I dropped my gaze, staring at the ugly blue floor with the light blue rectangles overlaying the dark blue background. Why did they always choose the most boring décor for the most boring of places?

“Phoenix?”

“I knew him, yes,” I answered, still glaring downwards.

Any other name, and I wouldn’t have remembered. But Jazz was a name I had somehow retained in my mind. Mostly because it was a nickname, and being in a gang meant you got good at keeping a record of nicknames. But from my memory, Jazz himself wasn’t affiliated in any gang. His chosen nickname was simply because he liked that genre of music. Why I knew that? Because his brother had been my cellmate.

Eddie Appiah. Serving four years for possession of Class B drugs with the intent to supply.

I never spoke to any of my brothers about what happened during my fourteen months in jail, not even Landon. But here I was looking at someone who knew about the worst thing that ever happened in there.

“I’m…going,” I muttered, turning to leave.

“Wait,” Jazz reached for my shoulder again before he let his hand fall to his side. I noticed the skin on the back of his hand was shiny and wrinkled. “What brings you here?”

I blinked at him, stunned into silence. He remembered who I was, and he wanted to carry on talking to me? If our roles were reversed, I’d probably be pummelling his face in. It didn’t make sense.

“I moved here,” I shrugged loosely.

“From London?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow,” he smiled faintly. “Small world, isn’t it?”

I frowned, wondering what angle he was trying to take. Play the nice card, but for what reason?

“How come you’re here?” I asked him.

“Moved here too,” he looked around the library. “Been here for a few years now. I own a business in town.”

I couldn’t help the quirk of my brows, “You own a business? Then why are you reading about starting one?”

“Never hurts to know more,” Jazz chuckled. “These books are ninety percent bullshit, but there’s ten percent truth in them too.”

I glanced to the book he was holding, noticing that the skin on that hand too had the same marred appearance. It must have been some type of scarring.

“Fire,” he said.

“What?” I met his dark eyes.

“I burnt my hands in a fire,” Jazz explained, raising both his hands and giving them a turn.

“Oh,” I mumbled. “Shame.”

He laughed, tipping his head back as if what I’d said had been so funny.

“You could have said it like you meant it,” he grinned, lowering his voice after we were given a couple annoyed looks.

I had meant it, but I didn’t bother to try and convince him.

“Anyways, you looking for business tips too?” he asked me when it became clear I wasn’t going to say anything else.

I looked away, scratching my stubble, “You could say that.”

“Are you starting up? Or you already have something going?” Jazz seemed awfully interested.

“I don’t know,” I snapped. “Just…looking…around.”

“Okay,” he raised a hand as if backing off. “Well, if you want to talk about business, or you want any help, here’s my card. I might even have a vacancy in my business, if you’re interested.”

Help? I hated that word. I never needed help. I’d never ask for it, and I still wouldn’t accept it when offered. And who said I was looking to work for him anyway? Since when did this become an interview?

Jazz fished out a small card from his wallet and held it to me. I glanced at the black card with gold and red accents, then back at him. We watched each other as the seconds ticked by, and finally I reached out to take the bloody card. I shoved it in my pocket without looking at it, and I caught another smile on Jazz’s face, as if he knew something I didn’t. I was about to demand what was so funny, but he was already drawing away.

“See you around,” he nodded at me as he left.

I watched him go. He was as tall as me, maybe a little taller, his shoulders broad and body packed with as much muscle as I had. Only when he was going down the stairs to the ground floor, did I pull his card from my pocket and read what it said.

 

Kulture. Fashion Brand. Jazz Appiah.

 

Fashion? He thought I’d be interested in that? I scoffed to myself, stuffing the card back in my pocket and heading to my table. In the corner of my mind, I could hear Landon’s voice telling me that an opportunity was an opportunity. Jazz may not have known me personally, but he knew about me through his brother and that seemed to be enough. For some reason, I doubted my lack of a CV would be a hinderance. But still, I wasn’t that desperate.