Page 18 of Roma King
“Sammy and Jamus are in some serious shit, Pasha. Like,seriousshit.”
“I told you. I don’t wanna know.” But something tightens in my gut. I can hear the worry in Patrin’s voice. Sammy, his kid brother, has always been reckless and none too careful when it comes to his interactions with people outside of the clan. And Jamus is mostly a good kid, but always so easily fucking lead. I don’t want to ask. I’m not going to. None of this is my fucking problem. If Shelta can’t resolve whatever shit they’ve gotten themselves into, then it must be pretty fucking ba—
“They’re in jail. Locked up for armed robbery.”
I almost drop the gun. “What the fuck are you talking about? Armed robbery? What’d they do to getthatpinned to them?”
Patrin growls under his breath. “Well. They took a gun into a bank, and they…”
“Theywhat?”
“What do you think they did, Pasha? Fuck’s sake! They robbed the place. Got away with forty grand and change. They buried the money somewhere, and they ain’t saying where.”
“Jesus fucking Christ.” The stool I’m sitting on has no back, otherwise I’d be collapsed against it right now, trying not to have a fucking heart attack as I struggle to wrap my head around this.
“Cops are throwing the book at them. It’s not looking good.”
“What evidence do they have?”
“Everything. CCTV footage. The car they used to get away. The gun.”
“They can’t tie the gun to the scene unless someone was shot with it.” My mind’s fucking spinning like a merry-go-round.
“Uhhh. Well…”
“They fuckingshotsomeone?”
“No! God, Pasha. This is Sammy we’re talking about. He just fired the thing in the air. To scare the tellers. But the cops found the bullet, and the ballistics—”
“Just stop. Just stop fucking talking. I need to fucking think.”
Mercifully, he holds his tongue. I lean over him, and I continue with the tattoo, barely paying attention as I finish the linework and start in on the shading. Patrin fidgets, hissing when I go over his spine, and I thump him in the side. “Want a black smudge across your back, asshole? Keep it up and that’s exactly what you’ll get.”
The next twenty minutes crawl by, and every time Patrin tries to speak, I punch the shit out of him. By the time I’m done, his ribs must be aching like crazy and my head is fucking pounding.
I throw his shirt at him, and Patrin grouses under his breath as he puts it on. “I’m not asking you to be a hero. I’m just asking you to do what’s fucking right. Come and talk to Shelta. Try and fix the rift between the two ofyou, and maybe while you’re at it you can brainstorm some kind of a solution to Sam’s problem.”
He offers out the bundle of money to me again, but I shake my head. “Keep it. I don’t want it.”
“Pasha.”
“Use it to hire a fucking lawyer. It sounds like the boys are gonna need one.”
He glowers at me, like he’s imagining wrapping his hands around my throat and tightening his grip. I say bring it on. My mood is fouler than the weather outside now, and I’ll welcome a fight if it means he’ll get the fuck out of here. Patrin’s one of the most stubborn bastards I’ve ever met, though. Even more stubborn than me, believe it or not.
“Agadjelawyer isn’t going to care about them, Pash,” he says. “None of them give a shit about us. Youknowthat.”
I do know that. “Doesn’t matter,” I tell him. “They’re still gonna need legal counsel. You were right. Theyhavelanded themselves in serious shit, and a clan representative isn’t going to do them any fucking good in agadjecourt of law. And that’s all I can do about this—be their representative. It doesn’t matter what my standing within the clan might be. I’m a nobody to them. I have no idea how to get them out of this.Anyattorney is going to be more useful to Sam and Jamus than I would be.”
Patrin stands firm. Doesn’t look like he’s going to back down. “Just meet her, Pasha. I’m begging you. For the sake of our friendship. For all the favors I’ve done you in the past.”
“Ha! Have you been hitting the bowl too hard? Looks like your long-termandyour short-term memory’s fucked.” I have him there and he knows it. Patrin and I grew up together, but we were rivals for the most part. Everything’s always been a competition between us. He shrugs, a wry smile on his face, but he doesn’t leave. He picks up his jacket and just stands there, waiting for me to change my mind.
I should kick the fucker out for wasting my goddamn time. I could have stayed in bed and gone back to sleep. I would much rather have spent some more time with my dream girl than sitting here in the studio, staring at this motherfucker’s lower back. We lock eyes, and I recognize the resolve in his gaze, though. This really will result in an altercation if I don’t give him what he wants.
“I can tell by your scowl that you’re thinking about it,” Patrin says. “Just say you’ll come to the fair tonight. Then I can leave, and both of us can go about the rest of our day without knocking the shit out of each other.”
I rub the back of my neck, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. “All right. Fuck. Fine. I’ll come to the fair. But that’s all I’m promising. Don’t expect any mended bridges. And don’t expect any fucking miracles. This situation’s way beyond fixing.”
