Tony appears from the foyer, sweating. His jacket is gone. He’s holding a huge black handgun at his thigh, snapping into a cell phone in rapid Spanish. “He’s here.” This is to me.
I smirk. “I know.”
“He’s not alone.”
I tilt my head to the side. “Did you think he would be?”
“I didn’t think shit,” he snaps at me. “This shit ain’t my fuckin’ party.” He glances at the double doors leading to the bedroom. “His idea. Bait the bear, he said. Use the bitch, bait the bear.”
I follow his glances. “Who?”
“Javier Aguillera. Boss’s son.” He—irresponsibly, to my mind—scratches his forehead with the barrel of the pistol. “Loco,” he whispers. “Dude ain’t right. Boss told him to let Rev go, forget him, no way he’d snitch. We leave him alone, he leaves us alone.”
“It’s true,” I say. “He just wants to be left alone. Now you’ve pissed him off.”
“Javier is fuckin’locoas shit,chica.” His accent is thicker, he’s pacing. Gesturing with the gun. “Javier’s girl, she was pantin’ after Rev’s dick.”
This tweaks me a little, but it’s not shocking.
“All the girls did,” Tony continues, pacing. “But Camilla? She was fuckin’droolin’for his shit. Followed him around like a little puppy. Touchin’ him and shit. Flirtin’, all that shit. Showed up at his crib, once, the stupidputa. Rev tol’ me about that shit, she was naked as the day she was born, in his bed, beggin’ him to fuck her. He sent her packin’. Legit, tossed her puta ass outside naked.”
This does surprise me. “He did?”
Tony waves the gun. “Shit, Rev ain’t stupid. Plus, Camilla wasn’t his type. Skinny little bitch, no tits, no ass. Rev never tapped none of the girls. But the ones helookedat? They were…” He glances at me, again using the gun to gesture at me, the barrel swiping up and down at me. “Like you. Bangin’.”
“Oh.”
“Plus, Rev ain’t fuckin’ stupid. You don’t fuck with the boss, you don’t fuck with the boss’s kids, you sure as fuck don’t fuck with their bitches.”
“I see.”
The gunfire has been silent this whole time. Worrying. In an effort to not freak out about Rev and whoever’s with him possibly being dead, I decide to ask questions.
“You keep saying the girls. What girls?”
A shrug. “Thegirls. What’chou think I’m talkin’ about? Friends?”
“You mean prostitutes.”
“Sure, yeah.” Meaning, there’s a difference, but it’s not clear to me, and I don’t push it.
“What did Rev have to do with them?”
“He was the enforcer. Some dumb fuck thought he’d smack a girl around, Boss sent in Rev to make it clear youdo nothurt the girls. Assuming the john survived Rev’s lesson, Iguaranteehe never smacked a bitch again.”
“Oh.” It’s faint.
More gunfire. Again, abruptly silenced. It’s closer, now. Echoing from the stairwell.
Tony looks in that direction. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. He’s coming.”
Tony looks downright terrified.
The outer double doors slam open and Tony’s gun swings that way. It’s José. And six other men, all dressed alike. All with some kind of machine gun in their hands, pistols in their shoulder holsters.
José snaps orders in Spanish, and the men fan out, taking up positions in various corners of the room, facing the doorway. Which, for some reason I don’t understand, he closes. I’m the last person to know about this stuff, but it seems to me you’d want the doors open so you could open fire the moment he pokes his head out of the elevator or stairwell.
More likely, the stairwell. I just don’t see Rev, all hyped up and pissed off and in break-stuff mode, calmly riding the elevator.
