by B. B. Hamel
“I do,” Dante said.
“Then act like it.”
“Enough,” Steven said. “This is bigger than just revenge, Vince. Stop acting like we need to go get our boys killed just because the Jalisco hurt your pride.”
Vince stared at him, a wild and shocked look on his face. He looked around the room, and I followed his gaze. Nothing but closed, tired expressions looked back at him, and I realized that he was on his back foot.
“You’re fucking kidding me,” Vince said. “Steven, when that big asshole, what was his name? The fat kid with that stupid baseball bat he loved?”
“Bill Bowler,” Steven said.
“When that fat fuck beat the shit out of you, what did I do?”
“You slammed into him with your bike, took his bat, and broke both his knees,” Steven said.
“And you, Dante. When that Chinese crew was wrecking shit and we were at war, what did I do when they sent an enforcer after you?”
“Came to my house,” Dante said, staring at the table. “Came with a gun, stayed up all night.”
“And killed the fuckers when they tried to break down the back door,” Vince said. “You two know me better than anyone else in this room.”
“You’ve been gone a long time,” Steven said.
“I have,” Vince said. “I know it, I can’t deny it. But you two know the kind of man I am. I haven’t changed one bit. If the Jalisco came after either of you on my turf, I’d already be at war.”
Steven glanced at Dante, who looked back with a grunt and a nod. Steven shook his head and met Vince’s gaze again.
“My contact in the Jalisco got in touch this morning,” Steven said.
Vince leaned back and folded his arms over his chest. He stared at Steven, licked his lips, tilted his chin up.
“And what did your little friend have to say for himself?” Vince asked.
“They want to meet,” he said. “They think they can make things right.”
“They can make things right by bleeding,” Vince said.
“Give them a chance,” Dante said. “I don’t want to see any of my guys die if they don’t have to.”
Vince slammed his palms down on the table. More than a few of the assembled guys jumped a little, and at least one reached for something behind his back.
“They tried to kill me,” Vince said, his voice a harsh growl. “And you talk about making peace. What the fuck happened to you?”
“You’ve been gone a while, Vince,” Steven said. “Take the meeting.”
Vince shook his head and leaned back again. I could see the tension all over his body, in the way his right eye twitched, in the way his arms flexed. He wanted to get up and break something. This wasn’t how he thought this meeting would go.
I spoke up before I even thought about it. I knew it was stupid and dangerous to open my mouth, but I couldn’t help myself.
“Why do you think they want to meet?” I asked.
Every single person stared at me like I grew a head and that head was gibbering in some mad language.
“What?” Steven asked. “Vince, why is this girl here?”
Vince held up a hand. “Answer her,” he said.
Steven stared at me, made a face, shook his head. “They want to avoid a war,” he said. “Just as much as we do.”
“It’s a trap,” I said. “They tried to kill him once. They knew that was as good as starting a war. Why the hell wouldn’t they do it again?”
Steven opened his mouth, worked his jaw, shut it again. I looked at Vince and his face seemed to relax a little as his smile beamed a bit of love in my direction. I felt myself return that smile, return that love, and sit up a little straighter.
“They’re not that stupid,” Dante said.
“Yes, they are,” Vince said. “You two are the stupid ones with your damn heads up your asses. But you know what? I’ll take the fucking meeting.”
“Vince—” I said, but he held up a hand to stop me.
“It’s the right call,” Steven said.
“It’s not,” Vince said. “But it’ll show you both that you’re wrong.”
He slid sideways, nudging me away, and we both got up. I walked into the center aisle and lingered as Vince stood over the table, staring down at Steven and Dante.
“You two used to have my back.”
“We still do,” Steven said. “And we will again. But if we can avoid war, we have to try.”
Vince just shook his head, disappointment radiating off him. He stepped toward me then looked over his shoulder. He stared at the older man standing behind the counter and nodded his head, just a fraction of an inch.
“What about you, Sergio?” Vince asked. “You think we should roll over and let the Jalisco kick us in the ribs?”
The older man just shook his head.
“Not my place anymore,” he said.
“Figured,” Vince said, turning away. “This city got soft.” He walked to the door, pushed it open, and walked outside.
I followed him, walking as fast as I could, hurrying to get out of that den of vipers.
Vince strode back toward the car. He stopped beside it, pressed his hands against the door, then kicked the tire. He kicked it again and again and again, letting out a vicious growl each time.
“Fuck,” he said. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“Vince,” I said, putting a hand on his shoulder.
He shook it off. “Fuck them,” he said, standing up. “I leave for a few years and they forget who I am. Did you see the fear in their eyes?”
“They’re scared,” I said.
“They’re fucking pathetic,” he said. “They both went through wars recently and now suddenly they lose their spine.”
“Can you blame them?” I asked. “They just want to avoid bloodshed if they can.”
“Fuck them,” Vince said. “Don’t defend those motherfuckers.”
I held up my hands. “I just want you to try to see it from their perspective.”
