“We know those feds were in your pocket,” Yolanda is saying, eyes narrowed as she sits across from me. “They took three of our shipments, which we’d personally delivered all the way from across the shore.”
We’re in the old refinery just over territory lines. It’s supposed to be neutral territory, but right now, it’s anything but. She has two guys behind each shoulder, each wielding a ridiculously massive rifle. Complete overkill. It’s how I know she doesn’t plan on killing me.
Yolanda isn’t someone I’ve ever done business with personally. She’s part of the criminal old guard I’ve been trying so desperately to dismantle. People like her, my dad, Lionel, Cartwright…they’re yesterday’s news. They don’t understand the world today.
“I didn’t have anything to do with that.” I tap my heel against the ground, lounged back in my rickety chair. Being King, I’ve discovered, is about twenty percent violence and eighty percent posturing. “I don’t have the feds in my pocket. I only deal local.”
She barks a humorless laugh. “Then why did your men ambush mine at the border?”
I give her lackeys a look. In my head, I’ve been referring to them as Thing One and Thing Two. They’re big and dumb and pretty. Actually, come to think of it, they kind of remind me of Nick.
I almost consider texting him about it, but a part of the negotiation to meet was that we turned off our phones. “You were selling guns to our rivals,” I reason.
Yolanda gives me a long, hard look. “I wouldn’t have had to if you hadn’t reneged on our previous deal.”
“That,” I snap, nearly at my limit, “was a deal you made with my father. Not me. Daniel Payne might have been fine with seeing pieces all over the streets, but it’s not a good look for South Side. Look at this shit.” I gesture to the ridiculous rifles. “I’m not building a goddamn infantry. I just want to keep things moving smoothly. You know what makes things not run smoothly? Someone walking around with enough firepower to take down a fucking armada.”
Yolanda inspects her nails, looking bored. “That’s one opinion.”
Nostrils flaring, I lean forward, elbows propped on my knees. “Let’s cut the shit, Yolanda. You don’t like me. I don’t like you. I say the best course of action here is to steer clear of our respective paths, which is going to be a lot easier when you realize where mine is.” I lift my arm, pointing to our right. “South Side is mine. The guns that enter South Side are mine. The guns that leave South Side are mine. The fucking ammo is mine. If I see another one of your pieces in the hands of some low-level, shit-for-brains drug dealer, I’m going to make sure to send it back.” My voice drops to a low, deadly finality. “And you’d better trust that I’ll have someone behind it to pull the trigger.”
Thing One steps forward, tightening his grip on his rifle. “No one threatens Yolanda, boy.”
“Oh, you don’t need to worry,” I tell him, showing him my teeth. “I’ll make sure the two of you get it first.”
“Enough!” she snaps, and with a flick of her hand, Thing One falls back. “Once the guns are sold, I don’t control where they go. What do you expect me to do, follow them around?”
“You don’t need to follow them around,” I answer, trying to tamp down my temper. “Choose a better caliber of clientele and all of our problems are solved.”
She looks almost as irked as I feel, eyeing me up and down. “And just who do you expect me to sell them to?”
“I’m glad you asked.” Without missing a beat, I reach into my pocket, not even flinching when The Things jump to attention. I flash the paper I’d brought, blandly offering, “I brought a list.”
We go over it for what feels like forever. Yolanda has beef with half of my suggestions, and I have beef with half of hers. The entire time, I’m building this suspicion, though. She’s far too quick to make a negotiation. Who the fuck am I to tell her who to do business with? The Southern empire is formidable, but it’s not like my arm has much reach. Outside of the bounds of this territory, I’m jack shit, and that’s just the way I like it.
Yolanda wants something from me.
It’s really bristling her hedges, too, because I wasn’t lying before. I know she can’t stand me. She holds me to my father’s word, but she also holds me to his crimes. It’s not the first time I’ve had to answer for them, and I’m not stupid enough to think it’ll be the last. The Payne name hanging over my head can, at any point, be a crown or a storm cloud.