Summary: The mundane can be fun when you have someone to share it with, even if you're hung-over. And after taking on a job for Dex, Furia finds herself putting her own reputation on the line to save someone else's good name. Her chivalry leaves her feeling a little like a real-life crash test dummy.

A/N: Thanks again to the lovely Chy for her priceless assistance.


Before I See

07 Influences

-1-


The phone screamed for her attention. Furia poked her head out from under the throw usually draped over the back of the sofa, which she had pulled across her face when the sun started to take over the room. She dug the phone out of the pocket of the jeans she was still wearing from last night. Her head seemed to cramp with the movement of sitting up and she groaned, despite this she answered it without even looking at the device.

"Are you here?"

The voice jogged her memory and her eyes shot open. "What time is it?"

"Ten."

"¡Válgame dios!"

"That good, huh?"

"Something like that," she drawled and stood to check the window. It took her a moment to equalize her balance against another sharp throb to her head. Sure as hell, he was leaning on the side of that black Bootlegger looking at her building. She was not even going to ask how he knew where she lived. "I'll buzz you in. 5B, door's open. But give me a handful of minutes. I apparently didn't make it much past the door last night."

Troy just chuckled at her. She watched him lean into his car before she crossed the room. "Been there a time or two, myself."

"I bet. See ya in a bit."

When the buzzer screeched, Furia had to wonder how she had managed to sleep through that God-awful sound the first go around. She punched him in and unlocked the door before ducking into her bedroom and locking that door to the back of the little apartment she had rented after her first few weeks with the Saints. She did it purely out of paranoia and concern for her family. It was one thing if someone followed her here. But she did not want anyone associating her with her grandparent's old place-too much family went in and out of there for her to be connected with it except in passing.

Being one of seven kids meant she was a master at the bare bones shower-in a pinch she could get in and out in ten minutes-though she knew she was not operating at peak that morning so it was probably closer to fifteen. She tried to transition to clothed mostly awake human as quickly as possible, but Troy looked bored when she finally emerged.

"Really sorry," she said as she padded across the room, taking note of how he had laid claim to the coffee table she had rigged up with cinder blocks and plywood. There were two thick gray squares lying across the bare wood, the one in front of him looked well-used, marked by splotches of black and darker gray, whereas the other looked pristine. In the center of each lay a handgun, she guessed one was hers because she had left it on the table the afternoon before at the makeshift shooting range.

"It's all good. After what you told me yesterday I kind of expected it," he revealed, leaning forward. He handed her a small cup.

"You can't seriously be for real," she replied too quickly as she took the still warm cup out of his hands. Furia sat in front of the other spot he had laid out on the table.

Troy just laughed. He scooted to the edge of the couch and she just watched him for a moment. "I should have taught you how to clean this before now. I just figured-"

"That I had any clue about guns. ¡Ni en sueños!"

"Well, we're going to see if we can change that. You should be at least cleaning this thing once a week, though most would say every time you use it, which in your case would probably be daily."

She sipped her coffee as he cast that goddamn little grin at her. You don't have a clue, do you? How can he be that oblivious? She shook her head. Or maybe he's just being nice and ignoring it, niña tontai. Furia took another drink of the coffee he had brought her and eyed the precise line of items he created in the center of the table. He laid out brushes and rods and some swirly bristled thing and a roll of blue shop towels; the kind Miguel loved to have around.

"What is all this?"

"This is what's going to keep that gun from misfiring on you." He turned toward her and stole her cup. "You can have it back when you're done."

"So mean."

She scooted up toward the table and they quickly safety-cleared their weapons. That she knew how to do.

"Just point it in a safe direction and pull the trigger so we can get the slide offii," Troy ordered.

He described how to grip the pistol to get the two major pieces apart, but it just was not working for her. The moment he leaned toward her reinforcing the placement of her hand with his she knew this was going to be yet another one of those battles with the rebellious side of her brain. Anytime he touched her, Furia made a concentrated effort not to look at him, trying to keep her mind precisely on what he was trying to show her.

Thankfully once she finally got the slide mechanism off the pistol it was really the last time she needed his physical assistance beyond some pointing and gesturing or re-performing an action so she could see it again. She could not decide why he, of all people, would prompt this reaction from her. He was not even her type, or so she thought.

He was tall, that fit her usual MO with guys but that was it. She had not really been lying when she insinuated she did not date white guys, because she never had. As she stuffed a few wadded up cotton squares in one end of the barrel before spraying the green can of whatever into it for several seconds she thought about it and came to the realization that the only thing her exes all had in common was that they were all over 6'1" and had been total assholes.

