tell you. You want a ride? We’re goin’ for a ride.”
Slick exhaled, keeping his calm. Not much he could do from the front seat with a gun in his ear. He checked the mirror. Another kid, not more than twenty. Latino. Scared as hell, but covering it with a layer of tough guy swagger learned second hand by guys who learned it from Scarface .
“So what do I say to this Rudy when we get there? He’s never seen me before in his life.”
“You tell him El Cid is here to see him, to call him out. He wants to fuck with me so bad he can fuck me himself, not send out some walking Halloween mask to do his dirty work.”
“So I guess we’re going to see Rudy.”
Slick turned the wheel as instructed and thought about karma.
His only time in the joint, six months on an armed robbery, his cellmate went on and on about karma and Buddha and all kinds of bullshit. Slick let him talk. Better than getting his asshole violated. Jimmy wanted to talk Eastern religion, let him. But please keep your dick in your pants.
Somehow bad people attracted bad people. That’s karma, is what Jimmy would say. Go to bad places and bad things will happen to you, but a parking lot at ten in the morning isn’t usually what you’d consider unsafe. The liquor store adds a certain element to it but still, it’s not a dark alley at midnight.
So who does Slick attract? Other criminals.
“Hey, yo turn that music back up.”
Slick obeyed. He wasn’t sure how long this would delay him from his quest to recover his money. Money first, then Emma. That was for sure. With this little detour the money couldn’t wait any longer.
But then Emma . . . he really wanted to see her. This kind of shit was exactly why he wanted to take her away, start over on a foundation of $642,000. There had to be sleepy towns, beaches, places where there were no Rudys. No Slicks. He’d go back to using Eddie. Maybe get some of that plastic surgery.
Emma deserved it. Get the money, get Emma, get out. That was the plan. Only the matter of extricating himself from this little disagreement first.
“So, Cid, what’s your beef with Rudy?”
“Like you don’t fuckin’ know.”
“I really don’t.”
“It takes a dummy to play dumb.”
“Were you trying to get out of town?”
“Man, shut up and drive.”
“A guy hiding out in the back of a car, buddy driving him someplace safe, stopping off for a bottle. One for the road. No shame in running. It’s the smart play most times.”
Silence from the back seat. Slick felt like a cab driver making small talk with a client who doesn’t want to talk. “What if I told you I had a lot of money stashed and I could front you some cash to get out of here?”
“Look fool, you really think I’m that stupid? How much is Rudy paying you? It ain’t enough to get me to run chicken.”
“How’s forty-thousand?”
“Now I know you’re full of shit.”
“Suit yourself. You seem pretty scared though. Doesn’t seem like driving up to Rudy’s front door is the best solution here. For either of us. Better for us both to get out of town.”
El Cid sat up close to Slick’s seat back again, pushing the gun into his neck. He was going to have a bruise. “I ain’t scared. I wasn’t running. My cousin Marcos was scared. He was trying to get me to leave. You know what, Holmes. I’m glad you kicked him out. Now I can go show Rudy I’m not no pussy.”
“Glad I could help.”
The sky outside threatened rain again. Traffic rolled by with no idea what was going on inside the gaudy custom car with the hip hop soundtrack.
The longer they drove, the residential streets showed a direct correlation to the level of poverty in relation to the amount of junk in the front yard.
A car with a tarp over it and unmowed grass creeping up around the tires: going through some hard time. A washing machine on the side of the house and a plastic kid’s playhouse with two walls collapsed and the bright red plastic gone pink in the sun:
Slick exhaled, keeping his calm. Not much he could do from the front seat with a gun in his ear. He checked the mirror. Another kid, not more than twenty. Latino. Scared as hell, but covering it with a layer of tough guy swagger learned second hand by guys who learned it from Scarface .
“So what do I say to this Rudy when we get there? He’s never seen me before in his life.”
“You tell him El Cid is here to see him, to call him out. He wants to fuck with me so bad he can fuck me himself, not send out some walking Halloween mask to do his dirty work.”
“So I guess we’re going to see Rudy.”
Slick turned the wheel as instructed and thought about karma.
His only time in the joint, six months on an armed robbery, his cellmate went on and on about karma and Buddha and all kinds of bullshit. Slick let him talk. Better than getting his asshole violated. Jimmy wanted to talk Eastern religion, let him. But please keep your dick in your pants.
Somehow bad people attracted bad people. That’s karma, is what Jimmy would say. Go to bad places and bad things will happen to you, but a parking lot at ten in the morning isn’t usually what you’d consider unsafe. The liquor store adds a certain element to it but still, it’s not a dark alley at midnight.
So who does Slick attract? Other criminals.
“Hey, yo turn that music back up.”
Slick obeyed. He wasn’t sure how long this would delay him from his quest to recover his money. Money first, then Emma. That was for sure. With this little detour the money couldn’t wait any longer.
But then Emma . . . he really wanted to see her. This kind of shit was exactly why he wanted to take her away, start over on a foundation of $642,000. There had to be sleepy towns, beaches, places where there were no Rudys. No Slicks. He’d go back to using Eddie. Maybe get some of that plastic surgery.
Emma deserved it. Get the money, get Emma, get out. That was the plan. Only the matter of extricating himself from this little disagreement first.
“So, Cid, what’s your beef with Rudy?”
“Like you don’t fuckin’ know.”
“I really don’t.”
“It takes a dummy to play dumb.”
“Were you trying to get out of town?”
“Man, shut up and drive.”
“A guy hiding out in the back of a car, buddy driving him someplace safe, stopping off for a bottle. One for the road. No shame in running. It’s the smart play most times.”
Silence from the back seat. Slick felt like a cab driver making small talk with a client who doesn’t want to talk. “What if I told you I had a lot of money stashed and I could front you some cash to get out of here?”
“Look fool, you really think I’m that stupid? How much is Rudy paying you? It ain’t enough to get me to run chicken.”
“How’s forty-thousand?”
“Now I know you’re full of shit.”
“Suit yourself. You seem pretty scared though. Doesn’t seem like driving up to Rudy’s front door is the best solution here. For either of us. Better for us both to get out of town.”
El Cid sat up close to Slick’s seat back again, pushing the gun into his neck. He was going to have a bruise. “I ain’t scared. I wasn’t running. My cousin Marcos was scared. He was trying to get me to leave. You know what, Holmes. I’m glad you kicked him out. Now I can go show Rudy I’m not no pussy.”
“Glad I could help.”
The sky outside threatened rain again. Traffic rolled by with no idea what was going on inside the gaudy custom car with the hip hop soundtrack.
The longer they drove, the residential streets showed a direct correlation to the level of poverty in relation to the amount of junk in the front yard.
A car with a tarp over it and unmowed grass creeping up around the tires: going through some hard time. A washing machine on the side of the house and a plastic kid’s playhouse with two walls collapsed and the bright red plastic gone pink in the sun:
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