His whole body locks. Sweat beads instantly along his hairline. "Hey man?—"
I push the gun in harder. He sucks in a sharp breath.
"Now."
That does it. He stands. Too fast. The chair scrapes loudly against the floor. A couple of heads turn in our direction. I shift slightly, blocking him from view. My grip tightens at his side.
"Easy," I advise under my breath. "Or it's the last thing you ever do."
His nod is jerky from panic creeping up on him. Step by step, we move toward the door. My body angles just enough to keep the weapon hidden. To everyone else? It looks like I'm guiding a friend out. To him? It must feel like a death sentence. Which is exactly what this is. We reach the door. I push it open. The bell chimes again. Hot outside air hits us. I shove him forward towards the Escalade. "Keep moving."
Mauro is behind the wheel, and the engine is running. The back door is open, waiting. Perfect. I steer Skinny toward the car, grip tightening once again when he hesitates.
"Don't even think about it."
"I'm not—I'm not—" he stammers.
"Good."
I shove him into the back seat. Hard. He stumbles, nearly face-planting before catching himself. Mauro glances back once. Assessing. Skinny takes one look, and the smell of piss hits the inside of the car. Goddammit.
I slide in next to him, slam the door. "Go."
"The Oven?"
"Perfect." I agree.
The Escalade pulls out immediately. No hesitation. No second look. Behind us, the café shrinks into nothing. Inside the car is filled with silent sniffles and the stench of piss. Skinny is breathing too fast, too shallow, panicked. I turn my attention to him. "Who did you talk to?"
He shakes his head immediately. "I—I don't know what you're talking about—talked to who?"
"Whom." Mauro corrects.
"Wrong answer," I add.
His breath leaves him in a choke.
"You got a call," I continue, voice low, lethal. "From an account that sent me something I didn't like."
"Man, I get many calls," he evades.
"Phone," I hold out my hand. He hands it to me.
I don't need to look at mine to confirm the timestamp on the email. It's ingrained in my head. Quickly, I scroll through Skinny's call log. There.
"Who is Manuel?"
He pales, shakes his head. "Man, I can't tell you that. They'll kill me."
In the front seat, Mauro breaks out into loud laughter. "Being killed should be the least of your worries, kid."
Skinny freezes. His eyes dart wildly between us. Then to the window. Then back to me.
"What… What is that supposed to mean? Who are you?" His voice cracks halfway through.
I don't answer. I don't need to. The silence does the work for me. The car turns. Slows. Then pulls into a narrow, unmarked lot. From the outside, it looks like nothing. Just another forgotten building in a city full of them. That's the point.
Mauro kills the engine. "We have arrived."
