My phone grows louder somehow.
“Fuck’s sake.” It’s impossible to fucking concentrate like this. Mr. Brazil is going to have to wait a moment. I plan on grabbing my phone and silencing the damn thing, but when I drop down out of the cage, the soles of my sneakers scuffing on the dusty concrete floor, and I make it over to my cell, I see a number on the screen that won’t bear ignoring. Or rather, I’d be smart not to ignore in the least.
It’s a New Mexico number.
I shoot a glance back toward the cage where my opponent is now on his knees, right arm braced across his stomach, head hanging low as he tries to figure out his shit. I doubt he’s going anywhere any time soon. I’ll head back to help him in a second—Sloane will crucify me if I hurt a gym member and then didn’t give them medical attention afterward—but I’m undoubtedly about to have a conversation that shouldn’t be conducted out in the open.
I head up to my office, running up the stairs, taking them three at a time, and I slam the door closed behind me. “Yeah?”
“Hey, brother-in-law. What’s new?” Once upon a time, I would have been a weapons-grade asshole to the man on the other end of the line, but these days Louis James Aubertin the third and I have a more congenial arrangement. He’s married to my girlfriend’s sister after all. And apparently this is what family is all about: playing nice.
“Didn’t think I’d hear from you any time soon,” I tell him. “How’s life in the dust bowl?”
“Dusty,” Rebel agrees. “Hot.” He pauses, and then says, “Busy.”
His ‘busy’ is most people’s ‘dangerous.’ I’d like to argue that it would be closer to my own ‘status quo’ but hey. Who’s got time for a dick-measuring contest when they have injured foreigners trying to catch their breath twenty feet away? “Sounds ominous. Care to elaborate?” I ask.
Rebel laughs softly. “A mutual friend of ours has left town. I had one of my guys check up on her whereabouts. Seems like she’s headed your way.”
I know perfectly well who this mutual friend is. For the past year or so, ever since I got involved with Sloane and her reckless mission to find her missing sister come hell or high water, DEA Agent Denise Lowell has been sticking her nose into our business, generally making a nuisance of herself and pissing me off in the process. It can only be her.
“Why the change in location? Any idea?”
“None, I’m afraid. Her files have been sealed. Even our hacker can’t break into that shit without setting off a few alarm bells.”
Frustrating, but not the end of the world. I have hackers of my own who don’t give a shit about alarm bells. “Appreciate the heads up.”
“No problem. Figured you might like warning before she showed up on your doorstep.”
I pull at my hand wraps, tightening them as I lean against the wall of the office. “I doubt she’s here for me. I’m not involved in drugs.”
Rebel makes a bemused sound, the line crackling loudly as he laughs. “Dude. If I remember correctly, you stole the woman’s dog. And you professionally embarrassed her. Repeatedly. Doesn’t matter if you have five keys of coke jammed up your asshole or you’re a poster boy for Narcotics Anonymous. You can bet good money on her coming for you if she gets the opportunity.”
I grunt, scratching at my jaw. “True. That bitch needs to develop a new hobby. This shit is getting really old, really fast.”
“Couldn’t agree more, man. Still…forewarned is forearmed, right?”
I smile a grim smile. “Oh, I’ll be armed alright.”
I say no more. I don’t tell him about the fact that I’ve known Lowell is in town for a while now. I don’t tell him that I’ve been going against everything I stand for, keeping it from Sloane. I don’t tell him I’ve been keeping my eye on Mason, the kid I’ve been training with every morning, ever since I saw him talking to the DEA agent outside Macs a few weeks ago, either. I keep my mouth shut, and Rebel hangs up the phone.
******