Page 2 of The Bronze Garza

He grunts. “Mine, Marino. Always mine.”

Not about to give him the fight he’s looking for, I ask, “Again, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Business, of course.” He produces a lighter from his pocket and lights up the cigar. “More business.”

“You got fresh meat?”

“Not exactly,” he replies. “Old...but still fresh.”

I wait for him to explain.

“Two Diamond girls. The Black one and the other one with the fat cheeks.” He sucks on the cigar then almost chokes on a cough. “They are not favorites at the house. Not earning, and I am this close to doing what I have never had to do before; send a Diamond girl to the first floor.”

“Still waiting to hear the ‘business’ part.”

“Well, you know, there are certain types of men that appreciate those…how to say, heavier, discolored girls, yes? Men of your kind,” he says. “And there are two teams of them are coming in for a football tournament next month.”

“Men of my kind?”

“Yes. I mean, ah, how to say, the neg—” He breaks off as he begins to enunciate the word and stares daringly at me. Defiance, indecision, and hesitation warring in those vacuous beady eyes.

Say it, motherfucker. Fucking say it if you dare.

He sniffs, glances down at the cigar, then back to me. “Thediscoloredkind.”

He watches me for a reaction, a flinch, his shoulders squared in defense.

It’s still an insult worthy of me swiping my blade across his throat, but again, I don’t give him the fight he’s looking for. This is not the battle I came to fight, and only a neophyte would allow themselves to get derailed by this kind of deliberate antagonism. “Ah, I see.”

“These sports type do not, how do you say,fornicatewith the whoresbetween games. Something about saving the oil for endurance.” He laughs at his own humorless joke. “But they will do the strip club and the alcohol, yes? So how about I give you two-for-one on the low-quality girls.”

Disgusting piece of shit. It’s taking everything in me not to reach over and slam his face to the edge of the desk over and over until it cracks in fucking two, blood and marrow gushing out. “I think my ‘negro’ kind will like the girls I have here just fine. Already got a full house.”

He leans back and thinks on this, conniver that he is, then says around another mouthful of smoke, “Our deal on Kimbella is up next week, yes?”

“Correct.”

“I know I agreed on a renewal, but I will need to put a delay on that.”

He’s so smug in his decision, thinking he’s pulling one over on me. “Kimbella’s my biggest earner here.”

“Mine, too,” he returns. “You must imagine it was extremely hard for me to rent my brightest Diamond to you.”

“What I paid you for her, isdoublewhat she would’ve earned you in a year at the house, so cut the bullshit.”

His jaw ticks.

Yeah, he hates that. Hates that I’ve got money and he needs it. I’ve been offering him deals that no one else has ever offered. The sums I offer to rent a single girl from him is not something he can comprehend, too good for him to pass on. And the fucker hates me for it. Wishes he could just take it all from me and put a bullet in my head instead of doing any kind of business with a cocksure “Negro.”

“Well, the decision is made. I will collect Kimbella next week.” He outs the cigar on my desk then stands and straightens his jacket. “The two-for-one offer is still on the table. But I will need an answer by next week. Otherwise, I will start shopping them out elsewhere so they can start earning their keep.”

Petrov follows him out, and I out my cigar in the tray and toss the revolting thing in the bin.

The disguised door in the right wall of the office opens and Reuben saunters in. It seals back in place behind him as he yawns and scratches his jaw. “Heard all that. Sounds like we’re in the homestretch.”

Lacing my fingers behind my head, I rock back in my chair, look up at the ceiling, and sigh. Exhausted. “Fucking finally.”

My phone vibrates on the desk. I glance down.