A tall shadow stood in the doorway, with several thick folds of cloth folded over its forearm. The Sunday afternoon shone through the hallway window, the cold winter sun beaming into the shades-drawn bedroom, only obscured by the silhouette. Lalo couldn't make out the face, but he didn't have to–he knew it wore the same expression it always wore, that same tired apathy floating a layer above a generalized disappointment.

"Your room is a mess." The shadow's voice croaked, breaking just above a whisper. "You coming today?"

Lalo didn't look up or respond. Now was not the time. He continued to spray his homemade vinegar mix onto his one good pair of shoes–a bulky pair of yellow Jordans–and continued pressing his thumb into the cloth against one of the stubborn smudges that betrayed its age.

"You can wear those if you want." It leaned against the doorway. "But at least throw on a nice shirt. Just out of respect." It extended that forearm. Lalo looked up and could now see a plain, freshly-pressed black button-down shirt hanging down, swaying in the breeze like a noose.

"I'm not going." Lalo set down the left shoe, satisfied on his progress against the smudge. "Chubbs and I are taking a trip."

"Eduardo…" the shadow retracted its arm. "I know you're mad we didn't go last year. But, well… I think Maria would've wanted us to come on the ten-year anniversary of… you know…"

"Yeah, well, you can go." Lalo delicately slipped his left foot into the shoe, and began to prep the other. "You could even bring Rosa this time. Maybe Jesse. Show her how happy you are now. Without her."

The shadow sighed, walked in the room, and sat down on the bed next to Lalo, raising up a hand and placing it on Lalo's shoulder. "You know how her heart would break if she heard you say that."

"So it's a good thing she can't." Lalo huffed, grinding the teeth on the left side of his mouth. "That's the wonderful thing about death, Papa. They can't hear any of us, anymore."

"You don't know what you're saying. I know she still watches over us. And I know she still wants the best for you, no matter what."

"She is, huh?" Lalo smiled as his foot slipped perfectly into the other shoe on the first try. "Does she know that I've killed a man?"

The shadows eyes bored into Lalo's skull. "…you have not."

"I did. Last month. Three blocks down from here. Some meth-head just outside the gas station tried to mug Chubbs while I was grabbing a drink. Real scummy guy." Lalo twisted the laces of the first shoe in his fingers. "When I came out, Chubbs gave me the look. Got the jump on him. Socked his sorry ass right in the jaw as he turned around. Poor fucker was so high out his mind he didn't even use his arms to brace the fall. I still remember how it sounded when his teeth his the edge of the curb. He was just lying there, blood leaking from his mouth, not even screaming, just groaning and grunting. Chubbs wanted to leave, but I thought he looked too sorry to live, so I finished the job and stomped his mangy head into the cement."

"You're lying." The grip on his shoulder tightened.

"Not like anyone cared. Nobody ever asked me shit. Week later, Chubbs and I saw a guy with a power hose spraying down the sidewalk. No body in sight. Scot-free." Lalo flexed his arms as he pulled the laces tight. "I've known for a while I was capable of doing something like killing. Just didn't know I could do it without consequences." He stifled a smile.

The shadow's hand collided against Lalo's cheek with surprising force, and knocked his head into the side of the headboard. "To think you'd tell such a filthy lie." It stood up and walked back to the doorway before turning back, the harsh sunlight burning Lalo's eyes as he stared back up at it. "You are not the son I raised."

The door slammed, and Lalo was thrust into the darkness of the room, the only remaining light bleeding through the cracks in the cheap blinds. He rubbed the side of his head, feeling the abrasion raise slightly, undoubtedly bruised.

Lalo sighed and narrowed his eyes as he continued to stare at the closed door. "You're right, Papa. I am not."

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A puff of musky grey smoke billowed up to then buffetted out the window of the low-rider as it sped down the interstate. Lalo inhaled again, watching how the fire at the end burned down another few millimeters, held the smoke in his lungs until it started to burn his throat, and blew out, exhaling towards the outside of the car.

"No, no, not like that." Chubbs shook his head, and held out his hand. Lalo coughed and passed him the cigar back. "It's not like a cigarette. You don't suck it all in."

Lalo coughed again, his stomach doing a flip. "Then the fuck am I supposed to do with it?"

"You puff on it. Suck in with your mouth, not your lungs. Then savor the flavor." Chubbs put the cigar to his lips, and Lalo saw his throat wobble in some cryptic way. When Chubbs exhaled, the smoke came softly out his nose. "Then just fuckin'… cycle it up through your nose. That way you can taste and smell it properly."

