Page 535 of Devil’s Disciples

“Not so much today. Take quite a bit to top last Sunday’s news. Finally caught that murdering scorpion guy.”

In English, El Alacrán meant The Scorpion. I was sure that was what he was talking about.

“Do you mean the drug dealer?”

“Drug dealer?” He scoffed. “He wasn’t a drug dealer. He was a dealer of death. Yes, that’s who I was talking about. Maybe things’ll clean up a bit around here.”

“I hope so. Hard saying, though. Seems like there’s always someone to step in when someone leaves.”

“True.”

I quickly glanced at the headlines. The San Diego Tribune header caused something to come to mind. “That article the other day on the Scorpion guy, did you like it?”

“Loved it,” he said.

I beamed with pride. “That girl who wrote it is a friend of mine.”

“Peyton Price?” he asked. “She writes good stuff. I love her style.”

“Maybe I’ll introduce you to her some time.”

“That’d be nice. I’ll tell her how much I enjoy her work. She did a piece a few years back about a car theft ring. The segment went on for two weeks. Was one of the best stories I’ve ever read.”

“I’ll let her know you enjoyed it.”

He folded his paper and pushed it to the side. “The food here is something else.”

“You liked it?”

He waved his hand over his plate.

It was spotless. I widened my eyes in mock surprise. “Wow.”

“I’m going to sneak out of here when I’m done with my coffee,” he said.

“Okay.” I offered a smile of appreciation. “See you soon?”

“Tomorrow soon enough?”

His response was much better than any wages I’d receive for the day’s work. Grateful for my new job, my new life, and my “new” old customer, I returned a heartfelt smile. “I’ll look forward to it.”

198

Reno

Sitting at my kitchen table nursing a cup of lukewarm coffee, I glanced around my shitty little home, wishing I would have gone about life differently. Saved instead of spent. Invested instead of gambled. Treasured belongings instead of selling them. Nevertheless, I did what I did, and I was forced to suffer the consequences.

Not for much longer, I hoped.

Carma stepped out of the bedroom, covering her naked self with nothing more than her arms. “There aren’t any towels in the bathroom.”

I stood. “Shit. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “Are there any in the laundry?”

I felt like a complete idiot. I had great intentions, but my delivery—at least when it came to housework—was absolute shit.

“I did a load,” I said. “Let me get you one.”