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Emily nodded and returned to painting.
Maxwell flicked joint ash outside of the window. “But, will the Cartel be a problem?”
“Tisha is on it.”
“Shit.” Maxwell frowned. “I would have felt better if you said King David is on it.”
“Tisha will show his worth.”
“He better.” Maxwell took a hit from his joint. “I don’t want a repeat of Italy.”
“Nothing will ever be as bad as Italy.”
“Let’s hope so.”
“More men are on their way along with more weapons.”
“Man, you can’t bomb New Orleans.” Maxwell tilted his head to the side. “You know that right?”
“There will be no need for bombs as long as the Cartel behaves.”
“Yo, New Orleans looks like it is still trying to get right after Hurricane Katrina, and that was years ago. Don’t bomb this motherfucker.”
“Tisha is handling it.”
“Eh, Mexicans don’t play. In the Americas, you’re in the wild, wild west. Fucking Europe is about traditions, culture, and shit. Meanwhile, the States, Mexico, and even South America. . .” He took a hit of the joint and then blew out smoke. “Shoot. We are about that life.”
“These continents are toddlers to us, and all your little dangerous criminal groups are babies, sucking on bottles that we, ourselves, put into their begging tiny mouths.” I put my view back on Emily.
She’d finished with the grey sky and black sandy ground.
Now she worked on what I assumed to be the centerpiece—a huge building that rose from the middle of the canvas. Its brown outlines were sharp against the odd background.
Maxwell eyed it. “Did you smoke in the car, Em?”
She shook her head and continued painting the building.
Maxwell walked over and handed the joint to her.
She paused from painting, took two quick puffs, and gave it back to him.
Maxwell returned to the window and exhaled a cloud of smoke.
The smoky tendrils swirled outside into the cool night air.
The door opened again, this time it was one of my men bringing in the tea. He placed the tray on a side table and then left.
I poured a cup for Emily before settling back onto the couch, cradling my own cup between my hands.
Maxwell turned to me. “Do you have Misha looking into the Cartel?”
“Do you think that I have suddenly learned how to be the Lion, upon meeting you?”
“Man, I’m just asking a question.”
“Stop worrying. The Cartel will not be a problem,” I said more to myself than to Maxwell or Emily. “We have dealt with worse.”
Maxwell chuckled. “Man, that big dick energy be fogging your head sometimes. Just remember. I heard Mexicans got big dicks too.”
