Free Mr. Hooligan by Ian Vasquez Page B

structure. It gave rise to rumors of inbreeding somewhere in the line. Riley didn’t put too much value in the slander, but he had to admit even on his most charitable days, this wasn’t a family he’d ever accuse of being attractive.
    Riley heard the dunk, dunk, dunk of Israel coming down the hall before he saw him turn the corner, skinny and stooped, bald skeletal head, limping with his cane. “Good morning, my dear man.”
    If Carlo was the tough, Israel was the gentleman, but only in relative terms. They embraced, and Israel fell into his crusty leather recliner across from Riley and studied him through huge black-framed glasses. He leaned both hands on his cane between his knees. “I heard you’re getting married.”
    Jesus. “Where’d you hear that from?”
    “Never mind. Is it true?”
    Riley shook his head. “Maybe, maybe not. Not sure. Who told you this, Israel?”
    “Maybe, maybe not? What kind of answer is that?” Israel’s lips curled up in a smile. “My sister spoke to your friend at your place last night, what’s his name. The one with the wife from Guyana, the fellow with clock hands.”
    “Harvey?” Riley thought, Harvey’s got a big mouth.
    “So what can I do for you? Better make it fast, son. I just drank a glass of that nasty stuff, that Metamucil stuff. Prune juice chaser too. Might have to excuse myself quite soon.”
    “Yes, well,” and Riley sat forward, cleared his throat. “Israel, I have a favor to ask. I got this, aah … financial emergency that came up, and I might require a loan to get out from under. I’m thinking I’ll be able to pay you back within a few months, if the terms I have in mind are acceptable to you, and if they’re not, then I’m flexible, I understand if—”
    Israel said, “Shhh,” fanning away the preamble. “Tell me how much you need.”
    Riley said, “Hundred and twenty thousand.”
    Israel whistled. “Kind of trouble you in, boy? How soon you need this money?”
    “Soon as possible.”
    Israel squeezed and released the cane handle, squeezed and released, looking at Riley and sorting out the odds. “Terms. What terms you proposing?”
    “Well,” and Riley scooted to the edge of the settee, forearms on knees. “This run Monday night. We’ve never discussed compensation and I know you and Carlo may assume that my past cuts may apply in this case, but I don’t see it that way, Israel. No disrespect. This is gonna be one of the biggest shipments for us in the last couple years, and considering that you’re coming to me and not using anyone else, like that Robinson boy, it’s because you have a certain level of trust and confidence I’ll see things through.”
    “No one will dispute Julius Robinson’s still got to prove himself, whereas you don’t, but what’s your point?”
    “My cut. I’m saying that for this run, forty thousand. Not twenty or twenty-five, like all those previous times. Forty grand—to be deducted from this one twenty loan.”
    Israel adjusted his glasses. “If it was anybody else coming into my parlor saying this to me I’d tell them to get the fuck out, right before I whip this stick in their mouth, you know that, son?”
    Riley sniffed, nodded.
    “But because it’s you,” and Israel canted his head. “Tell you what, I promise to give it due consideration.”
    “The loan or the forty?”
    “Same thing, isn’t it?”
    “No. If you can’t see your way to offering me the loan, fine. I’ll go elsewhere. But the forty large is what my price is for this run. My final one with you gentlemen. Forty, or I’m not doing it, Israel. You can use somebody else.”
    Israel sat up, one hand squeezing and releasing the cane. “Don’t get too sure of yourself, okay?” He studied Riley for a few seconds. “So, one hundred twenty?”
    “There’s the issue of a sixteen-thousand-dollar tab that your brother has run up at the bar. Which can be deducted from the loan. So when that tab gets paid, that sixteen plus my