“That’s why I like her,” Beefer jokes. “Big mouth, big tits, tight pussy.”
I nod, like I understand what he’s talking about, but I wouldn’t stick my dick in Mary for all the money that the dozen crates of guns and ammo represent. There’s something off about her. I don’t share this with Beefer, though. If he wanted my opinion about her, he’d ask. Until that time came, my mouth was shut.
“You got a babysitter for your sister?” he asks. “Who takes care of her when you’re doing shit like this?”
I gnaw on the inside of my cheek. Leaving Bitsy alone scares the shit out of me, but I don’t like letting a stranger into our place. I give him a non-answer. “It’s safe.”
He shakes his head. “That’s not good, kid. Not good at all.”
I grind my back teeth together. I don’t have many choices. Besides, being alone in our apartment is better than where she was when I found her. I make the last tick mark on the notepad and hand it over to Beefer. “Looks like it all matches up.”
He straightens up, becoming all business. His eyes run down the marks I made on the sheet, and then he leans forward to do a quick tally of my calculations. When it comes to his work, he’s real careful, so why he keeps plowing Mary when there are other big mouths, big tits and tight pussies out there, I don’t know.
Done counting, he clicks the talk button on his comm device. “We’re good to go here. The money all there?”
“Roger. The money checks out.” That’s Cotton’s voice. He’s in another location. That’s how we run these deals. Money and goods are never in the same place. It’s harder for people to get ripped off that way.
Beefer jerks his head. I jump down and palm my piece. I don’t sense any trouble here, but there’s no harm in being prepared.
The enforcer raises his hand, first to the dark car to the left and then to the dark car on the right. Every criminal in the city drives a black car. You’d think they’d mix it up now and then to keep the coppers and feds on their toes.
From the car on the right, a guy steps out of the passenger side. He’s about six inches shorter than Beefer. Both hands of his are jammed into his coat’s pockets. One or both of those pockets have guns in them. At least, that’s how I’d do it.
His boots crunch heavily on the gravel as he makes his way toward the van.
“Money exchange is happening,” Cotton announces over the radio.
“Product exchange is happening,” Beefer responds.
“All there?” the man says, both hands still concealed. I clench my piece tighter, the metal reassuringly heavy in my grip.
“You heard the man on the comm, it’s all here.” Beefer steps away. “Feel free to see for yourself.”
“Nah, we trust you.”
The hair on the back of my neck prickles. I slide my finger into the trigger.
Beefer tosses the keys to the guy. When the buyer doesn’t pull his hand out of his pocket, I know. Beefer does, too, but he’s closer to the buyer. I jump, shooting as I do, my body flying in front of Beefer’s.
The buyer falls back. I pull the trigger twice more. The buyer’s body jerks and falls back. My shoulder hits the ground first and then my hip. Motherfucker.
“You hit, Leka?” Beefer yells.
“No.” I have no idea if I am. “You?”
“Nope.”
Adrenaline’s got me by the balls. I duck around the side of the van, using the wheel well as protection. Beefer’s inside the van. He tosses an AK on the ground like a gift. The wheels of a car squeal, and I jerk my head around to see the sellers’ car backing up.
The buyers are shooting at us. And so are the sellers.
Dust flies up as bullets hit the ground near the van. I army crawl and grab the gun.
“Take out the buyers’ first,” Beefer commands.
“Got it.” I mean both the gun and the order and use the dead buyer’s body as cover. I rest the rifle’s barrel on the guy’s stomach and set the butt against my shoulder.
I pull the trigger. Nothing.
“How the fuck does this work?” I yell.
Beefer sticks a barrel out from behind the van’s door, pointing it toward the sellers’ car. He doesn’t want them to get away. More bullets rain down near us.
“Pull the rod back.”
I do as he says and hear the first bullet slide into the chamber. I press down on the trigger and the bullets start flying out. They spray the ground halfway between us and the buyers.
“Aim higher!” Beefer screams.
I shift the barrel up and fire again, this time I hear the ping ping ping as my bullets hit metal. I keep shooting, the sound of the gunpowder igniting exploding in my ears. It’s why I can’t hear Beefer get out of the van or his shouting to tell me to stop shooting. It’s why I keep my finger on the trigger until all is left is empty clicks.