Chapter 7
That evening, Trevor and I whipped up some beef tacos with refried beans, guacamole, and tortilla chips on the side. Nobody cooked tacos like Trevor; he made his own seasoning and deep-fried the shells. When he had extra time, he’d make salsa from scratch and it was out of this world and over the moon.
As delicious as it all tasted, my stomach twisted in knots over the thought of meeting up with Sanchez later that evening.
Trevor and I sat at the tiny table, eating off our paper plates, listening to the radio, and chatting. We mostly talked about dream vacations. Trevor wanted to see a shuttle launch at NASA, and I’d always dreamed of walking along a sandy beach where the waters were as crystal blue as the sky. I’d never been to the coast and loved the idea of standing with my feet in an ocean that stretched across the world. Just the idea of it made me smile, close my eyes, and imagine the warm sun on my shoulders and the powerful roar of the surf.
“You’re a romantic at heart,” he said, pinching a heap of fallen lettuce and nibbling on it. “No one would ever know it because of the mixed signals you give out.”
“What signals?”
“Slippery When Wet mixed with Library, Next Exit.”
I swiped the last of the guacamole from my plate and licked my finger. “You’re one to talk, Mr. Public Recreation, Next Five Miles.”
“Oh, is that how it is!” he said with a boisterous laugh. Trevor’s eyes danced with amusement. “At least I’m not falsely advertising. I knew you were a romantic the day you fell on your ass in front of the escalator and looked up at me with those dreamy eyes.”
“They weren’t dreamy!” I tossed a piece of chopped tomato at him. Well, maybe they were a little bit dreamy, but Trevor knew me too well. Sometimes people just get you, and those are the people you never have to explain yourself to.
“Your nose looks a lot better,” I said. Remarkably so. I couldn’t even tell he had been hit except for a tiny bit of swelling.
“I put some ice on it.” He arched an eyebrow and glanced at me. “It wasn’t broken after all.”
“And your lip?”
He wiped his hands on a paper napkin. “That was just dried blood from where my nose dripped.”
“You still want to go to the party?” I asked, picking a morsel of beef from my plate.
Trevor licked the guacamole from his thumb and crunched on another chip. “If you work with Lexi, then there’s no avoiding it. You don’t need my permission to go—it’s your life. But if you’re going, I’m going,” he said reluctantly.
“It doesn’t have to be like that. We don’t have to go.”
“Yeah, we’re going. I know how you operate and you don’t fly solo to these things. You need to get out and have some fun for a change. You’ve been cooped up and not socializing. I’m here to rectify that. All this,” he said, pointing around at the trailer, “it’s bullshit. It’s not who you are or what your life is about. I don’t want to find you twenty years from now, chain-smoking at this table with a stack of scratch-off lottery tickets, dreaming your life will get better. That’s what your grandma was—a dreamer. Not in a good way. She couldn’t accept the cards she was dealt and always wanted somebody else’s hand.”
“We all want something better.”
“At what cost?” He lifted his brown eyes to mine and they softened. “Forget all this. Go out and have fun.”
I lifted my plate and set it on the counter behind me. “So you want me to live in denial?”
He shrugged. “Nothing wrong with that.”
“There is, Trevor.”
He shook his head and scooped up another bite of dip. “Works for me. I go out, have fun, and don’t think about all the bullshit that tethers you to a life you don’t want. Better than walking around all depressed, and that’s what I’m seeing in you lately. I don’t like that, April. I hate seeing you change.”
“I’m just going through a patch these past couple of days. It doesn’t mean I’m changing, it doesn’t mean I’ll never laugh again or take a chance and go to a party. But this is my life, and I have to accept it even if I don’t like it. You can’t live in denial or it catches up with you.”
“F*ck me. I feel an argument coming on,” he said in irritation, walking to the sink and rinsing out his glass.
I glanced at the clock and it was fifteen until eleven. I had to get out of there but didn’t want Trevor to get suspicious. “So then run away from your problems and go play some pool,” I suggested. “That’ll make it all better.”
I hated being so cruel, but when Trevor got mad, he usually bailed. I wasn’t sure where he went—probably the bar.
“April Showers used to be a pet name,” he said. “Now it’s just a shower of tears. Woe is me, I live in a trailer.”