"Now spray the outside too. Just lightly and set it aside."

Maybe that's it. Troy had talked to her about her reactions to things. He showed an interest and a concern for her safety. Hell, he was sitting in her apartment with her hung-over trying to teach her how to keep her gun from blowing up in her face, even if she could barely hit anything with it still.

Troy tore a blue towel off the roll and held it out to her, while studying his own weapon in pieces in front of him. She took it and he grabbed one for himself. They cleaned the spray off their grips and their slides then turned to using cotton swabs to get in the little crevices the towel could not really reach.

Thinking about these things did not really make this any easier for her to try and ignore; in fact if anything she was pretty well certain that trying to decipher why he affected her the way he did simply made it worse.

"And this is why, you need to clean it every time you use it," he said laughing at the look on her face when she swiped the swab into a little crevice in the grip and it came out blackened. "Keep going until it comes out closer to clean than not."

"Yeah. But I'm still not sure I can get the slide off on my own."

"Then when we finish, you can practice taking it apart over and over."

She cast a sidelong glance in his direction. "You really know how to show a girl a good time, damn."

Troy just chuckled. "Oh, I have more tricks up my sleeve than gun maintenance trust me."

Furia just smiled and moved her eyes back to the slide. Much easier to pretend he was just anyone else when she did not look at him, though even then it pretty much failed. Between the voice and the smell of him she could never mistake Troy Bradshaw. "How's that look?"

Grabbing another swab, he swiped the cotton over the surfaces of the slide before declaring it clean and directing her to turn her attention to the recoil spring, after which they would finish with the barrels.

-2-


"¡Caracoles!"

Troy just laughed at her reaction to the result of the first slide of the barrel brush through the barrel. "Just swipe it through a few more times."

She looked at him with a raised eyebrow as if he was suggesting it just to be an ass.

"You want to make sure you get it as clean as possible," Troy advised. He grabbed a few cotton patches and folded them in half before threading them in the cleaning rod.

"This is just-"

"The result of not cleaning it for a few weeks. Pass this through five or six times to clean it out the rest of the spray and dry it." He held out the rod to her and she forced the swabs through the barrel several times.

He walked her through the oiling of the parts and the reassembly. It took probably five times longer than it usually took him, but then he had been doing this sort of thing since he was a kid. Then he talked her through removing the slide again. The first few times he had to actually help, not that he minded. Bradshaw knew he should back off, but even if Julius had not told him to help her out, somehow he knew he would be anyway.

This was not her thing-guns, violence, gangs. Despite that Furia was taking to it like a duck to water, but it did not seem like it was the kind of life she should have been destined for. Sure, she grew up on the Row, but she had been in school. There was something else out there for her, but then things went sideways. It was a feeling he knew and understood. You make plans for your world then one thing can topple the whole mess around your feet.

"Keep the web of your hand under here, Then wrap your index finger over the top," he said, leaning closer to her and setting his hand over hers.

The faint hint of vanilla was tempting, he guessed it was her soap or her shampoo, but it was familiar-something he had come to associate with her.

"Yep, there you go. Now, slide it back on, make sure you line it up. Then try it again." Troy moved away from her again.

As much as part of him was incredibly concerned about her knowing how to use and handle a gun, there was a very greedy part that enjoyed the time he got to steal with her precisely because she was an amateur. It took more self-control than he realized he had to keep himself in check, to not kiss her when she looked up at him with those intense hazel eyes rimmed in that tempting shade of emerald. Too many times he could have closed that distance and tumbled past the line of all rationality.

A few more tries and she had it down. She really did pick all of this stuff up too easily.

"And I have to do this every day?" she asked as she reloaded the weapon and checked the safety, before she laid it on the table.

"At least every other, but you don't want to leave it much longer than that, especially with a rep like yours."

"And what rep is that?" she asked as she crossed the room.

"From my understanding, Mr. Xiang at Friendly Fire gives you a volume discount on ammo, or should be," he chided, leaning back against the sofa watching her as she entered the kitchen.

"If you touch my furniture with that grease on your hands, I'll beat you with a shoe."

Troy held his hands out in front of him, but complied. "Considering that couch looks like you picked it up off the corner, I don't think it would hurt."

She flicked suds at him and glared as he approached. "It came with the apartment, actually," she explained rinsing her hands before allowing him the use of her sink.

"Has it been here since the place was built?" he called as she rounded the corner.

