"But you fought for us. And…there may be room in the circle for additional members, soon.”
He nods. "Perhaps." He juts his chin at Anjalee, who is very busily and thoroughly making out with Kane, whose hands are buried in her ass. "Such a life is not for me."
"Why not?"
"I am Dalit."
"I admit, to my shame, that I know very little of the caste system of your country."
He shrugs, shakes his head. "It is not mattering. Not anymore. I am not there. I shall never return."
"Then—"
He grunts, irritation cutting through his normally placid demeanor. "Enough, please. Just…leave me be. Brand or no, I will be loyal to the brothers and these women. That is all anyone must know."
I hold up my hands. "I don't mean to pry, Taj. I have been…aloof, in the past. I am trying to be more of a friend and less of a boss or authority."
He nods, not looking at me.
I leave him and return to Toro's side.
Toro glances back at Taj, and then at me. "Discover anything about our silent comrade?"
"A bit. Not much. Mostly that he doesn't like being asked questions.”
Toro snorts. "I have worked with him for a while now, and you got more out of him in that conversation than I ever did. He is truly a very closed-off person."
"So was I, at one point," I answer.
Toro grins, eyeing Lorenzo, who is in conversation with Solomon and Scarlett. "Lorenzo loosened your tongue, did he?"
I laugh. "Something like that, yes."
I let the reunion carry on for a few more minutes and then give a long, sharp, two-fingered whistle to get everyone's attention. Conversation cuts out and everyone gathers around me in a semi-circle.
"So, here we all are. This is the endgame, ladies and gentlemen. Intel suggests both Pugli and Mercado are here in LA. There's a shipment of arms somewhere in this port that is tied to Mercado, and the fact that the authorities can't seem to find it suggests that Pugli is using his influence and wealth to make sure no one is looking. We need to use every contact, every favor and marker, every resource we can all leverage to pinpoint the time and location for the Pugli and Rafael meeting. Whatever they're planning, we can assume it isn't good, and is likely directed at us and the man who employs us all."
Fonz lifts a hand. "I know some people who might be able to help. Let me make a few calls." He hesitates. "They ain't exactly workin' on the right side of things. Just so you know. The intel would be solid, though."
Solomon answers for me. "We aren't the police, and we aren't interested in due process or evidence or any of that shit, Fonz. I don't give a fuck if these dudes are serial killers. If they know where this meet is, or if they can find out, I'll deliver a dump truck full of cash to their door."
"Can I quote you on the dump truck full of cash?" Fonz asks. "Because these guys? Money talksrealfuckin' loud."
I answer for Solomon, now. "If their intel proves solid and leads us to the meet and the deaths of our enemies, I will personally pay them a hundred thousand dollars each."
Fonz nods. "That'll do it."
"Just…make sure they know the cash only happens if the intel proves out and they don't double-cross us."
Solomon chips in, here. "And Fonz, make it crystal fucking clear that we aren't playing by the rules either. We're not cops. If they even think about double-crossing us, they'll die slow, painful deaths."
Fonz nods, digging his phone out of his pocket. "No problemo. Be back." He swagger-limps away, scrolling through contacts in his phone.
A few minutes later, Fonz returns grinning. "My contacts have heard some chatter. They're gonna look into it and get back to me. These two are seriously connected in the criminal underworld of LA, so if anyone can get a bead on what's going on, it's them. And better yet, Pugli and this Rafael-Mercado cat throwin' their weight around like this? It's makin' some people pretty damn unhappy. LA is all kinds'a carved up, know what I mean? Everybody's got their turf, and no one really wants out-an'-out war, so they tend to color inside the established lines, for the most part. These two dickbags show up with a container full of guns stolen from the US Army, push around local authorities, get ATF sniffin' around everyone else's shit? No one likes that kind of attention."
“Your point, Fonz?" I ask.
"My point is that the folks I know in the game want to see Mercado and Pugli eliminated, or at least taken off the board here in LA. So they're willing to play with us if it means shit goes back to normal."
