Chapter Text
It wasn’t the location itself that bothered Howard. The so-called ambulance chasers who advertised on late night pay-per-view, had their faces plastered on buses, and had their own radio jingle were easy targets for every lawyer joke you could imagine, and no one was more guilty of making them than other lawyers. Especially successful lawyers.
He could hardly snap at someone making a ‘bottom feeder’ joke out on the golf course, but in his own offices it was one of the few things Howard shut down as soon as it happened. And he liked that about himself too. Howard’s a good guy, you can go to him for anything. Never slam another firm in front of him though, that's his biggest line, he liked to imagine his colleagues telling new associates when they started at HHM. Maybe it was because he could afford to be magnanimous, but a lawyer who worked out of a stripmall was every bit Howard’s peer as senior partner who met his clients in an oak-paneled office. That was his story and he was sticking to it.
So no, the napkin from the Chinese buffet that had blown across Howard’s shoe in the parking lot hadn’t turned him off, nor had the oil fumes from the garage perched on the tip of the strip mall’s length where the traffic roared past. What bothered Howard was what it represented: a slip of standards, pure and simple. The real problem here was at the core. The office with its gaudy 1-800 posters was just advertising it.
Be firm, be clear, and believe, Howard counseled himself, his father’s own pre-court litany which he’d passed down to Howard along with blonde hair, seasonal allergies, and an irrational but deep hatred of the Boston Red Sox. He wasn’t pacing outside because he was nervous about facing Jimmy, but because he was waiting for an opening. He could hardly make an appointment in advance, and didn’t want to be spotted in the waiting room. So he was planning on waiting for a gap between clients to jump in and catch Jimmy unawares. With home court advantage, timing was Howard’s only ally in the place.
Peering through the blinds, past the bikers, crutches, and what Howard’s father called ‘working women’, Howard waited for a client turnover. Foot tapping, he turned around again squinting against the high sun, but not willing to wear sunglasses, aware they made him look like an asshole when he wore a suit. His eyes slid from one end of the mall to the other, resting on the travel agency on the other corner. Handy for any clients who needed to skip town after their court date, he thought with a snort.
When he turned back he noticed with a start that there was someone else outside with him, leaning back against the windows, checking his phone with one foot propped back against the glass. Where the hell had he come from?
Howard glanced back inside, stomach sinking when he saw a heavy-set man with a long beard head into the office next. Missed his shot. So another five or ten minutes out here in the parking lot at least. He looked back at the man who was now staring directly at Howard.
“Were you waiting to go in?” Howard felt compelled to ask, never having met a silence he couldn’t fill. Came in handy on the cocktail circuit.
The man shook his head, dark hair catching some of the sun. “Just got here. Need to talk to my lawyer.”
Howard must have been more on edge than he realized to not have noticed this man joining him on the pavement. That, or the guy moved as silently as a jungle cat.
“Is that right?” Howard said, more to himself than the stranger. “You want some advice? Find a better lawyer.”
The man raised an eyebrow, now looking at Howard with more interest than before. Howard shook his head.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s…fine.”
“If that’s the case, then why are you seeing him?” the man asked. He punctuated the word ‘you’, like he knew Howard very well already. He had a Spanish accent but his English was flawless.
“Delusion,” Howard scoffed. “Delusion, final Hail Marys, and an entirely misplaced sense of obligation.” He realized he sounded crazy but the stranger looked entertained, mouth twitching beneath his moustache. Movement inside caught Howard’s eye, and he saw the bearded gentleman leave Jimmy’s - Saul’s - office. Howard fairly leapt for the door to the waiting room. He paused.
“Do you mind if I…” he felt the need to ask.
The man shook his head, mouth still turned up.
“Take your time.”
“Nice meeting you,” Howard said, yanking the door open, the stranger’s eyes trained on his back. And now he looked crazy too. Not like he’d ever see the guy again. He strode across the waiting room, past the clients sneezing, lighting up, or holding crying babies, holding up a briefcase to reassure the receptionist who’d half-risen out of her seat. Just official business, ma’am. Thoughts turning to the speech he’d rehearsed, he pushed open the office door to confront Jimmy.
