Page 2 of The True Garza

This isn’t going to end well, and I don’t want to be here for it. I’mtired, in need of some whiskey and sleep. To get out of here, I’ll have to get past the sidekick at the door. So as the cashier frantically works at getting all the cash from the register and the robber is occupied with threatening anyone who so much as whimpers, I shift a hand to my waist. Not too conspicuous; just enough to draw the sidekick’s attention.

Once I’ve got it, I move my leather jacket just a fraction, giving him a peek at my piece.

When he sees it, his eyes widen, then dart to his partner who’s still barking and making a scene, then back to me again. Shaking with nerves now, he bounces from foot to foot.

Come on, punk. Be a good little wimp and beat it.

“Hey, c’mon, man, this was a bad idea,” he calls to his partner. “L-let’s get out of here!”

His partner ignores him, stuffing all the cash that’s being passed to him into the pockets of his hoodie.

Eyes trained on the sidekick, I make as if I’m about to pull out my gun.

No hesitation this time—he turns and bolts out the door.

Gun trumps switchblade.

When I swing my attention to where the other idiot is by the cashier, my gaze collides withhis. The hard glare has been replaced by a glint of curiosity.

I slowly inch toward the exit.

“What else you got behind there?” the robber barks, oblivious to the fact that his sidekick has left him behind. “Gimme all of it before I plant a bullet in your skull.”

“There’s nothing else, I swear,” the cashier cries, “we just changed shifts.”

“What’s in that jar?”

“D-donations for cancer—”

“Lemme have it.”

I’m almost to the door when I hear a growled, “Fuck this.”

“Hey, what are you—ergh…”

I pop my head up just in time to see the robber being held in a chokehold byhim.In seconds, the robber is asleep, his gun clattering to the floor.Heslowly lowers the goon to the ground, then picks up the gun, shaking his head. “Idiot had the safety on the entire time.”

He puts the weapon on the counter, then picks up the discarded six-pack of beer and shoves it toward the cashier. “Before you call the cops, ring this up for me, yeah? My wife’s waiting for me.”

CHAPTER Two

“You’re lucky I like you.”

Lonny

An hour later, I pullinto the garage of my sister’s contemporary, multi-million-dollar home in Studio City. My 1971 Camaro grumbles as I park next to the sleek, white Lexus on the left.

As the garage door slowly lowers behind me, I grab my bottle of whiskey from the passenger seat, tuck it under my arm, and head to the side door.

Seconds later, after being warned by the alarm that I had entered the wrong passcode one too many times, I’m digging my phone out to text my sister.

Me: Locked out. Forgot the alarm code.

Brook:*eyeroll emoji*Hang on.

Brook: OK, it’s disarmed.

The door clicks shut behind me after I’ve let myself in.