Chapter 7
DIEGO
My ringer jolts me awake. I grab my phone without looking at it.
"Hello?" My voice comes out rough, barely functional.
"We have a job if you want it." Raul, wide awake, which already tells me something.
"What kind of job. And it couldn't wait until the sun was up?"
"Not something I can get into over the phone. I need a yes or no before we move forward with these people."
"How much?"
"Seven fifty."
I think he means seven hundred and fifty dollars. "Raul—"
"Seven fifty K."
I sit straight up.
"Seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars." I say it out loud to make it real. "Who or what the hell is worth that kind of money?"
He doesn't answer. Just waits.
I don't need long.
"I'm in."
"Come over in the morning. I'll lay it out then. Night, cousin."
"Fuck you," I say, and hang up laughing.
The laugh fades fast. I lie back in the dark and stare at the ceiling while the number settles over me.
Seven fifty. What that kind of money means for Ma, for her care, for the mounting prescriptions and the cut hours and the tremor in her hands she tries to hide.
I have a hard time falling back to sleep.
When I finally do, it doesn't last long enough.
My alarm goes off at eight. Friday. I make Ma a coffee, kiss her forehead, grab my keys.
The drive to Ernie's trailer is ten minutes I spend trying to keep my mind neutral, not speculating, not building scenarios. Wait for the facts.
Something feels off the moment I pull up. Too quiet. No birds, no street noise, nothing. The kind of silence that has a texture to it.
I push inside. Raul is already on the couch, cigarette burning between his lips, ash dropped directly onto the carpet like the floor owes him something.
"Morning." He doesn't look up.
"Morning." I stay near the door a second longer than necessary. "How'd you sleep?"
"Fine." He takes a drag. "You remember senior year? That job we almost pulled but walked back at the last minute?"
I go still.
By job, he means a hit. An actual hit. We were eighteen, stupid, and convinced we were harder than we were. We got cold feet two days before and I've never decided whether that was cowardice or survival instinct. Both, maybe.
"Yeah," I say carefully. "Why?"
"We have another one."
He doesn't blink when he says it. Doesn't shift, doesn't soften it. Just lets it sit between us in the cigarette smoke.
"On who?"
"Hotshot attorney. Apparently pissed off the wrong people in a significant way."
The air goes out of the room. I run a hand through my hair and feel the cold sweat already forming at my palms. When Raul said job last night I'd assumed drugs, a large shipment maybe, or security for someone with enough enemies to pay well. Something in the realm of what we know. Not this.
"I already told them yes," Raul says, with a shrug that carries approximately zero weight. "So it's either you or me."
I look at him. Really look. Raul has a record.
He's bold in ways that don't always account for consequences, and bold without discipline gets people caught.
I've done two prior that even he doesn't know about.
Ernie knows. They were clean, quiet, and they stayed that way because I was careful and because I don't panic.
"I'll do it," I say. Keep my voice flat, chest out. Don't give him the nerves.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. But I need everything. Schedule, address, home and office, known associates, regular clients, all of it.
The target being an attorney makes it complicated.
He's probably got law enforcement relationships, which means I scope him out first and we don't move until I know exactly when he's alone and where. "
Raul stubs out the cigarette on the arm of the couch and leans forward. "Alright. Let's get into it."
We spend the next several hours going through everything they've pulled together. Name, home address, office location, routine, known contacts, parking habits. By the time we're done I have a clear enough picture to start building the real one.
I'll drive past his house tonight. Get a feel for the rhythms. How long the lights stay on, whether there's security, whether he lives alone or brings people back with him.
This shouldn't take long. Everyone has a pattern. Everyone has a moment when they think they're safe.
I just have to find his.