"Not funny," she replied from the back of the tiny apartment.

A few minutes later, Furia came back out of the bedroom and gathered up her weapon, sliding the Vice 9 into the holster she carried it in. She caught him inspecting the pictures decorating the bookcase across the room. Before he could even ask about them she was beside him, leaning past his shoulder.

"Me and Memo, you can probably guess. That's Maximo he's going to be a freshman at Eastern Polytechnic. The twins Enrique and Emilio are going to be seniors this year. Gabriel's the baby, he's a freshman. And Socorro … she's a sophomore."

Troy heard the bittersweet twinge when she mentioned her sister. "Seven of you? How far apart?"

"Memo, Max and the twins, and then Socorro and Gabe are Irish twins. Just over a year between them all." She laughed lightly. "Abuelita always said Mama loved my father a little too much."

"What about between you and Memo?"

"Three years."

"Were you more trouble than the others?"

She looked up at him aghast at the suggestion. "No, surprisingly. He was on deployment, a hardship tour I think is what Mama called it."

"He was in the service?" Troy glanced back at the shelf looking at the pictures. There was a photo of her with two older women that she favored a bit, he guessed that was her mother and grandmother. But none of the family pictures seemed to have men in them, other than her brothers. Though a few had the seven kids and a woman he guessed was her mother.

"You won't find one."

"What?"

"My father died before Gabe was born. Training accident or something equally as ridiculous," she divulged, biting at her bottom lip.

"I'm sorry," he began but she waved it off.

"I did not really know him all that well. He was usually only home long enough to get Mama pregnant anyway." She stood and grabbed the holster, tucking it into her waistband before flipping her shirt over it. "Anything interesting going on that you know of?"

"Not that I've heard yet. I think Dex's boys are close though. They've been busy as hell, trying to pinpoint the drug labs the Carnales are using in this part of town to supply their product. Why? You bored?"

"No, procrastinating."

"Really?" he asked, surprised by her answer. "What are you avoiding?"

"Looking for a car," Furia admitted, tucking her hands into her pockets.

"Hell, I would figure that was the first thing you did once you got things settled up." Troy sat on the edge of the sofa. Checking the safety on his gun, he ran the blue cloth over it quickly before holstering it. Then he folded up the gray cloth he had been using and tucked into a little black bag.

"Yeah, well, I'm picky about cars."

"No. Not you."

She rolled her eyes at him. Usually that particular response irritated him, but somehow when she did it, it was endearing and most of the time deserved. He leaned back against the sofa and laced his fingers behind his head. "What are you looking for?"

"Domestic. Big engine. Standard transmission. Slightly compact build so that I can make the cops work for it-but with four doors. And it needs a frame that's in good enough shape to handle some work. Everything else I can replace or rework really."

"So you want my car?"

"You interested in selling?" she chided.

"No, but I might know a guy-"

"No, I'm looking for legit. Nothing hot."

"My only connection for that sort of thing likes you more than he likes me," Troy revealed, meaning her cousin Miguel. "I was thinking of Samson's brother, Hercules. He's got that used car place out near the Barrio. If nothing else you could let him know what you're looking for and he could keep an eye out. So what would your ideal be?"

Furia leaned on a dresser across the room and looked up at the ceiling, She appeared to be calculating something, likely adding up the pros and cons of all the vehicles she was familiar with. Troy ran his hand over his forehead as he stared at her, waiting for her decision. Every little thing he learned about her pushed him toward a line he should not even be considering crossing.

"Hammerhead, Bootlegger, Vegas, maybe, if I was desperate."

Troy pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Got a pen and paper?"

She quickly provided both from a drawer in the item she was leaning against.

"Call him when you have a few hours free. Tell him I sent you and he'll know you're actually a Saint and not just someone with a penchant for purple."

Instinctively he glanced at his phone when hers rang. He merely watched quietly. She gestured for the pen and quickly scrawled two addresses. Her side of the conversation was limited to silent nods and a few affirmative responses. If he had to guess, it was Julius, Dex, or Johnny with a job. Ripping the sheet off the pad, she stuffed it in her pocket and crossed to the back of the apartment again.

The undercover cop knew the sounds when he heard them-clearing and loading a shotgun. The errant thought that he would need to show her how to clean one of those sprinted through his head, quickly followed by the curiosity about what she was preparing for.

"I got it. I'll call you when it's done," Furia said as she pumped the shotgun.

Her eyes quickly met Troy's.

"Any chance I could bum a ride to"-she dug the sheet of paper out of her pocket-"Madelyn and Tenth."

