He tilts his head to the side like I confuse him. “What’s on the schedule? Just like that? You’re not mad?”
My hands tingle with the urge to hold a weapon. “About what?”
“Your face is still busted up.” He closes one eye. “Can you see outta that thing? You lost last night, Bishop. I expected you’d be a little less…okaywith it.”
HewishesI was not okay. He wishes I’d reach for a gun and get myself shot. “It was just a fight.” I take another step to the left when Jay moves forward. Abel sent him away last night for a reason. “Can’t win ‘em all, and Brochov was a giant. He deserved his win. You bet on the better fighter, Abel. All’s fair in my world.”
“Yeah?” With a lift of his chin, Abel releases one of the soldiers on his left and allows him to move to a mahogany side table. Where most men might have a decanter of whiskey, some fancy glasses, perhaps a few cigars, Abel has a meticulously clean mirror. “Alright, then. All is right in the world.”
“Uh-huh.”
“The schedule… We have a shipment coming in soon. New product coming up from South America.”
“Yeah?” I clench my fists when Jay’s breath comes heavier. He doesn’t want to be in here. He doesn’t need to know about shipments. “New partners?”
“Yes. No. Sort of.” Straightening his silk tie, Abel watches Jay over my shoulder. He’s discreet, I’ll give him that; he doesn’t telegraph his actions, but he knows what he’s doing – he knows what Jay’s been doing. “Vincent’sourguy, but he’s got a new junior partner coming in; some entrepreneur that wants a chance. So yes, new partner, but Vince vouches. If the kid fucks us over, Vincent will make payment for both of them.”
“He knows that?”
Abel laughs. “He will when the new guy fucks up. A bullet in the brain oughtta clue him in, don’t you think?” Closing one eye again, he mocks my swollen face without words. “The shipment’s coming in later this week. It’s already moving, so nothing to do there but wait. But for tonight, we test.”
I narrow my eyes. “Test?”
“Of course.” He takes a black leather wallet from his back pocket and pulls out a shiny credit card. Moving toward the table by the wall, he nods at his soldier, who takes out a four-pound baggie of snow-white powder and tips a healthy pile onto the mirror. Dismissing his man, Abel moves in and starts cutting it into neat lines. “Every business needs to test his wares. Jay’s been testing mine all year.”
My head swings around to find Jay watching the floor. He refuses to meet my eyes.
He refuses to look up and admit what he’s done.
“Once we deal with a guy, if everything goes well, if we trust him, then we continue business. But this is the first shipment of what they’re calling Peppermint. This is pure, uncut, straight from Colombia. Street value; one-twenty-five per gram. We make sure it’s quality, then we cut it up and send it to the streets.”
“How much are you diluting it?” Pure cocaine, to me, is far less horrifying than whatever Abel might think to cut it with. “How much are you selling it for?”
He shrugs. “Maybe twenty-five percent.”
“Dilution?”
“No.” When he finishes tidying the neat lines, his dark eyes meet mine. “Twenty five percent straight, the rest will be up to the mad scientists to make it feel legit. I’ve made a name for myself for quality product, Bishop. I can’t just cut it with washing detergent and expect not to lose business over it.”
Lose, not because of complaints, but because everyone dies.
“Come on over. Both of you.”
I step forward before Jay can. “I’ll test it. Jay’s got some weird stomach bug, been shitting all over the place. He won’t be able to test it without a blowout.”
Abel scrunches his nose. “You contagious, Jay?”
“Yes.” I push him back and jockey to stay in front. “He is. He’s seriously messed up tonight. Actually, I was gonna say, we should send him home. We don’t want an outbreak of ass bleeding shits to move through your club, right?”
Abel’s hand slides into his coat and comes out with a long-barreled pistol. He points it over my shoulder and glares. “You bringing contagions into my club, Jay? You were just downstairs with my clientele. Why you bringing shit into my club?”
“I’m not sick.” Pushing me aside, Jay steps around and works to disguise the way his hands shake. “Bish is teasing. I’m fine. I didn’t even shit yet today.”
Pulling back, Abel drops his chin to his chest. “Why the fuck are you two telling me your shitting habits? Are you contagious, Jay? Did you put my club at risk?”
“No. I’m fine.”
Abel brings the gun two feet to his left and aims for my face. “You make a habit of lying to me, Bishop?” Blonde hair flashes through my mind when he releases the slide. “I don’t tolerate liars, thieves, or fuckin’ traitors!”