Author's notes: A big thanks to all who played the game and sent their anti-Waluigi tweets. They will be used in the next chapter. Something tells me that there will be plenty of Lucas hate in this chapter. Heh. I will have the next chapter ready around the beginning of November, after which I will go on hiatus for a few weeks (2-6 weeks; dunno yet, but let's call it a month or so). Don't worry; I'll be back.

Reviews are much appreciated! Thanks for continuing to support and read the story!


Chapter 28: Cabo Pecador Lucas

Lucas, Luigi, and Daisy were seated at the large outdoor dining room table, the overhead lights and table candle brightening the beachfront patio and plunge pool against the blue twilight and the darkened Pacific Ocean swishing toward and away from the sand. A soft guitar melody played in the background as the staff served dinner. At Lucas's behest, Daisy explained to the staff in Spanish that she was vegetarian due to 'poor digestion' and would be unable to eat meat or fish, though she was able to consume dairy products in moderation. Thankfully, the chef was understanding and promised to improvise a meal for her. As Luigi and Lucas enjoyed a multi-course meal of sea bass ceviche with roasted corn, tomatoes, epazote and dried chiles, and a selection of red snapper, lobster, and ribeye steak, they presented Daisy with patatas bravas, chiles rellenos, and grilled asparagus.

"So, Daisy," began Lucas as he sipped on his cerveza, "what's with the vow of poverty, chastity, and no animal products? You're not a member of the Penises Entering The Anus, are you?"

As Luigi was about to tell his frenemy to mind his own business, she put a reassuring hand on his knee. "No, I don't belong to PETA. I, uh, just didn't grow up eating meat. My family's very … fish and vegetables-oriented."

"Well," he shoveled a forkful of rice and red snapper into his mouth, "wait a second. You're from South America. I've never been to Brazil, but I've been to a couple Brazilian restaurants in Manhattan, and meat's always the main course. Same with Argentina. So … what gives?"

"Don't be such a rude asshole, Lucas," interjected Luigi acridly while chewing on a piece of ribeye steak.

Giving his friend a pointed, albeit brief glare, Lucas faced the woman again. "Weeg's right; I am being rude. I'll admit it this one time." He took another bite of snapper, then said, "Look, I'm Greek and Italian. You've seen the movie My Big Fat Greek Wedding, right? Okay, I fucking loathed that piece of shit film. But Nia Vardalos did get one thing right: vegetarianism is unknown in Greece and Cyprus. Fuck Turkey – for general purposes. Frankly, I think it's a first-world problem; yeah, I know, a lot of Hindus are vegetarian, yet they're fucking starving or fighting with the goddamned Pakistanis half the time! Their curry's tasty, but that's about fucking it."

Daisy calmly made a show of enjoying her chiles rellenos. "Well, it's actually a very healthy lifestyle. Eastern Mediterranean and Middle Eastern cultures are mostly vegetarian, save for the occasional meal or fish dish. Meat is a first-world problem. Sorry, but you can try to pry my hummus, falafel, baba ghanouj, and injera from my cold, dead hands, Grego."

"Alright, point taken," he answered back. "But injera? I get the other ones. I mean, shawarma or falafel pita is good every once in a while. Ethiopia's another starving country."

The woman smiled thinly. "Not how my stepmother makes it."

Lucas choked on his piece of ribeye as she continued to eat her dinner and Luigi's blue eyes twinkled in a mixture of mirth and pride. Gulping beer from his bottleneck to wash down the remainder of the meat in his throat, he then stared at her with sheer incredulity. "Your … Your stepmother's from Ethiopia?"

"She's half-Ethiopian, yes."

"So, she … she's …" Daisy raised her eyebrow at him, enjoining him to follow through on the probable and tired racist comment. "She's, uh … African."

"Yes," she nodded purposefully, "Ethiopia's in Africa, so yes, she would be an African."

Internally, Luigi patted himself on the back for keeping a straight face and made a mental note to worship Daisy's infinite patience as well as her body later that evening. While at Brooklyn City High, Lucas was a notorious womanizer, claiming to have lost his virginity at age thirteen in a massage parlor, courtesy of his father. However, like the latter, the spoiled teenager also held intolerant views of women, Blacks, Hispanics, Arabs, Turks, and Iranians in particular. On one hand, and unlike many of the unfortunate mechanical engineering majors, this kept Luigi's girlfriend, Éclair, off Lucas's radar, as she was of African-American and Haitian descent. On the other hand, Luigi was a private audience to Lucas's classist, racist, and misogynistic rants under the guise of "joking around."

As for Lucas, his eyes narrowed ever so slightly, before affixing a fake smile. "Yeah, I heard Brazil was pretty mixed. Italians, Arabs, slaves, Portuguese, and Japanese all in one country. No wonder why there's so much corruption and disarray."

Luigi was about to slam his fork down and give the man a piece of his mind, Daisy erupted in vociferous laughter. Both men turned to her quizzically. "Well, Lucas, as you said before, we have a lot in common. Greece couldn't decide whether it wanted a king or a republic, didn't want to stabilize its economy with a functional banking system instead of reasoning by gerbil, and then to top it all off, its rather useless Nazi fanboy club claimed the country was homogeneous when, again, the Greeks fucked every ethnic group nearby for food and shelter – the Brits, Italians, Macedonians, Jews, Serbs, Croats, Bosniaks, Lebanese, Syrians, Turks, and … let's not forget the Albanians or the North Africans. Dido, anyone? I mean, the poor woman had to babysit Aeneas's whining little ass."

The Brooklynite sniggered as Lucas's mouth fell open. Daisy raised an eyebrow at the tall man to ask him whether he wanted to continue his rather unoriginal train of thought. After a few seconds, the Manhattanite forced a full belly laugh and spooned more of the rice into his mouth. "Touché," he replied with a leer. "You're right; we Greeks know how to fuck. Well, not before the champagne and cake!" Lucas studiously avoided the death glare that his friend was giving him over the rather impudent response to his girlfriend. As for the Greek, she gave him a bored expression and took another bite of her dinner.

They spent the next fifteen minutes in silence, after which the final dessert course was served: Dom Perignon and an eight-inch, three-layer, tres leches round cake topped with chocolate, sliced strawberries, and mango. Once the server placed twenty-eight candles throughout the cake top, they all sang happy birthday in English and Spanish. An excited Lucas blew out the candles in one breath, and everyone politely applauded. As the servers removed the candles from the cake, Daisy gave Lucas a smirk and began to chant, "¡Mordida, mordida!" The staff giggled at her encouragement.

With a confused frown, Lucas asked, "Uh, no comprendo. 'Mordre' in French means 'to bite.' Or are you asking me to die?"

Daisy chuckled. "No, it's a tradition here. It does indeed mean 'bite,' not 'die.' As in bite into the cake."

He gestured to the cake with a long right index finger. "You want me to … ? Isn't that a little unhygienic?"

"Only if you haven't cleaned your teeth in a long time," she countered, amber-colored eyes twinkling. "Besides, it's your piece of cake."

Narrowing his eyes briefly, he shrugged and leaned into the side of the cake. "Alright, sure. I'm willing to try anything once." As he took a bite out of the cream and tres leches sponge cake, Daisy firmly pushed his head into it. Lucas let out a surprised shriek and retracted his mouth and thin mustache, which were covered in whipped cream. "What the fuck?" he cried, reaching for a napkin.

