It didn’t take long to get hooked on what the gang had to offer. The problem was, Bobby Ray didn’t like carrying what had killed his mother. Every night after he made a delivery, he’d dream about Mama in a cheap motel room. She’d be sitting on rumpled sheets, her body emaciated, her face ravaged by guilt and shame. She’d cry and hold her hands out to him. You know I love you, baby. You know I’m gonna come back. Don’t you? He’d wake up in a cold sweat, heart pounding, tears still wet on his cheeks.
