Page 25 of Creole Kingpin
Luckily, we cashed in big in New York and handled my long-overdue business with Gabriel Legend—the last possible blade the guillotine of life had hanging over my head. Now that my shit with him is done and over, it’s time to get the girl and live happily fucking ever after. But that’s easier said than done. Especially when the woman in question is Magnolia Maison.
“That woman of yours wouldn’t want a white knight anyway. She can take care of herself. She needs a partner. Ride or die.” Trey grins at me.
Both of my colleagues have heard about my woman for years, and since we pulled up in the Big Easy, they’ve been watching her as closely as I have.
“Nowthatyou can do,” he adds.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I reply as I cross the wide-open living-dining-kitchen area of the five-thousand-square-foot, modern-industrial rental, and scoop up the glass of juice Jules just poured for me.
“I don’t know how the fuck you two drink that shit,” Trey says, wrinkling his nose in disgust.
I peer down at the red liquid in the glass. “It doesn’t look bad.”
“Don’t play me. I saw what the fuck he put in that. Gross.”
I chug it in one swig and smack my lips for effect. “Fucking healthy. That’s what it is.”
Trey shakes his head. “I’ll stick to my non-healthy ways. Kills the badass-motherfucker vibe to drink beet juice.”
My badass-motherfucker vibe has little to do with what I drink and a lot to do with my reputation of making people disappear. My image is irrelevant. “You keep digging on that guy from last night. We’re gonna catch a workout, and then we’ll follow up on whatever leads you find.”
“Got it, boss.”
Trey salutes me as I grab my gym bag and head for the door with Jules on my heels and Magnolia on my mind.
Then again, she’s always on my mind. I haven’t been able to get the vision of her from last night out of my head. Sitting on the tile next to a big tub, shotgun in hand, smoking a blunt and drinking whiskey.
One hell of a woman.
As soon as we walk out the door, Jules pauses. “You think there’s a real shot she’ll come tonight?”
“That’s one thing for sure with Magnolia. You never fucking know.”
Sixteen
Magnolia
Itake my Honda back to my condo building and pull it into its spot in the garage.
I’m on edge when I approach the elevator bay, but my strides are purelydon’t fuck with me because I’ve got things to do and places to go.When I stop in front of the silver double doors, there’s anOut of Ordersign in front of one car, and the memory of last night flashes through my brain.
He came so fast. So fucking fast.Goddamn it.
“You fucking whore!”
I can still hear the words. Was it personal? My gut knows it was. Shit like that happens in New Orleans, sure. But when it happens to me, it’s usually not an innocent coincidence.
Which makes what I’m doing today imperative—packing my two biggest suitcases with everything important and wheeling my way out of the building before anyone can ask me where I’m going.
That lasts until I step out on the sixth floor.
Instead of a guy coming at me with a knife this time, I spy a man in his fifties with salt-and-pepper hair standing in front of my neighbor’s door. Everything about him, down to the cheap suit and dusty loafers, screamscop.
Great.
Did someone put a gris-gris on me?
Showing zero hint of recognition or concern, I clip down the hallway without paying him the least bit of attention.