Daisy giggled as the staff chuckled and clapped and Luigi covered his mouth with both hands. "It's an actual tradition in Mexico, Lucas. It's called the 'mordida' – you're … heh … you're supposed to shove the birthday boy or girl's face into the cake. Even for adults."

"Seriously?!" Luigi took out his phone to research the claim, then held it up to Lucas. "Oh," he said, wiping off the last bit of the cake and constricting his eyes in annoyance at Daisy, "I guess it is. Well, um, let's slice up the cake."


Despite Lucas's coaxing for them to go out to the nightclub that Friday night or have a midnight skinny dip in the Pacific, mainly to have a glimpse at the woman's 'assets,' both Luigi and Daisy declined and compromised with a Saturday nightclub visit, as they were tired from the three-hour flight and multi-course meal. Grumbling, the birthday boy acquiesced, leaving the couple to retire in their shared bedroom.

The next morning, Daisy and Luigi were woken up to insistent knocks at their door. The scarcely clothed man and woman moaned in protest; rolling over to check the time on his phone, Luigi swore angrily when he saw that it was only six-thirty. He kissed her neck, murmuring that he would do the honors of telling Lucas to fuck off. Sliding out of the queen-sized bed, he did not bother to put on a shirt over his bare chest, Saint's pendant, and green boxers; marching to the door, he swung it open to reveal an equally sleepy, unshaven Lucas who was still in his wine-colored silk pajamas. "What is it?" mouthed Luigi, unwilling to disturb his sleeping princess. The Manhattanite took a lazy glimpse of the auburn-haired lioness, who had moved the white comforter over her body and head, and, disappointed, gestured with his fingers to move into the living room. Luigi did so, shutting the door behind him as he followed the taller man into the large room.

"Weeg, I just got a call from Scott Pichler. The union higher-ups and Sal Maldonado want me to set up a meeting with you. Today," explained Lucas. "I told them that we were on vacation, you're finishing up at Stanford, and it's a fucking Saturday. They said it's important enough to meet ASAP. Fuckers are probably collecting overtime for this shit, too!"

Luigi sighed and rubbed a hand over his unshaven face and mustache. "D'you tell 'em that I don't work for 'em anymore?"

Lucas nodded. "As a matter of fact, I did. I also told them that we're on the other side of the continent and weren't in New York. They didn't care. They said that they wanted to meet with you in particular at eleven o'clock New York time. They said videoconference was fine, given the circumstances and last-minute request. Look, let's find out what the hell they want, then we're done in time for the beach to open. No biggie." He put a hand on Luigi's bare shoulder. "Let me get it set up with the concierge. I'll also order breakfast. Go in and, uh, let Daisy know. It's," he checked his phone, "a little past seven o'clock, so we'll need to be there in an hour and forty-five. Also, wear your nice clothes. Let's make the fuckers beg!"

Nodding slowly, the plumber turned away from Lucas, who ambled away to make the calls to the concierge and room service, and headed back to the room. He soundlessly re-entered, shutting the door behind him; a concerned Daisy was sitting up in bed, her hair mussed from sleep. "Sweetie, what happened?" she asked.

He climbed onto the bed and seized her lips in a good-morning kiss. Letting his lips linger, he murmured, "Asshole union reps want to meet with me today. This morning at nine. Whatever the hell it is couldn't wait." He began to kiss her neck, making his way to her ear. In a whisper, he added, "We'll need to send an emergency message to Miles."

She smirked and, breaking free of his embrace, retrieved her throwaway phone from Senegal. Sending a quick text to Miles about the conference call, she put the phone back in her bag and locked it with a small key. "What about Mario?"

Luigi sank down on the bed and shook his head. "Given that he was off for the Fourth and was in New York during the past two weekends, I'm guessing that he's up in Massachusetts. He wouldn't be able to answer until tomorrow night."

Key in one hand and seizing his forearm with the other, Daisy silently led the apprehensive man to their large ensuite bathroom, closed the door, and flipped the latch. Stripping their bedclothes, she took him into the shower, which was a beige-tiled, walk-in room. As she moved the large towels to the outside rack and closed the shower glass, Luigi moved to twist the faucet for the hot water. Promptly standing beneath the flowing water and steam, they embraced again, with him cupping her cheek. "Cat-face, I … I don't know exactly what they want. I don't know what I should do."

Reaching for one of the shampoo bottles, she poured some of the golden liquid into her palm and spread it into her boyfriend's hair. He moved the lather into the places that she was unable to cover. Then he did the same for her hair, kissing her lips once he was finished. She broke the kiss, and they rinsed the soap from their hair. "I don't know, sweetie," she finally answered. "It depends on what they want. I guess … do the honorable thing? Don't compromise your integrity."

They continued with the body wash, using the same washcloth to clean each other. "Yesterday, I … I had a dream. On the plane."

"I know," affirmed Daisy as she cleaned his back. "A nightmare."

"Not exactly. My … My father was there. Underneath the stars. He, uh, we used to go to Long Island where it was somewhat dark and see how many constellations we could see. I haven't seen him in years. Not since the year that he … y'know. I just don't know what to make of it."

Abstractly humming in thought, Daisy handed him the washcloth and spun to face away from him to allow better access to her back. He did the same, kissing the tops of her shoulders and neck. "Maybe it's your subconscious trying to process it. You just started therapy, right?" He mumbled a "yeah" against her neck, to which, as she stroked his hair, she said, "It's not uncommon. When I started seeing my therapist at Oxford, I had … flashbacks and nightmares of the beatings daily. Eventually, they faded. I mean, I still have one or two a year, but they're far fewer."

"It does … get better?" he inquired uncertainly.

Daisy twisted to face him, loosely encircling his neck with her arms. "Yeah, it did for me. It wasn't easy, but nothing worthwhile is." Rinsing off the last of the soap, to Luigi's dismay, she turned off the shower. "As much as I would like to te tailler une pipe, you need to have breakfast and dress before your meeting. I'd hate for them to see a Luigi Masciarelli who hasn't eaten."

Luigi blushed, then flashed his eyebrows. "Well, la pipe sounds promising if it's, uh, related to pippa in Italian. I think I'll hold you to that, my dear cat-face."

Slapping his bare butt, she replied, "You're cute when you blush, plumber. Now, vai!"

He pushed the glass door open and, handing her a bath towel, dried himself off with the other, wrapping it around his narrow waist. Walking to one of the double sinks, he began the process of shaving his scruff, moisturizing his face, trimming his mustache, and brushing his teeth. Daisy padded to the other and brushed her teeth; finishing before him, she used the water closet, picked up the small gold key that was sitting on the countertop, and unlatched the door to the bedroom. She accessed her phone, which had received a message from Miles; decrypting it, she read: "Txt me w/meeting ID. Will listen in. Getting G if possible." Understanding his directions to mean that she should also accompany Luigi and Lucas, Daisy put on plain underwear, a light tan camisole, and a long-sleeved, burnt orange wrap dress that extended to the calf. Sliding on a pair of beige flats, she returned to the bathroom to hook gold and cornflower blue hoop earrings into her piercings and to comb her still damp hair. A few moments later, she re-entered the bedroom to find that Luigi, looping a tan belt around his waist, was dressed in a forest green suit, white Oxford, and beige dress socks. Sashaying to him, she ran her hands across the white fabric and bit her glossy lip. "Normally, I don't like green men's suits, but … you look amazing."

