Burn Cards
Page 9
“Doug was a mistake, I admit. He took money from my dead husband when times were good. He paid him back with interest. Can you imagine that? With interest?” She leaned back into the shade of the umbrella. “My how times change. Doug showed me a great disrespect. Why, because I am a woman?” She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth.
“You understand, no?”
NO. A voice screamed inside my head for her to stop. I pushed hard off the chair, lunging for the table. The Bouncer wrapped me up, thick arms around my chest before I could take two steps. He dragged me back as I fought against his grip. “What the fuck were you thinking?” he whispered in my ear. “I did you a favor.”
“Such excitement,” said Guzman. She barely acknowledged the struggle as she lifted the purse and reached inside. “That is why you have brought me…”
She closed her eyes and whistled a sigh through her teeth. The muscles in her forearm tensed as she withdrew the revolver.
“Damon,” she said, with an air of disappointment. She held the gun aloft by the barrel and Damon stepped forward to retrieve the prize. I nearly fainted at the sight of the gun, the Bouncer guiding me back into the chair.
Eyes still closed, Guzman pressed a finger against her lips, gesturing me to be quiet before I could speak.
“Mirna…”she said, “this is not the gift I was expecting. You came here, to my house, to use this?”
I opened my mouth but nothing came out.
“Maybe I was wrong. There is too much of Doug in you. Your father made a habit of crossing lines that could not be easily uncrossed. Unfortunately you seem to be following in his footsteps.”
I set the glass on the patio and stood. Damon tensed but Guzman waved him off.
“Doug might have been of my blood but he was not my father. Whatever mistakes you made in loaning him money are your own. The debt died with Doug.”
Guzman chuckled, set down her glass and adjusted her dress.
“Before my mother died, she pulled me close and said, ‘Clara, our fathers sinned and are no more, but we bear their offense.’ Have you heard that before?”
I shook my head.
“My father’s poor business decisions had brought my family to our knees in poverty, my mother to her grave. I worked every day to restore our name.”
“You know how well your mother did working herself to death. There’s no way I can pull the kind of money you’re looking for at the salon, and you know it.”
“I’m not here to help you, Mirna. I’m here to ask and to receive.”
“Then ask elsewhere. You’re not getting anything from me.”
I snatched the purse and threw it over my shoulder. As I passed she cursed, looked at her wrist like she wore a watch. I heard her say, “Damon. It’s getting late.”
I looked up at the sky to see the moon and the setting sun side by side. Too far apart to tangle, and yet I felt an eclipse coming all the same.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Christopher Irvin is the author of Federales, as well as short stories featured in several publications, including Thuglit, Beat to a Pulp, and Shotgun Honey. He lives with his wife and son in Boston, Massachusetts.
ABOUT THE PUBLISHER
280 Steps is an independent publishing company specializing in crime fiction. Discover established authors, rising stars and crime classics.
For more information about 280 Steps and our titles, please visit us at 280steps.com
COPYRIGHT
A 280 Steps Original. Visit us at 280steps.com
Copyright © 2015 by Christopher Irvin
ISBN: 978-82-93326-45-8
eISBN: 978-82-93326-44-1
Publishers note:
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
If you would like to use material from the eBook (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher: info@280steps.com.
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For more about this book and author, visit us at 280steps.com