I start the car and answer quietly, “Sure they do. In private.”
In prison, all you had between you and your food was the amount of time you could get it into your mouth before someone bigger and stronger came along and decided they needed it more than you did. If you didn’t eat fast, you didn’t eat at all. In my first week of juvie, I was lucky if I managed to eat half my meals before they were taken from me. I quickly came to know the pecking order, and I didn’t like it.
So I changed it.
One afternoon, an older, bigger, meaner guy slid my tray out from underneath me. By this point, I’d had enough. I was already cold and lonely in the concrete hellhole I’d call home for the next few years, so if I could stop myself from being hungry, then I was going to do it.
I quickly realized that if I wanted that food, I was going to have to fight for it.
Juvie is less like a prison and more like a zoo. Show your size and dominance, and others will leave you be. Hunger does things to people. It feeds anger and irritation. That anger and irritation soon becomes raw fury, and before you know it, you’re sticking a makeshift shiv in the gut of a guy you were playing basketball with the week before. It can make even the most agreeable of people do things they hadn’t imagined possible.
I remember lifting a tray over my head and bringing it down onto the other guy’s head, the unsuspecting attack leaving him sprawled on the dirty floor. I remember lifting that sticky, thick, rectangular piece of plastic and throwing it down, again and again, the jerk of his body bringing me a sick sense of satisfaction. I remember the deafening roar of blood rushing through my ears and the other guy bleeding on the floor, unmoving. I also remember reaching down and picking bits of food off of the floor, managing to eat some of it before I was taken down by officers. I remember the look on the other boys’ faces as I was escorted to the hole.
No one took my food again. Sure, I wasn’t the biggest or strongest, but I made my stand. They now knew there would be consequences for their actions when it came to me.
It wasn’t my last fight in juvie, but it took a lot to make me fight again. The only thing I found solace in was being able to keep my cool for longer than most. My control near unwavering, the boys started to come to me for advice or an ear. That first fight would cement my role in juvie. I had earned it without even knowing I was fighting for it. I was fucking good at it though, and as the years went on, an unspoken level of respect amongst my peers was won. Again, I hadn’t known I wanted it, but having it gave me an inch of power I hadn’t had before. Funnily enough, it would lead me to my current role in life.
A taste of power is sweet on the tongue.
Draining the last of my coffee, I throw the empty cup into the paper bag and hand it to Ling. She takes it without question, and I pull out of the parking lot, driving west, making it a short way before I lower the volume on the radio to ask, “Details?”
Ling shuffles around a moment before locating her Oroton compendium. She turns to the first page, and reads aloud, “Dispute between the Castillo and Gambino families. Castillo has his hands all over. Weapons, dirty money, women. Gambino is a classic case. Drugs, protection, bribery. Castillo’s only son, Miguel, is the contact. A few years back, Castillo and Gambino called a truce. Gambino’s eldest son, Dino, married Castillo’s eldest daughter, Alejandra.”
Without a trace of emotion, I mutter a cold, “How sweet.”
Ling snorts a laugh. “Anyway, you’re going to love this.” Tapping the page with a perfectly manicured nail, she announces in glee, “The Gambinos… they don’t know we’re coming.”
Well, that’s just fucking dandy. “Please tell me this is a minor dispute.”
“Of course.” I can practically hear her smile. “Just murder.”
Taking a deep breath, I mutter a hushed, “Fuck.”
Holding her hands up, the asshole does all she can to hide her smile, but she can’t quite do it. “What? It’s not like we haven’t done this before.”
My eyes slide over to her, my expression caught somewhere between you have lost your fucking mind and I will beat your ass, woman. “Yeah. Only those other times? I was fucking prepared and so were they.”
She slides back into her chair, leaning her head back and sighing. Eyes closed, she mutters a distant, “Jesus, you’re hot when you’re pissed.”
And all I can do is look heavenward and pray.
Dear Lord, Jesus, I’m a patient man, but I’m no fucking saint.
Giving myself a moment to calm down, I drive in silence. A short while up the road, Ling asks, “Wanna fuck?”
Sometimes, I wonder about this woman.
Turning slowly, I remove my sunglasses. My glare shouts that she’s pushing her luck. Her practiced wide-eyed innocence makes my blood curdle. I continue to glare as she bursts into laughter, then states, “It was a joke!”
I face the road, and mumble, “Ha-ha, motherfucker.”
Her dainty hand invades my space. It rubs at my shoulder. “Oh, c’mon. It was a joke. I’m joking. Totally joking.” Her hand stills and she admits, “Unless you’re into it.” Anger bubbles in my gut, as she concedes laughingly, “Kidding!”
I gotta admit. I like Ling. When Twitch had her, I thought she was crazy. In fact, more than once, I told him to get rid of her. Now, I’m not saying she’s not crazy, but she’s not a bad person. In the four years we’ve shared together, a friendship grew. One night after a bender, a drunken Ling admitted that I was her first friend, and she didn’t know what to do with that. My unwillingness to have sex with her somehow won me her respect. Knowing I had brought a part out of her that other people rarely saw… it was pleasant. No one else got to see Ling the comedian or Ling the caring. Other people got to see Ling the bitch and, more frequently, Ling the ho.