I threw a pillow at him.
Hard.
“Go to hell! I’m giving you a place to stay and doing the best I can to work out my problems and make it right. I’m not the one who hooked up with a guy because he bought me tickets to Linkin Park. Oh, excuse me—backstage passes and a limo ride.”
Trevor flipped my paper plate on the floor, grabbed his keys, and stormed out the door. As I heard the engine to his hatchback rev, I wanted to run out and say I was sorry. We never bickered like that, and I was certain that I might have fractured our relationship. But I was protective of Trevor. He was like the brother I’d never had, and it was more important that he didn’t get involved in what I was doing.
I waited until his car drove off before running out the door. I had gone to the bank earlier for a withdrawal and stuffed the money in my oversized brown purse. If I had it my way, I would have just wired him the money. Loan sharks worked on their own terms, so I wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible and put it behind me.
The building where Sanchez wanted to meet wasn’t far from where I worked, so I jogged most of the way. When I arrived, I slowed my pace because the road leading up to the warehouse had some major cracks and potholes that weren’t easy to see in the dark. Out of breath, I warily looked around and observed nothing out of the ordinary, although I’m not sure what I was expecting to see. A tactical unit? Police dogs? A crowd of mobsters holding machine guns?
Just to the right of the road, the pale moonlight illuminated a white BMW in the parking lot.
I swallowed hard and approached the main door, clutching my purse tightly. Most of the windows had been boarded up or smashed in, and graffiti covered the dark brick on the exterior walls. It was an eyesore, but since it was away from the road, no one had bothered to have it torn down or painted. It probably cost more to demolish than it was worth.
I wondered how he’d gotten the key to open the door, or if it had always been open. Maybe squatters lived inside. I cupped my elbows and peered through the doorway to make sure no one was in there. When I saw it was clear, I headed toward a white glow of artificial light down the hall to my right.
The concrete floors were covered with pebbles, dirt, cigarette butts, and old soda cans. An acrid smell of filth infiltrated my nose and I couldn’t identify the scent, but it reminded me of the time I found a dead dog in a ditch. My stomach knotted when I glanced behind me at the dark corridor. I thought about leaving the money right at the doorstep and taking off, because I had no business being out here by myself.
“I’m in here,” he called out impatiently from a lit room.
I peered through the open doorway and Sanchez was sitting at a metal table, smoking a cigarette. He made little donut rings, which floated up to a hanging light and quickly broke apart. When I realized the room had working electricity, that’s when I got the impression he used this location frequently.
“I have the money,” I said.
He glanced at his gold watch. “Sit down.”
Across the table from him was a dirty chair and I wiped the seat with my hand before sitting, despite his chuckles.
Sanchez narrowed his eyes as he took another long drag from his short cigarette. I reached in my purse to pull out the envelope.
“You’re late,” he said.
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t get here any faster. Here’s the money.” I pushed the envelope across the table with a shaky hand. “It’s all there.” My eyes skated to the open door and back to him. I kept telling myself that my grandma had done this all the time, and she never came home missing a finger.
Sanchez bit the end of his cigarette between his teeth and tore open the envelope. Very meticulously, he separated the bills by denomination and counted the money. Then he eyed me closely and put his forearms on the table, patting out the butt of his smoke.
“Where did a vanilla girl like you come up with this much green so fast?”
“I had some tucked away,” I lied. “That should square me away with Delgado.”
He tapped a fingernail against his tooth as if contemplating whether to believe my story. “The man will be pleased he got his money.”
“Good,” I said, rising to my feet. “Let him know we’re even.”
“Not quite,” he said softly, beating me to the door. “You were late. There’s always a penalty for tardiness.”
I stared at him dumbfounded. “I paid what I owed.”
He clicked the door shut and leaned against it.
“I need to go home. Someone’s waiting for me,” I said calmly, reasonably. “If Delgado has any issues, he knows how to get in touch with me.”
Sanchez grinned in such a way that all the muscles in his face relaxed, as if it were drug-induced. “Sit down.”