He responded with a happy hum and pecked her on the lips. "Any news from Miles?"

"Yeah, he asked me to send him the meeting ID so that he can listen in. He also said that he would, if possible, loop in 'G.' I assume he means Giuseppe."

"Bene," Luigi answered, laying his forehead against hers. "I'm glad you're coming with us. I don't want to do this alone."

"Luigi, sweetie, no matter what they say or do, you always have a choice. They let Slaughter become uncontrollable." She pecked him back and stroked his sideburns.

"I know, cat-face. I know." Reluctantly breaking away from his lover, the plumber sank on the bed to put on and tie his dress shoes. He inhaled deeply and, seizing Daisy's waiting open hand, walked to the door. Entering the living room, they both smelled freshly brewed coffee; pivoting to their right, they strolled out to the patio where a small buffet of chilaquiles, conchas, bigotes, a selection of strawberries, kiwis, blackberries, pitaya, and mangoes, and coffee was arranged next to the four-chair dining table. Lucas was already helping himself to a plateful of chilaquiles and a concha. He appeared overdressed for vacation, having opted for white linen pants, a white and purple-striped button-down, and a dark purple silk ascot tucked into his shirt. His matching white linen suit jacket was draped across his chair.

"Hey, over here!" called out Lucas unnecessarily as they were crossing the threshold to the morning sea air. "I got a bit of everything. Daisy, I think the rolls should be okay. The chilaquiles aren't meat-free, I'm afraid."

"The conchas will be fine, thanks," replied Daisy as she and Luigi sat down at the table across from Lucas. Stuffing his napkin into his shirt to protect his clothing, the plumber eagerly helped himself to the chilaquiles, eggs, and fruit. A smiling Lucas poured hot coffee into their cups. For the next half-hour, they ate and made small talk, somehow managing to avoid discussion of the upcoming call. Despite his building apprehension, Luigi gently made sure that Daisy had enough to eat. Lucas's eyes jealously shifted between his friend and Daisy; although the latter was, in his opinion, unquestionably fuckable, she had a little too much of Luigi's attention, especially as he was about to secure him a job for life and at a minimum of forty-five an hour. She also had a fascination with pushing people's heads into cake.

Lucas, Luigi, and Daisy finished breakfast shortly after eight-thirty. Leaving the uneaten remnants for the resort staff to clean up, they departed the suite for the concierge's main office where the small conference room was conveniently located. In spite of the concierge's assurances of privacy and room readiness, his assistant, a middle-aged gringa from somewhere north of the border insisted on following the internal checklist for initiating the correct security protocols related to a simple video conferencing, much to Lucas's irritation and protestations that he outranked her with his CISSP. After wasting nearly twenty minutes on the Holy Hierarchal Checklist of Mexico, it came to everyone's attention that she had followed the wrong checklist, and Lucas loudly ordered the woman to leave his sight before he had coarse words with the owner – her boss's boss and friend of his father's. Using his private laptop to bypass the hotel's firewall and access his gaming company's Zoom account, he emailed Scott Pichler the meeting link and connected the HDMI cable of the large television screen to his laptop's plug-in. As he worked and Luigi kept watch, Daisy surreptitiously texted an encrypted message to Miles containing the meeting ID and password.

"Okay, I think we're ready, and it's," he checked his diamond-encrusted, multi-colored Rolex, "five until nine. Daisy, I'm sorry, but this is a confidential meeting. The lobby's outside; ask the concierge for whatever you need and have them put it on my tab."

Luigi quickly pulled her into a passionate kiss and then whispered in her ear, "I'll tell you everything later, sweetie."

"Good luck, sweetie. I'll be right outside, okay?" She furtively slipped the phone into his pocket. He nodded and kissed her hand before she left the room. Lucas gestured to the seat directly in front of the television screen as he took the chair on Luigi's left to control the laptop. When he attempted to open the Zoom link, the computer inexplicably ended the application, causing the Manhattanite to swear underneath his breath about the hotel's "piece of shit firewall." Re-loading his access to the local server, company VPN, and Zoom account, he and Luigi sighed in relief as the meeting room engaged, and a window with a group of four men sat around a small table appeared on the television screen. Lucas's counterpart was the gray-suited Scott Pichler; sitting to his left were two dark-haired burly men in light blue and white dress shirts and black slacks and the hoodie and jeans-clad Sal Maldonado.

"Hey, Scott, my man, can you hear me?" inquired Lucas.

"Yeah, we can hear you. There's a bit of an echo in the background, but I assume it's because of the conferencing software," he said. "Where are youse, anyway?"

"One sec." The tall man went toward one of the side tables and found a microphone. Plugging into the correct jacks, he motioned for Luigi to move closer to the laptop. "Is this better?"

"Much."

"Okay, perfect. Now let's get down to business. Luigi's on a mini-vacation somewhere nice and exotic, a well-deserved break from Stanford, which you knew, Scott, so why the hell did you wake us up at o-fucking-dark-early?" demanded Lucas.

"Aight, Lucas, let's get to it, since you're the primary financial backer. Let me introduce you to the other three guys. Immediately to my right are Marc Lopez and Mike LaPaglia. They're from Local Two. To their left is – and whom Luigi and his older brother know well – Sal Maldonado, the manager of Brooklyn Plumbing and Mechanical Works."

Before Luigi could respond, Lucas crossed his arms and barked out, "Hi. So, again, what the hell do you want?"

The first burly man, Marc Lopez, responded, "You've heard about the former union rep for the downtown Brooklyn and Dumbo shops?"

"John Slaughter, chomo and quintessential thirty-year asshole of the plumbers' union? No, never heard of him."

Luigi could tell that Lopez was getting irritated with the tall man's sarcastic and superior attitude. "Well, he's been replaced with Mike here. And because Slaughter falsified documents resulting in Luigi's illegal expulsion from the union as well as violated both the union's and federal anti-discrimination statutes, we've reinstated Luigi – full-time with benefits. That also means he's free to come back to Sal's shop."

Lucas looked over to the clearly underwhelmed Luigi and shrugged dispassionately. "Good for you, dude. But you didn't wake us up at six in the morning for that steaming pile of horseshit. Luigi's an expensive commodity. What you're not saying is that my man here passed the goddamned master plumber exam – both written and practical and in spite of your favorite chomo trying to interfere. He can't go back to the shop as a journeyman. And furthermore," he gesticulated with his index finger, "he's doing rather well at a certain," he faked coughed 'Stanford,' "elite institution of higher learning. He's debating whether to stay in California. Isn't that right, Luigi?"

Luigi smiled a little and leaned into the microphone. "That's right."

Three of the men made faces of concern and fear. Sal, however, did not hide his amusement, raising his eyebrows at the union guys and Scott the Shitbucket. "Um, one moment, please, Lucas," requested Scott as he muted the microphone. Lucas muted their own microphone and rolled his eyes at the 'side bar' between the three men. Sal stayed on his side, slowly shaking his head at the cabal.

