Kiss Me in the Dark Anthology - Monica James Page 0,64
my word. And I promise I won’t cause any trouble for your people.”
Salinger clenches his teeth, a muscle popping in his jaw. His eyes are as hard and cool as granite. Clearly, he’s not happy about any of this, but he’s also aware of his own limitations. It would be one thing trying to tackle me and drag me off the beach. But Rabbie isn’t the only Roma male watching our exchange anymore. There are five other men huddled in a tight knit group off to my left, arms folded across their chest, whispering to one another as they observe the situation. They haven’t taken a single step toward us—a cold, sharp look from Rabbie made sure they all kept their distance—but I get the impression that one twitch of the head from the old fucker will have all five of them throwing fists.
Salinger casts a furious look over the gathering, including me in his ire as he slowly shakes his head, backing away. “You’ve got half an hour. I don’t see that Camaro burning out of this reservation by eight, I’m calling the boys.”
Presumably ‘the boys’ are the reservation police he mentioned up on the bluff. I feigned ignorance before, pretending I had no idea that reservation lands are often under their own jurisdiction, but I know how things work in places like this just fine. The res police do not fuck around. They’re tough as hell and don’t hand out second chances. Break their rules once you’ve been made aware of them, and you’re not going to be griping about a ticket or spending an uncomfortable night in a drafty cell. You’re gonna be fed into a fucking woodchipper and your family will be burying an empty casket six months down the road, never to find out what became of you. I don’t blame them for their heavy handedness; generations of American Indians have been fucked over, screwed with, robbed, murdered and turned out of their homes. Now that they’ve been allocated their own private lands again—an insult, really, and just another way to control their people—I don’t blame them for being fiercely protective.
“Half an hour’s all I need.” I give him a curt nod of the head—a modicum of respect that I show few people. Salinger grits his teeth some more; there’s nothing left for him to do but leave now. He does so slowly, hiking up the path through the dunes, casting a menacing backward glance at us.
“Boy could give a man second degree burns with a look like that. Plenty of fire in him. He was a scrawny little shit when I first laid eye on him.” Rabbie spits onto the sand. His feet are bare—all of the men’s feet are, their pant legs rolled up to their mid calves—and his toes are exceptionally hairy. I don’t think I’ve ever seen toes so hairy in all my life. The old man wiggles them, chuckling loudly when I look away. “My momma’s fault. She was a saint, but holy fuck was she hirsute. Looked like a she-wolf, she did. Not a square inch on her that was hair-free from the neck down. Didn’t seem to mind none, though. Said it kept her warm. Come on. Shelta’s been up and waiting for you for hours.”
That name means nothing to me. Plenty of Roma families pass through this way. They all have their own businesses. Drugs. The skin trade. Money laundering. Each family has its own specialty. They’re just as ruthless and violent as the gangs that operate within the city limits. But there’s one thing that sets the Roma apart from everyone else: they’re a secretive lot.
A new kingpin makes a land grab in Seattle, and you damn well know about it. His name’s on the tip of everyone’s tongue. His exploits and atrocities are spoken about in all of the dive bars and pool halls in town. It’s his job to make sure people know who he is, so that they know to fear him.
The Roma, on the other hand, keep their heads down. It’s a miracle if you learn even their lowest ranking members’ names. They keep their cards and their business very close to their chest, which is why it’s so strange that Rabbie not only introduced himself to me, but he’s also given me this woman’s name, too. Could mean nothing, but I’m suspicious by nature. It also indicates that they aren’t planning on letting me walk away from this meeting.