His speech unravelled the minute he opened his mouth, familiar territory where Jimmy was concerned. Howard got in half the points he meant to make, but the rest quickly became lost in a sea of ‘Chuck’, ‘mail room’, ‘Kettlemans’, ‘Mesa Verde’, ‘Kristy Esposito’, and ‘bowling balls’, dozens of resentments and accusations hurled liberally across the godawful tacky office Jimmy had built for himself. So much for ‘firm and clear’. More like ‘wildly vacillating and incoherent’. Howard had always felt like Jimmy could see right through him, each of their insecurities magnified and mirrored back at the other, which was probably why Jimmy could get under his skin like no one else. It felt like hours of yelling, but it couldn’t have been more than five minutes before Howard was storming out of the office, hands aloft in an ‘I give up’ motion, one final ‘pigfucker’ echoing after him. Most of the clients in the waiting room didn’t even look up from their magazines.
Howard stepped back outside breathing hard, unconsciously smoothing down his suit as though he’d been through a hurricane. He straightened up and realized the stranger was still outside too, utterly still apart from the car keys he was flipping over in his hand.
“All yours” Howard said, straightening his tie. He cleared his throat, hoarse from the shouting.
The man put his foot down on the pavement. Howard could see a smudge against the glass where his shoe had been resting. He didn’t go in the office though.
“It can wait. You though? You seemed a little…riled up,” the man said, looping a finger through the air a few times for emphasis, looking meaningfully at Howard. “Wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Maybe Howard should have examined that more, maybe should have debated the motivations of a strange man in a parking lot feeling obligated to keep an eye on him. But the fact stood that no matter the man’s reasons, it was the nicest thing anyone had bothered to do for Howard in a while. And the gesture had it all spilling out.
“Okay? Well I suppose that would depend on your definition of the word, wouldn’t it?” Howard asked with a semi-wild laugh, jerking his thumb back towards the office. “That guy won’t talk to me because I’ve permanently ruined a professional relationship over and over, except I wouldn’t even want to work with him now anyways, so that’s okay I guess. Haven’t had a full night’s sleep in months but my law firm has so much work to do that at least insomnia’s a good opportunity to get some of it done, right? So that’s okay too. I’m running the whole show alone because that guy in there? His brother was my business partner and one of my best friends and he’s dead and it’s probably my fault, but my wife keeps reminding me mental illness is nobody’s fault, so that’s all okay then. Oh, I said my wife? Yeah not even she calls herself that anymore, we’re basically separated in all but name but hey, it could be worse because at least we have a guesthouse for me to stay in, so yeah, you could say things are definitely okay .”
Howard took a deep breath.
“Wow,” the man said slowly, looking at Howard like he was a particularly interesting TV program. “You know what you need?”
“Before you say therapy or yoga, I promise you I’ve already got that covered,” Howard said.
“I was going to say a drink,” the man said, pronouncing the words slowly. And then he perked up, every line in his body alert, lounging to lively in one flip of the keys in his hand. “Come on, my treat.”
Before he knew what he was doing Howard was following him on instinct. His head was still spinning from the torrent he’d unleashed. He didn’t even do that in the therapy he’d mentioned. He was working on it, getting better at sharing the uglier parts of his grief. Even though his therapist had reminded him several times he didn’t have to worry about being polite company, Howard could never shake the feeling of being a dinner guest at his own therapy sessions. It had been a long time since he’d just vented , and it certainly wouldn’t have been to a total stranger.
Howard pulled up short halfway across the parking lot, suddenly aware of what he was doing.
“Sorry, I forgot, I need to get back…” he said, gesturing towards his car. The man just laughed, barely turning back to look at him.
“What you need is a drink and some food. Come on, it’s not far.” He finally turned around fully, and grinned at Howard in front of the Monte Carlo Howard had noticed earlier in the lot, fan of classic cars that he was. It was glamorous in an old-school way, kind of like the man in front of him, but the two together more than anything finally pinged some instinct he couldn’t identify, heart rate picking up in an almost childish sense of nerves, a long-forgotten warning to not get into cars with strangers creeping up from his stomach. His stomach which chose right then to growl in hunger. The man’s grin only widened.
“See?” he said. “Come on.”
Well…what danger could Howard get into, really? And he didn’t like to pass up chances to meet new people. You never knew which connections might come in handy. And he seemed like a pleasant enough guy, despite having an association with Saul Goodman. So did Howard, for that matter. Just because this guy was visiting Saul, it didn’t mean it had to be about anything criminal…
“I might just take you up on that,” Howard said, with more confidence than he felt. “But I’ll take my car. I’ll need it soon.”
