always.’
‘Some of it in trade,’ he said. ‘Right?’
The man hesitated, said nothing.
Patrick took out his wallet, made a show of rifling through the bills. ‘Did my friend happen to say where he was staying?’
Rashid smiled. ‘I feel as though he did, but I do not remember where, exactly.’
From then on it was only haggling.
Rashid hadn’t known an exact address, just that Evan rented a place on the south end of Pilsen. Cold winds blew grim clouds as Patrick cruised up and down the streets, past taquerias and discount shops with signs in Spanish. If luck was with him, he’d spot Evan’s old Mustang. If not, he’d come back later and try again.
As it happened, luck one-upped him. The sports car sat with its hood open outside a run-down bungalow. Evan leaned over the grille, peering at the engine, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He was so engrossed that he didn’t react until Patrick pulled up practically on top of him. Then he turned fast, a wrench clenched in one hand, the muscles in his shoulders and arms tightened to strike.
Patrick stared at him, a street look, his features givingnothing away. He revved the engine to a throaty rumble to underline the moment. Evan took a rag from his pocket and wiped grease off his hands, then finished a last drag on his cigarette and flicked it into the street. ‘Come inside.’ He turned and walked up the cracked sidewalk.
The house was old, with a faint smell of mildew. Patrick cased the place on instinct. No pictures on the wall. The only furniture in the living room was a weight bench, the bar loaded with 250 pounds of cast iron. He followed Evan down a dingy hallway to the kitchen. A card table and folding chairs sat in one corner. Without waiting for an invitation, Patrick pulled out one of the chairs and sat down, his feet up on the table.
Evan chuckled, shook his head. ‘It’s been, what, eight years?’ From a cabinet he took a half-empty bottle of Jameson’s and two highball glasses. He spent a couple of moments rummaging in a drawer, his back to Patrick, and came up with a kitchen towel. He set the lot on the table, poured two doubles, and took a seat. ‘What’s on your mind?’
Adrenaline made Patrick’s skeleton hum like crystal, and he savored it. ‘I know what you’re doing to Danny.’
‘Is that right?’ Evan asked. ‘He send you?’
‘I’m here for him.’ No point splitting hairs.
Evan drained half his whiskey, set the glass down lightly. ‘It’s between Danny and me.’
‘He’s not in the game anymore.’
‘So I keep hearing.’
Patrick took his feet off the table, sat up. He picked up his drink, using the opportunity to reposition the chair. He needed enough clearance from the table to move quickly. ‘Why are you doing this? You guys were like brothers.’
‘There’s a debt.’ Evan’s voice was flat but firm. ‘Danny pays it, we go back to being brothers.’
‘Balls to your debt. Nobody cheated you. You fucked up.’
Evan smiled. ‘That what you came to say?’
‘No.’ He leaned forward, his gaze hard. ‘I came to ask you nicely. Leave Danny alone.’
Evan knocked back the rest of his whiskey. His T-shirt had grease on it, and there were yellow sweat stains at his armpits. ‘Go fuck your hat.’
Patrick smiled, took a sip of the whiskey. So much for doing it nicely. Time to dance. When he set the glass down, he kept his hand moving, casual-like, to his lap. He could feel the switchblade poke against his calf. ‘What happened to you inside, man? Just get too used to being a bitch?’
Evan’s eyes narrowed and his shoulders tensed, like he was going to make a move. ‘Patrick, you shoot your mouth off. Have since you were a little brat used to follow us around like the sun shone out of Danny’s ass.’ He refilled his glass and topped Patrick’s off. ‘Someday you’re going to get slapped for it.’
Patrick slid his hand from his lap, careful not to dip his shoulder. This was the delicate
‘Some of it in trade,’ he said. ‘Right?’
The man hesitated, said nothing.
Patrick took out his wallet, made a show of rifling through the bills. ‘Did my friend happen to say where he was staying?’
Rashid smiled. ‘I feel as though he did, but I do not remember where, exactly.’
From then on it was only haggling.
Rashid hadn’t known an exact address, just that Evan rented a place on the south end of Pilsen. Cold winds blew grim clouds as Patrick cruised up and down the streets, past taquerias and discount shops with signs in Spanish. If luck was with him, he’d spot Evan’s old Mustang. If not, he’d come back later and try again.
As it happened, luck one-upped him. The sports car sat with its hood open outside a run-down bungalow. Evan leaned over the grille, peering at the engine, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He was so engrossed that he didn’t react until Patrick pulled up practically on top of him. Then he turned fast, a wrench clenched in one hand, the muscles in his shoulders and arms tightened to strike.
Patrick stared at him, a street look, his features givingnothing away. He revved the engine to a throaty rumble to underline the moment. Evan took a rag from his pocket and wiped grease off his hands, then finished a last drag on his cigarette and flicked it into the street. ‘Come inside.’ He turned and walked up the cracked sidewalk.
The house was old, with a faint smell of mildew. Patrick cased the place on instinct. No pictures on the wall. The only furniture in the living room was a weight bench, the bar loaded with 250 pounds of cast iron. He followed Evan down a dingy hallway to the kitchen. A card table and folding chairs sat in one corner. Without waiting for an invitation, Patrick pulled out one of the chairs and sat down, his feet up on the table.
Evan chuckled, shook his head. ‘It’s been, what, eight years?’ From a cabinet he took a half-empty bottle of Jameson’s and two highball glasses. He spent a couple of moments rummaging in a drawer, his back to Patrick, and came up with a kitchen towel. He set the lot on the table, poured two doubles, and took a seat. ‘What’s on your mind?’
Adrenaline made Patrick’s skeleton hum like crystal, and he savored it. ‘I know what you’re doing to Danny.’
‘Is that right?’ Evan asked. ‘He send you?’
‘I’m here for him.’ No point splitting hairs.
Evan drained half his whiskey, set the glass down lightly. ‘It’s between Danny and me.’
‘He’s not in the game anymore.’
‘So I keep hearing.’
Patrick took his feet off the table, sat up. He picked up his drink, using the opportunity to reposition the chair. He needed enough clearance from the table to move quickly. ‘Why are you doing this? You guys were like brothers.’
‘There’s a debt.’ Evan’s voice was flat but firm. ‘Danny pays it, we go back to being brothers.’
‘Balls to your debt. Nobody cheated you. You fucked up.’
Evan smiled. ‘That what you came to say?’
‘No.’ He leaned forward, his gaze hard. ‘I came to ask you nicely. Leave Danny alone.’
Evan knocked back the rest of his whiskey. His T-shirt had grease on it, and there were yellow sweat stains at his armpits. ‘Go fuck your hat.’
Patrick smiled, took a sip of the whiskey. So much for doing it nicely. Time to dance. When he set the glass down, he kept his hand moving, casual-like, to his lap. He could feel the switchblade poke against his calf. ‘What happened to you inside, man? Just get too used to being a bitch?’
Evan’s eyes narrowed and his shoulders tensed, like he was going to make a move. ‘Patrick, you shoot your mouth off. Have since you were a little brat used to follow us around like the sun shone out of Danny’s ass.’ He refilled his glass and topped Patrick’s off. ‘Someday you’re going to get slapped for it.’
Patrick slid his hand from his lap, careful not to dip his shoulder. This was the delicate
Similar Books
