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“Meth?! You fuckin’ dragged me out here to talk about fuckin’ METH?!”
I held out my arms as though I was mystified. “What, is that a forbidden topic?”
“The cartel supplies all my inventory, you pinche pendejo! Why the fuck would I want any of your skank-ass, gringo shit when I got my own supply?!”
“Because the cartel takes 70 percent of your profit, that’s why,” I said. “And I know they don’t supply you jokers with enough to keep up with demand. You got a thousand white trash competitors with no front teeth workin’ out of RVs and rental homes. No way in fuck they’d be able to compete with you unless the market needed more than you could provide.”
He couldn’t argue with anything I’d said – and he was pissed about it, too. “Where the fuck did you get that number, 70 percent?”
“Never you mind. Wouldn’t you rather wipe out the white trash and make 90% profit on your own sideline?”
Hector chuckled and glanced at Loco with a kind of Can you believe this dumbass bullshit? expression before turning back to me. “Okay, first off, the cartel would put me in a shallow grave for pullin’ shit like that behind their back.”
“No reason they have to know.”
“If you really believe that, you stupider than you look.”
“No balls, no billions.”
“Ain’t no fuckin’ billions.”
“Your bosses would disagree. They’re rakin’ in fuckin’ billions.”
“Yeah, well, it ain’t about billions or balls – it’s about brains. And anybody who’d fuck with my bosses ain’t got none.”
“You agree with that, Rodrigo?” I asked as I relit my cigar, calm as could fuckin’ be.
“Yo, why the fuck you talkin’ to him? I’m the one who calls the shots – speakin’ of which, I oughta fuckin’ kill your dumb ass for pullin’ me out here in the middle of the night.”
“So no deal, then?”
“No – no fuckin’ deal, you stupid hio de puta.”
“What about you, fat boy?” I asked Loco. “You of the same mind?”
“Don’t know who you callin’ fat, ese, but you out of your fuckin’ mind if you think I’m’a go against my prez, homes,” Loco sneered.
“Might wanna take that promotion right about now, then,” I said as I tapped the ash off my cigar.
“What?” Hector snapped – right before Rodrigo raised up his pistol and shot Hector in the back of the head.
He fell in a heap on the ground.
“What da FUCK?!” Loco screamed, and turned, pawing at his holster for his gun –
Which gave me the extra second I needed to pull my .357 and shoot him in the temple.
Fat Boy went over like a heifer in a slaughterhouse.
Rodrigo and I regarded each other coolly, both of our guns sending up wisps of smoke in the moonlight.
“I’m taking this to mean you can get the cash together?” I asked.
“Si.”
“3.5 million, like we discussed?”
“Si, si,” he said impatiently.
