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“All right,” I said dubiously. “If you think he’ll buy it.”
“The dumbass’ll buy anything I tell him. That’s one of the only good points in working with him.”
“All right, then. Give me a call when you get the location worked out. And Lou?”
“Yeah?”
“When we’re doin’ business in the future – DON’T fuckin’ call me at 1AM.”
“Alright, fine. Go back to fuckin’ whoever you were fuckin’.”
“Yeah, I got to go, Mr. Dildo’s gettin’ jealous,” I said.
Lou howled with laughter before he hung up.
I looked over at Dan Peters, who was lying naked next to me, the other earbud in his right ear.
I said I was in bed. I didn’t say I was alone.
“Didja get all that, Mr. Dildo?” I asked.
I swear, he was redder than when he came half an hour ago, though he was wearin’ just about as ugly an expression.
“That backstabbing, lying, motherfucking – ASSHOLE,” he raged.
“Calm down. So, we good on that deal?” I asked, and gestured over at the duffel bag full of cash sitting on the nightstand.
Dan hadn’t been able to take his eyes off the Girls the first half of the night. Then he couldn’t take his eyes off the duffel bag after I unzipped it.
A sucker for tits and cash. My kind of simpleton.
“A hundred thousand upfront, then two hundred thousand minimum per month against 10% revenues in Richards and the surrounding counties,” I said. “In return for that, you make sure Lou Shaw doesn’t walk away alive from that deal tomorrow, and I get every ounce of that meth he’s tryin’ to unload.”
“As long as I get 50% of the street sale value,” Dan said.
“That’s, like, ten million dollars! You said 20% before!”
“If I gotta deal with the Santa Muertes, I want 50%.”
I could see what Lou meant about him being a greedy little bitch.
“Alright, fine – 50%,” I said, rolling my eyes. “If need be, you’re gonna take out the Santa Muertes, right?”
“Right,” he said as he pulled the sheet off of my body.
“And you’re gonna be able to track Lou’s phone, right?”
“Uh-huh,” he said, going for my right nipple like an overgrown baby.
“And you’re gonna make sure I have that cell phone info so I can keep myself safe – right, you biiiig, strong man?”
“Mm-hmm,” he said, sucking contentedly, his eyes closed.
“Alright, then, get back down there,” I said, pushing on his shoulders.
Dan Peters was a flabby, middle-aged, average-lookin’ son of a bitch with a dick about a fourth as big as I like ‘em. Not to mention he had the stayin’ power of a jackrabbit. He was in and out about as quick as one, anyway.
But sometimes a woman in my line of work had to make sacrifices.
