Page 90 of Antihero

The fat man grabbed the saggy hem of his shirt and tugged it high, leaning back and wheezing with the effort.

Across his heart was an elaborate tat of a Mexican girl in what looked like a confirmation dress, a lace veil pulled back from her face. In flowing script beneath: Celeste Garcia and two dates showing a twelve-year lifespan.

He let go of his shirt but it stayed high, riding the bulge of his gut.

“My angel,” the man said. “She was my angel.”

I’m just the middleman, Manny thought, but he couldn’t push the words out of his head.

“See ya on the unit,” the fat man said. “Chomo.”

37No One Stops Dirty Pete

Dirty Pete’s pre-rolls wuz scattered across the coffee table with the yearbooks, and Big Mikey’s mom was out, so everyone was smoking and they were so, so stoned. They’d cracked a window in the kitchen but there was no way the house wouldn’t reek like skunk weed by the time she got home but who gave a fuck, they’d be too high to care, and what was she gonna do anyways, get all high and moral when she was always out giving up ass?

Taz spun his phone nervously on his knee. They’d just hung up with Manny and man did Manny have his panties in a knot.

“‘We got the cameras,’” Finn-Finn said. “‘We got the dicks.’” He slapped B-Roll’s leg. “That’s some funny shit, man. Funny shit.”

Finn-Finn’d bought, like, all the Corn Nuts for a taste test, so the bags were lined up next to the pre-rolls. They were drinking triple sec ’cuz it’s all Mikey’s mom had in the cabinet and it tasted like the love child of an apricot and an orange. Gross as fuck, especially outta paper Dixie cups, but it’s what they had except for NyQuil Cold & Flu and that shit supercharged Taz’s clonidine in a way that was seriously no bueno.

“Barbecue, man.” Mikey was chewing with his mouth open, had bits of Corn Nuts in his beard. “No question.”

“Barbecue tastes like BO smells,” B-Roll said. “Jalapeño Cheddar all the way.”

Mikey said, “We can go straight to RedLite with our content.” Content. He liked acting all professional. “Set up our own account and shit. Can’t we, Taz Devil Man?”

Taz had looked into it. It’d be a pain to take over from Manny but he knew how. Set up vendor account and reg, route identity verifications through disposable emails, deal with commission fees and integration capabilities. He’d cut the vids in Adobe Premiere Pro, could cycle thirty-day free trials through anonymous Simon Mall gift cards to dodge having to pay for it. Technical specs for the upload would be easy AF ’cuz no one gave a shit if porn was shot on a potato or filmed in 8K. Payments could go through VenSend and they’d split up the cash. All they had to do was keep the content flowing.

But the thing was? He didn’t want to. Didn’t want to go through with it. Not since Blanca and B-Roll. He didn’t know what was happening to him. In this world? Getting soft was not an option.

He said, “Yuh.”

They had the stack of torn-out yearbook pages with the product circled, Blanca from Forest Hills peering out from the top. It was like she was looking right at Taz. B-Roll had her lined up for Friday night still. She was so pretty in her school picture with that sweet smile and Taz’s brain glitched to—

—Other Blanca, Third-Grade Blanca lying next to him on her stomach, rubber band at full draw, ready to snap some army men off their shoeboxes, and she smiles at him and he smiles at her, and she leans over and kisses his cheek, and they’re kids really, just kids, and he feels—

—he felt … He doesn’t know what he—

“We worried?” Finn-Finn said. “We worried ’bout this Manny shit?”

“Nah,” B-Roll said. He was playing Kings of Karnage with the volume low and he was shooting up motherfuckers and they did that blood-splat-on-the-camera-lens thing, which was cool. “Bring it, bitches.”

“The scary fucking friend, though. What about him? What about him?”

Mikey snorted. “Scary to Manny. Manny’s a pussy. Like, one step from a gray suit.”

Taz’s phone lit up with notifications—bink bink bink—all the shiny little apps tallying and tallying, 27,238 unread emails, three hundred something texts, and the socials all blinking and chiming, numbers hanging off every icon like Christmas ornaments. But he couldn’t focus. Not with Blanca looking up at him.

She had a six-year-old sister she looked after. Fucked-up parents with marriage therapy on Friday nights. She did homework and shit.

“I think we should pass on this Blanca chick. Not worth it.” Taz was shocked that he’d spoken. The words were out there now, floating in the air like in a cartoon.

“The fuck, Taz? The fuck?” Finn-Finn said. “She’s perfect.”

“I’m starting to think you like this little bitch,” B-Roll said. “Starting to think we gotta worry about you, little man.”

“Nah, nah. Fuck that.” Taz was shaking his head too hard, like a little kid. “Just thinking business plan. We got plenty of White On Brown already and—”