“I don’t have time for your nonsense, Felipe. What are you talking about?”
I could feel the sensation of dread that characterized my life just before my heartbeat rose. And no, it wasn’t the spicy jalapeño.
“I’m referring to my cut, kid. I have a little time to teach you the way we do things around here in Mexico. I think I should be compensated for my further involvement. Being your snitch is not easy. I have a reputation to maintain,” he leaned back in his chair, a grin on his face. Teach me?
“What the f**k does that mean?”
“Your age, chico. People can’t see me answering to a kid. I have to make up s**t. You know, just to look good.”
“I’m not a kid.” The last guy who said that to me had to eat the bullet, but not literally.
“Hey, I know you run things for Enrique, and you’ve made a
