That uneasiness still stirs in my gut, and Maria's words are like barbed wire around my chest, so that each breath pushes the spines in deeper. You and me. The drive back here was a long crawl of bitterness and anger that, again, I've become a puppet. And how did I know she would want to protect Izzy and Josh from it? How? Because this is their problem only because they work for the family and it's the family's problem.
She and I are different from those guys. Our grievances are solidly tied to the enemy, she to the leader who took her brother, and I to the teacher who betrayed me. How in this hell-on-earth will two children of the streets take down an empire?
A bead of sweat works its way, infuriatingly slow, down the side of my throat. The tickle stokes the rage, which becomes tension that makes my jaw grind. The glaring problem with Abuela's suffocation of the Reapers is that now their operation is small enough to be well guarded from every side. By bleeding them out for so long, she has given them time to fortify what they have left. The thing that's bothering me is that if I can see the problem in her strategy, she definitely can. So how do we fit into her endgame?
Slowly I let my feet fall to the floor and the chair begins to rock. The creak of wood against wood creates a crosshatch to the whir of the fan. The soft back and forth eases my anxiety. With each press against the balls of my feet, I manage to calm the shake in my limbs. My bruised eye has started to throb, a nice counter rhythm of pain, a distraction.
There's only one way I can see to blow Gram's entire warehouse to hell. The question comes down to clout. How do I intercept the shipment and rig that truck with enough explosives to leave a crater? His next truck comes in two days, something I haven't mentioned yet to Maria. Doesn't leave me much time to work the network, and leaves a whole lot of blank space that could be filled with Reaper affiliates. If I can pull it off, though, we won't need more than two people.
My gaze crawls over the long barrel of my Dragunov sniper rifle as I pull my phone from my pocket in slow motion. It's a cheap pre-paid thing, registered under the name of someone who's been dead for some time. I punch in the number to a certain voodoo shop in the Quarter. It rings twice, then a low, rumbling voice answers.
“Sty, how's it goin'? It's Freddy.”
There's a heavy pause on the line, then the voice answers. “Damn, Freddy, I near gave you up as dead. Haven't seen you since the Mid-City job.”
The words lace around my lungs. I've been out of the network for too long. It was kind of like being dead. Then I think of Charlie. Maybe it's not like that at all.
I say, “You know better than that. Hey, I'm gonna be in town. Can I buy you a beer?”
There's another pause and I can see the scrutinizing look on the 6' 3”, muscled and dreadlocked Black man. There's so much being said that will never be said, so much history and danger, codes in the silence.
“I close at eight.”
My next breath comes easier. I glance down at my watch. That leaves me plenty of time to get back to NOLA.
“See you at Margaritaville,” I say.
“Christ,” he spits and that brings a wry smirk to my lips.
Locals hate that place with a burning passion, myself included, and for that reason, that's where we'll meet. No one in any respectable ring would be caught dead there. So I'll buy Sty an overpriced, weak margarita while tourists stare at us, and see just which angles are still open to me.
“Ciao,” I say flatly and hang up.
Again I'm staring at the rifle, at the sleek scope and streamlined stock, in all its semi-auto glory. This plan that's hatching in my mind is incredibly stupid. And it's fucking brilliant.
Chapter 27 Bad Juju
Isaiah
There's a business meeting in five. The house is quiet. Abuela is still gone. I'm the first one to the table. As I slowly smoke my cigarette, I can't help but recall back to the morning after Charlie died. Something in the air feels the same. That meeting feels like forever ago and nothing has really changed. Except then, Josh was her most recent victim. This time Josh isn't even here, and it's me.
My thoughts skip forward now, half an hour ago maybe, to the knock on my door and the way her eyes skated down my naked torso when I answered.
Then she said, “Business meeting in twenty minutes.”
It's mostly for her reaction that I chose not to put on a shirt for this meeting. It's a rare show, for me to bare my skin, or my mood. But I've taken as much bullshit as I can endure, and being stuck on this plantation for days is taking its toll. There's nothing coy left for these kids, just unadulterated aggravation.
Maria is the first to join me. I expect her to take the head spot, but she doesn't. Of course she doesn't. She takes the seat across from me.
She's watching me when I look up, waiting