Lalo cracked his knuckles. "That sounds fuckin' impossible, dude. How are you supposed to create a vacuum without your lungs? That's the only thing that expands in your whole-ass body. Can't fuckin' expand your mouth. And I'm pretty sure only saxophone players can do that circular breathing bullshit."

Chubbs sniffled and laughed. "The fuck are you talking about? Just like… feel it, man. It's not about getting all that brain rush and shit. This is real Cuban shit, mane. I'm not gonna let you puff on it if you're just gonna make yourself sick on it."

"Fuck you." Lalo kicked his feet up onto the dash and held out his hand. Chubbs passed the cigar back to him. "I won't get sick. I just don't get how the hell you're supposed to know all that shit. It's like they expect you to unlearn how to smoke everything else."

"S'what it takes. Otherwise you can't be high-class." Chubbs held the steering wheel with his knees, picked up the warm beer can in the cupholder, and took a swig. "If we gonna get rich, you gotta learn this shit. Otherwise they're gonna smell that new money on you right away."

"S'fuckin' stupid, is what it is. We'll just get so rich that they ain't gonna say shit. They gonna be the ones tripping over themselves to smoke cigars my way." Lalo stole the beer can from Chubbs, and was disappointed to find only drops at the bottom of the hot aluminum.

The two boys stared out the window. Out the driver's side passed sparse palm trees, small one-story houses, and the sliver of the ocean visible, while Lalo's side showed only bare, brown farmland, with huge, dilapidated farmhouses, and not a human being in sight. It looked much warmer outside than it actually was, and the cold was starting to bite a little against Lalo's exposed forearm underneath his 3XL white tee.

Lalo slid on the dingy woven hoodie that sat in the middle seat between them, his long black hair ruffling as he pulled it over his face. He felt something metal in the front pocket, which hit his stomach as he pulled all the way down, flashing a wave through his body. He held a fist to his mouth with one hand, and used the other to fish in the pocket, pulling out a small, snub-nosed revolver.

"Dude, is this all we got?" Lalo flipped and twirled the handgun as he held it up.

"Yeah. Figured we'd have to pack light–Cousin Tito got busted by border patrol last time for moving with just a standard twenty-two. Apparently they're real fuckin' tight about weapons right now cuz of some MS-13 bullshit."

"We're going to meet the Don… and all we have for protection is this tiny fucker?" Lalo sighed and leaned back.

"We'll be fine. Tito will vouch for us, he promised. He's in good with the Don. Plus, don't forget, we're the ones helping them. How the fuck else are they going to get up to Vallarta Palma?"

Lalo shook his head. "You know shit like this always has a chance of going south. We don't got the firepower to hold our own."

Chubbs yawned. "Y'know, it's really hard to be friends with you sometimes, Lalo. So little faith."

"I'm just taking precautions." Lalo grinned. "This our scheme, right? Is it so bad that I want to make sure we're doing shit right?"

"Aye. We'll do it right." Chubbs smiled back, took another hit of the cigar, and blew the smoke out his nose again. "Except for how we smoke cigars."

Lalo held the pistol in his right hand, made a finger gun with his left, and winked back.

----------------------------------------

It didn't really start to hit Lalo until the dirt road they'd been driving on for more than four hours suddenly transitioned to a beautifully smooth asphalt, fresh and black without a single line of paint. It was the sudden lack of noise that really woke him up–shocking his lilting eyes open, and off in the distance, he spied a sprawling three-story house, ostensibly smack in the middle of nowhere.

"…that it?" A groggy Lalo mumbled as he stretched out his arms.

"Think so. See the big white pillars in the front? Exactly how Tito described it."

"Jesus, I didn't think they'd be like… real marble and shit." Lalo squinted his eyes. "Can't really tell from here, though."

"You nervous?" Chubbs rolled up the windows as they approached.

"Starting to be." Lalo swallowed.

"Don't worry, ese. Just remember that you're the prize here. They want what we have." Chubbs gripped Lalo's shoulder and squeezed before returning his hands to the steering wheel.

The yellow low-rider stood out like a sore thumb among all the other vehicles as they pulled up to the gate. Half of the cars were a slick, aerodynamic black, reflecting with an oppressive gleam under the Sinaloan sun, the other half in ostentatious candy colors and decorated with foreign emblems that even Lalo, with his champagne taste, couldn't place. Each idled in line up towards the gate.

Lalo peered forward, back, and around at the other people in the cars. Universally, grizzled men with thick facial hair, pressed Armani suits, and Tom Ford sunglasses stared forward in cold silence, their expression shifting just so slightly that Lalo knew they could tell he was looking at them, but refusing to give him the acknowledgement.

