“And they say we’re the thugs. You should have seen these guys. Wearing golf shirts and slacks like they’re off for a day on the course. Only time they swing a club is to bash someone’s head in. Anyway, Sonny and I, we’re down for the count, barely conscious and I’m looking at these guys in their nice shirts and slacks and dress shoes, probably ten years older than me, and I’m not getting it, you know. I’m still thinking this is just a mugging, or maybe a case of mistaken identity.

“Then the leader starts yammering on about the gang, and how we’re overstaying our welcome, getting too big for our britches—whatever clichés he could come up with. It takes me a while, ’cause I’m still out of it, but finally it clicks: shit, these guys are from the Cortez Cabal.”

“Did they say so?”

He nodded. “They went on about how we were pissing off Mr. Cortez, and we needed to remember our place or he’d show it to us. Then they took our cut and left us there.”

“They robbed you?”

“Can you believe it? Shit, they probably pull in that much a week. I figure they were just being jerks, but Guy says they took the money to say that everything we earn, we owe to them. He says that sounds like Benicio.”

The message, yes. But the delivery? No.

I’d heard of other Cabals pulling stunts like this. The Cortezes were no less ruthless, but such thuggery wasn’t Benicio’s usual style. Maybe he thought that was the only language the gang would understand. But from what Benicio said about Guy, he knew he wasn’t a dumb brute. To maintain a level of respect, Benicio would approach him in a more civilized way. This sounded more like rogue elements in the Cabal.

I considered raising the possibility, but my position was too precarious to start defending Benicio Cortez. Brokering peace was a job best left to the professionals. For now, I’d gotten a little more information and could push duty aside, relax and enjoy lunch with Jaz.

HOPE REBOUND

HOPE

REBOUND

As we were leaving, Jaz grabbed my hand and ducked into a side hall. At the end was a locked door. A flick of a credit card and we were inside an intimate private lounge.

Only two security lights lit the room and we had to pause just beyond the door. After a minute, I could make out a few tables and a small bar.

Still holding my hand, Jaz led me into a darkened nook beside the bar. Then, without a word, he pulled me to him in a kiss. I could feel his heart hammering. From the thrill of the break-in, I presumed, but when he pulled back, there was trepidation in his eyes, lifting only when I leaned in for another kiss.

“Whew,” he breathed.