Page 6 of Mob Knight

“When I’m good and ready, which means those little boys go home to their mamas. I’m not getting shot today.”

“Unless it’s by me.

Pablo grins, but there hasn’t been humor in that guy’s voice in at least a decade. Not since he became his family’s chief enforcer. My brother—Seamus—and I are the top enforcers in my family. However, we divvy up the unsavory stuff we must do amongst all the brothers and cousins. We all know Pablo is the only one who deals with that shite in his family. It’s killed his soul.

“You wouldn’t dare mess up my pretty face.”

I grin, and it’s about as humorless as his. We’ve had plenty of trouble with the Diazes over the years, so we exist in a perpetual stalemate. That’s our version of homeostasis. If we’re in a shootout, like I nearly was, then everyone is fair game. It’s shoot or be shot. But in situations like this, we’re supposed to use our words.

I bet Joey’s used that phrase with some of her younger—what do I call them? Clients? Patients? I don’t know what social workers call the people they work with. I’ve never given it any thought. But now that I do, it reminds me Joey’s hiding behind me. Her shoulder has brushed between my shoulder blades twice as she tries to stay tucked behind me. My feet are close together to hide her legs.

“Pablo, go in there. Make sure yourniñoswent home. And then we’ll sort this out.” Little boys.

“Fine.”

“Just don’t take too long. I have other shite to do today.”

“You think this little distraction was on my calendar? I have better things to do than this.” He opens his mouth to say something else, but there are kids approaching, and neither of us wants to make this situation worse.

I’ll wait until one of his guys gives the “all clear” sign before I go in. I watch Pablo duck inside, then count to twenty before I speak to Joey. I don’t dare turn around since I’m certain Pablo’s watching me through the window, even if I can’t see him. When she descends the steps, I keep my voice low, but I’m certain she can hear me since she stops once her head disappears.

“Why are you hiding from him?”

I turn my head just enough, so I can see her out of the corner of my eye. I lean against the railing as though I don’t have a care in the world as I wait to cross the street. It helps block where Joey now hides again.

“I had a run-in with him several years ago in a neighborhood like this.”

“Let me guess, Jackson Heights.”

There’s a moment before she says anything. “Yeah.”

I’m certain the fact that I know where she met Pablo, and she obviously knows he’s Colombian Cartel only reconfirms what she’s guessed about me.

“What happened when you met him?”

There’s an edge to my tone I didn’t intend. There’s nothing good about this story if this is how she reacts years later.

“I didn’t know who he was back then, but it was a situation sort of like this one. I called the police, and they came. I guess they didn’t realize who was involved, either. They wound up making a big deal out of it, in spite of how no one in the neighborhood wanted to give statements. I guess his younger brother is a cop because he made it all disappear. I’m lucky his family didn’t make me disappear.”

I don’t respond aloud, but Juanwasa cop. He’s no longer anything. Probably not even ash or acidic sludge in the Flushing River. He crossed the bratva one too many times, and he learned his lesson. It was probably one of the last cases he worked if it was five or six years ago.

“You fear Pablo will remember you and go after you this many years later.”

“I’ve heard you guys have long memories for things like that.”

It happens all too often that I’m lumped in with other syndicates from people who don’t understand the difference. I’m most certainly not a Cartel member.

I’m a mobster. But now isn’t the time to correct her.

Chapter Three

Joey

I insulted him by saying you guys. I suppose the red hair and freckles could’ve told me he’s Irish mob, even if his name didn’t make me realize it. If that’s the case, then he shouldn’t be anywhere near this neighborhood unless it’s to stir up trouble. I don’t like that.

This kind of trouble usually winds up with innocent people getting hurt. I want nothing to do with that. I’m protective of this neighborhood. It’s not like I have every family on my caseload, but I get to know the kids here. Some of them call meseñorita, but a few even call metía. I consider being called “aunt” among the highest praise, so I look out for everyone here.

I have nothing to say now that I’ve figured out the truth. Cormac turns his head as though he’s looking down the street, but our gazes meet for an instant before he looks away.

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