The Mystic Arts of Erasing All Signs of Death - Charlie Huston [79]
—No. No way. Too weird.
Jaime shot me an eye.
—Say what?
—Nothing. I'm cool. I'm here. This is happening. I know this is happening. I'm here. This is here and now. I'm here.
—Dude, are you?
—I'm fine. I'm cool. So. You were saying, ten percent?
He tilted his head.
—OKaaaaaay. So, Mr. Scary Asshole, what I'm saying is, I want it understood that if we bring them their can, with the almonds, I'm not sacrificing my ten percent. They're the ones pulling out of the deal. I took the time and expense of arranging a buyer for their property and all that shit. I'm not just walking away with nothing.
I finished taking the deep breaths that seemed to be doing very little to help calm me.
—Yes, but you will not be getting nothing. You will, in fact, be getting your sister.
—That wasn't the deal! I want my ten percent! And the real ten percent. Whatever you said that was.
—OK, fine. So how do we?
He picked up the gun.
—With this. Motherfuckers try to duck out without paying my due, I'm taking action. So you know how I roll. That's what I'm saying. Respect, gotta have it.
That bit of dialogue coming straight from Boyz N the Hood if I'm not mistaken.
I stared at the gun in his hand. I thought about how my brain might react to a sudden outbreak of gunfire. Another sudden outbreak of gunfire, I mean. I thought about how my body might react to a sudden outbreak of bullets hitting it. I thought about cops, and who would be screwed if I called them, and found I couldn't keep track of all the details. I thought about thinking about what I said next, but knew if I did I wouldn't be able to say what I said. If that makes sense. Which, of course, it does not.
—I'll cover it.
—Huh?
—The ten percent, I'll cover it.
—What? How?
—I can cover that. If they don't come through, and I kind of think we shouldn't even bring it up, I'll pay it.
He weighed the gun on his hand.
—Bullshit. You clean up after dead people. Where you gonna get twenty-two Gs?
I waited.
He shook his head.
—Twenty-six four! I mean twenty-six four! We're talking twenty-six four here.
—I can get it. I have savings and shit. I can cover it. I'll cover it. If they won't pay you, I will.
He looked me over, licked his lips.
—Know if you're fucking around what will happen, right?
—You'll cut me bad, is what I'm thinking.
—At the least.
—Yeah, at the least.
He nodded.
—OK. OK. Deal. We give them the can no matter what.
—After they give us Soledad.
—Yeah, right, whatever.
I pointed at the gun.
—And you leave that behind when we meet them.
—Fuck that.
—Fine, fuck it. Forget the deal then. Go shoot it out. Get all the respect you want. Shit wears well in the grave.
—Maaan.
He set the gun on the dash.
—Shit. Fucking sister. Fucking Soledad.
I thought about Soledad.
Man, I liked that girl. A lot. And man it sucked that I was right and she'd dragged me into this deal knowing there was a deal to be dragged into. Shit. I'd really thought … I don't even know what. But hey, she could have all kinds of reasons for being involved deeper than she'd let on. She could just be trying to clean up a mess her dad left behind. Not like she was thinking clearly or anything. Girl's dad commits suicide, she's all screwed up and … oh. Oh shit.
Suicide.
Criminal enterprise.
Violent suicide.
Moneymoneymoneymoneymoney
You see how long it takes me to put these things together? That's because I'm not as smart as I think I am. But you probably gathered that. Because you're probably not as stupid as I am. I know that because no one is as stupid as I am.
No one except maybe Jaime.
—What kind of gun is that?
He looked at it.
—Nine.
—Again?
—It's a nine-millimeter. Gun of choice for all.
—Where'd it come from? You get it off a set like the knife?
He raised an eyebrow.
—I got it from Soledad.
HINTERLANDS
—What are you staring at, asshole?
—Nothing.
That's what I said. What I was in fact staring at was the gun. The gun he'd gotten from Soledad. The nine-millimeter he'd gotten from Soledad.
I looked at him.
—I'm not staring at anything.
I started