"Sure. You need more than a ride?" he asked cautiously.

"Nah. Sounds pretty straight forward. Influence a few people and set some things on fire. Not much heavy lifting involved."

Though he knew there was likely a lot more to it than that, he was not going to argue with her. If she felt it was something she could handle, he would leave it at that, even if he did not want to.

-3-


Dexter Jackson eyed the map as he leaned back in his chair, feet propped on the edge of his workstation. He knew the plan had to come off, which is precisely why he called Furia, even Javier said she was one of the best. The lieutenant just hoped the guy was using the head between his shoulders and not the one between his legs to reach that assessment. That seemed to be proving a more common symptom than Dex really wanted to consider, though the first time he met her after the canonization he could see why.

When he heard the smooth voice approaching his office, Dex glanced over his toward the door. She was pretty, he had to admit-black hair, sepia skin, and the eyes were striking, they were light, a haunting contrast to the darkness of the rest of her features. Even despite her penchant for baggy clothes, he could tell she had a nice shape to her-tall and lean. Yeah, he could definitely see the reason Javier and Marco were overzealous in their praise.

"Thanks for taking care of this on short notice," Dex said as he stood.

"Ni jota," she replied and crossed the room.

He gave her some necessary background on the Carnales, and could not help but be pleased that she did not refer to them as the Los Carnales, though he figured she might avoid that little too common faux pas.

"From what my crew says, you handled it to perfection." He had had two of his crew watching and then they walked through the buildings after she left to make sure things were accomplished to Dex's standards. And their verdict had been: pristine.

"Órale. It was simple and straight forward. Surprisingly there was not that much resistance."

"And shotguns are great for handling resistance effectively."

Furia smirked. "I'm a little more accurate with it, as I'm sure you've heard."

"Yeah, Julius mentioned that."

"So what's the next step?"

Dex sat down and leaned back in his chair. "We wait for Troy and our guys to find the main plant."

Her eyebrows raised slightly. "We just hang out and wait?"

He nodded with a confidence that seemed to set her on edge. Good. Dex liked to keep his subordinates on edge.

"How long?"

"A day, at the max. These runners were there almost daily. They will need product soon. Product you very completely destroyed. So they will have to go to the main plant, there is no way the other little labs will be able to support that many extra runners."

"Why didn't we just take out all the labs?"

"Because that would have brought them to our doorstep. Instead, we hit two which were fairly close to the Row and it looks less like a major power play and more about securing our own turf. Sure, it will raise eyebrows-"

"But not alarms," she finished for him, crossing her arms over her chest.

Dex grinned. He might just have to like her just a little. "Precisely."

"So when we know where their main operation is, are we going in?"

Lacing his hands behind his head he nodded. "Yeah, eventually. But I have to know where it is before we can go after it. Get a lay of the land, so to speak. Ya feel me?"

"So you can minimize loss?" she asked as she ogled the board he had set up on the wall.

"Precisely. Not worth destroying all that product when we can turn it around."

Furia lifted the photos slightly, looking at the faces carefully. He was not sure how to read her silence. Lin and Troy trusted her, or so they said. Johnny said she did him a solid. And it was obvious Julius had his eye on her. But Dex was not so sure. Not yet.

"Saleiii." The woman turned and looked at him for a moment. "Call me if you need me," she said before she turned and walked out of the room.

-4-


The thick bass of the music in the nave pulsed against the stone and rattled the glass in the high windows. Furia glanced around the room, aware of the segregation. The canonized ladies were all sitting together in the northeast corner of the church near the entrance to Johnny's office. On the east side of the church was a group of guys, mostly from Johnny's and Julius' crews, though there were a few of Troy's boys. The few girls on that side of the room were all viejas-girlfriends, not canonized Saints, some of the guys had taken to calling them Angels.

Thus far, Furia had not spent all that much time around the religious headquarters of the gang, so she opted to lean there against the wall in the alcove and observe. The girls in the gang pretty much ignored the other side of the church. The girlfriends often quickly tired of being ignored in favor of whatever conversation overruled their presence, and would retreat to the other side of the church; surprisingly, they were not turned away. It was precisely the type of line Furia abhorred.

"Nah, she can drive the hell out of car," Mikey challenged loudly enough to call her attention to him when he stood.

"Racing don't mean shit at the arena."

"I bet you"-the kid dug into his pocket, but before he could retrieve his cash Furia's hand latched around his arm.

"What're you doing, Mikey?" she asked quietly, setting her hand on his shoulder. She did not need to look around the room to know everyone was staring.

