Blues

Chapter Nine

Nas and the tall, bearded man she's run into approach me from across the bar, still in conversation. Neither of them addresses me directly, only coming closer. I think Nas is talking about me.

"It's been less than a week," she's saying. "But she's doing quite well. And it's nice to have someone else around the house."

I smile because I know I've been referenced, but say nothing because I haven't been introduced.

"Sav, this is Fede."

"Nice to meet you, Savannah," he says with an accent I've never heard.

"Pleasure," I say, taking his hand. He has kind eyes, quiet speech and a soft grip. "How do you know Nas?"

"Sav," Nas laughs. "Federico Soto. Cia's father. Adaline's..."

"Oh," I say, nearly choking. "Oh, of course. I've heard great things."

It's a lie, but I think it's one you tell routinely in America. 

"Nasrine tells me you are working for Ada," he says.

I nod, assuming that's Adaline he's talking about. "That's right."

"Very good," he smiles. "Watch out."

"Don't scare her," Nas admonishes with a slap of his shoulder. "She gets enough of that from me."

"Nasrine," he finally asks. "How is she?"

"Adaline? Still smoking."

"Laurencia," he insists. I have a feeling Nas knew that was the question. 

"She's great, Fede," Nas promises, already knowing who he means. "Still in school, straight A's, college bound. I promise."

"So she's in the game."

"Fede, you already know the answer to that."

"She is thirteen years old, Nasrine."

"I know that."

"Can't you--"

"You know I can't. The best I can do is protect her, and I do. With my life. But I can't choose whether she participates in this or not. And you know that if I could, I would want her far away from it."

"Then talk to her."

"I can't change her mind any more than you can," Nas persists coolly. "I can only keep her safe."

His fingers curl into a fist, but it isn't Nas he's mad at. He shuts his eyes tight, then releases them. He changes the subject. "And how is Ada?"

"Still smoking," Nas answers again.

He's able to laugh at that. "Very good."

"Fede, do you know a guy named Vert? White guy, beard, hat, drinks scotch, say in that seat right over there?"

"Who is asking?"

"Nasrine."

He smiles at her stoicism. "Who is she asking for?"

"He stole drugs from us," she finally explains. "CE-7. Bartender says he's a coke guy. Perhaps one of yours?"

He places a hand on his beard, looking genuinely concerned. "He is a coke guy, but no employee of mine. Vert Harris is his name. He employs about seven, but he's no competitor to us. Sells out of his home in Springfield. Nasty man."

"Trying to get into the designer drug industry, per chance?"

"I would not be surprised. But you cannot go after him, Nasrine. You should not go after anyone."