"Dude, we're like, wayyy under-dressed. I thought these guys would be like… vatos and shit. They all look like… I dunno. CEOs. Politicians. But with more muscles and battle scars." Lalo spied a weapon in the middle seat of one vehicle. "…and more than just a snub-nose."

"Well, what're we gonna do? Can't change in the car or anything." Chubbs shrugged as they inched forward towards the gate.

"Fuck, dude." Lalo massaged his temples with one hand.

That creeping feeling of charlatanry grew more restless underneath Lalo's skin as they were finally granted access into the gate. He saw the guards snicker out of the corner of the eye at their ride, picking up muted syllables that sounded to him like "childish" and "disrespectful". They practically rolled over laughing when he and Chubbs stepped out in their jeans and hoodies, and giggled the whole way through the pat-down. Lalo could only hope that his skin was dark enough to hide the violently embarrassed blush that splashed his cheeks.

The boys were led out to an spacious deck overlooking a lush garden filled with trimmed hedges and flowers so bright they almost seemed to glow, next to a crystal-clear pond affixed with a rocky water feature. The deck itself featured barstools and tall tables scattered in equal space across the edges, a handful of outdoor sofas and glass tables, and a fully-stocked bar staffed by two handsome young men in tuxedos with perfectly-trimmed beards that managed to mix drinks a frantic speed without once losing a sense of poise and grace as they served the guests.

Lalo figured the bartenders couldn't be much more than a handful of years older than himself.

"Welp, where you wanna sit?" Chubbs casually turned to him, his woven hoodie doing no favors to his figure as he stuck his hands in the pocket. "Or you wanna get a drink first?"

"I want to find your cousin Tito and get the first confirmation that we're not completely screwed." Lalo's hands were also stuffed into his own pockets, as he continually tried to dry his fingers of the sweat that coated his palms. "Dude, you can't say you don't see how they're all staring at us."

"Your mind is playing tricks, my friend." Chubbs scanned the room until his eyes lit up. "Ah, there we go!"

Chubbs strode confidently toward a large man with huge biceps that yet managed to be overshadowed by a massive gut which itself only managed to be overshadowed by an absurdly thick, shiny beard. Lalo shuffled behind, keeping his head low and shifting his eyes back and forth.

"Tito! My beloved cousin." Chubbs extended both of his arms for a hug and wrapped them around the large man, who didn't move, and only continued to glare forward.

Lalo's heart nearly leapt out of his chest.

That is, until the large man closed his arms around Chubbs, squeezed him back, and closed his eyes as a smile crept out underneath his beard. "Ah, Carlos. It has been too long."

"Oh Tito! But we only spoke last week!"

"Ah, but the wait always feels so long for my favorite cousin. How have you been?" Tito pulled away and held Chubbs by the shoulders. "It at least feels like you've been eating well. You trying to get bigger and scarier than me, Carlos? We can't have that."

"Of course, not, Tito. There is no beating the best." Chubbs held his cousin's hands before breaking one side and turning to gesture towards Lalo. "This is Eduardo Herrera, my closest friend and business associate."

Lalo waved with a slight motion as Tito scanned him up and down. He winced as the large man's eyebrow raised higher and higher the closer he looked.

"This little shrimp, here? He looks barely old enough to walk, let alone hustle!" Tito laughed and slapped Chubbs on the back. "Carlos, surely you have no need to be raiding elementary schools for friendship, no? Aren't you out of school yourself by now?"

"Ah, Tito, I am only seventeen." Chubbs laughed back. Lalo couldn't tell if he was forcing it or not. "And while Eduardo here is two years my junior, this shrimp has been moving kicks and grass since the third grade. He's the most ambitious son-of-a-bitch you'll ever meet." Chubbs leaned in and whispered into Tito's ear. "Someday, maybe even… he could be a new Don."

All of the men in the immediate vicinity fell silent and stared at Chubbs and Tito–whose own face morphed into a grave expression. "Carlos, my friend… surely you do not mean to speak such disrespect, especially… here."

The lump in Lalo's throat became a basketball as he eked out a half-grimace.

"Ah. That is my mistake." Chubbs lowered his head. "I mean no disrespect; I only meant to convince you of my close friend's capability, though I apologize that my words were chosen carelessly."

Tito drew a deep breath, picked up the caramel-colored drink from his table, and took a long, ponderous sip, before exhaling forcefully. "Very well. Know that I am putting my reputation at risk for you two, here, Carlos. Do try not to speak with such carelessness again."