“I can’t,” he said. “The Jalisco tried to kill me, and now my friends are backing down.”
“Steven came to your rescue,” I said. “Remember that? He was in the street with you.”
“True,” Vince said, taking a deep breath. “True, he came when he had to.”
“They’ll step up,” I said. “Just give them a chance.”
He clenched his jaw then stood up straight. “We have a meeting to prepare for,” he said, walked around the car, and got in.
I slipped into the passenger side, my guts a mess of anxiety.
21
Mona
Vince spent the rest of that day and most of the night on the phone setting up the details of the meeting. I lounged on the couch, alternating between extreme worry and extreme boredom. I watched shadows stretch across the hardwood floor and stared at his television as it played reruns of Jeopardy on Netflix.
He was quiet when he went to bed that night. I wasn’t sure if I should sleep with him, but he took me by the hand and led me up to his room. He sat me down on the edge of the bed and looked at me like a disappointed parent.
“You shouldn’t have spoken up at the meeting today,” he said.
I leaned back on my hands and raised both eyebrows, unable to hide my surprise. “Really?” I asked.
“But I’m glad you did.” He relaxed his posture a little bit. “I only want to make sure you’re safe. Drawing attention to yourself like that… it’s not a good idea in front of that many soldiers.”
“I hear you,” I said. “But nobody was talking about it.”
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, pacing with a little nervous energy. “The trap thing ran through my mind, too,” he said. “Makes no sense for the Jalisco to want to meet. But if they’re set on trying to avoid war, I can’t force them into it without some ill will.”
“So, what, you’re just going out there to sacrifice yourself?”
He gave me a tight little smile and stopped walking.
“Pretty much,” he said. “Show them just how sincere the Jalisco really are.”
“Are you sure you should do this?”
“I have to,” he said. “I don’t think they’ll try anything at the meeting itself. But I’m going to be on my guard after.”
“Where are we having it?”
He snorted and shook his head hard. “Absolutely no way are you coming with me.”
“Come on,” I said. “We came this far together.”
“This isn’t a joke, Mona. The Jalisco will kill you as easily as they’ll kill a fly.”
I sat up straight and leaned toward him, eyes sharp. “You won’t let them do that, will you?”
“Of course not,” he said. “But—”
“Then let me come,” I said. “You can protect me.”
He dropped his hands and laughed like he could barely believe what I’d just said.
“You’re a sly one,” he said. “Trying to go after my pride.”
I grinned a little and spread my hands. “Whatever works.”
“If this is about your little article, I’ll tell you what they say.”
“It’s about seeing this through,” I said.
He met my gaze for a beat and I sat there, a butterfly spread and pinned.
“All right,” he said. “You can come. But no talking. No moving. Nothing out of line, understand?”
“Understand,” I said, relaxing just a touch. “Now, do you want to come join me in bed, or are you too busy?”
He shook his head and began to unbutton his shirt as he walked toward me.
“Little Mona, you’re going to be the death of me,” he said. “And I think I like it.”
“Good,” I said as he leaned down and kissed me.
The meeting was set for early the next morning, right at nine sharp. He got up at six, showered, made coffee. I slept in until eight, got up, showered, dressed, and met him by the front door.
He wore a tailored black suit and I caught sight of a gun tucked into a holster under his arm. I had on a pair of dark jeans and a navy-blue top, cut low, my hair down around my shoulders. He gave me an approving look and gripped my ass as I tried to slip past.
“Easy there,” I said. “We have to get going.”
“We have a little time,” he said.
I laughed, got away from him, and headed into the kitchen. I filled a to-go mug with coffee, and he just gave me a little look as I walked to the front door and opened it.
“Come on, big boy,” I said. “Let’s be early for once.”
“Yes, miss,” he said. “I like this version of you. All the commands and shit.”
I laughed a little, feeling heady and stupid, as I walked down his stoop. I don’t know where this confidence came from or what the hell I thought I was doing, but the thought of danger ahead made me giddy with anticipation.
Maybe I was starting to like it, this life, this excitement.
We got into his SUV and drove through the city. I didn’t know where the meeting was being held, but I knew it didn’t matter. He drove out east and north, heading toward the Delaware River. We drove along the waterfront and parked in a tight space just outside of the Race Street Pier. He killed the engine and sat there for a moment, looking around.
There were cars scattered all over, pressed up against the curb and packed into a small lot nearby. Young couples walked around in cut-off jean shorts and button-down shirts. Guys with their wives and kids, older men and women laughing as they bought ice cream from a nearby truck.
“Here we are,” he said.
“Touristy,” I said.
“But nice.” He squinted a bit and shook his head. “And crowded.”
“That’s good, right?”
“I hope so.” He opened his door. “Come on, let’s go check it out.”
The Race Street Pier used to be an abandoned strip of concrete that jutted out over the Delaware. About six years ago, it went through some serious renovation, and the city turned it into one of the nicer parks around. There was a long strip of grass down the center, with a stepped platform on the one side that stretched the length of the pier. Tall, leafy trees were planted along the center of the platform and benches sat in the shade.
