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Weasel put his hands out like Now hold on a minute. “I ain’t sayin’ we don’t… I’m just sayin’, y’know?”
There was one last card to play. And the dimwit had let me know from the get-go that it was my trump card.
“I told Gene not to tell you guys upfront because I wanted to see if you could deliver… but this was supposed to be an audition of sorts. I told him I needed a couple of stone-cold killers to take out a fuckin’ child molester because I couldn’t risk starting World War Three between the Riders and the Santa Muertes, and he told me you two could do it.”
As predicted, Weasel’s eyes lit up. Jesus’s eyes did, too, but there was a semi-delayed reaction, like it took him an extra second or two to process the information.
“You ever seen The Godfather, kid?” I asked.
“Yeah, yeah, of course.”
“When you want to become a made man with the mob, you hafta make your bones. You have to do some gnarly shit so they trust you. Well, kid – this is where you make your bones. This is where you prove you’re trustworthy. That is, if you want in. If you don’t – ”
“No, no, it’s cool,” Weasel reassured me. “We’re in, we’re in.”
FINALLY. This had been more effort than trying to fuck a nun.
“Good,” I said, and pulled out my phone. “What’s your cell number? I’m gonna need to call you once the guy’s in the joint.”
Weasel rattled off a number, and I plugged it into my phone and hit SEND. Five seconds later, AC/DC’s “Highway To Hell” started playing from Weasel’s back pocket.
Perfect.
“Uh, we gonna have any trouble from the Riders?” Weasel asked.
“Nope. I’ll handle it.”
“And nothin’ from the Santa Muertes?”
“Nope. They’d probably make you honorary members afterwards, except you can never, ever tell anybody about it, understand?”
“Yeah, yeah, sure, sure. What about the cops?”
“You’ve heard about the Midnight Riders and how we roll in Richards, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Then you know there won’t be any blowback from the police. Just make sure you get out before they show up though, huh? Otherwise it might be a little awkward telling them to let you go.”
Weasel laughed, which I took for a good sign. He was getting comfortable with the idea. “Okay, so where’s the joint we’re doin’ this?”
“The Seven Veils. It’s on Curson, just off of Highway 19. I want you to be in the neighborhood by midnight, ‘cause once I call you, this shit’s gotta go down fast, alright?”
“Sure, sure. Seven Veils… hey, the owner’s not going to shoot me in the back with a shotgun or some shit, is he?”
Who knows?
Maybe I’ll shoot you in the face.
“He shouldn’t, seein’ as it’s my fuckin’ place,” I said with a grim smile.
Weasel stared at me, then burst into laughter. Jesus didn’t quite get the joke, but he laughed all the same, just because his buddy was.
“Alright then… fake robbin’ some fake titties,” Weasel said. “But, uh… could we get a grand up front?”
No, motherfucker, you can’t. I don’t want you splitting on me without doing your goddamn job.
“I’ll tell you what… you pull this off without a hitch… not only will I get you in the Riders, I’ll make it twelve grand instead of ten.”
