Savages

160

They’ve narrowed it down to five stores and Berlinger is checking them out.

Is the answer to that question.

Lado drives to the parking lot at Aliso Beach.

“What?” Ben asks. Haven’t I been—

—producing my dope, haven’t I been—

—turning over my retailers, haven’t I been—

—talking to my customers, haven’t I been—

a good boy?

Lado looks Ben in the eyes. “Where were you last night?”

Ben doesn’t blink.

Lado’s looking, too, ese. His black eyes have stared a lot of men down, seen the lies in their eyes, on the street, in the rooms, seen them lie hanging from meat hooks. Hard to look back into those black eyes and lie.

But Ben does. “I was home. Why?”

“One of our cars was hit last night.”

Ben toughs it out. Keeps his eyes right on Lado’s. “We had nothing to do with it.”

“No?”

“No,” Ben says. “Maybe you should look at your own people.”

Lado snorts.

Meaning—

My people know better.