Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
“Good. Alright. Well, let me know if you hear anything before I do about the shit with Coal.”
“Will do,” I agreed.
“How’s business?” he asked.
“Good. The slight price hike is still less than a lot of the stores in the area, so people aren’t bitching. You got some money you need to pass through?” I asked.
Like any money laundering operation, I had two sets of books. The ones I’d show the IRS if they came looking, cooked to inflate certain expenses, and the ones that showed me how much money I was washing through the business and sending back into pockets. Mostly just mine and Renzo’s. It was everyone else’s job to figure out how to wash their cash.
“Yeah,” Renzo said, heading into his office and coming back with a backpack. “Twenty-five grand, give or take,” he told me. “Too much at once?”
“I can make it work with all the renovations. Got the new slicers and TVs and shit from the backs of trucks, more or less. It’ll all shake out.”
“Good. Thanks.”
“Renzo, where did you put my book?” Lore, Renzo’s wife, called from upstairs.
“You, ah, knocked it off of the nightstand last night, remember?” Renzo called, a smirk tugging at his lips.
“I’ll let you get back to your girl,” I said, slinging the backpack strap over my shoulder, then making my way to the door.
I couldn’t help it; my mind drifted back to Kick in the office yet again.
I never gave much thought to relationships in the past. Maybe it was the members of my family starting to shack up that made me stop to consider the possibility for my own future.
Renzo with Lore. Cinna and Dav. Elian and Elizabeth. I was one of the few of the OG guys who hadn’t started considering rings and kids and shit like that.
A handful of interactions with Kick and I was suddenly envisioning that shit. Things came to mind that I’d never considered before. Like how my apartment with its one spare bedroom wouldn’t be big enough if I decided to have kids. And that it was a logistical nightmare from a safety standpoint if I were looking to protect anyone aside from myself.
“Christ,” I said, raking a hand down my face as I moved out of the elevator and walked out of Renzo’s building.
I made my way back to the meat shop then, not wanting to be walking around with that much cash on me.
I stored it in the safe behind a picture in my office that I’d had installed during the renovations, keeping the dirty money separated from the clean cash that was in the safe under my desk.
There was no rush in getting to balancing the books, but with nothing else to do to occupy my time meaning that all I would do was think about Kick and what we started before Coal interrupted the night before. So I sat down and got to work.
When I emerged hours later, shit wasn’t adding up.
I mean, it was just a couple grand off of where my figures said shit should have been. But there was the possibility that Renzo had given me less than he’d said. Or maybe my math wasn’t mathing.
It wasn’t enough that I was going to sweat about it. But the next time I balanced the books, I was going to pay closer attention to make sure it wasn’t a trend.
“Ma, the fuck’d you do to yourself now?” I heard Ricky ask as I made my way out front, mind on something to eat before I hit the streets along with the rest of the family to see if I could track down the assholes who’d jumped Coal.
“I wasn’t being careful when I was cleaning the meat slicer,” Kick’s voice reached me even before stepping into the front of the shop.
“Fuck, girl,” Ricky said, hissing. “Did you lose part of your finger?”
“No, thank God. It’s just a deep slice. I have butterfly closures on it.”
“So, Kick is off of sandwiches for a bit,” I said, watching as Kick’s head whipped over toward me. For a second, her eyes brightened. But way too quickly, the light faded and something darker took its place.
“Yeah, no big deal. I can handle that. Always plenty of stocking or cleaning to do,” Ricky said. He was a good manager because he was so ready to roll with the punches.
“I’m sorry to be a nuisance again,” Kick said, wincing at Ricky.
“Nah, don’t say that. We all have mishaps.”
“Oh! Speaking of,” Kick said, pressing a hand to her heart. “How is your son?”
“He’s good. Fell off his skateboard. Broke his arm. But the wife was scared shitless that he had a bad head injury. He was bleeding all over. Turns out his helmet sliced his head. Saved his brain, but did a little damage of its own.”