Chapter 7MarxPops #2
Lovely’s brows make out with her hairline, close enough they’re touching. She’s still in her wheelchair, Vi pushing her.
“Um, does Marx know you’re doing that?”
“Nope, and I’m not gonna tell him either,” I answer, packing up the random bits and pieces surrounding us. I don’t want to let on that we’re spying.
I head toward Dayz’s cabin, that’s where we’ll set up to watch Marx and the others.
Debs is arranging popcorn and snacks as we speak.
Obviously Lovely and Vi are just as intrigued as we are, because they follow behind.
By the time we’ve made it to Dayz’s we’ve picked up a few other hangers-on.
Rider has joined, as has Tank who came to give his woman a kiss and decided to stay.
Mad Dog, Flack, Dex and Savage have turned up, and even though Sniper stormed out earlier this morning, he’s now back and perched on the arm of my favorite chair.
I should kick him off, but the kid is having a rough time.
We all squish in as best we can, Dayz dropping the projector so everyone will be able to see better.
Vi parks Lovely up next to my chair, and I pat her hand in reassurance.
I know that she respects Marx, even though she should just kick him to the curb, but anyway, she respects him and I know that this will be rubbing her the wrong way.
She’ll get used to it though. We’re all on some level a bunch of rebels, so she’ll come around.
Besides, it’s not really spying. If we wanted to do that we would have used the really high tech stuff. This is just us playing around. Yeah.
“OK, koutou , you all, I have three different flavors of popcorn and the brownie will be out of the oven soon.” Debs says, bringing me my own plate of goodies. “I’m outta here to keep an eye on the babies. And to not get my arse kicked once Marx finds out what you lot did.”
“Technically, it was only Pops, Nat and Ana,” Chewy helpfully points out.
“Yeah, and I almost lost a titty for my troubles,” Nat grumbles.
The bickering goes on a little longer, until Marx’s voice booms through the speakers.
“Whoops, sorry guys,” Remy apologizes, frantically hitting the volume button.
The whole room settles down, except for quiet bickering about fat asses taking up too much space on the couch and so on.
“So, Roman, what do you know?” Marx asks, leaning back in the spot I usually sit in. Cheeky fucker.
Roman wanders around the room, running a finger along the top of Marx’s chair, before moving around the table, doing much of the same.
“God, that guy is such a dick,” Rider says under his breath. “Oof, what was that for?” he asks when Ana claps him on the back of the head.
“That’s my bestie you’re talking about. He’s just misunderstood,” she harrumphs.
“ I know that you have pissed off the two Cordoza allies.”
“I believe it was you who pissed them off when you killed all the men in their family.”
Roman grins at the statement, before schooling his features once more.
“Besides, Cordoza didn’t have any allies.”
“Ah, but he did. Two of his sisters married low level drug runners. The next thing you know those drug runners are lords and running their own cartels.”
Marx doesn’t give anything away. The kid is cool as a cucumber and I have to admit, he’s good at this shit.
He leans back in his chair, the only tell is a flicker of his eyes at Rhodie.
“ In that case I haven’t pissed off two cartels.
You’ve pissed off two cartels with a familial grudge and they’re taking it out on us. ”
“I do believe it was your little Icer that pissed them all off when she shut down their lucrative operation.”
Marx’s eyes narrow as he stares Roman down. “Are you trying to say we’re in this together?”
Roman bobs his head this way and that. He unbuttons his suit jacket, flicks the back and takes a seat. Right in front of the goddamn camera, blocking our view of Marx .We can still see Vic, but it’s Marx’s reactions we want.
“Oh fucks sake! Get him to move his head, I can’t see anything now!” Rider whines.
“How the hell are we going to do that, dumbass? Call Marx and get him to ask Roman to scooch to the right a little?” Flack growls.
With Roman’s head in the way we can’t read any of Marx’s body language, or cues, to see if what Roman says is affecting him. Yeah, we can hear a little of what they’re saying, but without watching their faces, it’s just a game of outfoxing each other with the information sharing. Or lack thereof.
“Chewy! Zoom into Vic’s face. He’s never had a poker face, it might work in our favor,” Blanche says.
“On it,” Dayz frowns then zooms in on Vic.
Blanche is right, the kid has no poker face. I don’t even know what Roman is saying, given he’s facing away from the camera and Dayz must have given us the cheap, nasty surveillance equipment, but judging by Vic’s face it’s not good.
“Is it me, or does he look like he’s going throw up?” Dex asks.
“Nah, that’s just his face,” Blanche comments, then snorts.
“Well, this is a waste of time. Nat, pass me that tray of brownies, would ya?” Savage asks, taking them from her outstretched hand and making a start on devouring them.
I shrug and decide to join him. It was a good plan, until Roman’s fat head got in the way. We’ll just have to wait to see what Marx says. If that doesn’t work out, I’ll just have to get on Gus’s nerves until he caves. Either way, it’ll be fun.