Collecting my nerves, I said, “Open the door. You have the money and—”
“Sit the f*ck down. Last warning.” He bared his teeth and chomped down once, causing me to step back at the sound his molars made when they clicked together. “I know you walked here, because there’s mud on your shoes and I didn’t hear an engine. You think you can run away from me? Let’s negotiate like civilized people and things won’t have to get ugly.” He folded his arms and waited for me to comply.
I did as he asked because the man scared me. He not only had a car, but I could never outrun him. Plus, the idea of being chased like an animal frightened me enough that I decided we needed to have the conversation. It would also give me a moment to recall if I’d seen any objects I could use as a weapon. The chair would be a last resort, but getting out of the room would be a smarter option than trying to take down a man who outweighed me. Since this was a business transaction, I kept my wits about me and calmly sat in the chair, folding my hands on my lap.
Sanchez strolled back to his chair and sat across from me. The light from the bulb that shone on the table wasn’t soft, but harsh and sterile. The metal shade directed the light so that it didn’t illuminate the outer walls of the room—just the table.
“I charge one hundred dollars for each minute my clients are late,” he said, looking down at his watch. “You came in at 11:14 p.m. That means you owe me…” He tapped his finger on his chin, lifting his eyes to the ceiling.
“I’m not paying you $1400 for arriving a few minutes late. You never stated there was a penalty.”
His eyes lit up, not having expected me to respond so calm and businesslike. Sanchez chuckled dryly while pinching the small patch of hair on his chin. “I like you, Vanilla Frost. You’re a clever little girl. If you’re as smart as I think you are, then I’m sure you can come up with alternatives for cash that would clear your debt with me. This has nothing to do with Delgado. When it comes to dealing with his clients, I have my own separate rules. So, what ideas can you come up with?”
My heart constricted and then galloped in my chest. I put my hands on the table to show him how in control I was.
“We’ll negotiate a payment plan,” I suggested. “But only on the condition you lower the amount to half. You didn’t disclose the penalty up front.”
A smile crept up his face. “I like that idea. But I don’t do payment plans when it comes to cash.” His brow rose and my stomach turned. “Some collectors will pound your ass to the floor and beat you with a wrench, but I’m a guy who sees opportunity. I like to build that trust between my client and myself. So take off your shirt.”
Stunned, the words became caught in my throat and I didn’t reply. I hoped my silence would erase the reality of what he’d just asked me to do. My eye twitched involuntarily and I had the urge to rub it, but kept very still. I’d read a book on body language hoping it would help me during job interviews. There were certain “tells” that would give away if you were lying, nervous, or feigning confidence. The wrong gestures created a lack of trust.
What if I fled? What would he do? Could I dial the police beneath the table without him noticing? Is the table bolted to the floor? God, I’m getting a gun license after this.
“What is your deadline for the cash payment?”
He replied with a stony expression. “Midnight tomorrow. Same place.”
I couldn’t swing it. Not without stealing from the business account again. I thought about selling my car, but that wouldn’t scrape up more than a hundred bucks at a junkyard.
“What if we make it one week from today?”
“What if you take off your shirt?” he said impatiently. “If you don’t want to pay me tomorrow, then that’s your choice. But know this: By the stroke of midnight, if you fail to give me all I’m due, then I’ll carve you up like a pumpkin. Starting with all your fingers. Then your toes. I like to save the nose for last.”
The tacos had been a bad idea. I kept swallowing, on the verge of throwing up. “Fine. I’ll have the money tomorrow.”
“Take off your shirt,” he said again.
“We have a deal.”
Sanchez reached down and placed a large knife on the table between us. The kind that had all those serrated edges along the blade.
“I give you my word I won’t get up from my chair or touch that knife. But I want a down payment for the inconvenience you’ve caused me by throwing off my schedule, you little puta. Take. Off. Your. Shirt. That’s all I want. You’ll see I’m not the bad guy, April. Maybe if this goes well, you’ll change your mind about the cash and do it my way.”
“And if I get up and walk out?”
A crooked grin slid up his face, and that’s when I noticed he had a small scar on the bridge of his nose. Funny the things you don’t pay attention to. He wiggled the crook of his pinky finger while touching the knife and leaned back in his chair.
I waited him out, staring at the knife and then at the door.
SIX MONTHS_(A Seven Series Novel Book 2)
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