***
“I don’t know what to make of it, sir.” Gabriel Ramos stands outside the store, leaning into the noontime sun high in the desert sky. Dust and sand surround the Gas station on all sides, a vast and expansive ocean. He speaks into his Assistant as his superior listens on the other end.
“Tell me again, Ramos,” The lieutenant replies, “I can’t get it straight.”
Ramos opens his notepad and starts to read off all the intel sent back to him from headquarters from his notepad.
“This girl, Jaime Nguyen, gets followed into a bathroom by a convicted rapist who just got out of North Woods Penitentiary a month ago. Only he ends up dead, not her. Or maybe she is, we’re not really sure. The only thing we know is that somebody that looks exactly like Wesley Garder walked out of that bathroom and left the real Wesley Garder behind to rot.”
“And no sign of the girl?.” The lieutenant asks with a tone that shows he knows the answer.
“No sir.” Ramos rubs his temples in puzzlement.
“Ramos,” The voice on the other end lightens, “I just got a message from HQ, there are some guys from the FBI in-route to your location. Tell them exactly what you told me. And find this scumbag Garder, real or fake, before he can do anymore harm.”
“Yessir.” Ramos clicks the end call button on the small Assistant screen and waits for back up.
“Go home,” Ramos shouts over to the cop, who is more than happy to obey.
His squad car veers onto the highway in haste, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake. Ramos coughs phlegm into the parking lot before heading inside.
Ramos walks up to the counter and pulls a pack of gum out, pops a piece in his mouth, and looks to the android.
“Tell me everything that happened here last night.”
***
“Do it,” Georgey leans back in the red, leather booth.
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“C’mon boss, I was joking,” Armando replies, sweat dripping down a fat forehead.
“Did I ask if you were joking? Do it. I wanna see you put that whole fuckin’ sandwich in your mouth, chew it, and fuckin’ swallow it.”
Armando looks at the sandwich in front of him. A behemoth of meat sits between two soggy buns as grease forms in a pool under it.
“I just meant I really like the sandwich.” Armando says, shifting his considerable weight in the seat across from Georgey.
“You told me you could eat it in one bite, did you not?” Georgey presses.
“Yeah, I did.”
“So either you’re a lying fuck and I can’t trust you, or you’re a fat fuck that’s pretending to be my bodyguard.” Georgey rubs his bald head with a hand that has a ring on each finger.
“So which is it?” He asks.
Armando stares at the sandwich in front of him, bracing his stomach. A man enters the windowless backroom from the kitchen.
“Georgey, The Dominican is here.” The man says.
“Fine. When I get back there better be a salad on that plate you fat fuck.” Georgey leaves an embarrassed Armando in the backroom, heads through the kitchen and enters the flashing lights and pumping bass of his strip club.
“Abe! So good to see ya!” Georgey shouts towards a man with an afro and ever-present sunglasses.
“It’s Abraham,” He says as they shake hands.
“Of course, c’mon back.”
“Garder isn’t back yet but he’s always been reliable, a little hotheaded, but he always gets the job done.” Georgey explains to Abraham as they move through the sparsely populated club into the backroom.
“He’d better. I’m paying a high price for a piece of software,” Abraham speaks in a constant, calm tone.
“But a fair one. This was not easy to get a hold of. Nebraska is the last place you’d expect to find primo malware.” Georgey says.
“So you have it?” Abraham asks.
“Er- not exactly.”
Georgey motions for Armando to get up and take his sandwich with him, Abraham takes his place across the table, sliding into the booth and placing his gun on the table in one smooth motion.
“Do you know where the word Dominican comes from, Georgey?”
“Uh, not sure,” Georgey scratches his bare scalp with hairy fingers, “Africa?”
“It’s Latin. From the root words, Domini Canus. It means ‘Hounds of God.’ Do you know what that means?”
“That I should learn Latin?” Georgey looks at the gun on the table nervously as Armando feels for his pistol in his waistband in the corner of the room.
“It means that if you fuck with me,” Abraham takes a deep sniff through his nose, “I got your scent, and with God on my side, You bet your ass I’m not going to lose it. Have you ever seen a police dog take down a criminal?”
Georgey nods. Abraham gets up and tucks his glock back into his jeans.
“I’ll be back tomorrow.”
Abraham leaves quicker than Georgey and Armando can exchange glances.
“Get that fuckin’ prick Garder on the phone.” Georgey says.