Chubbs and Lalo both nodded vigrously, and Lalo reached out a hand towards Tito, who met his handshake with a tight grip and a firm stare. "We understand. We will not let you down." Lalo replied, trying to stifle the wavering in his voice.

----------------------------------------

The three of them eventually moved down to one of the sofas on the farther side of the deck. Tito insisted on getting them all drinks, and Lalo was currently staring deep into a still-full glass of whiskey. Tito had explained to him that it had to be one of the best bottles in all of Mexico, since the Don refused to serve anything less, but Lalo had nearly choked on his first sip, his whole body recoiling against the foul chemical taste and odor. He now stared, with a forced half-smile, into the still-mostly-full glass, trying to convince his already-upset stomach to take another sip, lest he accidentally commit another act of disrespect.

"You see," Tito continued after downing what Lalo considered to be an inhuman amount of whiskey, "it didn't matter that we were poor country boys–Don Luis always knew he was capable of more. We would be playing in the backyard, shooting guns on his uncle's land, and when I would outshoot him again, I would always gloat–see, I loved to rub it in his face–and he would turn to me and say 'but Tito, my friend, do the most powerful of men ever shoot? No, they do not; they command the power to incite other men to shoot for them, and demand the respect and fear that means they will never be shot themselves.' And of course, I'd say that was silly, he was just jealous of my ability, though he would always–"

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

"And perhaps I was, Tito."

A strong, drawling voice boomed right above Lalo's head, causing Lalo to leap forward and stare back at its owner: a man nearly as tall as Tito, with flowing black hair and a razor-sharp jawline above a thick gold chain.

The man ruffled the mange of hair atop Tito's head. "Though I do wish your tongue had half the amount of control as your trigger finger–especially around vatos like these."

"Ah, Don Luis!" Tito stood up, meandered around the side, and gave the Don a kiss on the cheek. "A wonderful event this is, I must say. And, luckily for you, these are no mere vatos–" he gestured towards Chubbs and Lalo, "this is my beloved cousin and his business associate. I was hoping they would be perfect candidates for assisting us with our new distribution problem."

"Is that so?" The Don eyed Lalo with a similar assessing gaze as Tito had performed on him earlier, though Lalo noted an extra layer of cold calculation this time around. "I'm afraid that I have no time for such young boys, especially ones who cannot afford to…" he narrowed his eyes, "dress the part."

"Ah, forgive them, forgive them. They may be unfamiliar with our ways, but Carlos here has been doing odd jobs for myself for years now. You remember the leak in San Jose, no? I am proud to say that it was his information-gathering that allowed us to solve that little problem. And, if I may give you a little extra reason…" Tito leaned in towards the Don, "they have an in at Vallarta Palma."

"Palma, you say?" The Don's eyes widened just a smidge and Lalo spied a hint of a manic grin edge at his lips before he stifled it, smoothed out his clothes, and ran a hand through his hair. "Very well. I will allow them to stay and listen. Make no mistake, however–this best not be as poisoned as your last Palma connection, Tito. We cannot risk another run-in with the Man-in-Shadows."

Breaking out of a starstruck stupor, Lalo's ears perked up, and for the first time, he was able to look into the Don's black, crystal-sharp eyes.

"Rest assured, Don Luis." Tito placed a massive palm over his heart. "Carlos is blood. This time will be different."

"Very well." The Don closed his eyes, nodded slowly, gave Tito a pat on the shoulder, and continued around the deck.

Nearly simultaneously, the three of them at the table breathed a sigh of relief as they felt the Don's overwhelming presence move away. Tito slapped a hand on his knee. "You boys need another drink? Perhaps something a little lighter for our resident baby boy?" He gestured at Lalo's full glass of whiskey and shot Chubbs a wink.

Lalo winced. "It's fine, it's fine. I wouldn't dare risk your reputation by throwing away such an expensive–and, uh, delicious–drink. I'm just… taking my time to savor it."

"Suit yourself." Tito rolled his eyes. "I will say that it does help to have a couple drinks in you before talking to Don Luis. He can be… intense." He stood up, hefting his huge body off the cushions, visibly raising the two boys upwards in their seats. "Carlos? I'll fetch us another round."

Chubbs seemed lost in thought. Lalo nudged his shoulder. "You good?"

"Dude," Chubbs whispered. "You hear that!? We're totally in!"

