Dead Lucky by M.R. Forbes

CHAPTER ONE
    Not the call I was expecting.

    "Conor... The dishes."
    I glanced up from my spot on the sofa, running my finger along the deep tears in the fabric that Mr. Timms had created. Danelle was standing in the doorway to the small kitchen, her dark hair wrapped in a long, braided pony-tail, her forehead slick with sweat.  
    I reached up and rubbed some of my own sweat away from my brow, registering the coldness of my skin despite the heat, and then leaning forward and falling into a fit of coughing. I put my hand up to hold Danelle off from taking on my chore herself while I finished the hack.
    "I've got it," I said. My voice was scratchy, tired. Not a surprise, considering I had one foot in the grave, and the other dangling dangerously close to the edge.  
    "You need your meds?" she asked, once I was done. Her annoyance at my failure to clean up was replaced with a look of concern.  
    "Not yet. We can't afford it, anyway. Not until after the job."
    I got to my feet and made an effort to stretch, feeling my muscles shifting and popping beneath the motion. I pushed my shoulders back, rounded my neck, and coughed again.  
    "Are you sure?"
    "Yeah."
    "Maybe Rayon can do them?"
    "No. I'll do it. I don't want to waste the energy."  
    I gave her a weak smile as I shuffled over in bare, gray, bony feet.  
    When I closed my eyes and sat still enough, I could almost feel the sickness, the disease that coursed through me, that should have stolen my life years ago. Sometimes when I did, I would picture it in my mind, this black, oozy beast that I could somehow conquer with nothing more than sheer will. I would shout it back, and sometimes I could even make it retreat a bit, and leave myself a few minutes to enjoy the peace and relative reduction in pain.
    Until I opened my eyes.  
    I had to open them. I had to get up. I had to keep moving.
    Living with cancer was better than dying with it.  
    Danelle put the back of her hand to my forehead when I reached her. She smiled at me, a row of perfect white teeth contrasted against her darker, native-american skin. "You've been worse."
    "Which is why I don't want the meds yet."
    "Make sure you get all the shit off the plates. Last time the dishwasher just threw it all over everything else and dried it like that."
    "Why the hell do we even bother? We're doing all the work anyway."
    "You want to dry them, too?"
    I made my way over to the sink. The house in general was old, small, and not in the best shape. The sink was worse than that, lined with rust and scratches, and when I turned the knobs the water sputtered from the faucet in fits and gasps, a constant reminder of my own state. A half-dozen plates, bowls, and mugs rested below, waiting to be scrubbed.
    Dannie took a seat at the kitchen table. Her laptop was already resting there, the screen spilling our bank account info out into the room. I didn't need to look at it to know what it said. We weren't living on beans and rice for nothing.
    "Maybe after the job, we can upgrade to long-grain," I joked, lifting the first plate in one hand, an old sponge in the other. I was used to death. Old sponges smelled worse.
    "Not likely. This grab for House Green is paying shit. We'll have just enough to get you boosted and pay the rent."
    "And send some to Molly."
    I winced right after I said it, preparing.
    "Conor...not this time. Seriously. We need to eat."
    "So does she."
    "How much was the insurance policy for? It's guilt money. Nothing else."
    I bit my tongue. "Do we have to do this now?"
    A long, silent pause while I finished the first dish and dropped it in the washer.
    "No. We can worry about it after the job."
    I picked up the second dish and looked down at it. I was distorted in the reflection, and it almost made me look better. There was nothing pretty about bald, spindly, and gray.  
    "You want to run through it again?" I asked.  
    Preparation was gold in our line of work. Preparation kept you alive.
    "Hang on." She had to pull