"Jesus Christ," muttered Luigi after a moment. "What a perfect clusterfuck."

Lucas continued to observe the inaudible discussion. "That's why you're at Stanford, Weeg. Watch these fucktards squirm. My gift to you."

Two additional minutes passed before the three-person huddle broke apart and Scott unmuted the microphone, "Uh, Lucas?"

He enabled the microphone, pretended to click his heels, and snap to attention. "Jawohl?"

The three plumbers rolled their eyes at the skinny man's flippant answer. "Look, Luigi, let's get serious," Mike spoke. "Is Stanford going to offer you forty-five an hour right out of graduation? It's a fancy degree and all, but it takes a couple of years to get your feet wet and make good money in engineering. I know – I just put my own kid through NYU, and he's on his third unpaid internship. You just passed a notoriously difficult exam and have been workin' in plumbing for ten years – twelve, I think, if we include the time that you spent with your uncle. You really wanna throw all that away?"

An incredulous Lucas started to answer back, but Luigi held up his hand to silence him, snapping, "Really, Mike? Youse want me to get serious? Fine, let's get serious. In the ten years that I've actively been with the union, I have," he listed on his fingers, "been humiliated, harassed, intimidated, and threatened. Why? Because my last name is Masciarelli. Whether it was 'cause Joe actually knew what he was doin' or 'cause Mario didn't go along to get along with Spike's bullshit du jour, I became the recipient of that hatred of the old school. And I am not at all convinced that it won't continue. Eventually, I'll get thrown out again because I looked at youse wrong. Now, contrary to the years of endless bullshit that youse made me endure, Stanford has given me a fair chance to prove myself. That's all I ever asked for. I never expected, nor demanded special treatment. I did everything like everyone else." He emphatically shook his head. "Nah, I ain't playin' these games. I took this shit for far too long. If the half-assed promise of forty-five is all youse got, I'll take the fancy degree and turn it into eighty an hour!" As Luigi finished, Lucas gave him a quiet clap of approval.

Marc nodded and bit his lip. "All true, Luigi, which is why we're trying to make this right. Lucas is correct that you can't go back as a journeyman. You passed the master plumber fair and square. That entitles you to forty-five and change an hour. With overtime, it's easily more than that. And the job that we have for you will require overtime, usually ten to twenty hours beyond the normal forty. That's why Sal's here. It's come to our attention, via Scott here, that you'd been doing master plumber type work for a few months prior to your exam, which is one reason why you were asked to take it in the first place. In your shop, that would make you, next to your brother and José Hernández, the most senior plumber. While Mario's technically eligible, as he has the minimum seven years, he hasn't been consistently employed as a plumber due to his military service. And José is about a year away from eligibility. Furthermore, since you took and passed the master plumber, that makes you second-in-command after Sal at the shop. Sal's been ready to retire for the past three or four months. That was the other reason for you takin' the exam. You're the natural choice for his replacement."

Luigi scoffed and crossed his arms. "I'm not shitcanning Sal!"

Sal smirked a little. "Kid, that was always the plan. I let you do separate jobs with Scott because you needed to get the confidence to be on your own. José's an excellent plumber. But he's not suited to run this shop. Doin' so requires not only a good understanding of the job, but also the ability to move with the future. You've got the imagination – more than all of us combined."

"Sal, the guys look up to him. They don't look up to me. Why can't you wait the year to promote José or even Mario?"

The Puerto Rican sighed tiredly. "Guys, can I have a word alone with Luigi? Please?"

Scott and the other two looked at each other and all rose from the table. "Yeah, Sal can let us know when to come back."

Luigi turned to Lucas who had not moved. "Lucas, can you give us a second?"

Visibly surprised and offended, the tall man rose and bit out, "Yeah, sure." Glaring at Sal one final time, he exited the room, walked down the corridor, and entered the adjacent tea room to find Daisy sitting in one of the sofa chairs across from a grand piano.

Looking up quizzically at the lone Lucas, she asked, "What happened? Where's Luigi?"

Lucas strode past her chair and sat at the grand piano. "He's talking to Sal Maldonado, his ex-boss, in private. They're trying to offer Luigi control of the business," he stated flatly.

Daisy's eyes widened. "Y-you mean his former shop?"

"Yep."

"What about Stanford? If he takes it, then … will he have to leave immediately?"

Wordlessly, he lifted his shoulders to indicate that he did not have the answer. Glancing around the salon, the man began to play the opening chords of George Gershwin's "I've Got Rhythm." He suddenly became engrossed in the piano piece, faster and more enthusiastically, as if he were accompanying Ella Fitzgerald at Hollywood's Mocambo. Daisy watched his long fingers strike and move across the keys in a practiced and precise manner. At the refrain, he glanced up again and shot her an impish, flirty smile and continued to play. A small crowd of guests and staff had gathered to listen to Lucas's spur-of-the-moment performance. After repeating the refrain twice more, he ended to applause. He then launched into Scott Joplin's "Maple Leaf Rag." Several tourists and waitstaff had gathered in the tea room and snapped pictures of him at the piano. Once again, Lucas received applause. Bowing a little to them and grinning evilly at Daisy, he began Franz Liszt's "La Campanella." His fingers glided progressively further to the right, pressing down on higher-pitched keys and causing several listeners to wince at the overwhelming, unfamiliar sound. The notes seemed to overlap, high-pitched over a full-body chord. His fingers bounced to and from the keyboard and his body swayed with the force of the sound. He snapped up to see Luigi rubbing his girlfriend's back, laptop tucked underneath his right arm. Quickly ending the piece mid-note, he smiled and shrugged to the audience who clapped and started to walk away once the impromptu concert had ended. Rising from the piano bench, Lucas inquired, "So? It's done?"

"Yeah," responded Luigi.

"And?"

"Let's discuss it in private." Luigi handed the taller man his laptop and guided Daisy down the hall, hand on the small of her back.

"Secretive," deadpanned Lucas, following the couple.

A half-hour later, the three people were sitting inside their suite around the small brown and white table in the corner of the living room. A large, glass French press and a plate of powdered sugar and cinnamon-rolled cookies were at its center.

"So, Sal claims that this was all his idea? And where the fuck was he during the John Slaughter Special 'Stairway to Heaven'?!" spat Lucas as he sipped the coffee.

"Yeah, dunno where he was," answered the plumber, sipping at his own white porcelain cup's contents. "Anyway, Scott, Marc, and Mike came back into the room and offered me the job. I'd start once I finish at Stanford."

"Did you take the job?" inquired Lucas.

He hummed noncommittally. "D'you think I should? After all, they did screw me over."

The Manhattanite paused to debate his next move. He observed Luigi carefully for any 'tells' of obfuscation or lies by omission – there were none. The truth was that Scott had called him in a panic, as one Giuseppe Masciarelli had paid him an evening visit on Thursday and, in an avuncular rage, had broken the little shit's nose. Inasmuch as he loathed Joe the Plumber, he would have given the older man twenty bucks to film it for his personal video collection. Caught between a rock and a hard space, Scott had begged him to set up the 'emergency meeting' with Luigi and the union higher-ups to smooth over not only the Moranos' wrath, but also that of the Masciarellis. Scott had, however, failed to let him know that he was bringing Sal the Beaner, which meant that he was the union guys' guest. And apparently, Sal said something to Luigi. Lucas hated playing chess against unknown opponents; someone was moving pieces around in unanticipated ways. While he wanted to honor his promise to deliver his friend to the Moranos as well as to the Crazy Coloradans, Lucas opted to play the 'disinterested neutral party' to avoid conflict as well as any potential traps.

