Carton of creamer in hand, Nero emerged from the fully stocked fridge and joined me at the counter. The carton was set down. A mug was brought down from the cupboard to join it.
“We should deal with the Luis thing first,” he mused, locating the freshly brewed pot of coffee and filling the cup. “We can talk to Mike afterwards.” He glanced up from his task. “What do you think of Mike, anyway? I liked him the few times we talked, but do you think he’s up to taking Joaquin’s position?”
Mike was a good guy from what I assessed. He loved his family, which my past-self would have considered a weakness, but I’d seen him with his two little girls and his beautiful wife. They always seemed so happy. No one could have guessed he helped run drugs, but sometimes, a guy had to do what he needed to support his family.
I’d had my misgivings. Mike, like a few of the others were the skeletal remains of Cortez’s old crew. I had wanted to start over, find a crew loyal to Nero, but he hadn’t wanted to start over when everyone already knew their jobs. I knew that wasn’t the whole reason. I knew part of his decision was so people like Mike didn’t lose their livelihoods. The other part was not having to deal with the idiots who might start trouble for getting axed, but he was the boss. It was his job to make the big decisions. It was my job to make sure his decisions didn’t get him killed.
“Mike’s fine.”
He lifted a brow. “Do you have someone else in mind?”
I shook my head, watching him dump half the creamer into his mug. “Not really. I think we can trust Mike.”
He nodded slowly. “Good. I’m glad you agree. Now,” he set the creamer down and reached for the sugar bowl. He heaped two mounds in after the creamer. “What about Luis?”
I set my mug down and tugged my phone free of my back pocket. “The guy’s name is Roberto Franco.” I pulled open the text I’d sent the crew the night before. The mission had been to find the guy, which had been the easy part. My other request had been blackmail material, anything I could use against him if things started going against us. I got four replies back. All four gave me Franco’s name and the same basic information. “He’s just a smalltime bookie.” I dropped my phone down and returned to my mug, wrapping my fingers around the warm ceramic. “Charges way too much on interest. Known for breaking a few kneecaps when that payment isn’t met. Has a few underground connections, but nothing too exciting. I think we should just kill him.”
Nero hummed contemplatively and took a sip of his nasty concoction. I fought not to barf. “If he does have connections, someone might notice. Don’t want to start anything with the underground crew. We’ll just go down and chat.”
I didn’t say that part of me had wanted to forget the name and let Luis get what was coming to him. He’d put himself in that mess when it hadn’t been necessary. The fact that no one had come to collect from him should have been indication enough that no one was coming to collect from him, but in his fit of foolish pride, Luis had taken it upon himself to find a shady loan shark and take out a loan he couldn’t pay. That was his problem. I had no sympathies for the guy. Had I not loved his daughter, I would have walked away and never looked back.
But I did love Mia and I knew she would be devastated if anything happened to her parents and we did nothing to help them, even though Luis was a grown ass man who had made his own bed.
I blew out a frustrated breath without thinking and immediately caught Nero’s attention.
“What?”
I shook my head, masking my annoyance behind my drink. “Nothing.”
“You sure?”
My hesitation lasted a full second before I blurted, “I think we should just let Franco break Luis’s knee a little as a lesson not to be such a self-righteous prick.”
“Dav…” Nero sighed, unimpressed by my idea.
“Just a thought.”
He shook his head and turned to dump the rest of his white coffee down the drain. He rinsed the sugary sludge from the bottom and placed the mug down on the rack.
“Okay, let’s visit Franco.” He wiped his hands on the dishrag hanging off the oven handle bar and turned to me. “Then we’ll deal with the rest.”
I dumped my mug in the sink, grabbed my phone and followed Nero out the door.
The sketchy building stuffed uncomfortably between a knife sharpening place and some store that only advised the passerby to come in in white chalk across grimy glass looked right at home. It did not surprise me in the slightest that that was where Franco was holed up. The inside smelled exactly how a lowlife would smell, like desperation, sweat, raw feet in the hot summer sun, boiled eggs, and sex. Franco, the massive tube of sweaty flesh and hair sat behind a counter lined with abandoned Xboxes, VCRs, a trumpet, a bunch of phones, and something that may have been cock cages, but I didn’t look too closely at them.
“You again.” Franco shoved off the flimsy stool and stood at his full weight. “If you came to talk me out of—”
“We’re here to pay Luis’s debt,” Nero interrupted. “You can take your hand off the shotgun. You won’t get a round off before I get you between the eyes.”
In the gloom of the store, I hadn’t seen the hand tucked beneath the counter, but I knew Nero wasn’t bluffing; he’d get six shots off before the guy even had a chance to draw.
Gingerly, the man raised both hands, palms open. “Let’s talk then, gentlemen.”
Nero approached the counter and pulled out a checkbook, a new thing even for us, but Eduardo had insisted it was ours to use for business. Luis’s debt wasn’t business, but what Eduardo didn’t know, I supposed. And twenty large was practically pocket change in comparison to what he normally spent in a day.
“Are you kidding?” Franco barked. “What kind of store do you think this is?”
“The kind that won’t turn away money,” Nero replied smoothly, setting the book down and flipping through the crisp pages. “You can accept this, plus a little something for your troubles, or forgive the debt and we can all go on with our lives.” He raised his head and fixed the man with cool, focused eyes. “What will it be?”
Franco’s many jowls warbled. Bloodshot eyes went from the open book and the promise of a little something extra to Nero, no doubt weighing the risks. Cash meant more for him to pocket. A check meant a paper trail, but I doubted he had very many people waltzing into that shithole and just offering up free money. Truth was, he could refuse. He could ask for more. I knew Nero wouldn’t have refused. He would have pulled the cash if it came down to it. But like most, Franco only saw the quick payout dangling in front of his nose.
“Fine!” he snapped at last, spraying spittle across the grimy counter. “But only because I’m in a giving mood.”
I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes.
Nero wrote the check, tore it from the booklet and held it out. Franco’s hand lunged for it like a cobra sensing a wounded mouse. His fingers snatched air when Nero tugged back.
“You can have this, but you are going to do something for me, Franco.”
Murky, hazel eyes blinked at the request, or maybe that Nero knew his name. “What?”
Nero planted his forearms on the counter and leaned in, bringing his face close to the other man’s. “You’re going to put word out on the street that Luis Martinez is off limits. No one is to work with him. His name is mud. Understand?”