But she likes it that way. That is her protective cover. Her security blanket.
There is so much more to Ling than meets the eye. Four years later, and I still don’t know her. She has layers, and even with those I’ve peeled away, I’m not even close to the center. Hell, I’ve barely skimmed the surface.
“Why don’t you want to fuck me? You know it wouldn’t affect our work. Lots of men think I’m beautiful.” Although the question sounds vain, she looks at me thoughtfully.
“You are beautiful.” I spare her a glance. “I think snakes are beautiful, too. Doesn’t mean I want one sucking my dick.”
Her small hand hitting my shoulder pulls a smile from me. “You’re a jerk.” But I hear the smile in her voice. “You want the rest of the file, or you just want to wing it?”
“Give it to me.”
She reads to herself, then murmurs, “Oh, and the plot thickens.”
Great. I don’t bother sugarcoating my frustration. “You wanna share? Maybe sometime this year?”
“The dead guy, Raul Mendoza, was Alejandra Castillo’s high school sweetheart. And get this… he married Alejandra’s younger sister, Veronica. Dino Gambino is the accused murderer.”
My brows rise. What kind of shit-storm am I walking into? “Alejandra and Raul were having an affair?”
Ling shakes her head. “Not according to this. Alejandra is the model wife and is loyal to her husband. She loves Dino. They’re, according to sources, happily married.”
I think a short while, before asking her, “And what do you think?”
Without hesitation, Ling responds, “I think the way to the truth is through the wife.”
Bingo.
I smile to myself while wondering how I’m going to make this wife betray her husband.
An hour of driving and we arrive at our destination. We pull up to the residence of Eduardo Castillo. Approaching the intercom, I press the button, and announce, “Julius Carter and Ling Nguyen, as requested by Miguel Castillo.”
The buzzer clicks over before the wide cast-iron gates slowly open. Slowly, I make my way down the gravel drive, spying perfectly shaped hedges and artful statues lining the entrance. The mansion looks every bit as
I imagined. The exterior demands attention, and without even looking inside, I would say the interior will be just as demanding.
As I approach the entrance, a well-dressed man wearing glasses, an earpiece and a black suit jacket with a golden cursive C on the pocket advances to the car. Opening the door, he holds out his hand. I step out of the vehicle and hand him the keys, and walking around the car, I open the door for Ling and escort her out. We walk up the steps to be greeted by a man close to my age. His features are hard beyond his years. Tall and built, his brown eyes wander over Ling. His eyes flash. He runs a hand through his messy black hair. Holding out a hand, we shake as he introduces himself. “Mr. Carter. I am Miguel Castillo. Thank you for coming. I did not know you would be bringing a”—his eyes rest on Ling’s full lips—“a guest.”
Ling smiles. “Hello, Mr. Castillo. My name is Ling. I’m Mr. Carter’s personal assistant. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Miguel immediately warms to her. Taking her hand, he kisses her knuckles. “I apologize, Ling. I hadn’t meant to be rude. Please, you must call me Miguel.” As he looks up at me, he loses his smile. “Come. I’ll fill you in on everything you need to know. The Gambinos will be here in an hour. We have no time to lose.” Miguel guides us into the hall. “I apologize in advance, but I must ask that you remove any weapons you may have on your person. My father would take it as a direct insult.”
The message is clear.
Do not insult Eduardo Castillo.
With a nod, I remove my sweetheart from the holster inside my jacket. A custom engraved .45-caliber pistol Twitch had made for me for my thirtieth birthday. The guy hadn’t a sentimental bone in his body, but this gift is something I will treasure forever. I allow Miguel to place it in a safe under the staircase. Ling reaches inside her jacket, pulling out a dagger, a can of mace and a small .22-caliber pistol. Miguel begins to take them when Ling coughs, regaining his attention. She reaches down to the hem of her skirt, eyes trained on Miguel, slowly raising it high up her thigh. From places I don’t even want to think about, she pulls out another .22-caliber pistol and another switchback knife.
Miguel and I both watch her, and while Miguel watches her in awe, my eyes smile down at my pet viper.
Our moment of staring is over when Ling shrugs slowly, seductively. “That’s it.”
Miguel smiles then, surprised, before turning to me. “Personal assistant, huh? What would it cost me to have an assistant like that?”
Ling walks to my side, daintily placing her arm in the crook of my elbow. A sly grin crosses her, making her look more dangerous than usual. “Your life.”
Walking Ling forward, I fight my smile as I hear Miguel mutter a gravelly, “I definitely need one of those.”
Miguel leads us to a conference room, and after helping Ling sit, I seat myself. Miguel’s expression has suddenly turned worrisome. “Raul Mendoza was my brother-in-law. My sister Veronica married him three years ago. Last Monday, Raul didn’t come home.”
“This was unusual for him?” asks Ling.
Miguel nods. “Oh, yes. He loved my sister. Always came home when he said he would, and if he was going to be late, he called. But he just… vanished.”
Vanished? “Then how do you know he was murdered?”
A grim smile tugs at Miguel’s lips. “Because someone delivered Raul home.” He shoots me a look. “More accurately, delivered Raul’s body into his marital bed while my sister slept.”