"Well," he coolly reasoned, "as I see it, you have two options. First option: you tell them to go fuck themselves, which would be one hundred percent deserved. You come back to New York, and we continue as planned. Second option: you accept the job and added responsibility, and we continue as planned. In the latter case, you'd probably need to travel far less than I had envisioned, but the occasional jaunt to Boston, Phoenix, Washington, California, or Florida wouldn't cost you anything. The only question-cum-concern I'd have – well, two concerns: one is whether the asshole union would allow you to pursue your education; two is whether they'd fuck you over again once the Slaughter Affair is forgotten in the press."

Luigi nodded. "Well, that's what the four of us talked about, actually. The union has offered to give me flexible hours in the spring to pursue my education at any tri-state institution. This offer would extend through the completion of my bachelor's degree. Anything more, like a Master's or MBA, I'd be responsible for. Even Mike saw the wisdom of having me obtain my engineering degree; it would make dealing with asshole city officials and architects easier. And as for canning me, the union has opted to pay me a settlement up front, partly based on the collective bargaining agreement, partly based on the damages estimated by their in-house lawyers if I decided to sue their asses."

"How much is the settlement?" interjected Daisy.

"One year's salary at the master plumber's rank, based on my average hours worked per week as a journeyman. So before taxes and other legal bullshit costs, it's roughly one hundred thousand dollars. I'd have to sign a confidential settlement agreeing not to sue or pursue the matter legally, but that's the deal they're offering."

"Holy shit!" exclaimed the stunned Lucas. "That's … not a bad deal, actually. Slaughter's little fuck-up," he giggled, "cost those jackasses a cool 100K. About fucking time."

Luigi turned to Daisy, who shrugged and nodded at the man in purple's observation. "Well, good, because I took the deal. I come back to the shop on August 19, the Tuesday after finals. I, uh, told them that I needed an extra day to get my crap together and leave campus."

"My man!" shouted Lucas. He jumped out of his chair and wrapped his arms around his friend. Daisy wedged herself past Lucas to give Luigi a kiss on the cheek. Disregarding the action for the time being, he added, "Okay, we're spending the entire fucking day on the beach and then – then – we're going out tonight! Victory celebration!" He sprinted into his room, bellowing as he shut his door, "Last one out to the beach is a rotten egg!"

Luigi slowly rose and, never taking his burning blue eyes off his lioness, took her by the hand and led them into their bedroom. Once in the security of their intimate space, the smiling plumber slipped her phone out of his pocket and returned it to her. As she put it in her locked bag, he encircled her from behind. "Miles got the message; he and Uncle Joe were listening in," he whispered in her ear. "Those decrypted numbers are our hex code. Miles will tell us the full story once we get back to California, but Sal knew Joe and Miles were listening. He was helping us."

Daisy allowed him access to her neck, upon which he trailed open-mouthed kisses. "Will he tell Mario?" she gasped.

"No," he moaned, nuzzling her. "He is tired and wants me to take over. Mario would just … be Mario. We can talk more later. But … right now, I need you. Rich, poor, plumber, or engineer, I need you."

She shut her eyes and weakly protested, "Lucas … waiting."

He spun her around to face him. Giving the burnt orange side tie a tug to unfasten her dress and push it off her shoulders, Luigi scooped her up into his arms and laid her on the bed. Immediately slipping out of his suitcoat and reaching for his belt buckle, he growled, "He's usually fifteen minutes late when he's preening."


Hands and arms tucked underneath his head, the relaxed plumber was sitting on a beach chair next to his friend who kept staring at him. Finally, he lifted his sunglasses from his blue eyes and returned Lucas's gaze. "What?"

Lucas gave him a teasing smile. "You seem, uh, satisfied."

He shrugged casually and replied, "I just collected a hundred thousand big ones from an even bigger collection of assholes, all the while being begged to take an essentially six-figure job which I'll have until retirement. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Uh-huh. So where's the Amazon Queen?"

"Changing into her swimsuit. She'll be here any moment now."

"It takes her," he checks his Rolex, "thirty minutes to get into a bikini?"

Luigi did not respond to his frenemy's obvious goading to share details about their intimate life. Instead, he applied more sunscreen to his chest, neck, and arms. "Jesus, am I the most pasty white Italian on Earth?" He looked up to Lucas and smirked, "Sorry, second most pasty white Italian on Earth."

"Hey!" protested Lucas with a long index finger. "My mother's Italian! I'm also half-Greek, raised by a Greek father, and speak Greek fluently. The only Italian I know is 'buongiorno,' 'buonasera,' and," he quickly lowered his index and flipped him the bird, "'vafanculo, stronzo.'" Luigi howled with laughter as the taller man in the purple and black swim trunks shook his head and extended his hand. "Give me the bottle, asswipe!" The plumber tossed him the bottle, which Lucas opened, squeezed out a bit of the thick white cream, and applied it to his bare chest and back.

"Sorry, it took me so long; I received a phone call from my parents." Both men stopped to gawk at the auburn-haired woman in a bright yellow one-piece swimsuit printed with white lilies and a matching color beach skirt wrapped around her waist.

Luigi grinned and stood up to give her a peck on the lips. "No problem, sweetie. As you can see, the beach and water didn't pack up and run away." He picked up the sunscreen bottle from Lucas's beach chaise and handed it to her. "Um, you need it less than we do, but y'know, I don't wanna see you get burned."

"Yeah, Daisy," leered Lucas, "it's supposed to be something like ninety degrees and high UV index. I can help you reach those spots on your back." She and Luigi frowned at him in disbelief, with the latter giving him a silent warning to mind his manners. The tall man cackled and put up his hands. "I was kidding! Jesus Christ, Weeg, she's already put me in a headlock! I can't do anything to her without her consent!"

Daisy rolled her eyes at the juvenile remark and took the bottle from her boyfriend, who was shooting daggers at the laughing man. Rubbing the cream on her exposed skin, Luigi began to smear some on her back and neck, every once in a while flashing a pointed glare at Lucas. Chuckling still, the tall man raised his eyebrow at the unspoken threats and possessiveness. The usually mild-mannered, almost meek Luigi was, like a Doberman, refusing to acquiesce to his own threats of having his way with the aggressive woman, even as she was, in his opinion, nonsensical at times. Weeg, you may be able to play the violin, but I can finger a grand piano. Lucas watched as she whispered something in his ear, to which he nodded.

