Page 22 of Death's Deal

Once they’re all gone and I’m left alone, taking a deep breath, I lean forward on the desk. Lying across the multitude of bills, I exhale a much-needed sigh of relief for telling them. The mounting bills, and the worry about my sister’s health, just compounded the stress of not telling them why Toni was here. All of it was weighing on me. Not to mention, the Queen’s book and everything else I have to deal with, it was becoming too much to handle.

“I need a fucking vacation.”

Chapter 12

With the video feedof the club floor broadcast on the wall of TVs to the right of my desk, I’m mesmerized by her. Showcasing Toni at the bar looking completely out of sorts, her eyes dart around. Until she catches a naked form, then she promptly turns them to the floor or the drink in her hand once more. The screens don’t show the blush of her cheeks, but I can tell the color has risen and her heart is beating faster.

I remember what it was like to make her blush. To see her avoiding my eyes when she was embarrassed. Toni hated showing weakness back then and I doubt that she’s changed.

I’ll admit, she’s fucking stunning. The years have been good to her. She’s cared about herself as she aged. Everything about her is just as I remember. Sure, her features have softened, giving her a graceful glow, but she is just as fantastic as I had seen in my dreams nearly every night.

Beside her, Des tries to draw her attention off of the naked girls, distracting her with bad jokes, or asking her thoughts on current affairs. Grover Hargrove, or better known as Des, short for Destroyer, loves to get episodical about the day’s dealings. He’s always trying to rope us into these huge arguments about healthcare, wars of attrition, and border restrictions to prove his point. Grover read a lot in jail, and he tries to educate us on the world around us.

When I’m drunk, I oblige him. Sober, I try to get him drunk. When he’s had too much, the conversations are lighter, more upbeat, and more about tits. That’s a conversation I have no trouble getting deeply into.

Pulling my attention from Toni to the other more sinister issues at hand, I find my mind wandering to the Queen’s tome I have locked in my safe.

What could a woman like the Queen have on a man like Martin Morriso? He’s not someone I would expect owed anyone, and the chance he’s now dealing with repercussions of a failed transaction with her cartel and, in turn, this Mano group is very interesting.

Did the Queen have him in her pocket, and if so, what can we use to change the outcome for our own situation?

“Fuck.” Exasperated and in dire need of a leg up on all of these fucking assholes, I decide it’s time to look at it. Walking to the safe, unlocking it, and grasping the heavy leather-bound book, I inspect it. It doesn’t seem awe-inspiring, but if Piper’s attitude toward this was any indication, then I want to know every single story it tells. Everyone wants the stories it contains. The cartels, the government, and the assholes in between. If there’s leverage on those who think they have the upper hand against us, then this can definitely help us.

Blowing out a heavy breath, flipping it open, and eyeing the legend Piper created, the first few pages, probably ten, list out how the Alta Noche operation started.

Seeing the fledgling savings of Claudine Cruz, who eventually garnered the attention of major players, it’s easy to see why the Queen became a woman to notice early on.

Moving page by page, reading the story it tells until I find myself stuck on a quirky symbol, I flip back to Piper’s cipher sheet. Seeing it all written in black and white, etching the story of Busta’s father, Hector, the man beside the Queen, and Claudine as she rose to power, it was easy to see their connection. Hector gave her his contacts in the U.S. motorcycle gangs, and the dirty DEAs who he knew wished to line their own pockets. The two of them had the underbelly of society as their playground.

Finding a strange symbol, one Piper had not figured out nor mentioned, I attempted to suss it out myself. It’s not unlike a saguaro cactus you’d find in Native symbols. It has three points, one taller than the others, and no flowers. Why would a symbol like that be in the Queen’s book? She wasn’t Native, or at least not that was known, and none of her other symbols represented anything Navajo. It doesn’t make sense to me.

Thoroughly finding myself immersed in the pages, a light knock on the door catches my attention. When the door opens gently, and her sweet voice calls out, “Quinny?”

I find myself so engrossed, I don’t even look her way as I answer, “Yeah?”

“I’m starved.”

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