Page 129 of Heartfelt Pain
“If I can’t smoke, you can’t smoke,” Isolde chides.
“I need you sharp, not high.” I click Aunt Macy’s silver lighter. Trevino snatches the cigarette in my hand before I can take an inhale.
I’m so fucking ready to lose the bodyguard.
“Why am I here, if you don’t want Fujimori’s involved?” Abe asks.
“You invited yourself along,” I remind. He pouted, just like he had before we agreed he could come find my ex-boyfriend’s dead body. “But at least you’ll get an opportunity to get a feel for the potential new owner. Pick up on the vibe.”
He’s muttering something under his breath when he lowers into a seat next to his boyfriend.
“So like—”Isolde drags her words out—“when they gonna actually come into the building?”
I shush her, not having to answer when the first outline of a human being appears in the doorway.
“Hi!” I greet. Isolde nods at Mr. Chin.
He’s got a lot of experience like Aunt Macy and is looking to expand. I personally don’t think he’ll be able to manage such different territories, but he’s very friendly in all his correspondence.
The first bullet whizzes by Abe’s ear.
Trevino flips the table and we all hit the ground. Isolde’s already got a gun in her hand and Ben tries to peek up. Abe, understandably, might’ve pissed his pants.
“That started way earlier than I thought,” I say.
Ben’s jaw sets. “You thought there’d be shooting?”
Trevino and Isolde are watchful, but make no move to return fire. If all goes to plan, we won’t be the targets anyway.
There’s a smattering of Chinese and Italian and then one guy is yelling “Take that you motherfucking cock sucker!”
Flame erupts and I grimace. Full disclosure—I wasn’t expecting the Molotov cocktails.
“That could be a problem,” I mutter.
Ben is all but seething as he takes cover behind the flipped table. “Why the fuck are they shooting?”
I try to peek up. Trevino grabs me by the collar, forcing me to stay down.
“The Italians hate Mr. Chin.”
“What?” Ben places a hand around Abe, who’s curling in on himself.
“They’ve always hated him,” I explain. “Even way back in the 80s.”
“He’s from Shanghai.”
“Yeah, but he and Aunt Macy had this whole thing. Eventually she won the territory and you know the rest.” I wave my hand lazily.
There’s renewed gunfire.
“You knew the Italians were going to make amove,” Ben hisses.
I try again to see what’s happening. Trevino pulls me back.
“That’s the Irish,” he says. “We got to move.”
“Move?” Abe shouts, hands over his ears.
