I point at him with my index finger. “See, that’s where you’re wrong because if you don’t talk to me, I may decide to be a by the book pig and have this white powder in these baggies tested. But hey, I’m sure it’s just baking soda, so you got nothing to worry about.”
He shoves a chrome Beretta in my face. His boyfriends cover him with Uzis.
Monkey see monkey fucking do.
I hate retards with firearms. These idiots are far from scary. I’ve seen more terrifying individuals in Iraq and in my DEA days. These fuckers don’t even register as a blip on my radar. “What if I just kill your bitch ass right now, and dump it in the Everglades, Huh? Let the gators eat your ass. Problem solved.”
Exhaling smoke from my nose, grinning in defiance of his threat. When you’ve stared death in the face as many times as I have, it loses its charm on you.
“That sounds like fun times, but let’s look at your situation here, Mateo. You were arrested in Miami, and while you were rotting in the can, you lost your drug empire to your rivals, along with most of your old crew.” I take a puff from my smoke. “So you pack up and leave town and head to Tampa and try and restart your little drug empire. Now here you are at a crossroads.”
“You better get to the point real quick, chica.”
“I’m saying your story will have two outcomes, a kind of pick your own adventure story. 1: You and your homeboys can splatter my ass all over this big window behind me. That’ll solve your problem of me prying for information on your old acquaintance David Drake. However, you turned a small problem into a catastrophic one. Because now, you killed a cop, and that is some major heat coming down on you. Or 2, you can give me the information I want on David Drake, and have a happy ending to your little story. No taking a trip down memory lane.”
He stares at me blankly, going over his options, and then he lowers his gun, and so does his posse. “Nice to see logic prevailed in that head of yours,” I say, blowing smoke from my nose.
“Fine! But after I give you the information, you have to leave me alone, comprende?”
“Yes. Now Info, please.”
He walks over to a door and opens it. “Step into my office.” Conroy starts to follow me, but Mateo jumps in front of him, raising his hand. “No! You keep your limey ass out here. I’m talking to Devora alone.”
“Mr. Garza, I don’t believe that is a good idea.”
Mateo points his gun at him. “Fuck what you believe. All of you watch this piece of shit.” All his men train their weapons on him.
I enter Mateo’s office, and it has a fancy looking cocobolo desk and a large flat-screen hanging on the wall and white carpet. He sits down in the brown leather chair and lets out a sigh. “Mateo, what’s going on that you can’t tell me in front of him?”
He slides an ashtray across the desk and lights up a Cuban cigar. “Amiga, what do you think is going on here?” he says, as a cloud of smoke flows from his mouth.
“I’m getting the feeling that question is rhetorical.”
He leans back in his leather chair. “Conroy is playing your ass; you know that, right?”
“I have my suspicions, but I’m interested in hearing your side of it.”
He points his finger at the door. “You know that is Drake’s handler out there, right?”
“You mean ‘was.”
He takes a long drag and shakes his head. “No, Muchacha. That parasite is still Drake's handler. He’s pulling his strings, telling him who to kill.”
I flick ash in the ashtray. “So you’re telling me, all of Drakes victims were actually targets issued by Conroy. That guy out there?” I say, with skepticism in my voice.
He nods. “Yes.” Mateo was always a shitty liar when it came trying to bullshit me, but Mateo is not lying, and that sends chills down my spine. “Why help me?”
He glances down, picking at the leather on his chair. “I saw those little girls he killed on the news. It made me sick to my stomach that I helped that fucker get set up here.”
I roll my eyes, shaking my head. “I get it. You made a deal with the devil, and now you think helping me is your salvation?” I say, pointing at him.
“No, there’s no salvation for what I’ve done. All I can do is correct the mistake I made.”
I put out my cigarette in his ashtray and lean back in the chair, crossing my arms. “That was a cop’s family, you’re a drug kingpin. Why do you give a shit?”
“Look, I have a rule when dealing with my rivals and traitors. Kill the one who fucked with you, not his whole family or their pets.”
“Fine, so tell me where he is.”
He crosses his arms. “You need to sharpen those detecting skills. That puta out there knows exactly where Drake is. He played you for a fool, amiga.”
My lip curls with disgust. Son of a bitch, I knew it. I storm out of the office. Glaring at Conroy. I lunge at him and send a haymaker right in his nose. He falls to his knees, groaning in agony. “You fucking piece of shit!” I kick him in the sternum, snatching the air from his lungs.
He falls over on to his side, gasping for air. “What the bloody hell
