and looking surprised when he got a t-shirt instead. I had to lean against the counter and breathe deep to keep myself for getting emotional.
I was the drug dealer now.
The kid that just came into my shop could be someone’s brother. And they might find him dead in his room one day, just like I found Jason. The thought made my heart race and made my stomach twist into knots.
Owain was turning me into a drug dealer, and for a second I thought that might be worse than turning me into a whore.
A few normal customers came in over the next couple of hours. But just when I started to feel steady, a man wearing a suit with bright eyes and a too-eager smile pushed open the door and approached.
“I’m looking for the happiest shirt in the world,” he said.
“Sure. Stay there.” I went into the back, got his shirt, and came out again. He took it from me, frowned, stared, looked back up.
“What the fuck is this?”
“The shirt. Now get out.”
“I don’t want a shirt. I’m here for pills.”
I stared at him. “First of all, you don’t say that, you idiot. And second of all, look inside the shirt. Now get the hell out.”
He shoved his fist down the bundle and must’ve felt what he was hoping for, because a look of pure bliss spread across his face.
“Adios, pretty girl.” He stormed back out again.
I wanted to vomit.
But another guy came in a minute later. Long hair, light brown skin. And another, ten minutes after that, a guy with tattoos and a black tank top, and another. I handed out their shirts and fortunately none of them questioned it.
I was exhausted by the time I was ready to close. I hoped Owain would show up soon, because I wanted to get back to his house, hide under the covers, and cry until I threw up. Maybe I’d take a shower so hot it melted off my skin, but I doubted I’d ever feel clean again.
I prepared to go lock the door when two guys came in. I frowned at them as they looked around the shop. Each was dressed in dark denim. One was tall, broad, and wore sunglasses even inside. He had a thick beard and biceps the size of my head. The other was shorter, thinner, with a gaunt face and a missing front tooth.
“Hey girl,” Sunglasses said. “I’m looking for something.”
“We have lots of shirts,” I said, gesturing at the wall.
Tooth walked over and grabbed one. “Huh, looking at this. Eat My Shorts. Like from the Simpsons?”
“Put that back,” Sunglasses said.
Tooth threw the shirt on the ground.
“Uh,” I said. “Sorry, would you mind putting it on the shelf?”
“Would you mind fucking off?” Tooth sneered at me like he wanted to show off his gap. “Listen to this bitch.”
“We aren’t here looking for shirts,” Sunglasses said. “We’re here looking for something else. Something you probably don’t want to admit you got.”
My heart started racing. I walked backwards toward the counter as my mind raced. I didn’t know what to do if these guys got violent or aggressive with
