"Tengo tu ocho bolas. Diez mil pesos." (Translation: I got your eight ball. Ten thousand pesos) Javier stated, looking left and right in the alleyway. He hated doing deals in bright daylight. If you did them at night, there was a less chance of being caught.
"Ese no fue el trato." (Translation: That was not the deal.) The man said,
Javier rolled his eyes in annoyance. He hated when junkies tried to get over on him. "Ese es el trato. Tomelo o dejelo." (Translation: That is the deal. Take it or leave it.) Javier growled, trying to intimidate the man.
"Yo dije, este no era el trato, puta." (Translation: I said, that wasn't the deal, bitch) The man whispered harshly, throwing the bag at Javier's broad chest. Javier inhaled deep breaths, trying not to let the brawler in him out.
"No soy tu distribuidor habitual, así que no me pruebes, maldito drogadicto." (Translation: I'm not your regular dealer so don't fucking test me, you damn junkie.) Javier cursed, itching for a fight. The man scoffed and pulled a silver Smith and Wesson handgun from his waistband and trained it on Javier.
"No soy un yonqui, chico. Así que es mejor que lo mires." (Translation: I'm not a junkie, boy. So you better watch it.) The man growled.
Javier laughed dryly as his boys Juan Manuel and Diego waited at the end of the alley, wondering if Javier needed help. Javier nodded that he was alright, but they remained ready to kill the man.
"¿Sabes quién soy? ¿A quién le apuntas con un arma?" (Translation: Do you know who I am? Who you're pointing a gun at?) Javier spoke, hoping he wouldn't have to kill the man in broad daylight.
"Me importa una mierda quién eres. Usted no trajo el-" (Translation: I don't give a fuck who you are. You didn't bring the-)
"¡Soy la mano derecha de David Gonzalo! ¿Sabes lo que podría hacer que te haga? ¡Debería matarte!" (Translation: I am David Gonzalo's right hand man! Do you know what he could have me do to you?! I should fucking kill you!) Javier yelled, noticing the fear in the man's eyes.
'That'll show him who not to fuck with.' Javier thought as the man began to apologize profusely. "¡Lo siento! ¡Lo siento! ¡No tenía ni idea!" (Translation: I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I had no idea!) The man said in rapid fire Spanish.
Javier let him ramble for a few seconds, balled up his left hand and swung swiftly, his fist interrupting the man's apologies. The man grunted, landing on the trash filled concrete. Javier stood over him, shaking his fist. The man panted, holding his now broken nose.
"¡Lo siento! ¡Por favor!" The man sobbed, Javier had really hit him hard.
"¿Cuál es tu nombre?" (Translation: What's your name?) Javier questioned, glancing at Juan Manuel and Diego.
"Ninguno. No soy nadie." (Translation: No one. I am no one.) The man mumbled, wiping the blood from his nose. Javier leaned down and grabbed the man roughly by his now soiled shirt. Their faces inches apart.
"Te preguntaré de nuevo. ¿Cuál es su nombre?" (Translation: I'll ask you again. What is your name?) Javier whispered harshly.
"Por favor, no hay necesidad de decirle al Sr. Gonzalo. Te lo juro, tomaré la bola ocho y me iré." (Translation: Please, there is no need to tell Mr. Gonzalo. I swear to you, I'll take the eight ball and go.) The man pleaded, refusing to end up like other people who crossed David Gonzalo and his men.
Javier feinted to punch him as the man flinched, covering his face. Gunshots rang out as Diego began yelling for Javier to get down or move. Javier's head whipped in the direction of his boys and rushed towards them, forgetting all about the junkie. Javier pulled his gun and fired back as Juan Manuel pulled him behind the trash bin they were hiding behind.
"¿Quién diablos es él?" (Who the hell is that?!) Javier panted, his hands slightly shaking.
You'd think after three years working as a runner, Javier would get used to bullets flying his way. He shook it off as Juan Manuel stood up and shot back. Whoever the people were, they had heavily artillery and if they didn't form a plan soon, all three of them would die in a dingy alley.
"¡Ve al auto! ¡Ir!" (Get to the car! Go!) Juan Manuel demanded, crouching after a few bullets came close to finding a home in his head.
Diego nudged Javier and they took off for the white Lada Riva waiting on the street. They turned in unison and fired in the direction of the people shooting at them. Juan Manuel was right behind them as Diego hopped into the driver's seat and sped away as Javier and Juan Manuel barely shut the car doors as Diego drove like a madman.
"Fuck. Fuck!" Javier cursed, punching the back of Diego's seat.
"What? What happened?" Diego wondered as he slowed his speeding to avoid bringing attention to their car.
"That eight ball. I fucking dropped it. That damn junkie probably grabbed it. Shit." Javier responded, running a hand over his distressed face.
"Don't worry about it. It wasn't like you lost-"
"Nigga, don't you ever take yo spam back ass and kick my seat again. You ain't pay not a damn dime for Julietta." Diego cursed.
"Damn, why he gotta be a spam back ass?" Manuel laughed, nudging Diego. "Diego, you had this car since you were sixteen. Chill yo ass out." Javier kicked the seat again.
Diego glared at Javier through the rearview mirror and slammed on the brakes as hard as he could, sending Javier flying face first into the back of the head rest.
"Daaaaaamn! Diego, you ain't have to do him like that. Shit, you good, Javi?" Manuel turned in his seat to check on his friend.
Javier felt his nose for any blood and leaned back, strapping on his seat belt.
"I'm good. Diego, boy, I'm on your ass when we get out of the car." Javier threatened in a playful manner.
"Yeah, uh-huh. We headed to Sweet Jesus Mine or you azadas (Hoes) wanna go home?" Diego suggested, pulling over in front of a market.
"Take me home. Manny, tell David we got ambushed. Probably by the-"
"Levanta tus putas manos! ¡Nadie se mueva o te salpicaré por todo el maldito parabrisas!" (Put your fucking hands up! Nobody fucking move or I'll splatter you all over the damn windshield!)
