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“Only the top shelf for you, darlin’.”
“Amen to that.”
I sat back in my chair. “But tell me more about your meeting.”
“So. Jack calls me up, says he wants to talk.”
Shit.
“And?”
“And he shows up with a two-bit slut named Fiona Christenson. I understand she was a key part of your little change in management a couple of weeks ago.”
I sat up a little in my seat.
What the fuck is Fiona doing back in the picture?
“Nicely played, by the way,” Sloane said. “I heard all about it through the grapevine. You’re a regular fuckin’ Abraham Lincoln when you get to speechifyin’. ‘Four score and seven years ago’ and all that shit.”
“What did Jack and Fiona say?” I asked, perturbed.
“Well, Jack had a little business proposition for me,” she said with a smile. “Seems he’s got it in his head he’s going to take you down.”
I relaxed. “Good fuckin’ luck with that.”
“Yeah, well, he wasn’t dumb enough to think he could do it on his own, which is why he asked for my help.”
I locked eyes with her. “And what did you say?”
“I said I’d think about it. ‘Course, about 30 minutes after he left, I decided to come have a little talk with you before I made any final decisions.”
“Why the fuck would you help Jack? You’re not the sentimental type, Sloane.”
“And Jack knows that. Which is why he offered what he was offerin’.”
My internal alarms were blaring red.
“Which was…?”
“Entire control of Southern California,” she said, her eyes never wavering.
“The Santa Muertes might have something to say about that,” I said drily.
“Jack says his plan includes takin’ them down, too.”
I laughed. Now that was funny. “Jack’s been smoking something, and you have, too, if you think that washed-up son of a bitch can take me on, much less the Santa Muertes.”
“Normally I’d agree with you… except you missed somethin’, Lou.”
The confidence in her voice gave me pause. I personally knew a dozen men who had underestimated Sloane. Thought that because she was a good-lookin’ bitch with tits out to here, they were smarter than she was. Those men weren’t breathing anymore.
But I wasn’t about to tip my cards. “Oh yeah?” I asked contemptuously.
“You found out Fiona was a PI from Los Angeles, sure. What you didn’t know was that she’d been turned out by the DEA 24 hours before you held your little pageant at the Roadhouse.”
Shit.
Shit, SHIT, SHIT.
