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The rumpled sheets and indent on the pillow next to me are the only signs of him being in bed.
I find him in the kitchen, one of those pink Pop-Tarts sitting on the counter. There’s water still clinging to his hair and upper body. He’s got jeans on, slung low on his hips, his belt and T-shirt on the chair as he studies something on my computer.
The phone is next to it, and I can hear Tizio talking about dates and then substantial dollar amounts.
“Yeah, what I fuckin’ thought. I just don’t know how to get in there.”
“Someone’s buying,” Tizio says. “Find out who. There’ll be locals. Guarantee it.”
“Yeah, okay.” He takes a bite of the Pop-Tart. “Tell Nicolo his taste in breakfast shit is awful.”
“Radioactive fucking Pop-Tarts.” And Tizio laughs. “Those are around more now because that kid’s got a taste for them.”
“HowisJay?”
“Great. He’s a good kid. Your woman’s a helluva female.
“Not my anything.”
Those grumbled words stab my heart even as his friend snorts laughter. “Yeah, right, like I believe you.”
“Asshole, dude.” Diego stabs his finger viciously on the phone to end the call, and he turns. “Assholes being assholes, you know.”
I almost say I’m looking at one. “So, Jay’s good?”
“You probably weren’t meant to hear about these disgusting snacks.”
He pulls his shirt on and turns, looping on the belt. “Stay home, don’t answer the fuckin’ door, and keep the gun with you.” He sighs and comes up to me, kissing my lips. “Gotta go, Nadie. Meet back here at five.”
I nod. When he leaves, I take a breath and look at the computer. There are names and numbers, local ones, on one of his spreadsheets.
I frown. Are they . . . gang members?
Then, my heart skips a beat at a number I recognize.
He said to stay in, and it’s just a phone call.
I get my phone and call. The conversation is quick and to the point.
Okay, a call and a visit. I’ll get groceries, too, to make it legit and I also need them.
When I reach my destination, I keep my bag with the gun on me, unzipped for ease of access.
I look at the faces in the room.
“Time,” I say, “for some real talk.”
And behind me, someone speaks.
“We’re listening.”
ChapterTwenty-One
DIEGO
Hedging bets, I drop in to the florists and Joan is there, not sure if she should be happy I’m here.
“Thanks for the flowers, she loved them, but I need something extra special, if you know what I mean.”
