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He was an incredibly helpful asset last year when Snake was taken. He’s a gifted kid from the center who can communicate with technology, like Francesca. When Ronan Burke and the Cuatros Locos took down our security system, he was instrumental in getting it back up. Since then, he’s helped here and there with small projects. He’s only turned fourteen. I’m no hypocrite. I won’t use a child to help us with the business. Not after everything I did to stop Damien.
No, Data strictly does small upgrades and shows me how to use certain apps. Apart from that, I don’t let him anywhere near here. We’re managing without Snake. We’ll continue to do so until he comes back from his well-earned break.
“While we’re at it, why don’t we let Daisy help us move guns?” I deadpan, giving him a serious look. “Data’s barely twice her age. It’s not his job to hack into the police database.”
“Well, we have to do something,” Pocus complains. “Or are we going to sit on our asses and wait for Mayor Prudent to knock on the door with a warrant?”
“It’s about the reelection.” I slowly blow air out of my mouth. “He’s trying to win. Once he does, he’ll back off. That’s what these politicians do. He’s trying to show the citizens of New Orleans that he’s not offering empty promises. As soon as he wins his second term, he’ll do just that.”
Pocus laughs. “Remember Mayor Franks?”
We reminisce on the bumbling mayor who got elected on the platform of city improvement. He gentrified one neighborhood, leaving hundreds of residents without affordable housing. Then he came down hard on welfare recipients. He created a problem, then punished the very people he’d displaced. He only lasted one term, but it was a long four years.
“Dempsey was my personal favorite,” Buffy chimes in. “What man thinks he’s going to be successful banning alcohol in one of the biggest party cities in the world?”
“That was a good term for us, don’t forget,” Pocus says with a smile. “We were importing a lot of cheap alcohol and selling it for top-shelf prices. We were flush with cash.”
“He didn’t make it a full term,” I remind my friend. “He got caught with that prostitute, remember?”
“So much for family values.” Buffy laughs, pouring himself a shot of vodka. “To all the shitty New Orleans mayors. May they continue to disappoint.”
“Hear, hear,” I agree. “Let’s hope that’s what Prudent does. The more he disappoints on his promise, the better for us.”
“And in case he does fulfill his promises?” Pocus asks, clearly wanting to play Devil’s advocate. “We can keep our heads low and our noses clean for three months until the reelection, but we won’t survive four years. Either we sell off our stock immediately and get into a more legitimate business or…”
He trails off, unable to voice the worst-case scenario. I can’t imagine what that would look like. We could try to live on the straight and narrow. But it’s not like people pay the same money for imported fabric as they do for imported guns. It’s been a good business, and we’re good at it. It keeps my men fed and taken care of. We live a pretty good life. If we have to leave the arms game, we’re finished. My men will quit, plain and simple. Maybe we’ll move to Houston to start over.
“No.” I interrupt my own thoughts. “We’ve built a reputation for ourselves. We won’t surrender. That’s not an option. We keep our heads down for three months and hope he’s either full of hot air or he loses.”
Pocus scoffs.
“His only serious competition is Davis Thompson. You think that guy has the balls to beat Prudent?”
“Prudent has the highest approval rating of any mayor in the last fifty years,” Buffy says, unhelpfully. “No way he’s losing.”
I sigh heavily, debating if I should tell them about Davis’s offer. I already told him no, but I doubt he’s found someone else to help. He has serious ambition. He won’t give up. I could go back to him right now and tell him I’ve changed my mind.
“What aren’t you telling me?” Pocus asks, sensing my hesitation.
Damn him and his gift. We have no secrets, even when I desperately want to keep things from him. I have no option but to spill the beans and let the chips fall where they may, so to speak.
“Davis Thompson called me for a meeting,” I tell him reluctantly. “Summoned me.”
“You’re shitting me,” he says, a gleam of curiosity in his eye. “Way to bury the fucking lead. What did he want?”
“He wants to win.” I shrug. “He thinks Mayor Prudent is too old and too out of touch with the New Orleans of today. Some shit like that. He wants us to dig up dirt on Prudent so he’ll have an advantage.”
“Damn,” Pocus says with a low whistle. He takes a swig of his old fashioned and swallows hard, contemplating this for several minutes. His wheels are turning. He’s already thinking about the advantages.
“I told him no.” I doubt myself for the first time since the meeting.
“What did he offer?” Pocus turns to me. “He wouldn’t ask you for a favor like that without big compensation.”
“I said no. It doesn’t matter what he offered because we aren’t doing it. That isn’t how we operate.”
Pocus scoffs again and rolls his eyes. His face is shut down, a clear sign that he’s annoyed with me. He probably wanted me to consult with him before I made a decision, but that’s not how I operate either. Not anymore. In the early days of my leadership, I ran to him with every problem, but I’m more established now. It’s my job to make the difficult decisions and commiserate about them later.
I pick up my glass and swirl it around, watching the contents slosh against the side of the glass. I throw back the remaining liquid in one gulp and feel the familiar burn of the bourbon. Buffy used the good stuff for this drink. It’s smooth and warm. No cheap stuff for the Prez and his best friend. I hope Pocus is still my friend after this conversation. I see his anger simmering under the surface.