“Suit yourself,” the man said, sliding his keys into his pocket. “But not many people pass up a ride in that, lemme tell you.”
“You ask a lot of people to go for a ride in parking lots, do you?” Howard asked, raising an eyebrow, worried he sounded rude, but the man just threw his head back and let out a shot of laughter, eyes crinkling.
“Alright, let’s see what you got,” he said, and Howard had meant he could just follow in his own car, but the man seemed to think Howard meant to take him, and he followed Howard to his Jag, letting out a whistle through his teeth. “Oh very nice.”
He circled the car slowly, eyes lingering on the vanity plate with a smirk, which Howard didn’t have time to feel self-conscious about before the man was sliding in the front seat.
“So you want to take the Pan American south, and Isleta Boulevard about as far down as you can go,” he said, rattling off instructions as he buckled himself in. Howard stood outside the car a moment longer, looking between the law offices, the stranger’s car, and his own car which suddenly felt like foreign territory to him. Slowly he climbed in and turned on the ignition. The man looked over from where he’d been making himself at home, playing with the controls on the dash.
“Call me Lalo,” he said, extending a hand. Somewhat reassured by the return to civilization, Howard shook it.
“Howard.”
***
They drove down Isleta, recognizable landmarks getting fewer and farther between, deeper into an industrial part of town, one Howard didn’t have many reasons to go to. Lalo gave a few directions, but passed most of the drive in silence, if you could call humming along to Howard’s radio ‘silence’. Still he managed to fill the entire space. Howard had noticed he was tall outside the offices, as he didn’t usually come across people who could meet his eyeline. But strapped into the front seat, Howard couldn’t help but be aware of the guy’s size too, muscles jerking each time he reached out with a tattooed arm to adjust the volume.
This was starting to feel like a spectacularly bad idea to Howard, his sense of unease growing the further away from midtown they got. They passed a couple churches, lavanderias, and more than a few garages, nearly in the South Valley. But the small, sunny yellow restaurant when it appeared gave Howard a slight boost, as did the smell inside of whatever was sizzling.
“Igna-” Lalo started to shout out as they crossed the restaurant floor, before changing his mind. “Miguel. Un Modelo para mi amigo. Y muevete. Take a break.” He enunciated the English part crisply like he was having fun with it.
“You, sit there,” he said, nodding at Howard and pointing to a table in the center of the room. “Your job is to relax.” The cook came out of the kitchen, a grim-faced man who silently put a beer in front of Howard before heading outside as instructed. And then Lalo himself went back into the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, “You’re gonna love this.”
So a restaurant owner, then? Howard felt better already. Some of the best food he’d had in his life had come from the most hole-in-the-wall places imaginable. Not that this was a dive by any means, the murals and plants along the wall adding some cheer. But the drive certainly hadn’t filled Howard with comfort. He shouldn’t have judged its surroundings so harshly, which wasn’t like him. Maybe he was more strung out than he’d realized.
A radio crackled away in the kitchen, while Howard slowly sipped his beer, a Mexican brand he wasn’t too familiar with. Occasionally Lalo would stroll past the order window as he bustled around inside, flipping various bottles as he moved. Once he glanced through the window right at Howard with a smile that jolted through Howard’s chest. Definitely more strung out than he’d thought.
Before too long, Lalo came out of the kitchen holding two plates in one hand, a bowl of meat in the other.
“Smell that,” he said, depositing one of the plates in front of Howard, where five of the most perfect looking soft-shell tacos Howard had ever seen were arranged. “Don’t go anywhere.”
If Howard hadn’t chickened out before, he certainly wasn’t going to now, not when his stomach was insisting he was right where he needed to be. The carne asada was still sizzling in the bowl, sprinkled with oil and cilantro. Lalo returned with a couple more bowls and a beer for himself.
“Dig in, dig in, don’t wait for me,” he said, arranging the bowls onto the table.
“This smells amazing,” Howard said with genuine enthusiasm, leaning forward. “What’s the recipe?”
“I’d tell you,” Lalo said with a grin, taking a seat across from Howard, “but then I’d have to kill you.”
Extending his beer bottle towards Howard, he waggled his eyebrows. “Salud.”