Both rising at the same time, Luigi said harshly, "We're going out to swim." As Daisy untied the skirt to reveal her shapely legs and headed out to the blue water with her plumber, Lucas chewed on his lip in anger. This was his birthday vacation, yet they were treating it like their personal fuckfest. Then again, he did encourage Luigi to sell the trip to her as a 'romantic getaway.' Brooklyn plumbing fucker; no, he thought, Joe the Plumber, Brooklyn's Motherfucker. Him, his goddamned other nephew, and Junior here. He crossed his arms and wondered how in the hell did that fat troll and his cokehead brother manage to get beautiful women to bang them, yet he, a multimillionaire, Harvard-educated nice guy had to ply girls with alcohol, drugs, and money to sleep with him. Lucas growled when he saw Daisy screech in excitement at the crashing waves and a beaming Luigi drawing her close to him. Well, it's Daisy's and those other bitches' fault that they don't know what they're missing. He glared at the couple once more; he would normally go hit on the nearest blonde or blonde-redhead duo which were in relative abundance in Los Angeles and Manhattan, but there was something about the auburn-haired Amazon – more than her looks and physical attributes – that made her both irresistible and infuriating. Although he hated sharing Luigi's attention with her, he found that he equally loathing sharing her with him.

While the lovers continued to swim together, Lucas reached for his phone and accessed his company VPN for a secure link. Using a private search engine, he typed in "Daisy Abravanel." Much to his surprise, the search yielded few results, save a few references to her undergraduate work at St. Catherine's College at Oxford, a testimonial for the Peace Corps, and a generic listing as a graduate student at Columbia. As he read the quote about her "life-changing experience" in Mali, he rolled his eyes and sniped, "Yeah, singing kumbaya with a bunch of terrorists sounds like a cracker barrel of laughs." He then typed in "Abravanel AND San Francisco" as a Boolean search. The results were equally as dearth, save for two references of interest. The first was for Abravanel, Aronson, and Porter, LLP, a top law firm in the Bay Area; he selected it and came to a photograph and biblio-biographical listing for one 'Harry A. Abravanel.' "Hmm," he muttered to himself, "AB magna cum laude in Mathematics from Harvard; JD and LL.M. from Stanford. Is this dear ol' Dad? Yes, indeed; 'Languages spoken: Spanish, Portuguese, French, and German.' Goddamn, Daisy, what are you doing with the Brooklyn trailer trash? Dad's an Ivy League-educated lawyer, owns his own firm in San Francisco? Jesus, the guy's got to be loaded." The second was a generic listing for a 2013 tennis doubles tournament hosted by the San Francisco Jewish Community Federation. "Okay, so big deal; apparently, he likes playing tennis with Jews. The guy married an African and lives in the most fucktarded liberal city in America. A big nothing burger and about as appealing as Daisy's veggie platters."

Setting the phone down to watch Daisy and Luigi, who had taken her in his arms and laid his forehead against hers. Though it was an appropriate embrace for a family-oriented beach, it was nonetheless an intimate gesture, much as Mario had done with the blonde. This was more than a juvenile fascination, as was the case with Éclair at Broken and Shitty; Luigi had not only introduced he and Mario to her, but Joe the Plumber had met her at some point, as well. Lucas remembered an acerbic comment that Fat Tony had made during a poker game that, at the time, he found inane: "All of the Masciarelli men are pussy-whipped – Mario, Giuseppe, even Mario's late father and grandfather. All dominated by their wives." He still was unable to fathom why a wealthy, beautiful, and well-educated woman like Daisy Abravanel would choose the Prince of the Toilets, Defender of Brooklyn HVAC as her boyfriend. "This has to be a fling!" he hissed. Yet he was shaken at the thought: what if it weren't?

"No, I'll prove it!" he snarled to no one.


Just before the fiery sunset above the azure Cabo waters, Luigi and Daisy changed out of their swimwear and showered, wishing that they were instead lounging naked in bed and deciding on dinner via room service. However, Lucas had insisted that they honor their promise to go out that evening for his birthday and told them to be ready to go for dinner and clubbing by 8:15. Once he was properly vested in his forest green suit Italian suit, he wrapped his arms around her burnt orange-covered waist and sang into her ear:

"You can dance, go and carry on

'Til the night is gone,

And it's time to go

If he asks if you're all alone,

Can he take you home, you must tell him no.

'Cause don't forget who's taking you home,

And in whose arms you're gonna be

So, darling, save the last dance for me."

Daisy grinned as his lips tickled her ear and answered, "Sempre." Twisting to face him squarely, she added, "The only way he could ever stand a chance is by being you, Luigi Masciarelli. I don't care how much money he has or how cultured he thinks he is. I am here because you asked me to come. As far as I'm concerned, tonight is your victory party."

He nodded uncertainly. "I know. I just … I'm just not sure that I did the right thing. I mean, yeah, I'm the new boss and will have a nice fat paycheck. But … My father wanted me to leave New York. A-Am I … ?"

"Are you betraying him?" she finished. He nodded again. "Luigi, I know your father had his reasons for taking you away from Brooklyn, and at the time, he was probably right. But – and don't take this the wrong way, sweetie – he's been gone for years. This is your life now. You're not an indentured servant; give it a year and see how you feel. At the end of that year, if you don't like it, you can quit and move away. I'd assume that you'd have a replacement by then?"

"Yeah," he replied. "Either José or Mario would be eligible to take the exam."

"Then you have an escape plan. Meanwhile, you can use the union to pay for a semester of college tuition, wherever you wanted to go."

Smiling, he enfolded her in his arms and mumbled against the top of her hair, "I'm lucky; not only is my girlfriend smart and beautiful, but she's also wise. Thank you … for everything."

"I'm just as lucky, sweetie." Suddenly breaking free of his grasp and causing the man to whimper in protest, she excitedly went to fetch her normal smartphone. "I know Miles asked me to only use the throwaway, but I brought one of my old phones for pictures. Wi-fI's disabled, so I doubt you-know-who could break in. I, uh, wanted to get a photo of you. I haven't gotten one since Arizona."

Luigi beamed brightly. "Alright. In my suit?"

"Yeah." She threw back the curtains and opened the doors which led out to the patio. He trailed her outside where she scanned for the best spot for her portrait. Descending the short concrete staircase down to the sand of the private beach, Daisy pointed to a lone brown rock directly in front of the now pale blue water and the setting sun. "There." He ambled across the sand and arranged himself in a seated position on the rock, the Cabo San Lucas shoreline in the background. He wiggled his eyebrows and gave her a slight smirk. Daisy grinned and took the photo. "Bellissimo," she purred.

Not wanting to get sand in his dress shoes, Luigi quickly tiptoed back to the concrete and, with the barefoot Daisy behind him, wiped the wet sand on his soles against the grass. Once he was sure that his shoes were sandless, he grabbed his squealing girlfriend in a fireman's carry and brought her to the bathroom to clean her feet. As he applied a damp washcloth to rid her skin of sand, occasionally kissing her calves and teasing the sensitive skin behind her knees, the lioness fixed a hungry look toward him and dragged his free hand past the hem of her orange dress. Neither of them heard the tall man come into their bedroom, having heard the feminine giggling from the patio.

"Weeg, Daisy, it's time to go!" announced Lucas from just beyond the bathroom.

Both Luigi and Daisy rolled their eyes in annoyance. "Yeah, we'll be right out," grumbled the plumber.

"Sorry, man, was I … interrupting something?" teased the other New Yorker.

"Fuck off, Lucas."

"Love you, too, Weeg. I'll be in the other room," he sniggered.

