Wicked Break by Jeff Shelby Page A

the Corvette Diner, a 1950s diner with an actual Corvette suspended from the ceiling. Waitresses wore poodle skirts, neon lights gleamed from the walls, and a working soda fountain ran the length of the restaurant. You could expect at least an hour wait any night of the week near dinnertime.
    I parked the Jeep in front of the old hardware store just up the street and the three of us walked the block to the diner.
    â€œI hope we’re not going here just because you’re hungry,” I said.
    â€œAnd I hope you’re not whining just because you’re a little girl,” he said, opening the door to the restaurant for Dana and me.
    Carter guided us over to the long bar at the soda fountain and the three of us slid onto the barstools. Sam Cooke’s “You Send Me” was coming from the speakers. Midday, the restaurant was almost full.
    The guy working the counter looked over at us. He was about five-nine and reed-thin, with caramel-colored skin and dark brown eyes. A small, compact Afro was tucked under a white paper diamond-shaped hat. He wore white pants and a white shirt with a black bow tie.
    When he recognized Carter, his eyes narrowed.
    Carter removed his sunglasses and smiled. “Willie J. What’s going on?”
    Willie’s frown intensified. “What the fuck you want?”
    â€œThree cherry Cokes,” Carter asked.
    Willie stared at him for a moment, then grabbed three glasses and filled them with soda. He slid them in front of us.
    He looked at Carter. “That all?”
    Carter took a sip from the drink and shook his head. “No.”
    Willie leaned back against the counter. “How did I guess?”
    Dana looked at me. I just shrugged and watched the other two.
    â€œI need a little info,” Carter said.
    Willie didn’t look impressed. “So?”
    â€œSo I need it from you.”
    Willie folded his skinny arms across his skinny chest. “I don’t owe you nothin’ right now. We square as of last month.”
    Carter tilted his head to the side. “Come on, Willie. You’re gonna need my help again. Right?”
    Willie squirmed a little, but tried to hold on to his stance.
    â€œWe both know I’m right,” Carter said. “Your friends are going to come calling again. You just gonna run?”
    I had no idea what they were talking about. But I could tell by Willie’s body language, as he uncrossed his arms and the angry frown dissolved to resignation, that Carter had him over a barrel.
    â€œYou promise to keep them off me again?” Willie said, lowering his voice.
    Carter held up a hand. “You got my word.”
    A crooked smile emerged on Willie’s face. “’Cause they might be on my ass another time soon.”
    â€œAnd I’ll be there to keep them off,” Carter assured him.
    Willie reached out his fist and Carter met it with his own, sealing their deal.
    I didn’t want to know.
    Willie relaxed. “Alright. What you need?”
    Carter looked at me.
    â€œKnow a guy named Deacon Moreno?” I asked.
    Willie looked at me and then at Dana as if he were just realizing we were there. He looked back at Carter. “They cool?”
    â€œThey’re with me, aren’t they?”
    Dana tried to cover up a smile with her hand while I attempted to look somewhat trustworthy.
    Willie looked back at me. “I know Moreno.”
    â€œWhat’s he into?” I asked.
    Willie shrugged his pointy shoulders. “Pretty much whatever he wants.”
    â€œGuns?”
    â€œFor sure.”
    â€œHe’s in a gang?”
    He glanced at Carter, needing a little reassurance before answering me. Carter nodded at him.
    â€œSouth Bay Niners,” Willie said to me. “They run everything south of the bridge.”
    â€œThe bridge?”
    â€œCoronado, dude. South Bay ’cause that’s where they run. Niners ’cause they all rockin’