"Tito sure pulls a lot more weight than I thought…" Lalo mused back. "But I dunno. He's already stuck his neck out for us once. Now we not only have to prove that we can solve their logistics problem, but also that we can also avoid all the issues that apparently came up last time…"

"You're worried too much, my friend. I told you they'll trust us so long as Tito's around." Chubbs popped a piece of ice from the glass into his mouth and crunched down, flecks of water spraying across the white fabric cushions. "We're gonna be coke dealers, baby! No more shitty weed and off-brand pills for us. Real, Colombian cocaine…!" he leaned back into the couch.

"I'm not sure, man." Lalo squirmed in his spot. "I mean, are we sure we can even move coke into Palma? I haven't seen a fuckin' milligram of it anywhere in our city limits. All the white kids drive down to Onanca to get it, and for whatever reason, they never try to bring it back… does that not seem weird to you?"

Chubbs shrugged. "I mean, maybe. They probably just couldn't find anybody before–you know how our parents are, and all. Which is exactly why we're gonna be so rich when we finally get that shit in there."

The clinking of a glass rang out from across the deck. Don Luis stood on a small platform next to the bar, a warm smile across his face and a metal spoon in his hand.

"Friends! I am glad you are able to join me here, today." He picked up his drink from off the bar and swished the glass in his hand. "Although it is always a pleasure to see many of you, alas, now we must discuss business. Firstly, I am proud to announce that our family's production is doing better than ever. In fact, thanks to our continuing good relations with the Guerez family, we now have produced almost double the product that we managed last year."

The audience applauded at a respectful, medium volume. Lalo suddenly felt very exposed sitting in the dead middle of the room on the sofa, where Don Luis stood nearly directly above him. Chubbs elbowed Lalo regardless and tried to lean over to whisper something, but Lalo shot him a stern look and pushed him back.

"As such, we will continue to rely on the sturdy distribution chains of our trusted partners, many of you are with us today, and I am looking forward to hearing about your future successes as we expand our little enterprise. Make no mistake, it is thanks to your diligent and well-engineered logistical efforts that we are able to continue moving coke all over America." The Don took a slow, meaningful sip.

Lalo glanced at Chubbs, who was now leaning forward in his seat, practically foaming at the mouth. Lalo himself bit his cheek–the word continue wasn't exactly what he had expected to hear…

"However, while I always enjoy sharing our success, that is not what we are here to talk about, today. Today, we will be discussing a new venture."

The few remaining whispers of the crowd fell silent as Don Luis pulled out an ornate gold-laced pouch from his pocket, then removed from the pouch a small glass viable, filled about halfway with a dark purple powder.

"This," he held up the vial for all to see, the light from the harsh sun flaring out from one edge, "is called Cesalt-B, a new formulation from our coastal laboratories. Some of you remember our earlier product Cesalt-A, a patch-variety that we were unfortunately forced to retire due to mass production concerns."

Chubbs' face shifted from raw anticipation to confusion. Lalo grimaced. This wasn't in the plan. He tried to keep his face neutral-in-view as the crowd leaned forward to examine the vial.

"Now," the Don began to unscrew the cap, "I understand that cocaine can and will likely continue to dominate the markets as the high-end drug of choice, and we certainly do not plan to discontinue it at any point in the future. But! I nevertheless encourage you to take a sample as I explain the exciting business prospects."

One of the young bartenders walked up to the Don holding a metal platter, upon which the Don carefully poured the contents of the vial, spreading it out from a single lump. The bartender began to circle the deck, attending to each of the guests, as they individually stuck a pinkie into the powder, and pressed it to their tongue. Lalo noticed that Chubbs began to squeeze his fists.

"For one, you'll find that it tastes quite exquisite–almost a sugary sort of flavor, none of the bitterness of your usual variety. And it hits your nervous system in almost no time, even compared to snorting coke. The high itself is powerful, giving a warm, tingling sensation, with very mild hallucinogenic effects in small quantities. And, furthermore, I can assure you that the 'come-down', as it were, is a sweet and delicate affair."

Tito, who had finally found his way back with drinks and now sat across from the boys, stifled a chuckle.

The Don stepped back, slightly, shaking his head. "Perhaps I sound too much like a sommelier. I only speak out of pride for the effort our chemists have put in to crafting such a fine experience. And that leads me to the most exciting part," his grin widened, "only our family knows how to create it. We will continue to safeguard the manufacturing with our world-class security, ensuring that, for those of you who are willing to help us with distribution, you will never worry about competition. Ever. All we ask, at this time, is that you use your existing connections and resources to make sure that the word is spread and that the samples get to the right people."

