I was naked and in bed when I got the call from Lou.

1AM.

Motherfucker had no sense of work-life balance.

“Late as this call is, it better concern a lot of fuckin’ money, Lou,” I said, putting one of the headphone earbuds in my ear.

“It does. I just sealed the deal with Rodrigo and the Santa Muertes, and I need you and the Bastards as backup tomorrow night in Richards. Can you do that?”

“What the hell happened to Hector and Loco?”

“Let’s just say there was a changing of the guard.”

“I’ll bet. What about my slice of Southern California?”

“Rodrigo hasn’t cleared it with the cartel yet, but he doesn’t think it’ll be a problem.”

My ASS it wouldn’t be a problem.

“Tell him I need assurances, Lou, or I’m backin’ the other horse, you hear me?”

“I’ll get you what you need, darlin’. But don’t go saying things like that to the Santa Muertes, you hear?”

“I’ll say whatever I goddamn want, when I goddamn want, to whoever the fuck I want. Where’s this party goin’ down, anyway?”

“Richards.”

“DUH, I figured that. Where in Richards?”

“Remember when you didn’t want to tell me where you were gonna spend the night? I think I’m gonna do the same on this one.”

I sighed. “Fine, just as long as I get a location sooner or later. I can’t show up to a party when I don’t know the address.”

“You’ll get it. Just have the Bastards in Richards by tomorrow at 10:30 PM, ready to rumble.”

“What about that police chief of yours?”

“What about him?”

“He gonna be in on this?”

“Fuck no. That greedy little bitch will want ten TIMES his normal stake if he knows how much money is on the table.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to cut him in at some point, aren’t ya?”

“When I’m good and ready. And I’ll fudge the decimal point a couple of places before I tell him how much is at stake.” Lou’s voice became suspicious. “Why the fuck do you care so much about Dan Peters, anyway?”

“Cuz I thought your cozy little arrangement with law enforcement was part of the deal, dumbass. I ain’t lookin’ to tussle with a bunch of pissed-off cops.”

“You won’t.”

“And what’s my guarantee of that?”

“Ah, I’ll have him do something on the other side of town. I’ll tell him the meet’s goin’ down in the desert, then never show up. He’ll be fine as long as I throw him five grand for his time.”

“All right,” I said dubiously. “If you think he’ll buy it.”

“The dumbass’ll buy anything I tell him. That’s one of the only good points in working with him.”

“All right, then. Give me a call when you get the location worked out. And Lou?”

“Yeah?”

“When we’re doin’ business in the future – DON’T fuckin’ call me at 1AM.”

“Alright, fine. Go back to fuckin’ whoever you were fuckin’.”

“Yeah, I got to go, Mr. Dildo’s gettin’ jealous,” I said.

Lou howled with laughter before he hung up.

I looked over at Dan Peters, who was lying naked next to me, the other earbud in his right ear.

I said I was in bed. I didn’t say I was alone.

“Didja get all that, Mr. Dildo?” I asked.

I swear, he was redder than when he came half an hour ago, though he was wearin’ just about as ugly an expression.

“That backstabbing, lying, motherfucking – ASSHOLE,” he raged.

“Calm down. So, we good on that deal?” I asked, and gestured over at the duffel bag full of cash sitting on the nightstand.

Dan hadn’t been able to take his eyes off the Girls the first half of the night. Then he couldn’t take his eyes off the duffel bag after I unzipped it.

A sucker for tits and cash. My kind of simpleton.

“A hundred thousand upfront, then two hundred thousand minimum per month against 10% revenues in Richards and the surrounding counties,” I said. “In return for that, you make sure Lou Shaw doesn’t walk away alive from that deal tomorrow, and I get every ounce of that meth he’s tryin’ to unload.”

“As long as I get 50% of the street sale value,” Dan said.

“That’s, like, ten million dollars! You said 20% before!”

“If I gotta deal with the Santa Muertes, I want 50%.”

I could see what Lou meant about him being a greedy little bitch.

“Alright, fine – 50%,” I said, rolling my eyes. “If need be, you’re gonna take out the Santa Muertes, right?”

“Right,” he said as he pulled the sheet off of my body.

“And you’re gonna be able to track Lou’s phone, right?”

“Uh-huh,” he said, going for my right nipple like an overgrown baby.

“And you’re gonna make sure I have that cell phone info so I can keep myself safe – right, you biiiig, strong man?”

“Mm-hmm,” he said, sucking contentedly, his eyes closed.

“Alright, then, get back down there,” I said, pushing on his shoulders.

Dan Peters was a flabby, middle-aged, average-lookin’ son of a bitch with a dick about a fourth as big as I like ‘em. Not to mention he had the stayin’ power of a jackrabbit. He was in and out about as quick as one, anyway.

But sometimes a woman in my line of work had to make sacrifices.

This sure as hell qualified as one.

Besides, any idiot can be good with his tongue if he’ll just follow directions.

AND he can’t talk while he does it. Another plus.

“But – I don’t think I can do it again so soon,” he whined. He was talking about a hard-on, the last sighting of which had been half an hour ago.

“That’s why you got to go downtown. Momma needs another big O.”

And not a faked one, I thought, though I wasn’t about to tell Little Miss Fragile Ego that.

Hell, if I got ONE tonight, I’d consider myself lucky.

Might just have to do it myself.

Never expect a tiny-dicked dumbass to do the job of a real man.

Hell, never expect a tiny-dicked dumbass to do the job of a woman’s right hand. Or a vibrator. Or a cucumber. Or anything, basically, besides a tiny-dicked dumbass.

As he started to get to work, I said, “To the left. Slower, dammit. And lick it like you mean it.”

I closed my eyes and thought of Jack.

That’d make it easier, for sure.