Mimi's Demons

Chapter 63: #alltheracism

A honey-brown skinned man with a carefully sculpted black goatee sat across from Duke. The splotches of plaster on his gray t-shirt were at odd with his clean, manicured nails and combed back hair, and his chair legs didn't so much as squeak on the tiles. Jazzy latino music played on low across the festive colored restaurant and sizzling came from a grill behind the pepper encrusted counter. Duke didn't mind Mexican food. But the meet up point the Mexican cartel set was a little...on the nose.

Juan Ramirez smiled at Duke. He had slightly crooked, but clean, white teeth.

"Have you already ordered?" he asked in clear, but accented English.

"I already ate," said Duke, not caring what message this would send to the Mexican. It was the cartel that was in trouble, not him.

Juan bobbed his head, smile still on. "I hope you don't mind if I...?"

"Not at all."

After ordering a carne asada burrito in Spanish to the lady that came up to the counter, he returned his smile back to Duke.

"The asada here is delicious. You should try it sometime."

"Hmm."

Juan's smile wavered.

"To business then?" he asked.

"I do have places to be," said Duke.

Juan sighed and leaned back, but Duke didn't give a damn about his disappointment. In fact, the man's lax attitude was unbecoming of a gobetween. He had no power himself. He was just a tool, and tools had no right to think they could have a casual conversation with the likes of him.

"The kid yours?" he asked, gesturing to the corner of the restaurant.

Duke didn't have to look to know he meant the baggy hooded teen hunched up at a booth.

"Naturally. I doubt you lot would have allowed anyone in at this hour."

"Hey, we don't interfere in business. But, a word or two may have gone around. We Latinos can be smart when we need to be."

Duke would beg to differ. All people were stupid.

"What are you giving me for Fernandez's screw up?" Since he wouldn't get to the point, Duke would.

Juan reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, which he passed across the table to Duke.

Duke unfolded it and sneered at what he read. "This isn't nearly the amount Travis Cromwell's life is worth."

"I was told to say that, since it was done on Fernandez's will alone, this is an apology, not the price for a hit."

"An apology should show they fully comprehend what was at stake."

"Hey, your man's still alive, ain't he?"

Duke just looked at the man. A steady, cool displeasure rose up and took place into his chest.

This must have shone on his face, for Juan gulped and his eyes widened.

"I'll call up my boss right now."

Duke watched, unimpressed once more, as Juan took his phone out then and there and dialed up his boss. A good go-between wouldn't need to call their boss, as they'd understand their mind enough to be able to say what they themselves would say and even be able to wield the authority in their name. Either this did not speak well of the state of the cartel or Duke was being looked down on.

Thus, the moment Juan started talking, Duke held out his hand.

Juan's eyes shook on his outstretched hand. He didn't look so relaxed anymore when he handed over the phone.

"Garcia," Duke said. "Your man is an insult."

"Lo lament, an unfortunate strike hit true on Friday. American sidejob got lucky."

"Don't speak Spanish to me."

"I apologize. Was the compensation not enough?"

"Your effort overall isn't enough. Even if most of your business gets wiped out you should be able to afford a proper go-between. I expect your mug in person in three days at the location I will give."

"Mr. Cosack, in all politeness, I am not someone you can order around."

Duke straightened, bristling. "Excuse me?"

The room seemed to drop several degrees. Juan Ramirez hunched in his chair, hiding his hands in his lap and his the skin under his eyes going gray. Even the sizzling and banging in the kitchen seemed to still.

It might have been Duke's imagination, but the sunlit restaurant seemed to dim, as though a cloud had passed over the sun.

"I sent you an email explaining that the idiot was not on our order. In that moment, he was not representing us, just himself, and now he is dead. Proper go-between's take time to train."

"I'm not some random American border control you need to bribe, Ismael. I'm the sole reason your ragged band of stoners is able to do business in America at all, and one word from me cuts off the borders of the rest of the world. The fact that I need to remind you at all cuts down your time to show up to tomorrow." The chill in Duke's chest had increased. Now he knew it wasn't his imagination, the restaurant had grown a little darker. He wondered if the weather forecast for clear skies had been wrong. Not every stray cloud could be accounted for, but really, the timing was impeccable, especially since Juan now looked ready to pee his seat.

The scrape of a chair told Duke the kid in the corner had stood up. He must really be doing his job if the fear had gotten that irresistible.

After a brief pause, the man on the line said, "I apologize. You are right, I spoke out of turn. Please believe me when I say Ramirez was properly trained beforehand and we meant it as no slight to you. I can do three days—"

"Tomorrow."

"...Is there a specific time?"

"Three pm. I'll email you the coordinates. Bring a proper apology this time." Duke didn't need to say 'or else.' The fact that he had felt he had to say as much as he had was insult enough. Honestly, the previous head had known better. Hell, they all should have known better. What could have possibly happened for Ismael Garcia to think he could speak to Duke that way when it was his man who tried to kill Travis? This wasn't some random two-bit mule, this was Cromwell, Duke's right hand man; his eyes and ears, his man in the chair, his hacker, his second in command, the father of his daughter's only playmate.

Duke didn't wait for an agreement. He hung up and handed the phone back to a floppy looking Juan, who failed to catch it before Duke dropped it on the table.

"Can I?" murmured the kid from behind Duke.

"Bon appetite."

As Duke stood, Juan's gaze flicked over to the hoodied teenager who stepped forward to loom over him as no gangly kid should be able to.

A gray-skinned hand reached out to the air above him. Juan's eyes popped. His mouth dropped open, his hands shot up to his chest.

"No," he wheezed. "No! Please!"

Duke peeked back as he left the restaurant, just out of curiosity, and grinned when he caught sight of the demon's face, serene and unwarped as he scooped invisible something from the air around Juan into his mouth. He wasn't even doing anything else, but the Mexican still huddled in his chair, screaming and pleading. Maybe it was an individual based thing, but Duke doubted it.

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According to the Wattpad formula I'm only suppose to write small chapters at, like, minimum 500 words, maximum 1500, but I hate short chapters. Who doesn't hate short chapters? Apparently, according to the question I broached on my profile wall, you guys. Huh. Maybe I'm the weirdo. Wouldn't be the first time.