said. “You think we just jumped on a plane and come up here to mill around?”
“But how did you check?” Esteban said. “Ain’t it a long way?”
“The town paper prints a summary of the week’s real-estate transactions every Thursday.”
“You can get the Paradise paper over there?” Esteban said.
“We got people to do it for us,” Romero said.
He punched the navigation system that came with the car, and in a moment the directions came up. Esteban stared at it.
“How far you been from Horn Street, kid?” Romero asked.
“I ain’t no kid,” Esteban said. “I’m twenty years old, man.”
“How far you been?”
“Got no reason to go far,” Esteban said. “Got all I need right there. Got my boys. Got pussy, beer, wheeze. Nobody fucks with us. Got no reason to leave.”
“Ever kill anybody, Esteban?” Romero said.
“Hey, man, I just scragged the old lady a little while ago, you know that.”
“Ever kill anybody who could kill you?” Romero said.
“Shit, man, what are you saying? I kill anybody needs to be killed, man. I ain’t scared.”
“You recognize Cromartie if you see him?”
“I’ll recognize the cocksucker.”
“Good,” Romero said. “You see him, you tell me.”
“You gonna kill him?”
“Yes,” Romero said. “We are.”
“You don’t know what he looks like?” Esteban said.
“I do,” Romero said.
“I can show you where little hot pants lives, too,” Esteban said.
“Name’s Amber,” Romero said. “I don’t think Mr. Francisco would like it to have you call her ‘hot pants.’”
“Fuck him,” Esteban said. “I say what I want.”
Romero nodded.
“I don’t much like it, either,” Romero said.
“So fuck you, too,” Esteban said. “You think I’m scared of you?”
From the backseat one of the men from Miami caught Romero’s eye in the rearview mirror and made a shooting gesture with his forefinger and thumb at Esteban. Romero shook his head.
“Well,” Romero said to Esteban, “you probably know what you’re talking about.”
“You got that right, man,” Esteban said. “Hot…Pants! You want to see where she lives?”
