“I’m gonna wait,” Chains said, shoving his hands into his leather jacket.
“You tell us if anything comes up, okay?” Steel said. “We’re going to head to the adobe and see if we can help out with the cleanup.”
“I bet the fuckers never had any of the money,” Sangre said.
“They brought half of it—one point two million. Paco got it. The sonsofbitches never had any intention of paying the whole amount,” Steel said.
“Who the fuck did they think they were dealing with?” Scorpio asked.
“Los Malos probably fed them some bullshit. Those fuckin’ punks didn’t expect what they got from us. They even hightailed it and ran away.” Chains kicked the bottom of the counter with the toe of his boot.
“Nothing but a bunch of pussies,” Crow said, disgust lacing his voice.
“We’ll discuss this in church tomorrow. We gotta go now,” Steel said.
Scorpio clasped a hand on Chains’s shoulder. “Glad Eagle’s okay, dude.”
Chains lifted his chin and watched his friends walk away. He rubbed the back of his neck as he went over to the vending machine. Taking out a dollar, he inserted it into the slot. A cardboard cup plopped down in a metal vise and black liquid streamed into it. He pushed the button for cream and watched as it dripped down into the coffee. With his cup in hand, he walked over to the chairs and sat down. An older man occupied one of the seats by the large window, his face marked with heavy lines of sadness.
Chains slouched down into the chair and took a sip of coffee: it had a tinny taste but was at least hot.It’s gonna be a long night.
He stared at the emergency room clock, watching the black second hand sweep around… over and over and over.