“DMT.”
“Excuse me?”
“My name, dawg. DMT. Don’t forget it.” He took a couple of steps back, moving easily for a guy his size. He surveyed the car from nose to tail, nodding to himself like he was eyeing up a restaurant buffet. “My mama needs a car, nice one like this. Always wanted a leather interior. That real leather?”
“Oh, yes.” Turning in his seat, Mauricio petted the headrest. “Very nice.”
“That ain’t no Naugahyde or nothin’.”
“Definitely real leather.”
DMT folded one arm across his huge chest and covered his mouth with his other hand. He stood that way for a long moment.
Mauricio kept petting the headrest, not knowing what else to do. “It’s very nice. You want to have a seat?” Mauricio unbuckled his seat belt and opened the door.
DMT stopped him before he got out. “Naw, naw, it’s cool. Tell you what, you drive it to my mama’s house. So she can see it.”
Mauricio glanced over at the restaurant, hoping to catch a glimpse of Ash, but there was no way to see the patio from here. And the glare on the windows left the inside of the restaurant a mystery. “Where does she live?”
“A-town.” DMT saw his puzzled expression and explained. “Aurora. Up off a two-twenty-five.”
The freeway. I-225. “Oh. Sure.”
From nowhere, gospel music filled the air. DMT dug a giant hand in his pocket and pulled out a phone. “Yo, Prez.”
Prez. Couldn’t be the same Prez he knew. Could it?
DMT glanced at the restaurant. “Yeah, I’m here now. Nothin’ happenin’.”
“Prez?” Mauricio said out loud, catching DMT’s attention. “Like with the pool tables, Prez? I know him.”
DMT dropped the phone away from his mouth. “For real?” He picked up the phone again. “No, Boss, sorry. Jus’ a dawg name Mauricio say he know you.” A moment later, DMT handed over the phone. It was warm from his hand.
“Well, hey, Prez. How are you, man?”
“I am very fine, thank you,” Prez’s scratchy voice said. In the background noise from his speakerphone came the unmistakable crack of a pool cue hitting a ball, then a clatter of balls striking and sinking. “Thought you said you were never comin’ back to Denver.”
“I know. It’s nuts, right?” Mauricio felt a little giddy, talking to a familiar voice again, even if they’d only done the one Torino job together what, five years ago. “Small world. So DMT here, he’s thinking of buying my car. Now I know he’s a good guy, he works for you. I’m sure he’s got the money.”
“Mm-hmm.” Prez sounded distracted. Another strike of the pool cue.
Mauricio realized he didn’t really have anything to say. “Hey, you still got that car we got for you? That Torino?”
Prez didn’t answer, which left him feeling a little empty, really. He spent so much time on the road, moving around with Ash, he never got to catch up with anyone. But he could feel the conversation wrapping up before it even got started.
“Well, anyway. Good to hear from you. Ash is in a meeting right now, but I’ll tell him you said hi.”
“He in a meeting right now?” Prez’s voice perked up. “Right there, at the restaurant?”
“Well, yeah. How did you—”
“Let me talk to my man.”
Mauricio wordlessly handed over the phone, feeling a little lost.
Meanwhile, DMT was trying to talk, but not getting a word in. “Yeah, Boss, I—” He frowned. “No, I . . . Yeah, I got you. A’ight.” He hung up and stared at the phone, puzzled. “Huh.”
Mauricio bit his lip. “What did he say?”
DMT’s face lit up. “He told me, buy the car. He gonna pay for it. I just got to hang out wit’ you awhile. That cool by you?”
Mauricio shrugged. “Sure. That’s cool.”
“A’ight, move over.”
Mauricio made his clumsy way over to the passenger side, while DMT squeezed himself in behind the wheel and shut the door. He let his arm hang out the window.
Mauricio drummed his fingers on his knees, uncomfortable. Wondering if
“Excuse me?”
“My name, dawg. DMT. Don’t forget it.” He took a couple of steps back, moving easily for a guy his size. He surveyed the car from nose to tail, nodding to himself like he was eyeing up a restaurant buffet. “My mama needs a car, nice one like this. Always wanted a leather interior. That real leather?”
“Oh, yes.” Turning in his seat, Mauricio petted the headrest. “Very nice.”
“That ain’t no Naugahyde or nothin’.”
“Definitely real leather.”
DMT folded one arm across his huge chest and covered his mouth with his other hand. He stood that way for a long moment.
Mauricio kept petting the headrest, not knowing what else to do. “It’s very nice. You want to have a seat?” Mauricio unbuckled his seat belt and opened the door.
DMT stopped him before he got out. “Naw, naw, it’s cool. Tell you what, you drive it to my mama’s house. So she can see it.”
Mauricio glanced over at the restaurant, hoping to catch a glimpse of Ash, but there was no way to see the patio from here. And the glare on the windows left the inside of the restaurant a mystery. “Where does she live?”
“A-town.” DMT saw his puzzled expression and explained. “Aurora. Up off a two-twenty-five.”
The freeway. I-225. “Oh. Sure.”
From nowhere, gospel music filled the air. DMT dug a giant hand in his pocket and pulled out a phone. “Yo, Prez.”
Prez. Couldn’t be the same Prez he knew. Could it?
DMT glanced at the restaurant. “Yeah, I’m here now. Nothin’ happenin’.”
“Prez?” Mauricio said out loud, catching DMT’s attention. “Like with the pool tables, Prez? I know him.”
DMT dropped the phone away from his mouth. “For real?” He picked up the phone again. “No, Boss, sorry. Jus’ a dawg name Mauricio say he know you.” A moment later, DMT handed over the phone. It was warm from his hand.
“Well, hey, Prez. How are you, man?”
“I am very fine, thank you,” Prez’s scratchy voice said. In the background noise from his speakerphone came the unmistakable crack of a pool cue hitting a ball, then a clatter of balls striking and sinking. “Thought you said you were never comin’ back to Denver.”
“I know. It’s nuts, right?” Mauricio felt a little giddy, talking to a familiar voice again, even if they’d only done the one Torino job together what, five years ago. “Small world. So DMT here, he’s thinking of buying my car. Now I know he’s a good guy, he works for you. I’m sure he’s got the money.”
“Mm-hmm.” Prez sounded distracted. Another strike of the pool cue.
Mauricio realized he didn’t really have anything to say. “Hey, you still got that car we got for you? That Torino?”
Prez didn’t answer, which left him feeling a little empty, really. He spent so much time on the road, moving around with Ash, he never got to catch up with anyone. But he could feel the conversation wrapping up before it even got started.
“Well, anyway. Good to hear from you. Ash is in a meeting right now, but I’ll tell him you said hi.”
“He in a meeting right now?” Prez’s voice perked up. “Right there, at the restaurant?”
“Well, yeah. How did you—”
“Let me talk to my man.”
Mauricio wordlessly handed over the phone, feeling a little lost.
Meanwhile, DMT was trying to talk, but not getting a word in. “Yeah, Boss, I—” He frowned. “No, I . . . Yeah, I got you. A’ight.” He hung up and stared at the phone, puzzled. “Huh.”
Mauricio bit his lip. “What did he say?”
DMT’s face lit up. “He told me, buy the car. He gonna pay for it. I just got to hang out wit’ you awhile. That cool by you?”
Mauricio shrugged. “Sure. That’s cool.”
“A’ight, move over.”
Mauricio made his clumsy way over to the passenger side, while DMT squeezed himself in behind the wheel and shut the door. He let his arm hang out the window.
Mauricio drummed his fingers on his knees, uncomfortable. Wondering if
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