He looked over at her and seemed to shrink a little.

"Your boy here seems to think you could drive the derby," Dean-O advised with that smug look she really wanted to slap off his face.

Furia took a slow breath and held her eyes closed for an extra second.

"I'm pretty sure he was going to lay some money down to that effect," the dark-eyed man noted, as he groomed his impressive afro.

Without putting too much thought into what she was about to do, Furia glanced over her shoulder. "Peaches, you still got a cousin working at the arena?"

"Yeah."

"You think he could kneecap some driver and get me in one of those cars?"

"Sure?" Her friend's tone was cautious.

Dean-O looked appalled. He had figured she would back out. It was not her fight after all. It was Mikey's big mouth that started all this, and Furia knew by the look on Dean's face that he expected her to let him twist for the mistake. But in that instant she decided she was not just going to drop him a peg. She was going to cold cock him with his own ego.

"Lucy, you want to run the book on this little excursion?" Furia asked, staring right at Dean. Her grin widened when he flinched. That's right you smug little prick. I'm going to make you put your money where your mouth is. Furia might regret this in about three hours, but if she was going to save Mikey's ass again and end up with a case of whiplash she was going to keep things in the hands of the people she trusted.

"Hell yes." The tiny woman bounded across the room. Furia leaned toward her and placed her own bet on herself. Lucy's eyes widened. "Seriously?"

The nod sealed the deal. Then the driver walked out of the church and took a seat on the steps.

"You don't have to do this," Mikey D noted as he sat down beside her. "Dean was just being a dick."

"No surprise there," Furia replied, leaning forward with her elbows resting on her knees.

"Have you done this sort of thing before?"

"Not really, though I've run down a few cars before, probably something like that would be my guess. Though those were just love taps, this is probably going to be a little more painful."

Mikey laughed. "Probably." He leaned toward her and whispered, "Sorry."

"Ni jota, guey. I was going to have to do something to bring Dean-O down a peg anyway. Might as well wreck some cars in the process."

Mikey grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet.

"You got this."

The woman flicked her hood up and nodded once. She was not quite so sure. Her time behind the wheel was spent avoiding shit like this. Body damage did not earn a booster points when they were trying to sell the vehicle or the parts. Damage to your prize was dangerous to the work she did.

Peaches bounded down the steps and slid her arm over Furia's shoulder. "Shall I drive?"

"Not a fucking chance," Furia replied snatching the woman's keys out of her hand.

-5-


Neither the hand-me-down fireproof suit that smelled like hot dogs, nor the cracked helmet made Furia feel any better about this stupid decision. You barely know Mikey D, what do you care if he makes an idiot of himself and challenges someone to something he can't deliver. What the hell were you thinking? Going to fucking wind up a charred stain on a cheap vinyl seat. ¡Idiota!

The air horn sounded and the rumble of the other engines told her they were rushing to the center. She had seen a few of these types of things on the TV in her uncle's garage. ¡Chingame! Her foot slammed on the gas, but she did not go quite straight into the fray. Her guess proved right when she slammed into the rear quarter panel of a sedan and fishtailed it.

The fact she could hear the other driver yelling caught her off guard. She could not tell what expletives he was directing at her, but she could make an educated guess. A quick look to the left showed a small group gathered against a guard rail, but when she clipped the turn, the guy she had spun t-boned her.

A shake of her head did not really clear the stars, but she at least they were dancing at the edge of her vision. She took off again, aiming her vehicle for the pile; it had to be the most unnatural response she had ever had behind the wheel. The hit was hard and spun her car into another, she reversed out of the space before Mr. Vengeful cracked her again.

"Damn, I hate automatics," she growled as she hit the gas again and love tapped her new friend.

Just for good measure she blew a little kiss at him before backing out of the fray again. Back in drive, she saw a hot pink car racing toward her.

"You can't be serious." She had played chicken before and almost swerved in time. He barely caught her back end which spun her far enough around that she was able to give chase, when he rammed the wall, she barreled her little sedan into his rear-end.

The laugh turned maniacal when she noticed the smoke.

She heard him yell, "Bitch!" as he scrambled out of the car which had actually caught fire.

"This is pretty fun," she opined as she drove around the edge of the arena. There was a station wagon upside down and a group of three cars just playing with each other on the other side. "Yes. I would love to join you."

