Page 43 of Sweet
“He helped me reupholster an entire couch for my bookshop,” Betsy said, topping off Chino’s mug. “Can you believe that? I had no idea what I was doing, but Spider knew.”
The corner of Chino’s mouth turned up. “He’s a talented boy.”
Spider glanced at Daisy, then said quietly, “Why don’t you go help your aunt for a minute?”
Daisy looked at Spider, then at Chino. She nodded and left the table.
Spider waited for her to leave, then turned back to Chino. “I’m not gonna lie. I want to stay up here to make her happy. But staying up north is good business too,” he said. “It’s less overhead. Less exposure to… whoever you might be beefing with—I don’t know, I don’t want to know—and all the same benefits for your crew. You and the boys would have first priority. Hell, if you wanted to send some kids up here to train with me, I’d be cool with that too.” He’d do everything in his power to get them out of the life, but he’d teach them.
Spider could tell the idea of cheap tattoos was appealing, especially if that meant that he wouldn’t have to pay for Spider to set up a shop. Chino knew what rents were better than Spider did.
“And what about the next guy who takes off?” Chino asked. “If I let you out—”
“No offense, homey, but I’m not like the other guys.” Spider knew when to flex and when to be humble. “Not since I was fourteen. You’re not offering to set the other guys up with their own shop, are you? The other guys don’t have Leonard’s sketches, do they? The other guys didn’t lose their moms.”
Chino was silent, but Spider could tell he was considering it.
“And we both know the expensive shit is the custom work,” Spider continued. “I’d still be willing to do all that. If someone in the crew wanted something done, I could come down there—”
“No.” Chino’s voice was hard. “If you’re not in my crew, you’re not in LA.”
Spider was silent.
Damn, he’d been hoping to finally get to Disneyland someday.
Oh well.
“Fine,” Spider said. “I’m not south of Valencia.”
Chino’s jaw jutted out. “If I want custom work, we meet in Vegas. You do it for free.”
Spider nodded. “I’m cool with that.”
“And you get any referrals from me” —Chino narrowed his eyes— “I get a… What do you call that shit?”
Spider caught on. “A finder’s fee?”
“Yeah. A finder’s fee.” Chino looked at Spider. His eyes drifted from him to the back of the café where Daisy, Imelda, Betsy, Roberto, Bill, and Mr. Juarez had all fallen silent, waiting to see how Spider and Chino’s conversation turned. “If I got a finder’s fee for referrals, I’d probably be cool with that.”
“Probably?”
Chino kept his voice low. “Just know that if you ever try to—”
“I won’t.” Spider didn’t even let him finish the thought. “I been out of that life for five years, man—you think I want to change that now?”
Chino shrugged. “Some people leave, time passes, they get lazy… You know what happens.”
“Is that me?” Spider leaned forward.
Chino stared at him. “No.”
“For you, this is business,” Spider said. “But for me it’s personal.” He glanced at Daisy, then looked back at Chino. “I don’t want anything to happen to you, Chino. Or your boys. I mean that. You’re probably one of the last people in the world who remembers my dad.”
The shop where Spider’s father had worked had specialized in lowriders and other classic cars that many of the older members of the gang treasured, especially Chino’s father.
Chino crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah, I remember your pops.”
“I’m trying to be like my dad,” Spider said. “Be that kind of man. You get me?” Spider’s father was the kind of man others respected and trusted. The kind of man whose wife and kid could depend on him. The kind of man who made people safe.
