part0016

Rubén and Oscar liked to say David’s mustache flair was an attempt to distract from the inadequacy of his manhood.

David argued that even if that were true, it was better than having Rubén’s pockmarked face or Oscar’s misshapen head, both of which could only attract dollar whores.

This sort of exchange was an hourly occurrence that inevitably escalated into swatting and punching until someone cried out, “Fuck!”

But these provocations were nothing compared to when they turned their attention to Xiaolian. Crude jokes and stories about the women they’d killed in Mexico were just the tip of the iceberg. Xiaolian was certain they’d have murdered her already if Avispón hadn’t specifically told them not to. Or at least they would’ve tried. It was one thing to go after unsuspecting women in rural Mexico; it was another to go after her.

She’d kill all three of them before a single hair on her head was put out of place again. So in a way, she thought, Avispón is actually keeping them alive.

At the moment, the clueless heathens were slapping and jostling one another as they headed toward a strip mall for lunch. There were three restaurants: one Chinese, one American, and one Tex-Mex. After giving David a solid thump on his shoulder, Oscar told Xiaolian they’d see her in thirty minutes. She nodded, happy to be alone.

But that was short lived. They all went for the American burger joint, and Xiaolian could only shake her head as she held the door open, stuck now, since if she went elsewhere, ROD would read it as intimidation and the harassment would only intensify.

She’d just have to make sure they didn’t slip anything into her food again.

The restaurant, a narrow space with wood-paneled walls and a tin ceiling, smelled of grease, beef, and bacon as tendrils of steam poured from the semi-exposed kitchen.

The group took an open booth halfway between the entrance and the back door emergency exit, since a local turf war had recently been fought, and they needed to keep their options open. The CJNG had pushed out both the Sinaloa Cartel and the Beltran-Leyva Cartel, but there were still some pockets of holdouts, like over in Commerce City, so ROD and Xiaolian were keeping their eyes open and their escape routes numerous.

Xiaolian counted eleven patrons: three teenagers (private-school bookworms, maybe track and fielders), three men (road construction workers; their trucks are out front), and one family (middle-to-upper class; they have the Porsche). Everyone was shooting sideways glances at her and the men, but these people presented no danger, so she sat and grabbed a menu.

Oscar had picked up on the glances as well, but unlike Xiaolian, he stared them all down one by one until they averted their gazes. All except for the little green-eyed girl quietly munching on her burger at the nearby table. She wasn’t judging them; she was just watching, and she continued to stare.

Oscar’s lip curled, and he pounded his fist on the table, making the girl jump. “Quit looking at me, you brat.”

The girl’s father threw Oscar a dirty look.

“Eat your lunch,” Oscar scolded the man.

Xiaolian doubted this accountant (or maybe wealth manager) had had many serious altercations in his life. He’d likely grown up in neighborhoods where the worst confrontations culminated in a raised voice and a lame insult (“Boot licker!”). Had he grown up in some rougher environment, like the Daxing district of Beijing where she’d been born, he would’ve known how to handle such outright aggression, but instead he cocked his head and asked, “Excuse me?”

“Eat your damn lunch,” Oscar growled.

The man ran some calculations in his head, then pushed himself up from his chair and sucked in his gut. “I think you owe my daughter an apology.”

The little girl, a hunk of burger and cheese and bun bulging her lips, looked from Oscar to her father to Oscar.

A low, rolling rumble emanated from Oscar’s throat.

Xiaolian laid her menu down and kicked Oscar under the table.

He didn’t react. Probably still amped up on adrenaline. They’d killed a guy—a trailer-park meth manufacturer up in Bailey who hadn’t been playing the game the way the CJNG wanted it played—just before this. Oscar had gotten so pumped up over the hit, fidgeting nonstop on the way there, that when it had ended without incident, he’d grown agitated and restless.

Xiaolian blamed herself. She should’ve known to make it harder for this group. Induced a chase or a struggle or something. Instead she’d disconnected the battery in the man’s truck the prior night, so when he popped the hood to make the fix in the morning—because he knew his truck as well as any man who couldn’t afford to pay someone else to take care of it—Oscar had only needed to walk up and shoot him in the head. Done and done. As Oscar stood over the body, though, his hands fiddled with the gun, itching to do something more.

She should’ve just given in and let the men dismember the mountain meth man like they’d wanted. The limb hacking would’ve worn them out. Now, needing to burn off the adrenaline, Oscar wanted to fight an accountant (or wealth manager).

Rubén and David were watching with bated breath, ready to step in and get some action as well. Rubén’s eyebrow-less left brow twitched in anticipation as Oscar put his hands atop the table and started to rise.

Xiaolian kicked Oscar again, much harder this time, and he turned to her, scowling.

“Don’t you dare,” she said, loud enough for the father to hear and hopefully realize he should rethink his request for an apology.

Oscar’s pupils shrank; he slapped his palms on the table.

“Don’t,” she repeated.

“Order me a double with cheese,” he barked, then stormed away to the restroom.

The father slowly sat. “Chew your food, honey,” he told the girl.

