Uh-oh.
I thought, at that juncture, it might be wise to keep my mouth shut.
“Went lookin’ for your Dad like I asked you not to do and found some trouble at a bagel place,” he said.
I forgot about keeping my mouth shut.
“Eddie, it’s none of your…”
His eyes narrowed.
“Chiquita, if you tel me it’s none of my business, I swear to God, I’l shoot you.”
I jumped up from the couch and put my hands to my hips.
“Wel it isn’t!”
He angled off the couch and took a step toward me so he was towering over me.
I real y wished I had my shoes back but I held my ground.
“It f**king well is,” he said in his scary quiet voice.
I glared at him.
“How do you figure that?” I asked.
He threw his arms out and looked around.
“What the f**k do you think is happening here?”
“I don’t know!” I yel ed at him and, actual y, I didn’t.
He looked away from me, tore his hand through his hair and muttered in Spanish. Then he turned back to me.
and muttered in Spanish. Then he turned back to me.
“Witnesses state that a blonde woman of your description was seen rol ing around on the floor at Einstein’s on Alameda with a guy who fits the description of Vince Fratel i.”
I decided, again, to be silent.
“Jet, Vince Fratel i is a bad guy. Not just a bad guy, a scary bad guy. He’s muscle for a very scary bad guy. Who knows what he’s done? Likely broken knees, cut off fingers, kil ed people. And you attacked him in f**king Einstein’s Bagels.”
Not good. Real y not good. Vince did sound like a scary bad guy.
I went into defense mode. “Wel I didn’t know!” I yel ed.
Eddie’s quiet voice went away and he shouted.
“What the f**k were you thinking?”
“He cal ed you a wetback!” I shouted right back.
Yeesh.
Eddie stood stock stil and stared at me.
“I’m sorry?” he asked.