The pier was relatively crowded. People sat on blankets in the grass or lounged on the steps of the beige stone platform. Couples sat on the benches, and a busker stood in the top right corner near the water, playing a guitar and singing to a small crowd of bored-looking people in brightly colored summer clothes.
It was idyllic, almost perfect, and if we weren’t there to meet with a bunch of men that had tried to kill us just a couple days earlier, I might have been looking forward to spending some time there.
“Who are we looking for?” I asked as we moved through the crowd. He led me toward the stone platform, up a set of tiered steps, and into the shade of the trees overlooking the harbor.
“His name is Santos,” Vince said. “He heads the Jalisco in this city.”
“They sent the big boss,” I said.
He laughed, put an arm around my shoulders. “Of course they did. Sending anyone else would guarantee a war.”
“So what’s the plan?”
He shook his head as we passed a group of teenagers crowded around a single phone. They all laughed and I watched them for a second, wondering if I was envious of their laughter or their youth.
But no, I wasn’t envious of either. They lived in a bubble just outside of the real world, but today I was plunging right into that ocean of reality.
“No plan,” he said. “I’ll hear what they have to say.”
“Really?” I asked, trying hard not to let him hear the skeptical note in my voice.
“Really,” he said. “And if they’re lucky, I won’t kill them.”
I nodded my head at the people all around us. “I think that’ll be a little hard, don’t you?”
“Nah,” he said. “Nobody would rat on me. All these people are plants.”
“Wait— really?”
“No,” he said and laughed a little. “Of course not.”
“Shit,” I said.
“Come on, Mona. You don’t really think the mob has that much power, do you?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know how any of this works.”
“We’re strong,” he said, tugging me closer. “But we’re not that strong. That’s some fucking next-level government shit. We can’t fill a park with our own people, even if we wanted to.”
“Good to know, I guess.”
“We could fill a restaurant, though,” he said. “That wouldn’t be so hard.”
He steered me around some slow walking older folks in wide-brimmed hats and fanny packs. We were getting close to the end of the platform, and I felt a strange twist in my guts.
He slowed his pace and dropped his arm from my shoulder.
“Ready?” he asked.
I followed his gaze and saw a man sitting alone on the very last bench in the shade. He had olive skin, stubble on his cheeks, short dark hair. He wore a blue work shirt tucked into tight denim jeans. He was thin, his arms roped in veins, and his eyes flashed toward us.
“I guess so,” I said.
He walked forward and I followed just behind. The man on the bench watched as we approached and didn’t move or smile, his hands folded neatly in his lap, his back straight and prim.
“Santos,” Vince said and stopped a few feet from the bench.
“Hello, Vincent,” Santos said. “I see you brought a guest. I thought we were meeting alone.”
“This is Mona,” Vince said. “She’s my shadow.”
I gave Santos a little wave but he didn’t even look in my direction.
“I see,” he said. “And I thought we were leaving those at home as well.”
“If you want, we can turn around and leave,” Vince said.
Santos held up a hand. “Stay,” he said. “Sit, if you like.” He moved down to the far end of the bench.
Vince looked at me and nodded toward the tree. I took his meaning and wandered toward it, just a few feet behind the two of them as Vince sat down on the bench. Santos looked over his shoulder at me and frowned, and I just gazed back, head tilted like I was trying to study him.
He faced forward again. I was close enough that I could hear every word they said.
“I understand you’re angry,” Santos said.
“That’s an understatement,” Vince said. “And I think you know why.”
“We tried to kill you,” he said. “Of course you’d be unhappy.”
“What I want to know is why?” Vince asked.
“You were a convenient target,” Santos said. “You were unguarded, without your normal crew, and close to the Don himself. I felt you would send a strong message.”
“So, nothing personal, then.” Vince gave a bitter laugh. “You know you dug your own grave, don’t you?”
Santos didn’t move. He kept staring straight ahead, and I wished I could walk around and see his face. He sat so still, like a statue, and I wondered if he felt anything at all.
“Tell me, who’s idea was it to ally with the Russians?” Santos asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” Vince said. “You all but guaranteed that’s happening.”
“I see. And I can’t change your mind?”
“You can’t,” Vince said. “Here’s the problem, Santos. You tried to hit me and failed, but you tipped your hand. Now we know you can be pushed around if we only combine our strength with the Russians. Now they have even more incentive to join up and get a better deal squeezed out of you guys.”
“Or your Gulf friends from New York will come down and push us out.”
Vince seemed to stiffen in response. He tilted his head to one side and looked at Santos.
“That’s the plan,” he said.
“It’s a bad plan,” Santos said. “We won’t roll over and allow it. We may not be strong here, but in Mexico, we rule.”
“True, but we’re not in Mexico, which you sometimes seem to forget.”
Santos fidgeted, just a little, and I frowned as I watched.
“What do you want to make this stop?” Santos asked. “Not just this little spat between our organizations, but this alliance with the Russians.”