They heard the bedroom door open and footsteps move toward the living room area. Cleaning the last bit of sand, he helped his lioness to her feet. Daisy exited the bathroom ensuite first, hiding the old phone with the picture. She then collected her Gucci purse and slid on her shoes. Luigi soon followed to lock up the room and close the drapes. A moment later, the couple met Lucas in the living room. "Perfect! I've hired a driver through the concierge. We'll grab a bite to eat, then head to the club," said the tall man.

The drive was short by American standards, as the restaurant was conveniently located next to the nightclubs. While Lucas indulged in every type of surf and turf available – beef short ribs, ribeye, pork, and various types of fish tacos – Luigi shook his head crossly at the lack of vegetarian choices for his lioness. Thankfully, Daisy's Spanish clarified for the waitstaff what she could eat, and they generously provided a series of appetizers which, in solidarity with his girlfriend and despite Lucas's eye rolling, she and Luigi split: guacamole, chips, pico de gallo, frijoles, and nachos naturales. To make certain that she had a sufficient dinner, Luigi also ordered a taco de camarón. An abnormally taciturn Lucas paid the bill, and they walked down a few streets to the bright lights of the nightclub. The New Yorker, who had at some point made a cash withdrawal, flashed five thousand pesos to buy themselves a VIP table near the dance floor. The indoor lights were rainbow-colored and above the dance floor hung several reflective balls. Young people were crammed throughout the space, margaritas, tequila, and Mexican cervezas in hand, and the base of the sound system boomed against the walls. Lucas flagged one of the VIP servers and requested a bottle of Don Julio and three glasses. As Luigi began to rub Daisy's back to reassure himself, the tall man drummed a beat against the black booth table. One of the servers returned with the expensive tequila and three empty glasses. Handing him a wad of American dollars, Lucas twisted the cap and poured a little of the amber liquid into each glass.

"No limes; we're drinking this shit like men!" yelled Lucas as he downed the first shot. The couple shrugged and followed suit; Luigi's eyes rounded with surprise, as the tequila was smooth, with hints of vanilla, oak, and spice. "Good, huh? No burn!"

"Yeah," acknowledged Luigi. "Normally, tequila burns like ass. Not to mention the goddamn worm thing!"

"Nah, man. You drank bad tequila! Shit, remember the party we went to in Williamsburg?" Luigi knitted his eyebrows together and shook his head. "It was at the beginning of eleventh grade – Sarah Brightman's parents were out of town, and she threw a house party. She invited all of the mechanical and computer engineering majors. Remember?"

The plumber's eyes widened in recognition, and he covered his mouth. "Holy shit, yeah! I remember now!"

Lucas turned to Daisy and explained, "Right before Joe the Plumber dragged him to Alcatraz, there was this girl – Sarah Brightman. She wasn't Luigi's type, but fuck, was she mine! She was a computer science major. Her parents went to visit some sick family member, so she was left alone with her younger sister. She threw the wildest party in Brooklyn to date! Weeg here got smashed on cheap-ass tequila," he gave him a pointed stare, "and ended up – and I still don't know how – winning five hundred bucks playing drunk poker."

"Drunk poker?" questioned an amused Daisy to a visibly embarrassed Luigi.

Nervously, he poured some more of the Don Julio. "Yeah, I think. As Lucas says, I was pretty fucked that night. What I can remember is drinking really shitty tequila and then playing a couple rounds of poker. Next morning, I woke up hungover in one of the guest bedrooms with a wad of cash stuffed down my jeans."

"He got the cash; I banged the chick," shrugged Lucas with a smirk. "So, Daisy, let's hear one about your wild side. Did you get smashed and end up in some hot dude's bed?" Luigi glared at his friend for the impertinent question.

Daisy casually took a sip of the alcohol and shook her head. "Sorry; I'm afraid that I really wasn't that adventurous."

Lucas rolled his eyes and cried, "Bullshit! Not adventurous? You fucking went to Mali! I'm sure you went on a pub crawl or two in Oxford. C'mon, live a little."

She chuckled lightly. "I concentrated on my studies. I didn't really go partying. The little that I did do, I was the designated driver."

He set the glass down, leapt out of his seat, and offered his hand to her. "You poor thing. That changes now."

"What are you doing?" she asked while a suspicious Luigi repositioned his hand at the small of her back.

"It's my birthday, Daisy. I thought I'd like to dance with my bestie's girl. Platonically, of course. Once I'm done, I'll return you to Weeg. Unharmed, but not necessarily unf… Well, I'll leave that thought alone."

Hastily, she looked at Luigi whose face was unreadable. When the latter failed to interject or voice an objection, she said, "Um, sure." Lucas gently pulled her off the seat and, winking at the blank Luigi, led her to the dance floor. Gulping down the contents of his glass, the plumber slid off the seat and stalked after them. He positioned himself against one of the pillars, crossing his arms, and made sure that he was directly in the line of sight of Daisy and Lucas. Pitbull's "Don't Stop the Party" began playing; Daisy tried to keep a respectful distance between her body and Lucas, but she gasped as he deliberately stepped in her space and placed one hand on her back and clasping her left hand with his right. Luigi's blue eyes narrowed into a shade of green when Lucas spun and twisted her on the dance floor, and he ran an agitated hand through his hair. He watched the Manhattanite switch to a salsa-style dance, stepping and swiveling his hips, his footwork light, graceful, and rapid. Daisy matched his movements, albeit stiffly, wishing that it was her lover who was twirling with her.

At the last note of the song, Lucas grinned and opened his mouth to ask Daisy for another dance when he felt a hand slam on his shoulder. Twisting to tell the stranger to beat it, he was shocked to see his friend inches from him. Lightly shoving him out of the way, Luigi seized Daisy's hand and led her toward the center of the dance floor and found themselves surrounded by tens of Mexican and foreign couples. A moment later, the lights dimmed to a white and emerald green luminescence at the start of Enrique Iglesias's "Hero." Their bodies swayed synchronously with the relaxed tune, Luigi bringing her body against his, mouthing the lyrics that he knew. A stunned and enraged Lucas watched the couple slow dance; like a statue, he stood immobile amidst the dancing couples, compelling them to circle around him. He hissed and strode toward the bar. During the bridge of the song, Daisy found herself being lifted off the floor to gaze down at dark, passionate blue eyes. Setting her down tenderly, Luigi brushed her lips with his and wrapped his arms around her.

"You didn't need a mask this time," she whispered into his ear.

He chuckled and kissed her again, laying his head atop hers. "I wanted to dance with you; desire outweighed fear."

"I'm glad."

"Oh?"

A content Daisy nodded. "Yeah, he's a good dancer, but …"

Luigi playfully raised his eyebrow. "But?"

"He's a douchebag and doesn't make my heart go badda-boom."

The plumber was leaning down to kiss her again when he heard a commotion emanating from where he had left Lucas. They both looked over the crowd to see the Manhattanite raucously arguing with a large Hispanic man in his late twenties or early thirties. Luigi and Daisy decided to leave the center of the center of the dance floor to investigate; politely navigating the sea of people with an "Excuse us" or "Con permiso," they made their way to the arguing men and the increasing space given to them by other partygoers.

"You call that dancing? Man, I've seen Central Park crackwhores shake better!" sneered Lucas, whose arms were tightly and arrogantly crossed.

