biting down on my bottom lip.
âThey wonât know shit, because you donât know shit. If you start telling yourself you werenât there, you donât know what happened, you had nothing to do with it, then you will believe it when you speak to them. Youâre going to play it cool; you have no other option. What we got is too good to fuck up right now, Gabriella. You making more money than you couldâve ever dreamed up. We got a good thing together. Your kid is happy. That lame-ass baby daddy of yours is finally out of the picture. Your mother is proud of you. What more can you ask for? If you want to risk all of that, then youâll fuck this up. If not, you got this. If you play your hand right, everything will be all right. Donât let some bullshit nerves fuck this up for everybody,â Eduardo said convincingly. I closed my eyes for a few minutes to contemplate his words. He was right. My son was so happy. My mother was happier than Iâd seen her in years. I was able to buy whatever they wanted and needed with no questions asked.
âCâmon, baby girl. Think about it and then go down there, speak to those fucking cops, and convince them that they are barking up the wrong fucking tree,â Eduardo said, grabbing my hand. I opened my eyes and looked at him. Before I could say anything to evoke any more doubt, Eduardo stuck a wad of moneyâmy weekly pay for the deliveriesâin my hand. I guess that was his way of helping his little pep talk hit home. I looked down at the money, which usually made me feel happy and excited, then I looked back at Eduardo. Money wasnât enough to calm down the torment I had going on inside of me, but I still didnât let the money go. I stuffed it into my pocketbook and turned back toward the man I had done all of this for.
âWhat if, Eduardo? I mean, I donât know how good I can hide because Iâm so fucking nervous I canât even keep down any food,â I whined. Eduardo made a face like he was growing sick of me.
âGabriella, for the last fucking time! Calm the fuck down and just go talk to them. If you avoid them thatâs like admitting youâre guilty about some shit. You canât fuck this up because if you do, shit will get worse for all of us than just a few homicide cops investigating a murder. Itâll be fucking DEA, FBI, and all types of feds breathing down our necks. You think they gonna take lightly to you, working for the federal government and doing the shit youâve been doing? Hell noâtheyâre going to come down harder on you than even me or Lance. Forget what Luca might do if you fuck up his entire flow. You better go in there and act like you about to win a fucking Emmy award. No joke, you better act like an innocent angel and be damn convincing about it. I donât care how you do it, just do it. Iâm not going to talk about this shit anymore,â Eduardo replied, and the tone of his voice was borderline threatening. I looked down at the money sitting in my bag, seemingly glaring back at me. I wondered right then if it was worth it. Was a couple thousand dollars that wouldâve never made me rich anyway worth digging deeper and deeper into the quicksand of my actions? Or signing my life away, for that matter.
CHAPTER 8
CONSPIRACY THEORY
W hen I got back to the post office after my routes, Ben was there with two white detectives waiting for me. Talk about bag of nervesâmy damn teeth were hitting together like it was zero-below outside. I had tried to stall and take as long as I could, but that just caused Ben to call me up on my personal cell phone. I guess that was how badly those detectives wanted to speak to me. Apparently, they had already spoken to all of the other mail carriers, clerks, sorters, and packagers at the station. I walked inside slowly, with my head down, too afraid that if I made eye contact theyâd be able to read my guilt right
âThey wonât know shit, because you donât know shit. If you start telling yourself you werenât there, you donât know what happened, you had nothing to do with it, then you will believe it when you speak to them. Youâre going to play it cool; you have no other option. What we got is too good to fuck up right now, Gabriella. You making more money than you couldâve ever dreamed up. We got a good thing together. Your kid is happy. That lame-ass baby daddy of yours is finally out of the picture. Your mother is proud of you. What more can you ask for? If you want to risk all of that, then youâll fuck this up. If not, you got this. If you play your hand right, everything will be all right. Donât let some bullshit nerves fuck this up for everybody,â Eduardo said convincingly. I closed my eyes for a few minutes to contemplate his words. He was right. My son was so happy. My mother was happier than Iâd seen her in years. I was able to buy whatever they wanted and needed with no questions asked.
âCâmon, baby girl. Think about it and then go down there, speak to those fucking cops, and convince them that they are barking up the wrong fucking tree,â Eduardo said, grabbing my hand. I opened my eyes and looked at him. Before I could say anything to evoke any more doubt, Eduardo stuck a wad of moneyâmy weekly pay for the deliveriesâin my hand. I guess that was his way of helping his little pep talk hit home. I looked down at the money, which usually made me feel happy and excited, then I looked back at Eduardo. Money wasnât enough to calm down the torment I had going on inside of me, but I still didnât let the money go. I stuffed it into my pocketbook and turned back toward the man I had done all of this for.
âWhat if, Eduardo? I mean, I donât know how good I can hide because Iâm so fucking nervous I canât even keep down any food,â I whined. Eduardo made a face like he was growing sick of me.
âGabriella, for the last fucking time! Calm the fuck down and just go talk to them. If you avoid them thatâs like admitting youâre guilty about some shit. You canât fuck this up because if you do, shit will get worse for all of us than just a few homicide cops investigating a murder. Itâll be fucking DEA, FBI, and all types of feds breathing down our necks. You think they gonna take lightly to you, working for the federal government and doing the shit youâve been doing? Hell noâtheyâre going to come down harder on you than even me or Lance. Forget what Luca might do if you fuck up his entire flow. You better go in there and act like you about to win a fucking Emmy award. No joke, you better act like an innocent angel and be damn convincing about it. I donât care how you do it, just do it. Iâm not going to talk about this shit anymore,â Eduardo replied, and the tone of his voice was borderline threatening. I looked down at the money sitting in my bag, seemingly glaring back at me. I wondered right then if it was worth it. Was a couple thousand dollars that wouldâve never made me rich anyway worth digging deeper and deeper into the quicksand of my actions? Or signing my life away, for that matter.
CHAPTER 8
CONSPIRACY THEORY
W hen I got back to the post office after my routes, Ben was there with two white detectives waiting for me. Talk about bag of nervesâmy damn teeth were hitting together like it was zero-below outside. I had tried to stall and take as long as I could, but that just caused Ben to call me up on my personal cell phone. I guess that was how badly those detectives wanted to speak to me. Apparently, they had already spoken to all of the other mail carriers, clerks, sorters, and packagers at the station. I walked inside slowly, with my head down, too afraid that if I made eye contact theyâd be able to read my guilt right
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