Theirs, and mine.
I might not be guilty of Scott’s and Traci’s murders, but I am responsible. Lot of karma to pay off.
Maybe set up some kind of foundation, help out in the Third World. Start paying it back.
There are some things you carry alone, Chon thinks, looking at the two people in the world who he loves.
Inside you.
Heavy but bearable.
Like your own DNA.
He looks back up at the television.
“The final breakup of the Association,” Dennis says, looking into the camera, “is a major victory in the War on Drugs.”
305
“I thought I looked pretty good on TV,” Dennis says. “Didn’t you?”
“You’re a handsome man,” Ben says.
Chon doesn’t say anything.
They’re meeting in the usual spot at Los Cristianitos. Dennis takes a spicy chicken sandwich from the Jack in the Box bag. “Lunch on the run. You have something for me?”
Ben slips him an envelope.
“First of every month,” Dennis says. “Your girlfriend can be late, you can’t.”
“As long as you keep DEA off our ass,” Ben says.
“Yeah, that’s the idea.”
“Guaranteed?”
“You want a guarantee, go to Midas,” Dennis says. He sees Chon’s frown, takes a bite of his sandwich, and says, “Jesus, cheer up.”
He wipes his mouth with a paper napkin, looks them up and down, and says, “What I wouldn’t give to be you. You have your youth, money, the cool clothes, the girls. You have it all. You’re kings.”
306
That’s us, Ben thinks.
