I take a pull of my soda and casually give the girls another once over, wanting to make sure Jorgie’s not about to deal to undercover cops. My instincts have saved him a couple times over the years. But he doesn’t even check with me for confirmation on this one. We’re both 99% sure these two are what they seem.
He gets to his feet and wraps an arm around each girl’s waist, leading them around the corner so they can complete their transaction.
I briefly hope that Jorgie’s not ruining those girls’ lives. But I recognize that the choice is theirs to make. It’s a free country after all. No one’s forcing them to buy whatever he’s selling . . . something I know nothing about. Jorgie and I never talk about the specifics of his extra-curriculars. For my daughter’s sake, I need to keep my nose so clean that it shines. It would only take one little run-in with the cops to have Child Protective Services all over my ass. The mere possibility of Rosa being taken away from me and placed into foster care makes me sick. At least I know Jorgie’s not carrying anything on him; he’ll text someone, probably Mike, to meet the girls a few blocks away to hand over the product.
I sigh. I haven’t been able to convince either of my best friends to get on the straight and narrow. Unfortunately there’s not much incentive for them. Working a regular job doesn’t generally involve easy money, working whenever you feel like it, or offers to party with college girls. Besides, Jorgie likes the buzz of his semi-celebrity status too much, and since he’s dealing under the protective wing of his uncle, Alejandro, who’s known as El Jefe on the streets, there’s not much to worry about.
Alejandro is as deep into organized crime as one can get, whereas Jorgie just ‘dabbles.’ Jorgie’s mother, Alejandro’s sister, has made it very clear that her son is not to be involved with Los Santos del Diablo in any real way. Nevertheless, I worry that Jorgie has a false sense of invincibility. And no one’s invincible, just ask my uncle. All his association with El Jefe and Los Santos del Diablo got him was four bullets to the chest in a drive-by eight years ago.
“What’s with the face?” Jorgie demands as he re-takes his seat next to me a few minutes later.
“Nothing,” I tell him, brushing my depressing thoughts aside. “How’s it going?”
He flashes me a smug smile. “You know me, man. I’m always good.”
It’s hard to be a cranky bastard when I’m hanging out with Jorgie. He’s the world’s biggest optimist. The guy is never in a bad mood.
“You?” he tags on.
I shrug. “Meh.”
“Well, I’ve got something that’ll cheer you up.” His smirk deepens. “It involves Juanita.”
“What about her?” I ask warily. Juanita and I have a long-standing ‘friends with bennies’ thing going on. Whenever she’s single, she calls me up.
“I heard she ditched that guy she was seeing.”
“Oh yeah?” I can’t stop the corner of my mouth from tugging up and he sees it right away.
“You lucky dog.”
“Not lucky yet. She hasn’t called me.”
“Yeah. Like you say, yet.”
I frown a bit. “She didn’t say anything, did she?”
He tsks. “You know she’s not like that. She’s an actual woman who can keep shit private.”
That’s true. Juanita is a few years older than I am . . . like ten years. But that’s what I like about her. She’s not looking for a ring. At least not from me. It’s a perfect situation for both of us.
“Anyway,” Jorgie keeps talking, “I immediately thought of you when Cindy mentioned it.”
“Cindy? You guys back together again?”
“Yeah. You know I can’t give her up.”
I laugh. “Even if your abuela doesn’t approve?”
“Fuck, the only women my grandmother approves of are the ones who spend all their free time at church. The only man I want my woman getting on her knees for is me.”
Snorting, I can’t help but shoot back, “Then I don’t know what you’re doing with Cindy.”
He makes like he’s going to punch me, but he knows I’m only kidding around. I’ve known Cindy almost as long as I’ve known Jorgie.
He catches me up on all the latest gossip about our neighborhood, our high school friends, and Los Santos – and in between he makes his deals. People seem to materialize out of the woodwork every five to ten minutes.
We’re heading north to change corners when he hits me with a topic I could do without.
“You seen Lolita lately?”
I chuck my empty soda can in the trash sullenly. “Not in a couple weeks. What’d she do this time?” Lolita may be the mother of my daughter, but she’s not my favorite person. She has the right to see Rosa every Wednesday evening and every other weekend, but she doesn’t always show.
“I’ve seen her out at the clubs a lot lately.”
Before I can remind him that that’s not a crime, he goes on. “She’s been hanging out with Richie.”
“Richie?” I draw a blank for a second, but then, “Vasquez?”
He nods, and my stomach plunges.
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah, man. Last Saturday, they were going at it hot and heavy at Insignia.”
Richie Vasquez grew up in our neighborhood. He was a few years ahead of us in school, so I’ve never dealt with him personally, but he has a serious reputation for being a mean, lazy bastard.
“What’s she doing with him?”
“Don’t know. But it’s possible she was on more than just a booze-high last weekend.”
“Dammit, Jorgie.” I lower my voice to a hiss. “Did you sell to her?”
“No! Of course not,” he says indignantly. “I’m not stupid and I’m not the only game in town, not even close.”
I huff out a breath. “Yeah, I know. Sorry.” If Lolita is back to getting high, it will kill my sweet Rosa. Her mother just got her visitation rights back three months ago. “Keep an eye on her, would you?” Though I’m not sure if I mean to keep my ex safe or if I just want an informant.
“That’s what brothers are for, right?” he says as we both make note of a big dude coming toward us on the sidewalk. He lifts his chin at Jorgie, a sure sign he wants to do business, and I choke back a scoff at the way he’s wearing mirrored aviators at night. What a douche.
Our steps slow as we all casually move out of the flow of foot traffic. “I know you?” Jorgie asks.
“Nah, man. I know you.”
“That right?”
My radar pings. First time buyer. I study him more closely. This guy’s almost as tall as I am. He’s got crew cut dark hair and he’s wearing a light blue polo and khakis, but then my eyes hit the ground. He should be wearing some kind of loafers to go with this preppy get up, but instead there are scuffed black boots on his feet that are much too . . . utilitarian. My radar pings again. I don’t like it.
They’re casually shooting the shit about people they may or may not have in common, feeling each other out when I interrupt with, “What’s with the shades?”
Jorgie shoots me a quick, calculating look, reading my comment for the warning it is.