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Lou waved me off like I was some pissy little spinster griping about hemlines on the youngsters these days. “Peters is onboard. Stop your worrying.”
I looked over my shoulder at the closed door, sure that someone was going to be there with a tape recorder. Then I looked back at Lou. “You… fucking… idiot!”
“Is this about earlier?” he asked as he got up from the desk and ground out the cigar. “That whole… unfortunate business about three hours ago?”
I pointed at the pocket containing his cell phone. “Actually, it’s about you discussing that ‘unfortunate business’ with twenty fuckin’ cops outside your door.”
Lou waved off my objection like it was a gnat. “I told you, Peters is onboard.” He looked at me searchingly and shook his head. “No… I think you’re pissed at me.”
“Ya fuckin’ think?”
“Look, Jack, I apologize for that. I lost my head. You had every right to punch me. And I apologize for what I said. It was a dick move. You probably thought I was making a play for club leadership, right?”
I stared at him some more. Rarely do your mortal enemies decide to come clean with the entire game plan.
Lou shook his head. “Look, we gotta let bygones be bygones. Fuck this squabbling shit, we got bigger problems on our hands.”
“Like a dead Santa Muerte in your strip club, and another one in the desert?”
“No. Bigger than that.”
“What could be worse than the Santa Muertes gunning for us?”
“Even if they are, I couldn’t give a shit about that right now.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“We got ourselves a mole.”
7
Fiona
Ihad just walked into my room at 4AM when a stranger shut the door and put a gun at my back.
He said he just wanted to talk.
I thought there was a very good possibility that I was going to die.
Then he revealed he knew I was a private investigator.
After that, I knew I was going to die.
Or at least, I knew he was going to try to kill me.
I ticked through my options.
I could try to elbow him and rip away –
But I doubted I could get out of the way before he shot me in the back.
I could do whatever he wanted, but then I was entirely at his mercy. Maybe he was telling the truth about wanting to just talk. Maybe he wasn’t.
Then I remembered:
My .38 revolver.
It was under the mattress on the other side of the bed.
