Page 39 of Sexting the Don

“You guys seriously have no idea the kinds of moves G’s making.”

He’s referring to Garadino. It doesn’t take a cryptologist to crack that one.

“Yeah, we know,” one of them, a squat, fleshy-faced man with thinning red hair, says. “You’ve been running your mouth about it all goddamn day.”

“That’s because I’m fuckin’ happy about it, and you guys should be, too. A few key moves and G’s on top of this city. If you both play your cards right, you’ll be right along with me for the ride.”

“Where the fuck did you get this money, anyway?” the other guy, a string bean with a mortician’s face, asks. “You’ve been throwing cash around like your gambling operation actually paid off.”

“Came into a little cash. Don’t worry about it.”

You’re welcome, asshole. I sip my water and adjust my sunglasses.

“Are those guys still after you?” the redhead asks. “They’ll take your goddamn thumbs if they find out you went on a shopping spree while you still owe them.”

“I kicked them a little to shut them up for a couple of weeks. Figured I could use a little stress relief after all that bullshit.”

“Then what?” Stringbean asks. “You spend this, and you’re right back to square one.”

“Haven’t you been listening, dumbass? G’s making his moves soon. I’m not sure what he’s got in mind, exactly, but he told me that when all’s said and done, he’ll be the only game in town. That means not only will my debts be wiped out, but he’ll have a paying gig waiting for me.”

“Just like that?” the redhead asks.

“Just like that. He says he’s got some jobs for me while it all goes down. But for now, I’m just sitting back and waiting for my ship to come in.” To illustrate his point, he leans back in his seat, weaving his hands together behind his head, nearly bumping into a waitress behind him.

“Seems like there’s a hell of a lot of ‘ifs’ in that plan,” Stringbean points out.

“Yeah,” adds the redhead. “The big one being that if G decides to keep you around instead of putting one in your head after he’s done with you and buries your body in the ass end of the Inland Empire.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Jimmy says. “I’m too valuable. Trust me, he’s going to take good care of me, ofus.”

Fucking idiot.

With that, Jimmy orders another bottle of something expensive to celebrate his newfound good fortune. I flag down the waitress, slip her a pair of hundreds, and take my leave.

I reflect on the conversation on my drive home.

Sounds like Garadino’s planning on making moves that he believes will make him the only game in town. Since the fucker hasn’t exactly sent me a discreet invite to discuss an alliance, that means he likely plans on bumping me off.

But how? And what the hell does Jimmy have to do with it? Why is a bigshot like Garadino planning on using a slimy little limp-dick like Jimmy to put his plans into action?

I pull onto Santa Monica Boulevard and fire off a text to Sean, letting him know I want to meet him at my place for a meeting in twenty minutes.

The shit’s getting complicated, and the fact that I’m screwing the daughter of the man who could be instrumental in a plot to end my life is only taking the shitshow to another level.

Sean’s forest-green Audi is parked in my driveway when I arrive. He’s already in the study, pouring two glasses of something dark. He’s the only man on this earth I’d allow into my home and to fix me a drink, but he’s earned such trust with sweat andblood.

“I figured I’d get the good stuff flowing,” he says, coming over to me and handing me a glass.

“Appreciated.” I say as I sip the whiskey, the warmth of the booze calming me down instantly.

“So, what’s the word, boss?” Sean asks as he takes a seat in the wingback chair across from me.

“We need to prepare for war,” I say bluntly.

Sean’s eyebrows arch in surprise.

“War?” he asks. “With whom?”

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