Page 112 of I Am Sin

And of course I revisit the warm memory of my father giving me my first drum after Griffin was born.

It wasn’t all bad.

I walk up the block, looking at my neighbors’ houses for the first time in many years. The Osbornes lived two doors down, and I used to play with their little boy, Ricky. He had an older brother, Malcolm, who was a teenager. He used to help my mom with odd jobs when Dad was working overtime. He loved Griffin and always sneaked candy to her, but he couldn’t stand Ricky and me. Thought we were a pain in his ass, which we kind of were. He especially hated my drum. He always said he wanted to take a hatchet to it. Whatever happened to them?

An older couple lived a few doors down from the Osbornes. Mrs. Ortiz baked the best cookies. When we were out playing and got hungry, we’d run to her house, where she’d invite us in for the very best warm oatmeal cookies and a glass of milk. She often brought my mother homemade breads and cakes. Those were good days.

I walk out of our neighborhood and up toward the strip mall where Ricky and I used to ride our bikes and get sweets at the old-fashioned candy store.

That store is long gone, and in its place is a plasma donation center.

It’s open, so I walk in.

“Hello,” a receptionist greets me. “How can I help you?”

I look around. “Just wondering a little about this place.”

The receptionist grabs a pamphlet. “Are you interested in donating?”

“I don’t know.”

“We pay fifty dollars per donation, if that spurs your interest.” She hands me the pamphlet.

My eyebrows nearly jump off my forehead. “Youpay?”

“We do.” She smiles. “Fifty dollars for the first five donations, and forty dollars per donation after that.”

“Is it like giving blood?”

“Sort of. Donating plasma is a process that involves extracting plasma from your blood and returning the remaining components back to your body.”

“And you’ll pay me for that?”

“Yeah. We’re always looking for more people to donate. Plasma donations are crucial for medical treatments, including treating burn victims, patients with immune disorders, and those undergoing certain medical procedures.”

Seems like a no-brainer for someone who needs money. “Sure. Sign me up.”

“Okay.” She hands me a clipboard. “Fill this out and bring it back to me.”

I take a seat in one of the plastic chairs and read through the form. When I get to the section on previous drug abuse, I freeze.

So much for making an extra buck on the side.

I put the clipboard down on the chair next to me, and without saying another word to the cheery receptionist, I walk out.

ChapterThirty-Three

Diana

“Hello?” I say into the phone.

“Hi, Diana, it’s Antonio Carbone.”

“Hi, how are you?”

“I’m good. Just wanted to let you know that I offered your friend a job.”

“Dragon?”