Page 97 of Nacho Boyfriend

“What does that have to do with anything?”

He laughs and pulls a box from the shelf with ease, tossing it to me. It weighs almost nothing.

“It’s empty,” I say.

“Of course it’s empty. I don’t want to deal with raw meat. Besides, Roach is a vegan.”

He gestures to Roach, who is the burliest surfer I’ve ever seen. There’s a guy somewhere beneath all that muscle I just know it.

“On paper, we’ll be supplying seven hundred pounds per week for each restaurant you own.”

“Seven hundred pounds? We don’t go through that much meat in a week. We’ll get audited.”

“How do you think Pancho got away with it all those years without you even knowing?”

I close my eyes and take a breath. “A second set of books?”

“You catch on quick, Nacho. And just for cooperating with us, there will be some leftovers for you.”

“Not everyone is for sale, Churro.”

“Nacho, chill out. It’s just business.”

“And if I respectfully decline?”

“Then I’m afraid we can’t be friends, and if we can’t be friends, I can’t offer you my protection.”

“This was never my deal. It was all Pancho.”

He swats his hand down and blows a raspberry. “Psht. Pancho’s dead to me.”

My blood turns to ice. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but please don’t kill Pancho Ortega. He’s just a weasel, nothing else.”

He laughs. “Kill him? Why would I kill my own uncle?”

“Your uncle?”

I did not make that connection.

“My mom would have my hide. I just mean he’s dead to me, not dead dead. Like, I don’t care about him one way or another. It’s just an expression, dude.”

“Ah, got it. So when I say, ‘You kill me,’ it just means I think you’re funny for even asking me to launder money for you, and we’ll all laugh about it when we never see each other again.”

“Ha ha. No. If you’re not a friend of the Posse, you’re an enemy of the Posse.” He throws his hands up. “I don’t make the rules, bro.”

“It kinda looks like you do make the rules, Churro. Sorry, but I think we’re done here.”

“We are NOT done here!” He shouts, running to the nearest metal shelving unit and crashing it to the floor. Boy, that escalated quickly. Veins are popping out of his neck. “I’m done waiting.”

“Well, I’m not your guy,” I shout back. “Find someone else. Or get a real job like the rest of us.”

He screams. Like really screams, and starts throwing chairs—he’s basically a giant toddler having a temper tantrum.

I raise my hands, palms out, to try to calm him down lest he try to throw me next.

“Okay, okay, Churro. I’ll tell you what. Pancho stole from us both. A lot of money. I’m not any happier with him than you are. But this is his mess. I will help you find him, and you can make him pay you back, or whatever, and I promise I’ll walk away with no hard feelings. I’ll drop the investigation on the fire, and count all that money as lost. No harm, no fowl, and we go our separate ways.”

Churro stares at me for a moment, then looks between Roach and the other guy. I wonder where the other members are. From what I understand, there are at least a dozen surfers in The Point Break Posse, but it seems like Churro and Roach are the major players.

Just then, we hear a whack and then a cracking sound coming from outside. We all turn around and see something sticking out of the windshield of the bus. If I didn’t know better, I’d think it looked a lot like…

“My ride!” cries Churro. “What the actual f—”

---