Thin Love (Thin Love, #1)(104)
Kona pushed off from the wall, managing a slight nod to Ricky’s’ two boys who passed a cigarette between each other as they watched the street. They were both smaller than Kona by at least five inches, and each wore faded jeans and threadbare, dark coats.
Marco was the shorter of the two, a Spanish kid from the Irish Channel with one of his front teeth missing. The other was Lil Eddie, boxier than Marco with pale skin and dark eyes. Kona didn’t know much about Eddie except that he was new to Ricky’s crew and had hands like a girl. It had freaked Kona out a little the first time he shook Eddie’s hand—how smooth his palm was, how soft, as though he’d never lifted a finger to work hard his entire life. Kona didn’t trust either of them, but Eddie especially had the hairs on the back of Kona’s neck standing on end.
Marco’s sharp whistle brought Kona’s attention back to the street and to the yellow ’68 Mustang that pulled up along the sidewalk in front of the hotel. He and Lil Eddie kept watch, standing on either side of the car and Kona gnawed on his cheek, eyes squinted at Keith, Ricky’s boy, as he slid out of the car.
“Kona. What’s up, man?” Keith was mixed, light skinned with bright green eyes, pupils always dilated. Ricky trusted him, told Kona that Keith would too scared of him to shortchange his shipment, but Kona knew better. He’d seen this * placing bets against CPU throughout the season. He’d seen him lurking around the locker room and team house when Ricky wasn’t around. This guy had his sights on replacing Kona as Ricky’s supplier to the team. Kona didn’t care about being traded, he just didn’t want his teammates messed up with Ricky’s shit.
Kona shook his hand as Keith approached but didn’t smile at the guy and stepped back, leveling two quick pounds on the door to get Ricky’s attention.
“He in there?” Keith asked, narrowing his eyes at Kona.
A quick jerk of Kona’s chin and Keith stepped forward, but he slipped in front of the door, blocking Keith from entering. “He’s busy.”
Kona crossed his arms, depending on his size and bulk to intimidate Keith. It usually worked; most people took one look at him and walked the other way, but Keith had been around Kona often enough, had likely seen enough shit in the hustle that Kona didn’t seem like much of a threat.
“I gotcha, man.” The fluorescent light above the door cast a small glint off of Keith’s too white teeth when he smiled at Kona. Eyes over Kona’s shoulder, Keith’s features relaxed as Ricky opened the door and walked out of the room. “I’m early, dude. I get a bonus?” That bonus Keith wanted stumbled away from Ricky, pulling down her short skirt and tucking a small baggy into her bra. The girl walked with her head down and her arms around her middle as though she thought not looking at anyone would make her seem less obvious, would somehow hide the shit she’d just let Ricky do to her.
“Fuck you, man. That ain’t your bonus.” He slapped Keith on the back of the head. “Stop running your mouth and get my shit.”
Something in the air, maybe the cool looks Lil Eddie and Keith passed to each other as they popped the trunk, had Kona’s gut twisting. He stepped forward, away from Ricky and watched the two men pull duffle bag after duffle bag out of the car.
“Why am I here, man?” Kona asked Ricky when he came to his side.
“To keep *s like those three in line.” Ricky stretched, shoulders relaxed, movements slow and a stupid, eager grin bending his mouth. Kona knew he watched him, knew he was sizing him up, taking in the way Kona moved his eyes up and down the street. Something was off, he felt it in bones, but Ricky seemed too sated, too calm to catch that air of caution moving in the frigid January wind. A quick tap on Kona’s shoulder and Ricky’s smile moved off his face and worry lines on the guy’s forehead deepened. “Why you so jumpy?”
“I’m not.” Kona rubbed his neck, pulling out the tension that bunched between his muscles. “Just ready for this shit to be over.”
A homeless guy pushing a covered shopping cart weaved the buggy down the street, head down as he sang something Kona thought might have been “Amazing Grace.” He and Ricky both watched the man in his dingy gray slacks and broken soled shoes as his voice carried around the quiet street. Three blocks away from them, the Quarter was still reeling from New Year’s, still lively and active with the thrill that 1998 promised. Fleeting, Kona thought about Keira, about how he could get her out of her mother’s house, away from Mandeville and the threat that always lingered in that place. He could get a job, maybe work nights so they could land an apartment. It would be tough. They’d struggle, but at least Keira would be out of that bitch’s house.
He shifted his eyes at Ricky, shaking his head at him when Marco tossed a duffle bag to Keith who almost dropped it. Kona pushed back the thought of working with Ricky again. He wouldn’t have Keira around that shit. It was too dangerous.
“I love this f*cking city,” Ricky said, spreading his arms wide. “Service-based economy just ripe with crack heads and greedy bar owners. It’s a damn goldmine if you’ve got the right product.” Ricky’s smile dropped from his face when Kona only stared back at him. He took to sizing Kona up again, watching the dispassionate way the linebacker blinked at him. “You’re a dumbass, Kona.”
He’d heard it before. As a kid, when he struggled to read aloud in class, but Kona wasn’t a kid anymore. He didn’t want anyone calling him dumb, especially not some stupid thug who hadn’t managed to make it out of eighth grade. Ricky didn’t flinch when Kona turned toward him, didn’t do much else but move his hand to the gun in his waistband.