Chapter 2 Smoke and shadows

Chapter 2:

The sun never really rose in Moscow the way it did in Lagos. Instead, it smoldered behind layers of gray clouds like a secret too ashamed to shine. Jimmy adjusted his hoodie, eyes darting across the icy street as he stepped out of the flat. The cold didn't bother him anymore. Not since the drugs dulled his nerves.

Back in Nigeria, he was just a broke boy with a smooth tongue and empty pockets. But here, in the underground clubs of Russia, he was "Jay Ice"-the plug who brought fire. The name carried weight. The highs he sold weren't just substances; they were escapes. And every addict he served was another thread binding him to this foreign city.

Jimmy's phone buzzed.

YURI

🟢: "New drop. 3am. Red Vault. Come alone."

Yuri never asked twice. The Russian was brutal and rich. He had connections deeper than vodka ran in his blood. Jimmy had seen him carve a man open for skimming just 50 grams. Still, Jimmy had no choice but to deal with him. The money was too good. The risk, too thrilling.

---

That night, the Red Vault was pulsing with bass and vice. Neon lights flickered like broken promises. Jimmy walked through the crowd, slipping past drunken dancers and drugged-out models. His backpack held 10 kilos of white thunder-purity so clean it could make a bishop kneel.

"Late," Yuri grunted as he appeared in the corner booth, flanked by two bald enforcers.

Jimmy dropped the bag on the table. "Quality takes time."

Yuri smirked, fingers drumming the table before motioning one of his men to inspect the goods. After a tense moment, the man gave a subtle nod. Yuri tossed a thick envelope onto the table.

As Jimmy pocketed the cash, he felt it-eyes watching. He turned subtly, scanning the crowd. A man at the bar, too sober. A woman near the DJ, pretending to dance but speaking into a cufflink.

Feds.

His gut tightened. He had been warned: Russia wasn't a place to play hero. The Special Narcotics Force operated like ghosts-no uniforms, no warnings, just silent arrests and vanishing bodies.

Jimmy leaned closer to Yuri. "We're watched. I'm out."

"No," Yuri snapped, grabbing his wrist. "You leave now, you die now."

Jimmy didn't wait. He twisted out of Yuri's grip and slipped into the crowd. The bass masked the sound of a gun cocking. He weaved through bodies, heart racing, vision tunneling. Red Vault's backdoor was barely guarded.

As he burst into the alley, snow whipped his face. He ran. Not just from Yuri or the feds-but from himself. The money, the high, the illusion of control-it was all catching up.

For the first time in months, Jimmy was sober. And it terrified him.