Page 73 of The Slayer
Chapter Twenty
“You wake up in jail next to your best friend. What’s the first three words you say?”
Chuito blinked at the lights through the jail bars, seeing halos around them. “I have a concussion.”
“That’s four words.” Tino bounced a tennis ball against the wall behind Chuito’s shoulder and caught it when it rebounded back to where he sat on the opposite bench. “Try again.”
“Who gave you a ball?”
“Motherfucker, you better go back to school.”
The ball bounced against the wall once more.
“Suck my dick,” Chuito settled on and then stretched out on the bench before Tino hit him with the damn thing, and he’d be forced to dislocate his arm again. “Seriously, who gave you a ball?”
“Stole it from the racquetball court at the Cellar.”
“Wyatt should’ve strip-searched you.”
“Can you imagine?” Tino groaned as the ball bounced. “Thank God we got Garnet law enforcement on the pad.”
“Carajo, don’t say that too loud. He’ll fucking change his mind.”
“You think he’s really gonna book us?”
“I have no idea,” Chuito mused as he looked at his forearm that was torn to shreds and still bleeding despite Wyatt’s version of first aid. Alcohol poured over it and gauze pressed none too gently against the wound. “I feel like hell. I’m never drinking again.”
He dropped his arm and closed his eyes, because the room was spinning. He didn’t know if it was the lingering effects of the hangover or the concussion. Probably a charming combination of both. His left eye was throbbing, and he knew he had to have an epic bruise.
“I wonder if Romeo called Nova.”
“Probably,” Chuito grunted, his eyes still closed against the nausea that was threatening. “You think he can get us off on a technicality if Wyatt does book us?”
“Wyatt won’t book us.” Tino sounded confident. “HeknowsNova will get us off. Besides, who loses more than Wyatt if your ass ends up on TMZ? As he mentions all the fucking time, he has a vested interest in our success.”
“Yeah, but it’s Wyatt,” Chuito reminded him. “He almost arrested himself when all his shit went down.”
The ball stopped bouncing, and Tino was silent for a long time before he mumbled, “Merda, I need my fucking phone call.”
“Use mine too,” Chuito offered. “We’d call the same person.”
“Going down for the first time for fighting with you.” Tino snorted with amusement. “That’d be ironic.”
Chuito laughed. “Wouldn’t it?”
Tino laughed with him and then asked, “What the hell is up with you? You acted like I murdered your mother today.”
“Not funny.” Chuito sobered. “Mafia doesn’t get to make jokes about murdering my mother.”
“Fine, you acted like Ifuckedyour mother.”
Chuito lifted his head and glared at Tino. “I’m about to dislocate your other arm, cabrón.”
“Why do you always get tense about that? Is your mother hot?”
“Not answering.”
“Can I see a picture?”
