Page 470 of Devil’s Disciples

He nodded. “El Chistoso.”

The funny man.

“What’s that mean?” I asked.

“It means jew and Rex can get dressed.” He stood. “It’s time for deener.”

173

Carma

Reno’s successful meeting with Bobby Hands meant that Angel was one step closer to the United States. The thought of him crossing the border made me itch.

“They call him Bobby Hands because his hands are tattooed, and his last name, in Spanish, means hands,” I explained. “He’s Angel’s right-hand man. His captain, or whatever. I can’t believe you had the guts to just stop by without an invitation. That’s awesome.”

As the words came out, I realized they weren’t very convincing.

Not at all, really.

“I thought you’d be happier,” Reno said. “This thing’s coming to a close.”

Reno didn’t know Angel like I knew Angel. The media’s portrayal of him wasn’t good, but it did nothing to expose the darkness that loomed behind his sinister brown eyes.

He was a heartless devil whose actions defined evil.

“I’m not thrilled about him being in the same country as me. Once he’s captured, things will be different. When he’s locked up, I’ll feel safe. When I feel safe, you’ll notice a difference in how I act. I’ll be happy.”

“If I thought I could get away with it, I’d bend you over this table right now and make you happy.”

Wow, switch topics much, mister scatterbrains?

My thoughts were of dying at the hands of Angel’s torturous thugs. Sex would make me forget about Angel, and of dying. I was all for it.

“You’re all over the place, aren’t you?” My mouth curled into a guilty grin. “I’ll lock the door.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t mean ‘get away with it’ like that. I meant something different.”

“You were joking?” I looked at him like he’d kicked a puppy. “You don’t want to have sex?”

“I do,” he said. “But I can’t.”

“What do you mean, you can’t?”

He shrugged. “I can’t.”

I stared in disbelief. “I don’t understand. You said you wanted to bend me over the table and make me happy.”

“I said I would if I could get away with it.”

“Maybe you didn’t hear me.” I gestured toward the door. “I’m going to lock the door.”

“Locked or unlocked, we’re not fucking,” he said flatly.

“Why not?”

“Because.” He sipped his beer. “I can’t.”

“They make pills to fix that. You can get them in Tijuana for five dollars.” I reached into my apron and pulled out a handful of bills. “Here. Run and get some while I bus these tables.”