Page 479 of Devil’s Disciples

“We were helping plan that upcoming poker run,” Baker explained. “I wanted to get the information before our Wednesday meeting, so we could vote on it.”

“Doesn’t matter what the reason is, you went without us,” Goose said. “I say we give it a try.”

“Agreed,” Tito said. “I haven’t had good Mexican in forever.”

“It’s good,” I bragged. “Really fucking good.”

It seemed strange to admit it to myself, but I wanted everyone to meet Carma. I looked at Cash. “Well?”

“Sounds good to me,” he said. “I want to see this chick you’re banging, anyway.”

“Banged.” I stood. “Not banging.”

Cash stood and brushed the Chex Mix crumbs from his shirt. “I bet we’re not going there for the food.”

“Why the fuck else would we be going there?” I asked.

“The food is remarkable,” Baker said. “Compared to the places here that call themselves authentic.”

“Well, it’s two miles from the border, what do you expect,” Cash retorted. “Probably got border crossers in there making the food. Swim the river, climb the fence, dodge a few federal agents, and then make a taco.”

Cash’s Ol’ Lady was black. To hear him spouting prejudicial remarks just to get everyone to pay attention to him was annoying.

I gave him a side-eyed look. “She’s Spanish. From fucking Spain.”

“I wasn’t talking about her, and I was just joking, asshole,” he snapped back. “Settle down.”

“I made a remark about your Ol’ Lady and you blindsided me for it.”

“You called her the N-word.”

“You just called Carma a wetback.”

“She ain’t your Ol’ Lady, and I wasn’t talking about her.”

I remembered that the men had no idea that Carma was in the country illegally. As far as they knew, she was an American.

“She’s a human fucking being. Have a little compassion, asshole.” I looked at Baker. “I want to get Chinese. Let’s go somewhere else.”

“I thought we were getting Mexican?”

“I don’t want to take this big dumb fuck in there and have him embarrass me,” I said. “Let’s go somewhere else.”

“Fuck you, Reno,” Cash barked. “We’re getting Mexican.”

I faced him and puffed my chest. “You going to act civilized?”

He sized me up. “What if I don’t?”

“You will,” Baker said. “Or else.”

“Or else what?” Cash asked.

“We’ve talked about this,” Baker growled. “I’m sick and fucking tired of the arguing. You do it just to get a rise out of him.”

Cash shrugged. “It’s fun.”

“For you, maybe. No one else wants to hear it,” Baker said. “Stop it.”