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“You just like the idea of being a sex toy king.”
He laughs. “Maybe. But it’s free money.”
It’s late afternoon. We’re at the next place, downtown, where Kincaid asked to meet Maximo. I’m pretty fucking sure Jac broke protocol and met the kid on his own because Max said the kid had an attitude, more so than usual.
Jac’s a dick, but he doesn’t like Kincaid and if he broke protocol…actually he probably just fucking did it because he didn’t think.
The kid’s late. A lame ass powerplay, but still one. I don’t give a fuck. I’ve got nothing to do, but Maximo’s getting irritated. Worried about the order he put in.
If I have my way this coming Quinate meeting, Kincaid’s out and Max is going to have to get his guns elsewhere or cut a different deal with the kid.
It’ll be more expensive, but it’s not like he can’t fucking afford it. And really, I’ve zero fucks to give. I don’t need an overload of guns. I have enough, and I buy most of mine elsewhere. But Max has a different area of expertise, interests and revenue, and it means a lot of guns.
To each to their own, as long as it doesn’t hurt the Quinate as a whole.
Kincaid rolls in with an actual entourage. Girls in slutty dresses and too much makeup, his idea, no doubt, of sophistication. He looks like a white boy trying for gangsta rapper, which isn’t a good image.
He’s got three burly guys who scream bodyguard, which isn’t how you do it, and he’s wearing a smirk I’m itching to punch off his face.
Forty-fucking-five minutes late and counting.
And even Maximo, who wants to keep him, is irritated. The kind of irritated where I need to put a hand on his arm to stop him from doing something stupid. Like killing the little shit.
It wouldn’t be a bad thing, but this bar isn’t Quinate, and though we have a vast majority of law enforcement on payroll, murder here can’t be overlooked. And I’m not aiming for a couple of hours at the local downtown precinct.
He sighs. I release him.
The kid slides into a seat, a babe sliding onto him. A bored looking babe at that. The other stands there and makes eyes at both me and Maximo.
“We were both interested in your ideas,” I say. “Tell us what you told Jac, Kester.”
The smirk is back. “Apart from some stellar new black ops weaponry, so new the CIA and army are clamoring for it…”
Maximo sits up straight at that.
The smirk on the kid’s face deepens, as does my urge to punch him.
Kester Kincaid drags the moment out.
“…what do you think of trade?”
Oh fuck me, he isn’t going there. But the girl on his knee moves and offers him her neck. He pushes back her hair. There’s a small tattoo. A barcode right behind her ear.
The girl’s not scared. She’s learned to school her features to give nothing away. I bet when she’s fucked, she keeps that same expression.
Maximo is very still, and his hand’s on his gun. This time, I don’t make any move to stop him from pulling. He doesn’t, but in that stillness is a vibration and he’s close, real close.
“What kind of trade?” I ask.
“American. Top quality. Virginal.”
* * *
Fucking Jac.
He fucking knew the kid had that one up his sleeve.
He could have said something. If not to me, then to the others. Jesus. I don’t think he’s stupid enough to even begin to try and float the idea of cutting a deal. Or letting Kincaid stay as our supplier of guns.
