Cadillac Payback by AJ Elmore

Author:AJ Elmore [Elmore, Aj]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-07-26T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19 Royal Flush

Frederick

Late night finds us on the back porch playing poker, with the majority of the winnings sitting securely in Abuela's pile. I'm nursing a dark beer, considering my string of bad hands, as she, Maria, and Izzy knock back shots of tequila like it's water. Josh sits to my right, dangerously close to out of the game completely, as we wait for him to finish rolling a blunt.

He and I are shirtless in the muggy swamp night, and even his smooth tan muscles seem to accentuate our differences. He with his virgin, perfect skin, and pale, skinny me with scars and tattoos. At least he can roll a damn fine blunt. He's been fairly quiet for fear of offending Abuela, who seems to have taken a liking to him.

Maria is across the table from me, in a little black tank top that just begs me to look her way. Yet I can't seem to look at her without thinking of our bathroom romp earlier in the day. She washed away the sugar skull paint several hours ago, but I can still see her in my mind's eye, naked save for that messed-up paint and sheen of sweat.

It's still hard for me to accept that I broke to her so easily, and a vague sense of guilt still stirs in me when I think about it. But who could honestly have resisted her. Guilt is not the only thing that stirs within me. I check myself, realize I'm watching her laugh at something her grandmother said – something I missed entirely in my introspection.

“You look like you have seen a ghost, Frederick,” says Abuela, and I feel what little color that's there drain from my face. I can hear traces of tequila in her accent, which gets thicker the more she drinks, but she has called me out yet again.

“They follow me sometimes,” I answer, and her eyebrows hitch the slightest bit. My words are entirely too somber for the setting, which I realize as soon as they leave my mouth. They're also, perhaps, a little too poetic for my bad reputation.

She studies me for a moment longer, then says, “Drink up, you've hardly touched your beer.”

Somehow I know this is not actually what she wants to say to me. I wonder what it'd be like to talk to her one-on-one, even if I have doubts that my tattered resolve could withstand the weight of her wisdom.

Izzy is to my left. He stabs out a cigarette as he says, “Freddy doesn't drink much. He's kind of a lightweight.”

It sounds like a jeer, but it feels like he's taking up for me somehow, like he too can sense the serious and urgent restlessness that's mounting in me. How strange. Maybe it's the booze, making him soft.

Or maybe it’s just a jab.

Abuela lays a hand on his forearm, says, “Sobriety is a virtue,” and winks at me.

Her action draws a small smile from me, so I lightly elbow Izzy in the ribs and say, “Yeah.

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