She pointed the older make vehicle toward the gathering and managed to drive right between two of them as they backed away from one another and hit her pal in the third head on. That collision left her in the kill zone long enough and got mashed from both sides but luckily they did not back up their ramming with much speed. When she reversed across the dirt arena Mr. Vengeful gave chase.

"Sure thing, pal."

When she accelerated toward him she turned in hopes that he would hit the corner of her bumper. It worked but she did not know if it was a good thing or not. But noticing that she was in line with one of the bash brothers, she kept her foot nailed to the floor. The force of this hit carried them both to the edge of the ring. When his car crunched against the rail, hers collapsed the passenger side doors.

One thing she was sure of was that nothing was done here at low speed. Dropping into reverse, her foot hit the floorboard again and she backed toward the vehicles closing on her. One of them was going to rock her, she knew, maybe both of them would.

"¡Coñoiv!" Furia yelled when the car she backed into hopped her bumper as the other hit her near the rear tire, spinning her care and doing horrible things to Mr. Vengeful's ride as well. Her little friend wound up teetering on his roof as the remaining green car aimed for the upside down vehicle in the center of the ring. Furia knew that she needed to get back at the little coupe.

Reverse was a bitch to maneuver in, but when Mr. Green he hit the other disabled vehicle he was a prime target. She had enough power to make him shake his head before he turned the wheel to give chase, which had given her enough time to put some useable distance between them. When he spun to face her, she was in reverse again. He proved worse than her at chicken. She caught enough of his front end to push him the twenty feet to the wall, where she ground the back bumper of her car into his grill.

She growled when she realized she was going to have to release him from the makeshift prison to take him out. Chewing at the inside of her cheek she sped across the field. It was in this instant that she was glad for the old dirt tracks she and Miguel had run on . Two cars were downed in the field, though two were against the rails. So she had obstacles she could use to her advantage.

After weaving him through the wrecks once, her competitor halted the next time she dashed through the center of the ring, which gave her the distance she needed. When she slid into position, she watched him lean toward the wheel. Furia loved people with easy tells.

"Come and get me," she taunted lowly. She knew he would turn into her as soon as she made her move, in fact she was counting on it.

Her acceleration was just right, the corners of their bumpers ticked and he took a big slide into the side of the burning car. Before he was able to recover she was backing toward him.

"¡Dios! Let me hit the damn radiator on that sucker."

The hit was harder than she anticipated, but the scream drew her attention. She could not help but laugh when she noticed the interior of the green car had caught fire, and the driver was scrambling out. Furia pounded her fist on the roof twice.

"Nicely done, number fifteen," she told the car as she pulled away from the burning vehicles.

-6-


"Lucky number fifteen!" Mikey yelled, standing on his chair holding his shot glass high in the air.

Johnny slipped through the crowd of purple and pulled rank on Marco who was leaning over the victorious driver.

"Thanks," Furia said as she sat up.

She had been hunched over the bar in a rather discouraging pose, but Marco was not the sharpest knife in the drawer, or so Johnny thought. But the kid did have nerves of steel.

"That was an interesting little diversion."

"And lucrative." The amber bottle rose to her lips.

"Lucy mentioned you threw down quite a bet." Johnny leaned on one elbow as he observed the group behind her. "Some would call foul."

"I placed my bet first and in front of everyone," she defended, turning to face him.

Johnny held up his hands. "I'm not saying shit. I put my money on you, too. And Troy's right, you are determined."

The wince did not escape his notice. "Yeah well, I have my reasons."

"We all have our reasons. I'm not judging."

The young woman nodded. "Well, I think that was a one-time thing," she said, rubbing her hand against his neck.

"Bad?"

She shrugged and shook her head. "Probably not."

"You did take a few good hits."

"But I gave as good as I got."

"That you did." Johnny inched toward her and she repacted in kind. "In a few days, I'll have everything lined up and I need a driver, but I want the driver Lin told me about, not the one I saw tonight. Quick and clean, no trading paint."

"That is my preference," she replied.

"Good. Come see me Thursday morning about ten, and I'll get you set up. Wear something professional looking, no flags."

"I can do that."

"Good," Johnny concluded, tapping her on the shoulder.


i Niña tonta - silly girl

ii So I tried to figure out what 9mm a Vice 9 was likely closest to. But I really could not find one that fit. It really looks like it could be somewhere between a Glock and an M1911. The NR4s look more like Berettas. So I opted to mimic the breakdown and cleaning for a Glock 19 with the Vice 9, even though Glocks are typically black and not nickel-plated.

iii Sale (SA-lay) - That's fine/cool. I agree/Sure.

iv Coño - Damn