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Rush hour traffic on I-94 near downtown St. Paul was always gridlocked. Marco inched his black 1986 Mustang, buffed to a sparkling shine, around the winding and twisting lanes known as Spaghetti Junction, but any attempt to get past the sea of cars was futile. Eddie leaned back in the passenger seat, happy to let Marco maneuver through the mess.
“Fuckin’ traffic. Jesus Christ,” Eddie said.
Marco shrugged and kept his eyes on the road. “Rush hour. What’d’ya gonna’ do?”
Eddie smacked Marco’s arm.
“Will ya’ look over there? Ain’t that the guy who stiffed Dario for that meth from a couple-a weeks ago?”
“Where?”
With the Mustang paused in traffic, Eddie could have been pointing to any of the cars ahead of them, each trapped at a standstill in the four lanes.
“Up there,” said Eddie. “One lane over, two cars up. That white piece-a shit Camaro. See it? I’d know that rusty-ass car anywhere.”
“Oh, yeah. That’s him,” Marco nodded. “What’s his name again, Snap? Sap?”
“It’s Snack,” Eddie said.
Before Marco could say another word, Eddie was out of the car.
Marco poked his head out of the driver’s side window and shouted. “Eddie! What the fuck?”
As Eddie walked around the front of Marco’s car, he adjusted his Ray Bans and flicked his hand, before walking in and around the mass of cars as they inched around the curve at a snail’s pace. Eddie ignored the honking horns, and continued until he reached the white Camaro. He gave the trunk of the car a solid pound with his fist before walking to the passenger side door and climbing in.
Snack, a middle-aged white man who dressed like a young hip-hop star, whipped his head as his bulging eyes locked on Eddie.
“The hell?” Snack looked side-to-side and back at Eddie. “Where’d you come from?”
“Nice to see ya’, Snack. You got my two grand?”
“Holy hell, Eddie! How’d you get here—in the middle of the freeway?”
“Don’t worry about that. Gimme’ your wallet.”
Snack’s shoulders sank as he leaned into the steering wheel.
“Come on, Eddie. I don’t have your money.”
Eddie raised his fist and smashed it into Snack’s cheek, his head jerking from the blow. “I’m not fuckin’ playin’.”
Snack put his hand to his face as he leaned away from Eddie.
“I mean, I don’t have it now. Here. In the car. I was totally gonna’ come by the restaurant and drop it off.”
Eddie grabbed Snack’s hand from the steering wheel and bent his fingers backward. Snack moaned and fought, without success, to yank away his hand.
“I should fuck you up right here, you little piece-a shit,” Eddie said. “You’re lucky, though. Too many witnesses. Come by tomorrow. Parking lot across the street. Five o’clock. Got it?”
“Got it. I’ll be there.”
Eddie poked his finger in Snack’s cheek. “You better be there. Cuz’ if I have-ta come lookin’-fa you, you’ll be a snack for my fuckin’ dog, you got that? Huh? Snack? And don’t come in-ta my restaurant. I’ll have somebody waitin’.”
Eddie shook his head. “Ya’ know, Snack, that idiot Dario never learns. I told him no more frontin’ people. So you? You learn now, or you’ll learn later. Money up front from now on. Got it?”
Snack bobbed his head up and down. “Yeah, Eddie. Up front. Okay.”
Eddie wanted to pop him in his jaw again, but instead, he left the car without saying another word, leaving the passenger door wide open. He heard it slam behind him as he walked back through the traffic. He ignored the honking and shouts, and the uptick in traffic speed, as he continued to saunter around the cars as though strolling in the park.
Once back in the car, Marco started yelling. “Jesus Christ Eddie. What the fuck was that?”
Eddie adjusted his shirt sleeves. “Just conductin’ a little business.” He looked over at Marco and grinned. “Nothin’ to worry about.”
Marco shook his head as he got the car moving again. “Okay.”
Eddie patted Marco on the back as the car started crawling through the traffic.
“Let’s get back-ta the restaurant. Can you pick me up around eight tonight? Gotta’ make a few stops. Collect on a few more notes.”
Marco kept his eyes on the road. “Sure, Eddie. No problem.”
“This is workin’ out nice, ya’ know? You drivin’ me around so I can make these stops quicker?”
“Happy to help,” Marco said. “It’s been ... interesting.”
Eddie chuckled as he reached into his jacket pocket and handed a wad of cash to Marco.
“Sorry about the late-night shift. Hopefully, this’ll make up for it.”
Marco took the cash without looking at it, and leaned sideways to stuff it into his jeans pocket. He glanced over at Eddie with a smile. “Thanks.”
“Oh, and that piece-a-shit Snack is comin’ by the restaurant around five tomorrow to give me my two grand. Can you handle that? Meet him in the parkin’ lot across the street? I don’t want these losers comin’ in my restaurant.”
“Sure, I’ll handle it.”
At the restaurant, Eddie got out of the Mustang.
“Tonight, then. Eight o’clock?”
Marco nodded. “Pick you up right here.”
Eddie shut the car door and walked into the restaurant as Marco pulled away, headed for home.