The platter finally reached the boys on the couch. Tito scooped up what appeared to be a quantity much larger than everyone else that Lalo had watched, placed it on the inside of his cheek, and began to drill at it with his tongue. Lalo saw Tito's pupils dilate past his sclera for a brief moment before shrinking back to normal size, and the large man rolled his shoulders back and let out a satisfied moan.

Don Luis smiled at Tito's reaction, then gestured that the platter be brought to Chubbs next.

"You've got to try this Carlos. This is unreal." Tito nodded to his cousin.

"This is fuckin' bullshit, is what it is." Chubbs stood up, his expression absolutely furious. He shoved the bartender away, and the young boy's tiny frame collapsed to the ground. The platter landed with a thunk to the ground, and a small cloud of the powder billowed up from the surface.

The Don narrowed his eyes at the kid. Lalo leaned back in horror, mouth agape.

Tito reached out a hand and placed it on Chubbs' side. "Carlos, please, don't–"

"Man, fuck this." Chubbs huffed. The entire crowd's eyes were glued to his red face. "I came up here so I could become a coke dealer, not to give out cheap-ass samples of some random party drug."

The Don didn't even blink. "Guards?" Two suited men carrying automatic weapons stepped forward from behind the pillars surrounding the deck and began to move towards Chubbs.

"Ha, yeah?" Chubbs snorted, reaching into the pocket of his hoodie. Lalo's eyes widened, and he tried to quickly-but-subtly shuffle away on the couch from where Chubbs stood, but Chubbs had already begun to pull out the snub-nose rifle, and aim it directly at where the Don stood. "Nice tries, everybody, but you ain't gonna do shit."

The guards paused. Lalo's mind raced a million miles a minute, and his eyes frantically scanned for an exit as he noticed even more guards at various locations around the deck, and even a few of the fellow guests palming their own weapons.

"Here's the deal, Don Luis." Chubbs' grip began to shake. "We wanna move coke. We're happy to move shit for you, but it has to be coke. I ain't gonna waste my time moving shit nobody's ever heard of. So you either make us dealers, or shit's gonna get real messy."

"…/we/…?" Lalo nervously glanced around, shaking his own head and holding his hands up in defense.

"'No mere vatos', indeed." The Don sighed, bearing the weary smile of a man who'd had a gun pulled on him a million times beforehand. "Tito? I trust you'll take care of this?"

Tito stood up quickly, almost too quickly, and put a hand in front on Chubbs' shoulder. "Carlos, you've done a bad, bad thing…"

"Did you know that's what this was far?" Chubbs tilted his head back towards at Tito, but kept his heated gaze focused on the end of his pistol. "How could you not tell us?"

"Carlos, please, just… put that away." Tito's voice, once deep and soulful, now cracked under the pressure. "It's time to go home, cousin."

"Tito, my friend, that's enough." The Don clicked his tongue and took another sip out of his glass. "You know what to do."

Lalo saw a grimace flash across Tito's face, before he became blur, slipping to the front of Chubbs, his hand locked on his cousin's wrist, now bringing the two face-to-face. With a scowl, Tito merely slid his hand forward, effortlessly unlocking Chubbs' grip, trigger finger first, and took it into his own hands.

Chubbs' face barely had time to register shock before Tito had shoved the teenager onto the ground, the rings on his finger dinging off the glass table on his way down. Lalo leaned forward to look as Tito brought one leg up–and stomped down.

The crunch of Chubbs' femur shattering echoed once off the siding of the house, then bounced out into the sand of empty desert in front of them.

Nobody spoke a word, least of all Lalo–and all of the color had drained from his face.

Tito huffed, his breath heavy.

"If you would, Tito. I won't ask you to kill your own blood, but he must leave, now." The Don sighed, and set down his glass.

"Come on." Leaning down, Tito extended a hand towards his cousin, his hair falling to cover his face. Chubbs stared back, finally calculating all that had happened, looking bewildered and betrayed all at once.

Lalo slowly stood up, himself, noticing the crowd's gaze draw towards him. "We apologize a thousand times, Don Luis. We'll get going. Chubbs?" He looked over at his friend.

Chubbs looked back at him, then nodded, and forced a grin against the pain as he grabbed Tito's extended hand–before launching himself forward, snagging the weapon out of Tito's other hand, and recoiling back onto the couch with the weapon aimed back at the Don, once again.

Lalo himself tried to jump forward towards his friend. "No, don't–!"

An ugly, smoky shot fired from the snub-nose, and a spray of blood fanned out at the Don's feet. Almost as soon as the shot fired, the gun recoiled out of Chubbs' hands, launching itself out of reach.

Oozing from a the new hole in his head, Tito collapsed to the ground. His body slumped forward until it lay flat, face down, his blood staining the wood of the deck.

