Page 64 of Riding the Edge

“So, I never saw you here tonight.”

“Right,” I tell him, pushing my fingers through my hair. “Fucking Christ,” I mutter. “You made me forget why I’m here.”

“A tune-up?” Pipe questions, eyeing the car.

“Oh, I forgot you’re a fucking comedian,” I snarl, patting him on the back as I step around him. “If this club tanks, maybe you can get a gig doing stand-up,” I say.

Remembering my reason for coming here, I make my way towards the garage.

“Where are you going?” he calls.

Ignoring him, I walk into the adjoining office and round the desk. Of course, the fucking thing is a mess, and it takes me longer than necessary to find what I’m searching for. Entering the room, Pipe leans against the wall and crosses his arm.

“Did I say you can ransack my office?”

“Did I fucking ask for permission?” I fire back without looking at him. Grabbing a pad, I tear a piece of paper and scribble down the address.

“What are you doing, Wolf?”

Lifting my eyes, I shove the address into my pocket and pull open the top drawer of the desk. Taking a handful of bullets, I pocket those too.

“I got a hankering for tacos.”

“Shit,” Pipe mutters. “You’re going to Alvarez, aren’t you?”

“I’m going to Pico de Gallo that motherfucker’s ass,” I confirm, watching as he pushes off the wall.

“I really fucking hate you,” he grunts, tipping his chin towards the window. “I’m guessing we’re taking the Charger?”

“What’s this we, shit?”

“You’re not going by yourself,” he says, stepping out of the office. “Give me the keys.”

“It’s a rental.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” he snaps. “I’m not riding bitch and when we’re done playing cowboys and Indians, you’re going to tell me why you rented a car.”

The fuck I am.

The last thing I need is this clown knowing my business with Maria.

Crossing the lot, we make our way towards the car. I toss Pipe the keys and slide into the passenger seat. As he folds his large frame into the sports car, I reach into the glove box and retrieve my gun. Loading the clip, I turn to Pipe and bite back a laugh. The fucker looks ridiculous behind a steering wheel.

“Are we going into the restaurant like we’re placing an order for a taco supreme or are we going old school like we did with Sun Wu?”

“We drove through the front window of Sun Wu’s restaurant and put a shit ton of bullets through his glass fish tank,” I say, recalling the mess we got ourselves into with the Chinese.

“Good times.”

Yeah, they were.

“I’m paying a daily rate on this fucking thing,” I remind him, smacking a hand against the dash.

“You spring for the insurance?”

“Of course,” I grunt. “Another twenty-seven dollars a day.”

Sighing, I turn my head and watch Pipe’s lips quirk.

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