Victorino had to smile at the woman’s cojones.
“Me?” he said easily. “I’m the stupid one? They found pieces of one of my girls in your bigass alligator today. What you call that fucking lizard, Fifi or something? On your property. It was just on TV, bitch, and you’re calling me stupid?”
He bounced the razor in his hand, not believing how the gringa was handling this. No wonder his soldiers were spooked by the woman.
The woman’s face changed. “You’re kidding me, on television news? You’ve got to be shitting me. What did they find?”
Victorino told her. “Bones of a human hand. You pretend you don’t know that? Had a fucking ring on the finger! A woman’s hand.”
Now Frankie’s resigned expression read Sooner or later, it was bound to happen.
“Half an hour ago,” Victorino continued, “I was sitting at Hooters, enjoying some chicken wings with my boys. Why you think I hurried over here, leaving behind all that fine food?”
He held up the box cutter. “You better listen to what I’m saying, chinga. You and your jelly-boy boyfriend disrespected the V-man. All the times I was nice to you both and this is how you thank me? Now I got no choice but to leave a few marks on that body of yours. As a warning to other dumbasses. Cut off an ear, then slice my initials into your face, that might get my point across. Or maybe cut one of those big titties and listen to the air leak out.”
He pointed the razor at her, wanting the woman to pay attention to the blade. But she didn’t. Instead, Frankie was suddenly preoccupied, thinking about something else, acting like the V-man wasn’t even in the room.
Victorino raised his voice. “You hear what I just said to you.. . puta?”
The woman made a waving motion with her hand. “Quiet,” she said. “I’m trying to figure out how to handle this.” After a moment, she added, “And don’t fucking call me a puta.”
Jesus, this wasn’t going the way things usually went when Victorino waved a blade in a girl’s face. He was staring at the woman and he couldn’t believe that her face showed no fear. Instead, when Victorino reached to grab her elbow, the woman yanked the elbow away and got madder.
“Keep your greasy hands off me. Haven’t you got any damn sense?”
Victorino took a step back, his grin fading, then moved between the woman and the door, thinking she might run for it. Hoping she’d make a move, actually, which would give him an opening. He’d forgotten how goddamn big Frankie was, so he might have to tackle her, get her on the ground, then stuff something into her mouth before going to work with the box cutter.
But the woman didn’t run. She returned to her packing, throwing clothes into the suitcase. “You have any idea how much shit I have to do?” she said. “The cops are bringing in equipment to drag the pond, you dipshit. Two or three hours at the most, the boat, or whatever it is they use, gets here. Next thing, they’ll be banging on this door. One of your idiot whores OD’s, falls in the water, who you think they’re gonna blame? They’re gonna blame you, dipshit. And I’ll be here to give them your name unless I can get this cook-shack cleaned up and get our shit out of here. So leave me alone!”
Jesus. This woman had balls. Hell… maybe she really did have balls. Hard to tell with the sweatpants she was wearing. Victorino had never thought about getting a look at the lady’s goodies before, but now it crossed his mind.
He stood there, thinking about it. Two or three hours before the cops went to work dragging the lake?
They had some time.
He let the woman see him retract the razor and put the box cutter into his jeans. “Where’s your asshole boyfriend?” he asked. “That jelly boy should be here helping you, not letting you do all the work.”
Frankie said, “Don’t even mention that prick’s name to me.” Then she nodded toward the hallway and told him, “Out there in the main room, I’ve got two more suitcases. Go get them. And hurry up.”
Victorino didn’t like that. A Latin King captain didn’t take orders from some gringa. Even for her to try to give him orders was offensive. On the other hand, it wasn’t likely that an old white woman knew crap about the respect a pandillero captain deserved. And the woman did have nice-looking chichis.
“Did you hear me?” she said. “Run and get those suitcases.”
“Hey, you about to get your face slapped, lady,” Victorino replied. “You want a favor, you ask the V-man nice. You say ‘please’ and you say ‘thank you.’ Or you can kiss my Mexican ass.”
“Okay… please get my goddamn suitcases. And be quick about it-unless your Mexican ass wants to go to jail.”
When Victorino returned to the room carrying the suitcases, he asked about Squires again, saying, “When’s your boyfriend coming back? Does he know the cops are here? That would piss me off, my man running away with all this shit going down.”
“That asshole isn’t a man-he’s an overgrown mama’s boy,” Frankie snapped. “You know what he did? He ran out on me early this morning. He stole fifty-nine thousand dollars cash from our box and packed his shit. Then the dumbass stuck around long enough to take some little teenage brat with him.”
Victorino said, “Teenage?” not following but very interested in the cash the lady had just mentioned.
“Some underage little bitch!” the woman yelled. “I know because some state asshole officials were nosing around here an hour ago, asking about a missing kid. Harris figured the cops were going to arrest him, so he ran and took along something to play with. But I’ll find him. I know exactly where he’s going and I’ll catch him there.”
Victorino was trying to unsnap one of the suitcases but having a tough time. “A white girl?” he asked, curious because he had heard that Frankie enjoyed chulas a lot more than the redneck.
“No, some little Mexican brat who everyone thinks is a boy. But not me. I knew better-even Harris didn’t believe me when I told him. She’s probably not even thirteen yet, but you know what a perverted asshole Harris is. So he apparently figured it out.”
After thinking about it for a second, the woman sounded fairly perverted herself, adding, “Her name’s Tulo-something. You remember her? Kind of pretty, with a Dutch-boy haircut with bangs, and always quoting the Bible. But a cute little ass on her.”
Victorino said, “A girl, you sure about that?”
Frankie ignored him, too busy packing to listen.
Victorino said, “Maybe I know the one, a skinny kid, got here ’bout a week ago. Kinda tall, for a Guatemalan, and real quiet. Had a fucked-up haircut, like someone used a bowl on his head.”
“Not a he, a She -a sneaky little tramp of a girl,” Frankie said. “I knew it right away.”
The V-man was employing his thoughtful-businessman expression. “A little chula, huh? I’ll be go-to-hell. That Guatemalan puta lied to me. I’m gonna have to do something about that.”
The woman made a snorting noise.
“And Harris, too. The way I’ve been losing chulas lately?” the V-man said. “I’ve got to cut someone’s balls off for this, then stuff them down his goddamn throat! My homeboys will be laughing behind my back, wanting to steal my shit, everything I’ve built. I take this personally.”
Folding a blouse, Frankie told him, “I don’t give a damn how you take it. You’re gonna have to wait in line if you want to kill Harris and that little wettail.” Then she stared at the bed for a moment before saying, “You haven’t figured out how to open that goddamn suitcase yet?”
The V-man was doing his best, getting frustrated with the cheapassed little gold snaps, as he replied, “I won’t kill the little bitch. But I’ve got to find her and make an example. I’m a businessman. Killing a girl that age, where’s the profit?”
Frankie slapped Victorino’s hands away from the suitcase, saying, “A regular genius, that’s what you are. A regular Wall Street tycoon,” as she popped the locks with her black fingernails, then returned to her packing.