Page 129 of Lone Star

Bodies tied out to stakes, gaping wounds in their throats like second smiles.Look, Mama, like a star. Outside his nephew’s window. “Got a bit carried away with it, didn’t you?”

“No,” came the immediate reply. “Only until I was sure you’d gotten the messages, and knew who was sending them.”

“Or you could have just called first thing, and been direct about it.”

Another chuckle. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Candy didn’t respond.

A sigh. It sounded theatrical; like the bastard had practiced all his sighs in an attempt to find the one that sounded the most bored and disappointed. “Really, I should thank you. If your man hadn’t killed the former head of the Chupacabras, my father wouldn’t have had this chance. Well, he would have, but he would have needed to fight for it. This generalship just fell into his lap, somuchas gracias, señor.”

Fuck you, you son of a bitch, if I could reach through this phone…would you be smug if I put my fist through your teeth?He imagined it, the satisfaction if it, hone breaking, teeth chipping. Men like this, insulated by money, and power, and paid thugs were always so full of themselves so long as that barrier existed between you and them. But take the barriers away, and they all pissed themselves in the end. This one was just like all the rest – but Candy had to handle him, now.

He clenched his jaw and said nothing.

“Last night,” Luis continued, tone settling into something more businesslike.

“What happened last night?” Candy asked, all innocence.

“How’s your man?”

He was caught off guard, again. Traded a look with Fox that didn’t help at all. No sense playing coy, he guessed. “Alive.”

“Shame.” Luistsked. “He certainly knew his way around a fistfight. He would have made for a nice trophy.”

For a moment, Candy wondered just how sick this guy was. Did he have people stuffed and poised around his living room like deer trophies? Probably he’d been watching too much weird TV with Michelle.

Another thought occurred – a useful one. “You weren’t trying to kill him, though.”

“Ah.” Luis sounded pleased. “Very good.”

“You’re like a cat, aren’t you? You like to play with your food.”

“Afraid of being eaten?” He chuckled. “And I suppose you’re a dog, just like the one running across the back of your cut. Brutal, loyal, hungry – less than subtle.”

What do you want?Candy took a steadying breath. “Something I’ve been thinking this morning.”

“Hm?”

“Your whole setup at Doc Gilliard’s was clumsy. If it only took four of my idiots” – Fox’s brows shot up – “to get inside the place and get their hands on your shit, you’re not exactly running a tight ship there, chief.”

“I’m not, am I?” Lightly, unbothered.

Candy felt the first prickling of sweat at the back of his neck. He wished this was Fox taking this call. Luis was a game-player, and Candy had never been that. Straightforward, uncomplicated, just, as Luis had said, like the dog he wore on his back.

“Listen.” Candy swiveled his chair a quarter-turn, so he wasn’t facing Fox anymore. “You’ve had your fun, and, I admit, you’re hard to pin down. But you aren’t going to get rid of the Dogs. That isn’t possible. If you know anything about us at all, then you know we’ve got chapters all over the country. You can’t push us out. You could kill every one of us here, and a new batch of guys would come take our places and give you more hell.”

Someone cleared a throat.

Fox smacked the table, once, a strike of his flat palm.

Candy stared at the closed door of the chapel and listened to Luis make a low, considering sound on the other end of the line.

“I want to meet. In person.”

“When and where?” Candy asked.

“Not today, I’m busy.” Pages rustled. “Tomorrow? Yes, tomorrow morning. First thing. For breakfast. There’s a restaurant called Gabriel’s–”

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