Chapters (46)
- COVER PAGE
- PRAISE
- DEDICATION
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- SNEAK PEEK: EXIT .45
The Cuban was maybe five–six including his Doc Martens, and because he was acting tough, he hadn’t raised his head to maintain eye contact as Vincent came closer. Now with two feet between them, he was forced to stare at Vincent’s collar.
He said, ‘Man, you do what you like. Long as you leave them to talk about what they need to talk about.’
He didn’t look so good close up: skin a little yellow and drawn, a light dew of sweat on his brow. One side of his neck bore a smooth, pink scar, like a wax seal that had dripped. Vincent wondered if he’d blown the healthcare budget at the dentist: gold caps on both his incisors, making them stand out, fang-like.
Vincent, still amicable—smiling down at the man studying his throat—said, ‘Well, that’s what I wanted to ask, actually. I’m going to walk in there and sit down with them, but I don’t want your friend getting agitated.’ He nodded toward the big man’s minder. ‘Maybe you could call him or something, say I’m coming in. I don’t want him being silly, putting a hand on me or getting in the way.’
The Cuban just smiled at Vincent’s collar, still not deigning to lift his gaze, and then from Vincent’s right came the single, rising whoop of a police siren, and then a bullhorn shouting, ‘Move your vehicle off the kerb.’ Enough volume to make the Cuban finally turn his head.
Vincent looked over too and saw a Santa Barbara police cruiser—a big traffic-patrol SUV—nosing up behind the Tahoe with its lights flashing.
The Cuban said, ‘Motherfucker,’ under his breath, and then shouldered past Vincent saying, ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah, I got it.’ Hand raised to show his keys, jiggling them as if the tinkle might soothe the bullhorn.
He jumped in behind the wheel of the SUV and moved off the kerb as the cop gave him another blast with the siren, the Cuban driving hands-free, arms wide and his eyes on the mirror, letting the cop know he was an asshole for moving him along.
The siren went again as Vincent opened the door to Deacon’s and stepped inside. They had the AC down at igloo, and pop music on the radio—Taylor Swift, coming through with crackle.