"…so that's how it is." For the first time, the slightest wave of anger crossed Don Luis's face. He sneered, stepped over Tito's lifeless body, curled his fist, and socked the teenager in the jaw. Chubbs seemed to barely notice the hit, his mouth open and eyes unfocused, and his expression did not change even as the Don hit him again, this time knocking a couple teeth out of his mouth.

Lalo glanced towards the exit of the deck–only to find that several guards were now blocking the way, and the audience's eyes were now split between the beatdown and himself, the accomplice.

"Pathetic." The Don spat on Chubbs, his face bruising and splitting open. "To lose my oldest friend to filth like you." The Don pulled out a pistol of his own from his front pocket, where blood had stained his white slacks, and pressed the end right to Chubbs' forehead.

The blood pulsed through Lalo's veins. He felt his brain speed up somehow even faster, every sense becoming sharp as he clenched his fists and tried to figure out the only path forward. This was everything. This was the last few second before Chubbs would die, and surely he would be right behind.

"Don Luis." Lalo coughed, clearing his throat. "We can move it. In Palma."

The Don exhaled, but did not move the gun against Chubbs' head or his own stare. "…keep talking."

Every eye was now glued to Lalo's nervous, trembling, profusely sweating head.

"I've been trafficking out of Arizona for years. I can scale up the process to move as much of the new product as you need. I have trusted friends, very well-trusted, who can sell it on the streets, or at parties, or wherever you want people to try it. Say the word, it's there."

Don Luis did not move the gun, but now looked at Lalo from the corner of his eyes. "Those are empty commitments. You are a child."

"But, I know." Lalo heard the shuffling of guards' feet as they moved forward, and gulped. "I know why you haven't been able to move coke into Palma. The Man-in-Shadows. I think I know who that is. And I know how to work around him. I've already done it for as long as I've been in the game."

"…that so?"

"Yes, Don Luis." Lalo nodded furiously. "And I won't ask to move coke. I know that's stupid–the Man-in-Shadows watches that closer that anything else. But I believe that Cesalt-B has a chance, there. You know how popular a drug like that could get in Palma. You've been trying to break into it for years, I bet."

The Don rolled his shoulders back and drew the gun back. The unconscious Chubbs could not react.

"And we can do it. Me… and him. If you kill us, you'll lose your only chance to get into Palma for a long, long time. I know the neighborhood, there. Not a single kid in the barrio wants to deal, other than me and my friends. But you already know that, don't you, Don Luis?"

"…I see. You are shrewd for a child." The Don pocketed his pistol and turned his whole body towards Lalo. "It seems that I must let this slide for the good of the family." He looked down at Tito's corpse. "But you will move Cesalt-B, and on my terms. Your cut will cover operating expenses, no more, until you can win back the trust you have lost here today. I demand full transparency from your organization. And, if there is even a whiff of disrespect like your partner showed here today…." the Don raised an eyebrow and scowled at Lalo.

"It will not be a problem, Don. That I swear on my mother's grave." Lalo stepped forward. "Do we have a deal?" Lalo extended his hand.

"It seems we must." The Don looked Lalo up and down, then shook his hand. "I don't believe I caught your name, vato."

"Lalo Herrera, jefe." Lalo gripped back, trying to keep his grip firm against the shakes he felt through his whole body. "I look forward to doing business."

----------------------------------------

"Sorry, buddy. That's all the painkillers I got." Lalo screwed the cap on the bottle, and began to pull the seatbelt over Chubbs, who winced everytime the belt even slightly pressed against his skin. "There's a couple half-joints in the door cupholder, if it gets real bad."

His friend could only let out a couple weak groans, his mouth still a split-open mess. Lalo grimaced, then closed the door. A particularly tall guard stood right behind the vehicle, and gave Lalo an upwards nod as he closed the door.

"So you'll be following us to the spot?" Lalo asked a question he already knew the answer to, just happy to see any non-threatening response as the guard nodded once more. "Sounds good. I'll try not drive so crazy, eh?" He joked back. The guard did not respond, merely letting his beard blow slightly back and forth in the breeze.

Lalo meandered over to the driver side and practically fell into the seat and let his head rest against the leather back. Looking down, he noticed a trickle of blood from Chubbs' hand had already begun to leak out onto the flat seat between them, the deep red staining the half-burnt cigar that rested in the divot.

