Chapter 11 Dex
Dex
“Why you worried, man? Stop being a pussy,” Sei mutters while balancing an unlit cigarette between his lips. Reaching for his lighter, he brings it to his mouth and lights the end.
The warm glow reflects off his face and makes Sei look even more sinister than usual.
“I’m not worried,” I argue. “I just want to make sure we have everything in order. With the Feds sniffing around, we can’t afford to make any mistakes.”
He blows the acrid smoke from his mouth as he gets ready to give me the usual talk.
The one where he says I have a stick up my ass, and I need to let loose every once in a while.
The one that grinds on my gears. “Naw. I think you’re full of shit.
How do we even know the Feds are sniffing around anyway?
We haven’t seen ‘em. Ever since Burlone took us under his wing when we were kids, you’ve always been the one with a stick up your ass. ”
Aaand there it is.
I don’t bother to respond. It’s the same shit, different day.
“What? Nothing to say, Dex? Cat got your tongue?” He squeals in laughter like he’s a fucking comedian.
Keeping my mouth shut, I lean back in my chair and wait for our boss to finally show up. We’ve been sitting in Burlone’s office for almost an hour, ready for him to give us our orders for the night. But he better hurry up because I’m ten seconds away from strangling Sei.
Again…same shit, different day.
“So, you gonna take the new shipment in for a test drive before we hand it over? I mean, Burlone says we’re gonna have to lie low for a while after. This might be your last chance to finally lose your virginity.” He smirks widely, showcasing his stained teeth.
It’s these types of conversations that make me feel like the star in Groundhog Day, living the same shitty existence over and over again.
By some miracle, I ignore him, choosing to stare at the back wall instead, but he keeps pushing.
“Dude. For real, though. How come you never have any fun? We’re fucking untouchable, man.
” I watch as he raises his arms from his sides to emphasize his point.
“We’re not untouchable. If we were, we wouldn’t be using the Romanos as a scapegoat.”
“Aw, come on. We’re not using them as a scapegoat. We’re just putting them in their place. That’s all.”
I release a sigh of frustration, feeling like I want to pound my head against a brick wall in lieu of continuing this conversation. Both options will do about the same amount of good.
Thankfully, Burlone storms into his office, saving me from further explanation.
“Sei. I need you to pick up two more apples by the end of the week. I don’t care what they look like, just get them to the drop off point by Thursday.”
Apples are a code name for any common girl off the street. Grapes mean someone younger; watermelons mean a woman with curves. Passion fruit means that they need to be attractive. You’d be surprised how rarely Burlone orders passion fruit. He’s more of a quantity versus quality kind of guy.
“Why do we need more apples? I thought we already had some for delivery?” I don’t know why I ask. It isn’t any of my business. I don’t deal with the women, but curiosity gets the best of me.
With a wicked grin, he answers, “One was overripe, and the other’s already been purchased and transported.”
Overripe means he’s already tasted the goods and either kept her for himself or killed her already.
The thought makes my stomach roll. For a guy who raised me since I was ten, I don’t have a whole lot of respect for him.
Leaning against his desk, he addresses me. “Dex, I need you to go for a collection run.”
A collection run. That I can do. “Okay.”
“Did you get the plates registered for the Romanos?” he continues.
“Yeah. It’ll be on the truck for the delivery.”
Burlone turns to Sei who’s busy lighting another cigarette. “Sei, did you contact the buyer?”
“The one who fucked us over on payment last time? Yeah. He’ll be there. He was a giddy little school girl when I told him we’d still do business.” Feeling pleased with himself, Sei puts his hands behind his head and props his feet on Burlone’s desk.
Seconds later, Burlone slaps his hands against them. “Get your fucking boots off my desk, Sei.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good,” Burlone grumbles before addressing me. “Dex, did you find a good little soldier willing to drive the truck?” I try to ignore his condescending tone. After all, the guy is taking a bullet for us. Even if we are paying out the ass to keep him quiet.
Clearing my throat, I sit a little straighter in my seat and reply, “Yeah. Marty is drowning in debt. If we pay it off and give his wife and kid a little cash every month, then he’ll tell the Feds he was working for the Romanos.”
With his beady little eyes shining at me, Burlone grins. “Perfect.”
“When are you going to announce the tournament?” I ask, crossing each mental note off as we discuss it.
“Already did while you sons of bitches were sitting in my office.”
“So we’re good?” Sei coughs, the smoke from his cigarette going down the wrong pipe.
“Yeah.” Unbuttoning his suit jacket, a satisfied Burlone takes a seat behind his desk and starts flipping through various shipment documents scattered along the top of it. “We’re good. Now, get out of here. I need to get some work done.”