Page 39 of The True Garza

I scowl at him. “You know my haircuts are free, asshole.”

He shrugs. “Don’t know, I thought maybe things are different now that you’ve become a sellout.”

“Yo mama is a sellout.”

He chuckles. “She’s ‘yo mama,’ too.”

Our father, Carlos Bridge, was the son of a barber. Our granddad owned a successful barber salon, and that’s where Dad grew up working. Of his three children, I’m the only one who picked it up. I used to sit for hours in granddad’s shop and watch them cut hair. When I got older, I begged Dad for lessons. I grew to become so damn good at it that getting a haircut from me was the next best thing to getting one from Dad. But I was such a moody asshole back then that getting a cut from me was rare. When Lonny Bridge gave a haircut, itmeantsomething.

Dad and I carried the tradition to Denver.

Crossing my arms, I glare at my brother. “Ask me nicely.”

“No. I’m still mad at you, Lonny.”

“And you want me to cut your hair? Aren’t you afraid I’ll jack it up?”

“Nah. You take too much pride in your cuts.”

He’s right. Dad would be pissed—even from the grave—if I purposely messed up a cut. “Fine. But I’m not using your dusty-ass tools.”

Low-key excited, since I haven’t given a haircut in well over a year, I leave to grab my kit from my room.

Minutes later, as I’m prepping him, I ask, “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“Court day,” he answers. “That’s why I need the cut.”

“Ah.”

After a while, he asks, “Do you really like it there?”

“Yep. It’s less stressful and the pay’s hella good.”

“You know they probably only hired you just to stick it to us, right?”

“Doesn’t matter to me. Better than having Uncle Walter try to use me like a magic penny whenever he wants to look good.”

“Mom’s been laughing at him. Said he should have expected it. That he should’ve known you’d never allow anyone to control you.”

“Then why did you both try?”

He sighs. “The directive really came down from the top. He probably could’ve pushed back, but he wanted a win against RCI too badly to fight them on it.”

“Well, he got his win.”

“But he lost you.”

“He lost me the moment he decided to betray his brother, Charles.”

Another sigh. “You can’t hate her forever, Lonny. She’s your mother.”

Oh, brother. You have no idea how long I can hold on to a grudge. “Someone attacked me last night. I think it’s the mole. Although it’s just me they’re targeting, you and Uncle should stay alert, yeah?”

His shoulders tense. “Jesus. You saw who it was?”

“Nah. They were masked.”

“Shit.” He pokes his hand out from under the cape to get his phone. “I’ll call Uncle, and we’ll—”