Burn(6)
Julio wheezes like Michael’s just sucker punched him in the gut. He folds himself over for a moment, trying to catch his breath. Teo reacts to Julio’s surprise by clicking the safety off the assault rifle, stepping forward, and making a nervous coughing sound back of his throat. He wants to shoot Michael, or at least he wants to know if Julio wants him to shoot Michael. Julio gestures immediately with an urgent flick of his wrist—get back. “You're Rebel's cousin?"
Michael smiles broadly, eyes quick and rather amused. "His father is my godfather, too, if that's not enough of a commendation for you?"
"Did you happen to mention this to Andreas when he brought you down here?" Julio’s turned a queasy greenish color. His face is covered in a considerable sheen of sweat, which only adds to the ill colour, making him look decidedly unwell.
"He didn't ask." Michael raises both shoulders and eyebrows at the same time, the epitome of indifference. "He seemed more interested in using his fists on me. There wasn't much time for talking."
I've sat through this whole exchange on the edge of my seat. Thankfully Teo and Julio are completely distracted by Michael’s announcement to be paying attention to my reaction. And honestly, I don't really have any idea how I'm supposed to react. Michael’s an idiot. He's a grade A moron of the highest order to be lying about something like that. The next thing that is going to happen is that Julio’s going to phone Rebel and ask him if he has any family in the area who might turn up unannounced on his doorstep. This is the point where Rebel will tell Julio, “No! Of course not! Better kill the lying fucker just to cover your ass.”
Rebel's the kind of guy you don't want to cross. The kind of guy gang bosses quake in their boots over. The kind of guy who has power enough to shut down any single operation, legal or illegal, in the United States that he should see fit to shut down. Head of the largest motorcycle gang in California, Washington, and Oregon combined, Rebel also happens to be the same vile piece of shit that bid to purchase Sloane’s virginity from Eli two years ago. He's a violent motherfucker. Even more violent than me. He has a penchant for girls in the skin trade—he buys them or hires them and then they tend to disappear. That's why I stepped in when I found out about Sloane. And Michael’s just claimed that he’s related to the guy.
Can this situation possibly get any worse? Probably not. Julio doesn't seem to know what to do with himself. He leans back, scratching at his belly. Sits forward again, scowling. “And how do you propose I verify this claim of yours, then? Because that is one motherfucking crazy ass claim, ese. If you’re lying to me, you know I can't just kill you now. I'll have to get my boys to beat the living shit outta you, and then I’m gonna have to have them bring you back from the dead all over again so Rebel can kill you himself for using his name.”
Holy fucking shit, he’s right. He’s absolutely right. Rebel will undoubtedly want to kill him personally. Michael doesn’t even blink at the description of what will happen to him if he’s caught in this lie, though. He’s calmer than fucking ever.
“I tell you what, Signor Perez,” Michael says, his voice laced with just enough disrespect to make me cringe. “Why don't you take a photo of my ravishingly handsome face and send it to my cousin? He'll tell you straight up if we’re blood.”
The cogs inside Julio’s head grind in protest as he works this one through. Eventually he decides that this is the only way to confirm what Michael’s told him. He takes a picture with his cell and taps out a brief message, and then his cell makes a dinging sound: Sent.
The next few minutes are brutal. Julio’s cell phone sits on his knee, while Julio stares down Michael. He may be fat, and he may be getting old now, but there’s no doubting the threat in his eyes. I’ve always known I’ll die a fairly grisly death at some point—you can only dodge bullets for so long before one of them eventually hits something vital—but I have to admit I never thought it would be in a Mexican brothel. And I never thought I’d be experiencing such fear for the safety of the woman I’ll be leaving alone in their midst if I get—
A bright white light illuminates Julio’s cell screen, and the thing almost jumps off his leg when it starts vibrating. He’s calling. Rebel’s actually calling. A text would have done it. A brief message to let Julio know he’s being played. But no. A phone call? What the hell does that mean?
Michael eyes the phone, one eyebrow raised. “If you know my cousin, Signor Perez, then you’ll know how little he likes to be kept waiting.”