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Shrugging, he says, “Some dude came in to get the tat done. Had this girl with him, Hispanic honey with long brown hair and wide eyes. I remember her because she had a set of lips tatted on her neck with a tongue sticking out. When they left, she slipped back inside, supposedly to use the restroom, but gave me her number and told me she’d like to fuck whenever I had free time.”
“Who was the guy to her? Do you know?”
“Her boyfriend. She said he was a punk and didn’t care what she did, but when I hooked up with her a few weeks later, she mentioned he’d recently joined a gang and would kill us both if he knew what she was doing. I remember she liked it rough.”
“Sounds like you have numerous reasons to remember her.”
He chuckles. “She was the past, but God, the things that girl could do with her tongue.”
“What was her name?”
“Aura...Ara...Aryana,” he says, snapping his fingers.
“You know how to get in touch with her?”
“I might have a way. Why? What’s up?” Saint asks, grabbing his phone and tapping something out on it.
“Her fucking boyfriend tried to off my brother,” I grunt through clenched teeth.
Saint’s eyes narrow as he shakes his head. “Sorry about that, man. Heard what happened from Reaper.”
“Don’t know if he was the original one, but he came to the hospital this morning and tried to finish the job. If he wasn’t the original, I’d make damn sure he leads me back to the head.”
“Didn’t even know you had a brother. Let alone a twin.”
“Yeah, we don’t advertise that.”
“You’re not close?”
“We’re as close as we can be given the circumstances. I’m a Sinner, and he’s a cop.”
Saint slowly nods his head and taps something out on his phone again.
“Protection,” he says.
“You got it. Too many people know about our affiliation and try to use it against him. I can’t have that. He’ll do everything he can to protect me, but the only way I can return the favor is for people not to know about me.”
“I guess that works in reverse, too, huh?”
“Yeah. Fewer people know about him, the safer I can keep him. Don’t need anyone gunning for his head when he’s got enough enemies in the streets as it is.”
“Identical?”
“Fraternal. Look enough alike to be brothers, but that’s about it.”
Saint’s face brightens with a broad smile, and I see the innocent kid that I once knew before he got caught up in some trouble.
“I got a name and a location from her. Texting you now,” he says.
I pull out my phone just as it buzzes.
Saint:Cortador. Thirty-five 95thStreet. Apt B-7.
“She says he also hangs out at this hole-in-the-wall strip club on International calledCasa de Gatosand a house on A Street, where he smokes dope. Says the woman he’s fooling with there goes by Gabby. She says it’s a pink stucco house with a green door.”
“Thanks, bro. I owe you one.”
“Nah, man. Do what you need to do.”
