“Put the gun on the ground, fucker. I’m not going to say it again.”
He did as I said and stood straight, looking as if he might get sick.
“Now kick it toward me.”
“No hablo ingles,” he said with his hands in the air.
“Te voy a matarte.”
He kicked the gun and fell to his knees. “I was supposed to rob you.” Praise God. He miraculously learned the English language.
I walked closer, my barrel pointed at his head. “What’s your name?”
“Daniel. Don’t kill me.”
Fucker wasn’t in the position to make demands.
“Who told you to rob me?”
“The man on the street. He offered me a hundred dollars. I was supposed to bring your wallet and the girl’s purse back to him.”
“More specific, asshole. What’s the man’s name?”
“I don’t know.”
I took another step.
“I can’t say.”
“This Beretta is already cocked. All I need to do is pull the trigger and your brain will be splattered all over this garage.”
He closed his eyes as a tear ran down his cheek. “He goes by Manuel. Manual Lopez.”
Fucking common name.
“Where was he on the street?”
“We watched you walk out of the bakery on Cedar.”
The barrel of my gun made contact with his temple. “Daniel, tell Manuel Lopez that if I find him, he’s a dead man. If he tries to fuck with me again, he’s a dead man. Can you do that?”
“Sí.I’ll tell him.”
“If I see you again, you’re dead. Now get up and get the fuck out of here.”
I carefully picked up the Glock he’d kicked by pinching the barrel. Turning around, I saw my car and like a punch to the gut, remembered that Isabella was inside. Hurrying back, I popped the trunk and threw the Glock inside.
When I came around to the driver’s side door and peered in, Isabella was staring my direction, wide-eyed. I opened the door. “Are you all right?”
“Are you?”
I got in, closed the door, and reached for her hands. “I’m sorry if that scared you.”
“You went toward him.”
“That’s what I do.”
A smile slowly curled her lips as she reached down to the floor and lifted the paper bag. “I smashed the cannoli when I accidentally sat on them.”