Xiaolian shook her head and brushed some hair from her bruised cheek. She glanced at Rubén and David, who leaned back in the booth.

The restaurant settled.

When Oscar returned, the server was standing in his way, scribbling Rubén’s novel-length order on her pad. He waited, glancing down at the accosted family. The father refused to acknowledge his presence, but the little girl, nibbling on her squished burger, looked up. She smiled.

Oscar knocked the burger from her hands.

The father yelled out. The girl teared up.

“The little brat was looking at me again,” Oscar said.

Xiaolian jumped from the booth, pushing the server aside, and grabbed Oscar by the back of his neck, pinching the nerve. As he howled, she guided him out of the restaurant.

She left him standing in the parking lot while she went back in, handed the father enough cash to pay for his family’s lunch, and corralled Rubén and David outside as well.

As they walked back to their SUV, Rubén asked, “So what about lunch? I’m fucking starving.”

“You dumbshits aren’t getting out of the car until Duluth.” Xiaolian pointed at a Wendy’s across the highway. “Figure out what you want.”

“Bitch,” Oscar hissed.

Xiaolian walked to the driver’s-side door, wishing she could kill them all right then and be done with this nonsense. Just wait, she told herself.

A woman’s voice: “Yes. Hello? Are you there?”

Gregory chewed. For a moment he thought the voice belonged to Tina Turner’s assistant—sounded just like her—but the area code wasn’t LA. It was a 312 number. Just a couple digits difference but half way across the country. He swallowed the mushed lump of junk food. “Yep. I’m here.”

“I was on your website,” the woman explained.

Gregory set the Cheeto bag on the passenger seat and watched a bald, egg-shaped man struggle to pull his suitcase from the back of an Audi coupe.

“Says you catch cheating husbands?”

“I do.” Gregory hadn’t. Ever. The pictures he’d put on the website of suspiciously cozy couples with their faces blurred were all stock images.

“My name’s Tiffany.”

Gregory introduced himself, then asked, “So your husband’s cheating?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” He reached across the car and dug in for a Cheeto. They were damn addictive. “You want me to nail him when he’s nailing her, or maybe when he’s nailing him? Shouldn’t assume. My bad.” The crunch of a Cheeto.

“I want you to tell me where he’s at.”

“Like right now?”

The bald man finally yanked the suitcase from his car, twirling and tripping over himself. Gregory smirked.

“No. He said he was flying to New York for business, but I know he’s here. Find him.”

“Here where?” Gregory asked. “In Duluth?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm. Sure. Handle these all the time.” He didn’t. But still, he managed to deliver the next bit like it was an old routine. “I work on retainer. Plus a finder’s fee. Hundred dollars a day. Thousand when I find him. You’ll get photos and video to make your case to the courts so you can get whatever you want in the divorce.”

“Just tell me where he is. I don’t need photos or video. And he said he’s coming back on Thursday, so be fast.”

“I can work with that.”

“So what do you need from me?” the woman asked. “A picture?”

“I need a contract.” He’d have to find something official (and free) on the Internet. “I’ll send it over. Read through it; sign it; send it back.”

“Forget the contract. Just get to work.”

“I don’t work for free, ma’am.”

“Not asking you to, sir. Contracts don’t mean shit. I’ll pay you. You got Venmo?”

“Sure.” He didn’t. He was starting to realize how unprepared he was for the success of these AdWords. What else didn’t I think of?

“I’ll send you the cash through Venmo. You get the photo I just texted you?”

Gregory put the phone on speaker to take a look at what’d come through. His brow furrowed. He enlarged the picture, zooming in on the man who was sitting by himself in a coffee shop. “What’s your husband’s name?”

“His name? Jacob.” A slight pause, then Tiffany added, “Norris. Jacob Norris.”

“Jacob Norris.” Gregory zoomed in until the entire screen was just Jacob’s face. That wasn’t the man’s name. That was Jacob White. Or maybe “White” is the fake name? “Norris” is the real name? He grabbed another Cheeto, pondering it over. White or Norris? In the end, did it really matter? All he had to do was tell Tiffany that Jacob was at Days Inn, and he’d collect a cool thousand bucks.

But the moneymaking gears in his head were turning. Not so fast. I could string it out. Why collect a thousand today, when every day that passed was another hundred dollars in his pocket? She’d given him until Thursday to find Jacob Norris. Why not take until Thursday?

Tiffany made some comment he didn’t hear as the storm clouds of an even grander scheme were brewing in his head. But could he get something extra from Tina Turner? Could he play these two women off each other? He had no idea what was going on between them and Jacob, but there surely was a bigger opportunity here. Maybe Tina would pay him more than a grand to keep quiet? Possible.

He needed to do some research on Jacob whatever-his-name-was. He needed to get a better handle on the situation before making a decision.

Gregory popped another Cheeto into his mouth. “I’ll let you know when I find your husband.” Crunch.

“I want to know the second you do,” Tiffany instructed.

“Yep. Getting right on it.” Gregory tapped his phone, ending the call. The bald man had vanished into the hotel, and the Cheetos were gone. Doesn’t matter. He had plenty to keep himself busy with now.