Mr. Hooligan by Ian Vasquez

loqwacious arsist on Pickstock Street that I am defrauding you of your prize tools. Two persons, certain pessimistick nonentittys are suspected of such ficticious acusations. I am gathering clues for the discovery of such infidels and to assist no one.
Yours gradigually,
Arturo Godoy
    Riley said, “Quite a letter you got here. Maybe a few misspellings.”
    “Keep that copy for your corrections. I got another one home.”
    “Good thinking.” Riley folded and slipped the letter into a pants pocket. “How soon you need this back?”
    Turo reflected on that. “Next Wednesday before five P.M. That’s when my landlord comes back from Cancún.”
    “His name’s Parter?”
    “No. That’s, like, German. For father. His name is Joseph Jones.”
    “Okay, I’ll get right on this.”
    “Appreciate it. It’s very important,” and Turo picked up the broom and got back to work.
    Riley exchanged a look with Harvey and shrugged.
    The Range Rover pulled in at 10:30 sharp, and Harvey and Gert swung around on their stools to watch Lopez scurry around to open the minister’s door. Riley was standing at the railing and set his coffee down while they came through the gate. He heard grumbling behind him and Harvey telling Gert, Be nice.
    Lopez was dressed in a spiffy bowling shirt and Minister Burrows had on a white strapless dress with low heels, both of them looking post–Sunday brunch. Riley wondered about them. What was their real connection? Were they sleeping together?
    Everyone traded greetings, and Lopez, Riley, and Harvey went to sit at one of the high tables with bolted-down stools on the inside deck. Riley looked over his shoulder and beckoned Gert to join but she wouldn’t. Stood right there shooting the minister daggers.
    Minister Burrows clacked around examining the Lindbergh photos on the walls, the drawings of the Spirit of St. Louis etched into the bar counter.
    Riley said, “Well,” and was about to begin, but Lopez pointed his chin at Turo rolling up the hose. They waited until Turo wheeled the hose cart away, broom in the other hand.
    Riley said, “I think you’ll be pleased. Took some doing but I was able to come up with a hundred and fifty grand.”
    Lopez made a face, turned his head slowly, and looked along his shoulder at the minister.
    Leaning forward to inspect an etching on the bar, she shook her head slightly.
    “No,” Lopez said.
    “No, what?”
    “No deal. I precisely remembered us sitting here and agreeing on the amount needed and that has not changed, Mr. James.”
    “Agreeing on the amount. Was more like you dictating to us the amount. Furthermore, what’s to stop you from coming back asking for more? We need a guarantee that won’t happen.”
    Harvey said, “That’s right,” arms folded across his chest.
    Lopez put a hand on his forehead and massaged his temples. “Look, you two. I leave here today unsatisfied, it’s because when I return,” sweeping his hand across the table, “you won’t be here. Not one trace that you ever owned the place. And the keys to the house will be in my pocket.” He looked at Riley, putting on the befuddlement. “You must think I’m playing a little game with you. I will shut this fucking place down,” he said, finger stabbing the table. “By noon today, you and you,” pointing at them now, “will be the former owners of the establishment once known as Lindy’s.”
    At the bar, the minister cleared her throat loudly, stepping over to the bank of windows, very casual, fiddling with the knobs.
    “Okay, then,” Lopez said. “Okay, you want to go smaller than two hundred grand today, here’s an offer. In addition to the payment today, give me a five percent cut of your monthly gross, five percent or a thousand a month, whichever is greater. You do that and you won’t see me here again. But one fifty today? No, that won’t do it. Understood?”
    Riley looked at Harvey.
    Harvey turned down his lips. “Five percent or a thousand? I don’t