Wednesday's Three Word Wednesday

The words over at Three Word Wednesday are gloom, kneel and transparent.

Blown
Baxter emerged from the gloom, his overcoat undone at the waist, a devilish smile stitched to his face.
He’d been gone for nearly two hours; we thought about calling the cops, but none of us could think up a good reason for his disappearance. “Headed out for coke” surly didn’t cut it.
He took off the overcoat, unbuttoned the top button on his shirt, loosened his tie.
Then started making that clicking sound with his teeth.
“Bitches started to panic, am I right?” Baxter said, looking past everyone and locking eyes on me. “Bax all alone in the big, bad world.”
He tossed the ball of coke, it was the size of a boiled egg, on the table. It was wound tight in transparent plastic wrap and tied up with a white twisty-tie. Like some street vendor’s treat.
“Kneel before the master,” Bax said, rubbing his nose between his thumb and forefinger to get the blood flowing. “All hail Baxter, provider extraordinaire for you sick fucks.”
We all gave a mock salute, raising vodka rocks all around on limp wrists.
“Fuck you very much,” Bax said, reaching a grubby hand into the ice bucket.
Bax was the friend you called as an order of last resort. The pompous ass who had the money and said he had the connections. I think he knew we all secretly hated him, but he never said anything. I think he was too arrogant to care. Or too stupid. It was a toss-up.
“Snort up, ladies, it’s not getting any fresher,” he said, draining the highball.
Levanthal stripped the twisty-tie, opened the plastic wrap and started the shave the ball with a razorblade. We all went for wallets and money clips, and rolled up fresh, crisp twenties from various ATMs across the city. Long lines were laid out across Carson’s mirrored coffee table. Like thoroughbreds at the starting gate, we had the bills in nostrils, waiting for the word to go. Shots were poured, the perfect aperitif for the evening’s first snort.
Bax stepped back, watched the feeding frenzy with that crooked smile of his.
It took a few seconds, but everyone started clawing at their noses with frantic, trembling fingers. Leventhal opened his mouth to scream, but all that came out were foamy bubbles of bright red. Carson tried to scream, but it sounded like air escaping from a balloon. Noses bled, convulsions started.
Through a gush of tears, I watched as Bax slipped on his overcoat, gave a two-fingered salute to the boys.
“Enjoy your last few seconds on this Earth,” he said. “Oh, and the Draino, too.”