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It’s show time, and this shit ends today.
Mateo’s car slides to a stop, and he steps out, anger written all over his face.
“You got cajónes, Güero. You think that shit was cute?” he yells, approaching me.
“I’m just following your lead, man. The way you were slamming into my car back there, I figured it was only fair,” I quip.
“Oh, you thought it was fair? Huh?” he smiles, but it’s clear to see how irritated he is.
“Yeah, but I don’t really expect you to know about fair,” I say.
“Is that a fact?” he sneers.
“It is, though no one seemed to have the balls enough to prove it. But as you said, I do,” I say, stepping closer.
I could reach out and punch him right in the mouth if I wanted to. Don’t get me wrong, I do, but not at the expense of ruining our plan.
“Güero, I’m not the one you wanna fuck with. Ask your little girlfriend.” The motherfucker grins, knowing exactly how to get to me.
“Oh, I have. I know all about the way you threatened her, forced her to pay some bullshit debt to you — which is extortion, might I remind you,” I say.
“Since when is paying someone back extortion?” he asks, cocking his head to one side in mock innocence. The fucker is anything but innocent.
“You wish that’s all it was,” I grit between clenched teeth.
The crowd starts to close in, listening to everything we're saying. I know somewhere amongst them, Milo is recording the entire thing, and it looks like some others are following suit.
Mateo shakes his head and heads back to his car.
“I talked to Joseph Kent,” I call out, and he stiffens. Only infinitesimally, but I notice it.
“Who?” he asks, not playing into my plan. Yet.
“The guy you sold fentanyl laced cocaine to. The man who, after taking these drugs, caused the accident that killed my brother,” I say, loud enough for everyone in the crowd to hear.
“Even if I did, I wasn’t driving that car, so I fail to see how that’s my problem,” he says, and his expression is one that tells me I better watch the next words that come out of my mouth.
Don’t worry, dickhead, I know exactly what I’m doing.
“You sure thought it was your problem when you visited Joseph in the hospital and threatened his life if he ratted you out. Then, you made sure no one ever found the tox screenings since those corroborated his story.”
“Speaking of stories,” he chuckles, “this has definitely been an interesting one.” He makes like he’s about to leave, but I’m not finished just yet.
“Even more interesting when I have the case reopened and Joseph testifies against you,” I say. It’s a total lie, but he doesn’t know that.
Mateo clenches his jaw, clearly pissed.
“You fed him a name and made sure the guy was there to take the hit, so no one went digging around, unearthing things you didn’t want brought to light.”
When he doesn’t respond, I take his silence as an invitation to continue.
“You like framing innocent people, don’t you?” I question, the implication clear.
“That’s enough,” he hisses under his breath.
“No, I don’t think it is.”
Mateo ignores me and turns to walk away. I reach out and grab him by the shoulder, spinning him around to face me.
