Page 78 of Lone Star

The office was a cramped, stale-smelling space crammed with a too-big desk, some chairs, file cabinets, and heaps of paper, pile after pile of it, rubber-banded and paperclipped, stacks sitting on the grimy tiles, giving off the smell of ink and dust.

Jinx dropped down into the indicated chair, and sat stony-faced, boots braced wide apart on the tile, arms folded to show his biceps to their best advantage.

Carlos Sandoval was a familiar name, but he’d never met the man. Average height, slim build, he wore his hair a little shaggy, its glossy dark thickness fanning like spikes over his ears and down the back of his neck. He had a hoop in one nostril, and the Virgin Mary tattooed in vivid color down one bare arm. Despite the grunginess of the office, his Dickies and work smock were spotless; his hands and fingernails clean.

The first time the Chupacabras came to town, he’d fenced product for them; the sort of deal anyone who wasn’t an idiot would have made in order to stay afloat business-wise, and to keep from being found dead in a ditch person-wise.

He’d been shuffling paperwork on his desk when Jinx entered, and gestured for him to sit. It was a long moment – a purposeful one, Jinx could tell – before he tidied up the stack in his hands, set it off to the side, and finally made eye contact. His gaze was that of a cautious, mid-level predator: dark, quick, smart. Not the top dog in the field ready to posture and brag, but not a nobody either. The gaze of a man who knew he had to be very, very cautious in his current situation.

“You’re Derek Snow’s right-hand man,” he said, by way of greeting.

“Most of the time,” Jinx agreed. “Not sure if that’s gonna keep working out.”

Carlos’s expression didn’t change; he wasn’t fooled. “Right,” he said, flatly. “You had a falling out with your boss, and you came running to me to look for work. Makes a lot of sense.”

“Where else do you think I’m gonna find work? The daycare?” He lifted his inked arms in demonstration.”

Carlos offered a tight smile. “I think you’re here to fuck with me, and I’m not in the mood.”

Jinx stared at him a moment, long enough for Carlos’s smile to grow even tighter. Careful to keep his expression grave – it didn’t take much care, really; he’d been told he had resting bitch face – he said, “The way things are going, the club won’t be around much longer.”

Carlos’s face went blank a moment, and then his brows drew together. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You don’t strike me as the sort who plays word games very well,”Eden had said earlier, ignoring his grunt of protest.“Don’t try to talk circles around him. Be direct; tell him what you want, and go from there. That’s what he’ll be expecting from a man like you.”

A man like me, he thought with inner sourness. Why had she made that sound like an insult?

He hated that, in this moment, despite her coldness and the fact that she was more or less a stranger, he felt like her advice was better than anything he could have cooked up on his own. So he went with direct, and hoped it worked.

“The cartel’s gonna try to squeeze the club out again – but for good this time.”

Carlos’s brows shot up.

“And they’re being smart about it. What’s that saying about sinking ships? Our ship is sinking, our captain’s got his head up his ass, and this rat wants off.”

Carlos stared at him a moment, openly shocked. Then his features settled back into his indifferent mask. “You expect me to believe you?”

“Not really. But I figure I’ve got nothing to lose being honest.”

“Except your life, when Candyman finds out you’re turning your back on the club. That’s a killing offense.” He said it like he thought Jinx was either stupid, or insane.

“Lots of people getting killed around here, lately.”

Carlos nodded. “Yeah. But why come to me?” The question sharper this time, more demanding.

“’Cause I know you’re in good with the cartel, and when they start killing Dogs, I don’t want to be on the list.”

They regarded one another a long moment, Carlos blinking only once, fast, his eyes black mirrors that revealed nothing. He didn’t appear to be breathing.

The moment stretched so far that Jinx thought he would have to break it; just say something.

But there was a burst of crackling static. Carlos darted out a hand, between two stacks of paperwork, and came out clutching a walkie-talkie. Hurried Spanish issued from it, hissing and snapping through the bad connection, and Carlos finally showed an emotion: fear.

~*~

Eden cursed when her phone started beeping in her pocket to signal another incoming call. She saw the receptionist glancing toward her with veiled curiosity as she fished it out and took the new call. “What?” she hissed when she had it to her ear.

“Where are you?” It was Albie, and not Fox, as she’d expected. He sounded near-panicked.

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