Page 43 of The Slayer
“Sorry.” He shrugged before he had to ask, “Why the warehouse?”
“Big television,” she said dismissively. “Your friends wanted me to come. Marcos was working. Easier to meet him here. Talk to Angel.”
Chuito scowled, not missing that his cousin was working at the warehouse again despite promising that he would try to stay straight now that he was out of prison. No one chopped cars better than Marcos, and Angel had obviously made him an offer he couldn’t turn down.
“Cabrón,” Angel said as he took the phone. “You motherfucker. Forgot to mention Los Corredores.”
“I gave it up for my bros in Miami.” Chuito couldn’t keep the edge out of his voice. “You know Marc’s on parole. If you get raided—”
“What am I?” Angel barked at him. “I got it, bro. I got your cousin’s back, just like you got our back. Next time, you gonna give it up for Los Corredores? We made you. Don’t forget that.”
Chuito narrowed his eyes, hearing a thinly veiled threat. “I gave you that crew. You didn’t make me, motherfucker.I made you,” he reminded him harshly. “Best not to forget that.”
“What are you going to do?” Angel laughed. “You’re a big star now. You think you’re going to come back and get in the trenches with us? You’re too famous for that. Leave the business to the businessmen.”
“You’re a fucking businessman now?”
“Yeah, I make four times what we did when you were running it,” Angel said proudly. “I’m coming to the next fight. Front row. So you don’t forget to give it up for the motherfuckers who made you.”
“Mmm,” Chuito hummed as he smiled the hard, mean smile of his youth. “You do that, Angel. Buy out the whole front row. Your money won’t be the first dirty green I put in my pocket. Doesn’t bother me one fucking bit.”
“Give me this.” Marcos yanked the phone back as if sensing the battle of wills. Then he said to Chuito, “Don’t ruin my day, man. My cousin just became a world champion.”
“Yeah, he did.” Chuito couldn’t hide the pain in his voice. “He’d probably set you up for life if you’d let him.”
“Too bad I won’t let him.” Marcos snorted as if the idea was ridiculous. “Buy your mother a house. A big house.”
“With lots of nice furniture!” Chuito’s mother shouted from the background.
“And a car.” Marcos sounded genuinely pleased at the idea. “My tiá doesn’t take handouts easily. That’s a fucking privilege.”
“It is,” Chuito agreed. “I wonder how many belts I’d have to win before my cousin would let me do it for him.”
“A lot more than one.” Marcos laughed. “You keep working at it. Beat down a lot more motherfuckers, and then we’ll discuss it. Represent.”
“We’ll see.”
“Weeepa!” Marcos shouted into the phone, as if it were physically impossible for him to be upset about the rest of the bullshit. “Say it!”
“I already said it.”
“Say it!”
“Wepa.” It lacked the enthusiasm he’d used in the arena, but Chuito said it because he didn’t want to ruin Marcos’s day. “I love you, Marc.”
“Ay Dios mio, are you gonna cry, chica?”
“Yeah, I’m gonna cry.” Chuito found that it was close to being true, but not for the reasons Marcos thought. “I think I’m gonna come home after this. Maybe it’s time.”
“Fuck you,” Marcos barked into the phone. “You’re not coming home. I’m not letting you. Stay in Garnet.” He still made his accent extra thick when he said it. “Win ten more titles. Then you can come home.”
“Marcos—”
“Nope,” Marcos cut him off. “Stay there. For both of us. Our family deserves this. Make this happen for me. I need this, Chu. I need to see it.”
“I don’t—”
“Don’t ruin my day,” Marcos reminded him sharply. “Promise me.”
