Midnight Taxi Tango by Older Daniel José

Author:Older, Daniel José [Older, Daniel José]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2015-11-19T08:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY

Reza

Smoke?” Rohan says.

And why the fuck not? We’re flying along the Long Island Expressway in the Partymobile. It’s almost midnight. I roll down the window and turn up the radio, some soca station Rohan insisted on, where the DJ keeps interrupting the music to shout out all his cousins. Rohan puts two unfiltered Conejos in his mouth, lights them both, and hands me one.

“Nervous?” he says.

“No, man. Why?” I can’t remember the last time I felt nervous before a hit. Yes, this one’s different in a way—the beginning of Charo’s new war on a few strategically selected targets he’s deemed worthy of utter destruction—but if anything, a new lightness has taken over me since we made it out of that suburban Queens hell house a few hours ago. Carlos didn’t look so good when we parted, worry for his family etched across his face. But me? I felt that old ease begin to seep back into my bones.

Angie is still all over me. Her smile still haunts every few thoughts, but I feel lighter now. We take revenge in the name of those that have fallen, but really, I think it’s just for us. Angie’s gone. I’m the one left carrying the charge of her memories.

Rohan lets out a smoke ring. “You’re smiling. And you reek of smoke and insecticide.”

“It’s been a weird night,” I say. I showered twice, dressed and spritzed on plenty of my favorite cologne before running out the door, and I was only seven minutes late to meet the others and looking sharp. But some smells don’t scrub off easy.

A tap comes from the other side of the partition. “Ay, we close?”

I push the button, and the thick glass doorway slides open behind us. “’Bout fifteen minutes,” I say.

Bri pokes her head up. “Can we stop for coffee?” She’s all made-up, pretty brown flesh spilling out of a tight blouse. A cloud of flowery girl fragrance fills the front seat.

Rohan looks at me. I shake my head. “We cuttin’ it close as is.”

Bri makes her pouty face in the rearview at me. “Memo’s back here putting me to sleep with his frickin’ life story.”

“Hey!” Memo yells from the darkness.

“That’s weird,” Rohan says. “Memo never says shit to me.”

Bri rolls her eyes. “You ain’t cute like me.”

I take my half-full coffee cup from the holder and pass it back to Bri. “Finish mine. I don’t want it.”

“Word? Thanks, Rez. You the best!”

“It’s black though. No sugar.”

“Ugh! Whatever.” Bri sips at it, scrunches up her face, and then retreats into the back.

“It’s always something,” I mutter.

Rohan shakes his head. “Sure you’re not nervous?”

• • •

The swell of the ocean grows louder as we roll down a series of dark streets.

Rohan taps the partition door. “Getting close.”

It slides open, and Memo’s big head appears. “You want Bri up front?”

“Yeah,” Rohan says. “I’m coming back.”

It takes some wrangling, but Rohan manages to squeeze his bulky frame through the small doorway. Bri ducks into the front a few seconds later and slumps into the passenger seat with a groan.

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