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Back Dead of Winter Save as PDF
Chapters (42)
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“Unwise,” I said. “And unnecessary. These days, popping Danny like a cherry tomato would be the relief he’s begging for. His law firm’s bankrupt, and he’s under investigation by the state cops and FBI for malfeasance. Not to mention Jackie Ochoa gave his heart a dry hump, then split. Last I heard he started some online business just to make a few rent dollars.”

“Online business?”

“BigWoodforYou.net.”

“Porn?”

“Firewood.”

Tomás went quiet for a moment. Then he said, “Octavio, I been beat to shit, carved up like a Thanksgiving turkey, shot three times and left for dead. If I didn’t have no fight, I wouldn’t have the woman I got, a beautiful daughter, the best grand baby girl in the world and you. According to my momma, God rest her soul, I came into this world with my fists up and punching. And I’m bettin’ that’s how I go out. So, do I have some fight left in me you can depend on?”

Tomás stood from his lawn chair and walked to a darker, cobwebbed corner of the basement behind the water heater.

After a moment of reaching between floor joists, he came back and stood in front of me holding a long custom black metal case. Gently, he laid the case on the floor in front of me, opened it and carefully took out the contents.

A Barrett MRAD bolt-action sniper rifle.

The former marine sniper in me said, “Oorah. God bless America.”

“And goddamn the enemy,” Tomás said.

35

35

Elena returned home at six that evening, and though half of Tomás’s expensive bottle of tequila was floating our brains, we managed to look and sound like our sober selves.

At least that’s what a couple of drunks thought.

Councilwoman Nadine Rosado was still justifiably freaked out by the beheading of her city council rival Lincoln Quinn, but under the friendly pressure of Elena and several other Mexicantown community activists, she had consented to run for his vacated seat. An enthusiastically supported proposal that had caught Elena completely off guard.

Lunch proved to be a hit.

After clearing the table and thoroughly handwashing the plates, serving dishes and silverware before putting them in the dishwasher (a tragicomic ritual observed by households across America), Elena made a carafe of slow-drip Mexican coffee and added Kahlúa, tequila and a splash of Mandarine Napoléon Liqueur for a nice orange, clove and cinnamon finish.

The perfect warm drink to fight off the swirling chills of a cold Michigan winter evening.

As we made ourselves comfortable in their living room, Elena narrowed her eyes at me and said to Tomás, “So. Did el bebé ask you to join him in any risky escapades thinking I wouldn’t find out?”

Tomás laughed. “Sí.”

I felt my cheeks warm and prickle—and not from the coffee drink.