Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“More or less,” he says, pursing his lips. “It’s boring.”
“Must be nice. You get free stuff, everyone acts like you’re royalty, and you barely have to break a sweat.”
He flips the page. “This is peace time, my darling wife. War time is harder.”
“Yeah? I bet you’d know.”
“I would.” He glances up. “You know I’m not ashamed of what I’ve done.”
“Tell that to Jamila.”
He sighs, shaking his head. “I didn’t know all of that would lead me here, and even if I could’ve somehow seen it, I still would’ve killed those men. Because you know why?”
“Family and honor and all that.”
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Because if I hadn’t killed them, then they would’ve killed my guys. I understand you don’t approve of that. Unfortunately, violence is a part of this life, even if it’s mostly boring day in and day out. I have a responsibility to these people.”
My eyes drift over toward the kitchen. “Like to Mikey here?”
“Him and dozens more like him. When there’s war, our businesses are targets. Mikey’s a civilian, but that doesn’t mean he won’t get caught in the crossfire.”
“What’s your relationship to this place?”
“I own it.” He flips another page.
“You mean, it’s a front?”
He snorts. “I fucking wish. That’d be easier. This place isn’t nearly profitable enough. No, it’s an actual restaurant, run by actual people. Mikey knows who I am and what my family does, but the rest of his employees don’t. Most of my businesses are like that.”
“Why do the crime stuff at all?” I ask, genuinely baffled. “If you have successful, profitable, legitimate business, why break the law?”
“For the most part, we don’t.” He waves a hand at me when I try to interrupt. “Yes, we dabble in illegal substances, but mostly we have affiliate families for that.”
“Like Jamila’s family,” I say as some small bit of understanding creeps through. “They sell your heroin and you keep your distance.”
“Exactly. We get a cut of the profit, they get political and street-level protection. We don’t get our hands dirty. It’s a nice relationship.”
“How convenient.”
He snaps the book shut. “Most of the time, I’m a glorified accountant.”
“Do most accountants carry a gun?”
“No, but they should,” he says, standing, a smile on his face. “Although most accountants don’t look so fucking good in a suit. Stay here.” He walks off on that line, the cocky bastard, but I have to admit it’s pretty good.
He returns a few minutes later and we head out to a few more stops. Another bar, another restaurant, two dry cleaners, and a laundromat. We end up in a little park with a few lunch trucks set up around a bunch of picnic benches. “Don’t tell me you own these too?” I ask, getting some tacos for lunch.
He laughs as we sit down. “I own the property. The trucks just rent the space.”
“Smart,” I say, studying him as he eats. One of the truck owners comes by, shakes his hand, laughs at a joke. Everywhere we go, people treat Nolan like that, and I have to admit Nolan comes off as charming and amiable. Which is the total opposite of how I think of him. There’s a lot of back slapping, a lot of laughter. A few more envelopes get passed around, which seem to make everyone happy. An entire multi-billion-dollar empire, run on cash bribes. It’s amazing, actually, how simple things work so well.
I’m starting to see him in a new light, despite myself. What I imagined was seedy and dangerous, feels more like an actual business. He’s doing real work: checking books, collecting rent, making decisions. Sure, there are morally gray aspects, but for the most part it’s boring administrative stuff.
“You have a look on your face,” he says after we’ve been eating in silence for a few minutes. “You’re smiling at me.”
“I am not.” I look back down at my demolished food.
“You really are. You’re grinning like a kid.”
“Stop it.”
“Aw, come on, little wifey. Don’t tell me you’re enjoying yourself.”
I glare at him. “It’s a beautiful day and the food’s good. Hard not to, despite the company.”
“Please. The company’s what you love the most.” He sits forward on his elbows. “So what do you think?”
“I think you’re arrogant, self-centered—”
“No, little something. About my job.”
I tilt my head from side to side. “It’s okay.”
He snorts. “That’s all you’ve got to say? It’s okay?”
“What do you need from me? You’re not driving around murdering people all day. That’s better than I expected.”
“You like it. Admit that you’re having a nice time.”
“Fine. Okay? I admit it. I’m having a nice time.”
“Music to my ears.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re unbelievable. Whenever I find myself starting to like being with you, somehow you manage to mess it up.”
He laughs, his foot brushing my calf under the table. I shiver, trying not to smile. “You look nice today. You know that? Prettiest girl I’ve seen all afternoon. Hell, prettiest girl I’ve seen in a lifetime.”