He felt like everything moved in slow motion–raising up his arm to bring the keys to the ignition, rotating his wrist a few degrees, waiting as the engine purred to life after some coaxing, bringing his hand away and down to the clutch, shifting to drive, inching forward with his foot off the gas, then pressing his Jordans–unfortunately scuffed and dirty in the previous struggle–down to the gas pedal, and pulling away and out of the mansion's gate.

He took a deep breath for the first time since entering the mansion, only finally able to untense his shoulders as he saw it fade in the rearview mirror, soon entirely obscured by the black car that was trailing behind them.

"Your, uh, mouth good enough to talk?"

"Mmf." Chubbs groaned through his teeth. "nawreally." Each syllable sounded goopy, with a slight whistle accompanying.

"That's fine. I can talk enough for both of us."

"Mm."

Lalo was surprised at how natural his hands felt behind the wheel, adjusting with little micro-corrections as the car drifted slightly left or right on the flat asphalt road. He now saw all the little imperfections in the road that had looked so perfect before–ridges on the side here and there, gradual slopes that rose and fell, and the occasional hint of a burgeoning pothole–but felt impressed at how it still managed to cut through the desert, a clear, uncompromising path forward.

"So, elephant in the room…" Lalo cleared his throat. "That was… well, a lot in there. And I feel like your heart's in the right place, man. I was pretty excited to be a coke dealer, too."

"Mm."

"But man, things got really fucked in there…" Lalo edged off the gas just a bit. "It's okay. I mean, I'm mad, but I know you got the worst of it. Maybe let's just edge off the you-talking-to-the-cartel a little bit, y'know, for a while."

"Mm." Chubbs angled his head towards the window.

"Figured out the whole Man-in-Shadows thing, by the way. It's my old man. Yep. That's what he was doing my whole childhood, apparently. I don't want 'em coming in and shooting up my house, though. That'd be a whole pain. Thought I'd leave that detail out."

"Mm?"

"S'crazy, though." Lalo smiled. "It used to bug me so much that he ignored all the shit I was up to, and then always flat-out denied anything when I tried to talk to him about it. Fuckin' sucked when I was trying to quit those pills last year." He checked the rearview–the shiny black car still trailed close behind. "Guess I never realized how useful that could be."

"Mm…"

"Kinda my fuckin' superpower, I guess. Goin' unnoticed and shit. Can't tell whether it makes me unlucky or lucky." Lalo pressed the pedal down a little bit, feeling the engine work just a little harder down in the very core of his being. "But if this shit goes well, man… they're gonna notice. Now we just need to make sure they notice the right things, eh?"

"Mm."

"…I got a question, Chubbs."

"Mm?"

"You really mean what you said to Tito back there? That I could be the next Don?"

"…fug, man. Iunno." Chubbs shifted in his seat, placing his hand lightly over his shattered femur. "Was jus gassin you up n shid. You ont wanna be him. S'uh fukin psychopath."

"Oh. Cool. That's good."

"Mmf. Yeh?"

"Yeah." Lalo ran his fingers through his black hair and smoothed out his t-shirt. "Cuz he's a fuckin' idiot."

"Mhm!"

"For starters, not that I'm not glad we got in, but Tito didn't vet us at all. Imagine letting a couple of kids show up to a fuckin' high-level distributors meetings. That's a goddamn recipe for leaks, at best."

"Mmf!?"

"Don't get me wrong, it's smart to move into Palma. If I had a new party drug, that'd be the first place I'd target. Not national-news-grabbing like LA, but just enough rich white kid money to really get some underground traction going. But he wants it way too bad. I thought we were gonna fuckin' die, man, but he's so fuckin' thirsty that he let you murk his right-hand man and go free just for a plug."

"Fug are you talmbou–"

"Nah, nah, I knew it would work, though." Lalo shot Chubbs a reassuring smile. "Just needed to work up the guts once I put it together."

"Due, you serioumlby–"

"People are so predictable," Lalo sighed. "Was actually kind of excited to meet someone that was actually above it all. Oh well. Give it a few years, we'll have that motherfucker working for us."

"…mm." Chubbs had given up, closing his eyes and resting his head against the window.

The car dashboard indicated 90 miles-per-hour. Lalo pressed the gas just a little harder, then grimaced as it refused to crawl much higher. "Hey Chubbs, this thing have a higher gear or something I can shift to?"

"No, due," Chubbs mumbled. "Whad, thi your firs dime drivin?"

"Yeah, actually."

"Shid, due. Slow dow."

"Nah, dude, I got this." Lalo flexed all of his fingers against the steering wheel. The sun began to set, the first rays leaking through the front window. Lalo reached into the side cupholder, felt for a pair on sunglasses, and slid them on. "And I think I really like driving."