They pulled up at the Lexx, a scavengers flesh pit for those in need of a quick fix. The parking lot was a dirt patch in the scrub. The club neon pierced the night, a beacon illuminating poke rimmed pimpmobiles. Chrome coated Continentals and Caddy deVilles rolled in, sound systems pumping, bins popping so deep you could feel the ground quake. They entered and were immediately surrounded by pretty face honeys grinding, passing blunts, shovelling blow conspicuously unfettered.
They parked themselves at the bar opposite the podium.
“You see that guy over there? Don’t point,” said Fede.
“Yeah the dude with the hoochie?” said Jimmy.
“He’s La Tira, Police under cover. He thinks we don’t know he’s a plant, but we do. He in for a surprise later. Either he turns or we gonna ex him,”
“Ex him? you mean..”
“Yeah, we pop him in head, slip him in the trunk and you know, take a drive..”
Jimmy turned to Kevin “Nah, nah this is too much,” he cried.
Fede and Kevin burst into laughter, “Relax man, we’re kidding, it was a joke.” They fell around slapping Jimmy on the back.
“Fuck, thank god for that. I had enough gangster shit for one night,”
“Ok no more gangster shit, got it haha..ha.