“We shall see.” Marconi waved at his children again. “Seat our guest. Clean up the mess. Bring a decent bottle of wine and a nice salad for me. We will share a meal with your lovely ladies. We will talk. And we will decide what to do about theMara Salvatrucha.”
“Forgive me for saying, but if we discuss the MSA, we need to discuss the men your son Enrico met with this afternoon.”
Old Marconi leveled his dark eyes at one of the men on the floor. He was a very pretty boy, the prettiness marred by anger and discontent. Slowly, Marconi said, “Enrico. What have you done?”
“The only thing I could, Papa.” The boy climbed to his feet. He looked earnest and fearful at once, a handgun in each hand, street-thug style.
I tensed again and eased into a better firing position, my weapons on the boy, point-and-shoot style. Behind me, Cupcake said, “Uh-uh-uh. Weapon down, bitch. Or we’ll bloody up your daddy’s clean floors, starting with you.”
“The world is changing,” Enrico said. “We have to change with it.”
The girl behind me shifted into view, her weapon—a lovely prewar H&K nine-millimeter—aimed at her brother. That was a surprise. She said, “TheMara Salvatruchatreat their women as slaves. I won’t be some man’s play toy.” She was beautiful, and for reasons I didn’t understand, I was reminded of the naked woman in the log mansion. And then it hit me. Was it possible that I had come into contact with MS Angels already?Bloody damn. I needed a private word with Asshole, but I wasn’t going to get it.
“Lorenzo,” Marconi said, “take Enrico’s weapons. Secure his hands. Mina, remove and explore his Morphon. Download his contacts and locations to mine. There will be no slavery in my city. Children, put away your weapons. You too, lovely ladies who are my guests. You are under my protection. You others, serve the nice gentleman and the pretty ladies. And bring me a glass of the Elijah Craig, small batch. Get your brother to a med-bay, and call your mother. She will want to be here for this.”
Jagger’s weapons had already disappeared. I nodded to our bodyguard. The man shook his head, his expression saying it was part of his job to endure crazy stuff. He disappeared and the door swept closed, two cats racing out at the last moment. The others disappeared under tables; one hopped into the rafters as if an eight-foot jump were nothing. Spy. I got a whirlwind view of the restaurant and caught the low wall for balance before working my weapons back through my pockets. Cupcake’s disappeared into her cleavage and elsewhere. I feared she would shoot herself, but when she plopped back into her chair, she smiled happily.
Swallowing my adrenaline and nanobot combat chemicals, I sat. Drank the rest of my beer. Wished for another. Miraculously one appeared at my place.
I should have been nauseated and shaky from the fight-or-flight breakdown chemicals. Instead, I was starving. I sipped, trying to remember the proper protocol. I had watched enough of such meetings when Pops was alive to know that specific things had to be said and done at the negotiating table. Old Ladies and random women were not allowed to participate unless they were spoken to first. Only made-men were permitted to speak, and it was best this family didn’t know who I was.
Old Marconi sat, and a fifth chair appeared at his side, I assumed for his wife. I was interested to see what her status was. When she appeared in the kitchen, I realized that she had already been on the premises or she lived near the restaurant. I finally took a good look at the family. Old Marconi’s skin—wrinkled, nearly as dark as mine, spotted with age—had seen a lot of sun and gravity. He sported a small beard and moustache, both pure white, while his hair was thick, white sprinkled with black, styled long, and swept back. He was justifiably proud of his hair. He had likely been killer pretty when he was younger, like Enrico, but his sharp black eyes said he had never been stupid. His daughter, Mina, took after her father.
“Mina. Did you know your brother had been talking to theMara Salvatrucha?”
“No papa. I would have killed him myself had I known.”
“This family and this chapter will never join with theMara Salvatrucha. We will fight them until we die, as we always have. You will discover if any of your siblings or cousins or cohorts were part of his betrayal. And you will bring them to me. You will not kill them until I have dealt my own justice.”
Mina snarled but spat, “Yes, Papa.” She took Enrico’s Morphon and hooked it to hers. Turning, she stared daggers at her brothers, one who was being helped to the back by another sister. She snarled again. Mina was vicious and unforgiving of any weakness. I filed that away. I might need it someday.
Marconi’s Old Lady sat, ponderously, as if her knees hurt. Proving her status as a made-man, she said, “Give our guests decent wine.” She held up her glass, and one of her sons filled it from a very large bottle of red, before replacing Cupcake’s and Jagger’s glasses with fresh ones, and filling them as well. She frowned mightily at the sight of my beer, but I stared her down. She did an eyebrow shrug, as if to say,Oh well. The strange woman is a guest. She can drink what she wishes.Another daughter placed a short rocks glass beside the Old Man and poured three fingers from a fancy whiskey bottle, no ice. At a gesture, the girl placed a matching glass at Jagger’s side and poured an equal amount, also neat. The Old Lady held up her glass and said, “To information exchanged and peace in our city.” We all clinked. Sipped. Set down our glasses.
Three Marconis stepped back but didn’t depart. Still in earshot, they listened and watched us avidly. The Old Lady said, “I am Lucretia. My husband, Daniel Marconi.”
Jagger said, “Logan Jagger.” He pointed to me.
“Heather Anne Jilson. My mother was an Outlaw Old Lady before the war.”
Jagger pointed at Cupcake.
“You can call me Cupcake. I used to be Red’s Old Lady, with the original Hell’s Angels. I stayed with him after theMara Salvatruchatook over our chapter.”
And then it hit me. Cupcake had all the contact info for every single MS Angels chapter. That meant she also knew which Hell’s Angels chapters were still independent and fighting against the invading MS-13. She had known about the Marconis.Cupcakehad made the reservations for us.Cupcakehad arranged for Jagger to come here. I shot Cupcake a look, but she didn’t return it, her eyes on Marconi.
Bloody damn hell.
“I remember Red,” Marconi said. “He rode a Harley Bronx when I knew him. His old lady was comms and records specialist for the president of the Hell’s Angels before the war. Red was number three. You left him?” He didn’t move, but suspicion and threat laced his tone. “Where’s Red?”
Bloody damn. Red had been the Hell’s Angels’ number three?
Cupcake said, “A female made-man, Clarisse Warhammer, moved up the roster at the national chapter house. When she hit number two, she was offered a chapter of her own, mostly to keep her from challenging the president. She took over our chapter. Red was knocked from chapter prez and from number three nationally to number four.” Cupcake’s eyes went hard as blue diamonds. “Clarisse made stupid decisions. Red died in a stupid-ass, ill-chosen MS Angels battle against superior forces. Warhammer and One-Eyed Jack ran off andleft her people to die.”
Cupcake didn’t sound remotely like herself. Cupcake sounded like what she really was, an in-charge woman who took no guff from anyone. Cupcake was a dangerous badassand I hadn’t known.Bugger.
She added, “Latest intel says she challenged the prez anyway, and he bugged out of St. Louis to a safe house somewhere.”
I glanced at Cupcake. Mateo had picked up something about that possibility, but it hadn’t been confirmed. I also hadn’t shared it with Cupcake. More evidence my thralls were working behind my back. Good.
