AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Then I fired up my hog and headed back towards the highway.
31
An hour after I left Einstein, I was waiting in the desert for the grim reaper.
Actually, that ain’t exactly right. Santa Muerte is some sort of Catholic saint down in Mexico. Unofficially, of course. I don’t see the Pope okaying a patron saint for junkies, whores, and hitmen. But that’s what Santa Muerte is – a grinning skeleton in robes with flowers around her head. Looks like the fuckin’ Virgin Mary if you dropped her in an acid bath.
It’s a good mascot for a biker gang. Especially one that deals in death, drugs, and the Mexican cartels.
I ain’t scared of shit – but I’m, shall we say, cautious with the Santa Muertes.
I was standing there next to my Harley when I saw the plume of dust kick up from the highway. I pulled the zip-loc baggie out of my saddlebag and put it on the seat. Then I pulled out my revolver, checked to make sure it was good to go, and tucked it in the back of my pants. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that, but you never know with the Santa Muertes.
The bike came down the dirt road and stopped about 20 feet from me, and the rider got off.
Rodrigo Alvarez. Sergeant-at-Arms of the Santa Muertes, and my future business partner. Scary-lookin’ motherfucker… to the average dumbass. The prison teardrop tats on his cheek just looked try-hard to me. Every time I saw ‘em, I wanted to say, You know, those tears used to mean you were somebody’s bitch in prison – and you got THREE of ‘em. Exactly how big did they stretch out your asshole?
But I didn’t think that would be diplomatic.
That’s me: diplomatic.
Rodrigo head-bobbed at me, but didn’t say anything.
“Rodrigo,” I said. “Thanks for comin’ out.”
“Where’s my shit?” he snapped.
Bitch. Show some respect.
I wanted so bad to bring up the teardrops tats.
But I’m diplomatic, so instead I just smiled. “Right to the point. That’s what I like about you, Rodrigo – get the panties off and stick it right in.”
I grabbed the zip-loc bag and tossed it through the air.
He caught it one-handed, looked at the contents, and cocked an eyebrow at me. “All this for two jackets?”
“I know you’re taking a risk. Just wanted you to know I appreciate it.”
“There gonna be any blowback on this?”
“No. I’ll keep it contained at the source.”
“Yo, listen, gringo – Hector can’t know about this shit, you hear?”
He meant Hector Reyes, president of the Santa Muertes. Hector wasn’t exactly aware of Rodrigo’s and my deal.
“You got my word,” I promised. “Nothing’ll get out except maybe some rumors – and Hector’s not gonna do shit about rumors.”
Rodrigo gave me some more side-eye, then threw me a canvas gym bag. I caught it and looked inside. As promised, two leather jackets with the Santa Muerte logo on the back.
“What’re you doin’ with those, ese?” Rodrigo asked.
“Can’t tell you.”
“Yo, man – if this shit comes back on me – ”
“That’s what the extra ice was for: no questions asked.”
