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He pronounced it Hay-SOOS.
Jesus was sitting here with me in a dive bar. Fuckin’ outstanding.
Weasel kept prattling on nervously. “Hey, uh… big fans here. You guys are fuckin’ badass.”
By ‘you guys’ he meant the club. The Midnight Riders were fairly legendary in this part of Southern California, especially to a certain class of scumbag.
I gave him the faintest hint of a smile. “Thank you.”
“Yeah, big honor to be workin’ with the Riders.”
I wouldn’t call this WORKING with the Riders, but… whatever.
“Glad to hear it,” I said.
Weasel scratched his pubey chin scruff. “So, uh… Gene said this was five g’s apiece.”
I nodded. “Yeah – but after you deliver.”
Emilio got a pissy look on his face. “I dunno, man. I think there ought to be an advance. A grand, at least.”
“No offense, but I don’t want you two going off on an early celebration binge and not showing up to do the fuckin’ job.”
“That ain’t gonna happen. I’m a fuckin’ professional,” Emilio said, stabbing his thumb in his chest.
Right.
I’ll bet Jesus here’s even more of a professional, when he’s not jacking off to Disney cartoons.
I leaned forward. “Well, I’m a businessman, and I say no advance.”
“What the fuck kind of a guarantee does that give us?” Emilio asked angrily. “Maybe we do it and you don’t pay. What then? We can’t exactly go to the cops and say, ‘Hey, this dude hired us to do some illegal shit, and we did it, but then he fuckin’ ripped us off.’”
“I’m a Midnight Rider,” I said coldly. “You think I’m not good for it? You think I won’t keep my word?”
The color drained from his face. “No – no, I just – ”
“When I say I’ll pay you when the job is done, I’ll pay you. But until then, no… fucking… advance.”
Emilio sighed in disgust, but gave in. “What’s the job?”
“I need you to pretend to rob a strip club.”
His eyes narrowed as he tried to figure it out. “Uhhh… pretend to rob a strip club?”
His buddy just stared at me with vacant eyes. Weasel might be dumb, but apparently Jesus was stupid as a motherfucker.
“Yes,” I said.
“Why ‘pretend’?”
“Because it’s cover. What I actually need is for you to take care of somebody for me. Did Gene mention that?”
Weasel licked his lips nervously. “Yeah… yeah, he did.”
“Good. Who’s gonna do it?”
Weasel glanced at Jesus H. Christ, then said, “I am, I am.”
