Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I'm currently stuffing my face with cereal and Jughead walks into the kitchen looking flustered and worried. "What's wrong?"
He sits down next to me at the kitchen table and starts whispering so Betty can't hear us in the bedroom. "Penny called."
"Oh God, Jug, what does she want?" I've heard some stories about this chick and she doesn't sound good. And if Dad doesn't want us talking to her then she must be bad news.
"I don't know. She wants me to meet her at Pop's." He starts shaking his leg and runs his hands through his hair.
"Well, I'm going with you." I stand up and put my bowl in the sink.
"Stevie-"
"No, I'm going. Whatever she has planned, you aren't doing by yourself. Together always, remember?" I stick my pinky up and he looks at it for a moment before looking me in the face and grabbing it.
Jughead and I sit across from Penny Peabody as she digs into a stack of pancakes.
"I can't do this favor for you, whatever it is." Jughead says to her. "If I have to pay you for helping my Dad-"
She cuts him off, "He needs more help, that's why I called." Jughead and I look at each other before turning back to Penny. "FP got in a little accident with some Ghoulies in the prison showers the other day. He's in the infirmary now."
"Is he okay?" Jughead asks. I'm too worried to even think properly let alone string together a coherent sentence.
"Well, they messed up that pretty face of his. The Ghoulies wanted blood payback for that deal you and that Northsider made with Sheriff Keller. got at there higher ups locked away." Penny says. Something about this is off though. She seems way too nonchalant about this whole thing.
"That wasn't- What can we do, to get him out?" Jughead leans forward on the table.
"For that you would need money. You need money. Rich people? Rich people don't sit in jail. Money greases the wheel's of justice." I hate to say it, but she's right. It's so messed up, but she's right.
"I have eighteen dollars to my name." Jughead says.
"I've got nothing." I let out an exasperated sigh.
Penny hums in response, "Well, then maybe we should think of this favor as a job. Just a one time delivery. You pick up a crate in the Southside, deliver it to an address in Greendale. That's it."
"What's in the crate?" Jughead questions.
"Let's say, um, pancake mix." She says. It would just be easier to say cocaine you know.