"Hey, gringo, you think you can do better? Adelante!" replied the other man.

Luigi pinched his nose and stepped directly behind him. "Lucas, do I really want to know what the fuck is going on?"

Ignoring him, Lucas plastered an evil grin. "With pleasure, Nacho libre! You first!"

The entire crowd – Antonio, Lucas, Luigi, Daisy, and onlookers of various nationalities – moved to the center of the dance floor. One of them went up to the DJ, who removed his headphones in annoyance to listen to the man. A few seconds later, he nodded once and spoke into the microphone, "Damas y caballeros, ladies and gentlemen, we have a dance battle. México versus USA! May the best man win!"

"Can't believe he's representing the United States," groused Daisy in Luigi's ear. The plumber shook his head while Antonio twisted his baseball cap backwards and Lucas nonchalantly handed Daisy his white linen suit jacket and began to flex various joints as though he were warming up for an Olympic sprint. The DJ started a Latin dance mix with a strong base; Antonio commenced with a few salsa steps before taking to the floor to spin, swinging his extended, scissor-like legs. With one hand, he then twisted them in various figure-eight shapes, then repeated the movements on the other hand while the crowd cheered. Finally, he sprung to his feet and cartwheeled with no hands. During the applause, Lucas put a hand to his mouth, mock-yawned, and checked his Rolex.

"Aight, let's see what you got, pendejo!" cried Antonio.

With a sneer, Lucas bat his eyelashes and curtsied to the man, earning boos from the onlookers. Pitbull's "International Love" blared through the sound system; the tall man took a few steps forward and backward, rocking his hips to the beat. His steps became twice as fast and he flipped himself in a twisting summersault roughly three feet above the ground, landing in a handstand and swinging his long legs as Antonio had done, pausing to do the inverted splits. He then stopped mid-swing, lifting himself with one arm and contorting his legs and feet in a pretzel figure. The crowd, including Luigi and Daisy, gasped as he tilted to the right so that he could stand up and do a grand jetée. Gesticulating with his hips, he forward flipped his body to the floor and reversed the motion to stand upright. Performing the same handless cartwheel, Lucas added a backflip. To end the dance, he snapped his fingers and moonwalked backwards across the open space. Reluctantly, the crowd clapped while Lucas threw his leg up and spun in a pirouette. The tall man walked past Antonio's extended hand and strutted toward Luigi and Daisy to retrieve his jacket.

"Ah, Daisy, see what you're missing?" he asked in a cocky tone.

"Hmm," she answered flatly.

"You know, the guy tried to shake hands, but you ignored him, Lucas. Not very sportsmanlike," spat Luigi.

Lucas's smirk disappeared at the lack of adoration by Luigi and Daisy. "Hey, the guy was an asshole! Don't you want to hear my side?!"

"Sure," they both deadpanned in unison.

"After you went to dance the lambada, I went to get a drink. The guy was claiming that Americans – specifically Caucasians – couldn't dance. I called his bluff."

"And you couldn't ignore him?" demanded the plumber. "We're in their country!"

"So politically correct, Weeg! Whose side are you on, anyway? Your bestie or some fucking wet …"

"Enough, Lucas!" shouted Luigi. He moved into Lucas's space so that he was toe to toe with the man.

The taller man raised his eyebrows in mild amusement, then snickered as he saw Daisy grasped Luigi's hand. "Jesus, Weeg! What crawled up your ass and died? Sheez! I'm just having a little fun."

Luigi scoffed and crossed his arms. "What crawled up my ass?! You've been a fucking asshole this entire trip, between hitting on my girlfriend and making absolutely sure that she's uncomfortable! Know what? Enjoy the rest of the night; Daisy and I are leaving!" He turned away from Lucas, wrapped a protective arm around his lioness, and guided her toward the exit. Fishing out his phone to call the hotel and driver, Luigi made it to the open entrance when he felt someone forcibly spin him in the opposite direction. He instinctively pushed the hand away and slid protectively in front of Daisy.

"Weeg, what the fuck?!" yelled Lucas angrily, holding up his arms.

"I could ask you the same thing!" he hissed loudly.

Lucas's eyes changed to a black color and his body vibrated with barely contained rage. Suddenly fearful for his girlfriend's safety, he spoke in a normal, yet commanding voice, "Daisy, please go wait for the driver. I'll be right behind you." He gave her a reassuring squeeze of his hand. Daisy hesitated; although she rationally knew that the best course of action would be to follow Luigi's directive, she also wanted to stay in case the altercation became violent. Lucas was a rich New York gringo with unknown connections in Cabo; he and his billionaire father could make the working-class Luigi's life a nightmare in a foreign country where money often influenced police investigations. He squeezed her hand again more insistently, silently ordering her to go. With a reluctant nod, she left the two males to wait for the driver. Once she was out of Lucas's sight and reach, the plumber resumed his toe to toe stance and pointed his index finger, "Here's your one and only fucking warning, Lucas: stay the hell away from Daisy. I don't care how much money you have or how many houses you own. If you want to be my friend, you'll respect our relationship."

His eyes still snake-like, Lucas sniggered unkindly. "Ah, I see what this is. Luigi Masciarelli's become the Boss Man, so he thinks he's King Shit of the Mountain! Well, let's get something straight, asshole: I've tolerated Daisy because she's your girlfriend! Her and her bratty behavior!" He abruptly changed his voice into a posh falsetto, "'Oh, I'll surely die if I eat meat or fish!'" Resuming his normal tenor, he roared, "Yeah, fuck that! All I wanted was a good time with my best friend! Can't you see that she's using you?! Man …" he wiped his eyes, and Luigi recoiled in shock at the teardrop that appeared on his fingertips. "She's got one more year at Columbia. Then she'll be off to Stanford, Harvard, wherever. Yeah, you could go there, but she doesn't want you there. While we were at lunch, she, uh, hinted to me that you were … temporary. She's hell-bent on going to Stanford and meeting some fancy lawyer husband. And since you'll be running the shop in New York, your relationship will end." Inwardly, Lucas giggled at the flicker of insecurity that appeared within the man's blue eyes.

Luigi's mind started to race. What if Lucas was right? He would be running the shop for the foreseeable future and thus be unable to follow Daisy to Stanford. Just as he felt his resolve waiver with his frenemy, he heard Daisy's voice echo, "You're not an indentured servant; give it a year and see how you feel. At the end of that year, if you don't like it, you can quit and move away." The logical part of his brain presented an opposing argument: if he were simply a pre-law school amusement, then why would she support his decision and offer him an alternative that would conflict with both the Rigassis and Masciarellis? This was his life – she was the only one to have said it directly. Inhaling to regain his strength, he snorted, "You're so full of shit. You've always been full of shit when it comes to me. It's my life, and I want her in it. End of discussion." Giving him one last pointed glance, he left a perplexed Lucas at the threshold of the dance club.

For the third time that night, Lucas watched his friend walk away from him. Fists balling at his sides, he was done playing with Brooklyn's Prince of Toilets and his little chickadee. They needed to be taught a lesson regarding respect of old friendships. A thought came to him, and he immediately calmed his hot temper with cold indignation. Luigi had been malleable until she came along. "Bros before hoes, Daisy," he hissed victoriously. "You don't know who you just fucked with."