“Salud,” Howard agreed, clinking Lalo’s bottle with his own, and taking a sip before continuing to assemble a taco.
“And there’s more where that came from,” Lalo said, nodding back towards the kitchen.
“There might have to be,” Howard said, folding up the little taco and eating half in one bite. “Oh my god .”
“You won’t find him in here,” Lalo said with a laugh, taking a bite himself.
They each put away several tacos silently, until Howard felt he could slow down enough to make conversation, the duty of any good guest.
“So you’re in the restaurant business,” he prompted Lalo, taking another swallow of beer. It was going down faster now that he was more certain he wasn’t being kidnapped.
Lalo nodded as he chewed, wiping a stray drop of salsa from his lip. “In part. I mostly work in sales, but I spend some time at the restaurant too. Also work on cars when I can. I always have a few things going on. You know how it is.”
Howard made a noise of agreement, although he didn’t really know how it was. From the time he began school, the title lawyer was always on the horizon, a clear, shining aspiration, self explanatory, both in what you do and what you are. Tell the world you’re a lawyer, and you announce an achievement and a role, all wrapped up into one word. Whenever someone claimed multiple professions, he wasn’t sure if he should admire it, pity it, or feel guilty about it.
Not that there seemed much to pity about Lalo. He may have needed several businesses, but he didn’t carry himself like someone who struggled to get by. Some people just liked to stay busy, Howard knew. And apparently some people invite total strangers out to lunch just to be a good samaritan. Sometimes it got hard after so long in the legal business, but Howard was reasonably sure there were still many genuinely good people in the world.
“Forgot to ask if you’re a vegetarian but guess not,” Lalo said as Howard polished off a third taco.
“Why, do I look like one?” Howard asked through a bite.
Lalo’s gaze ran over him, dark and assessing. Howard swallowed, some meat sticking in his throat.
“Yeah, I gotta say you do,” Lalo finally said with a laugh. Howard smiled too, rolling up his sleeves.
“Touché. I’ve thought about it. Never really stuck though.”
In fact, Howard had wanted to give it a proper try several times in his youth. His dad had always been quick to discourage the idea though. If he wanted to be a lawyer, he had to be willing to go along with a certain number of steak dinners, staff barbecues, or dinner parties where a whole deal could come crumbling down if he offended the hostess with a special order. Howard knew plenty of lawyers that were vegetarians nowadays, but even so, Howard had never gotten to a point where he felt he could risk it. Sometimes he fantasized about a heart attack at his desk, if only to have an industry-acceptable excuse for cutting out red meat.
“That’s good, because someone has to help me finish this,” Lalo said of their spread, getting to his feet. “Getting some more tacos. Nah nah nah, I told you to relax,” he said, waving Howard back down into his seat.
Howard grinned sheepishly as Lalo went back into the kitchen, returning with a basket of fresh tortillas, two more beers, and a bottle of tequila.
“Oh boy,” Howard said, laughing a little when he saw it. “Might get too relaxed if you give me much of that.”
“You say that,” Lalo said, pouring out a shot for each of them, “like it’s a bad thing. Also, it’s Friday, huh? Cheers.”
“What the hell,” Howard said, already knowing he was going to accept it. He toasted Lalo and tossed it back, grimacing from the fiery round flavour that smoothed out down his throat. Just the one couldn’t hurt. When in Rome.
“There you go,” Lalo said, cracking open each bottle of beer against the table, smacking each with his palm in a quick precise motion. He handed one to Howard, moisture from the cold bottle still clinging to his fingers and sat back down. Lalo began making a new taco, and it gave Howard a chance to really look at him. Christ, he was the handsomest guy Howard had seen in a while, that was for sure. Between the moustache, the silver streak in dark hair, darker eyes, and that grin, he had what Howard’s mother would have described as “matinee idol good looks.”
The memory of his mother threw some cold water on where Howard’s thoughts had been drifting steadily, honestly since he’d watched the guy stride across the parking lot, following the runching of his shirt where it was tucked into denim and a wide belt. Not that it mattered much. Vegetarianism, ice-skating, and sex with men: there were some things Howard just wasn’t going to pick up at this age.
Well…except that one time in Tahoe. And that business conference in Phoenix. Two thrilling, feverish events he couldn’t even bring himself to feel guilty about, knowing deep down it was right for him in a way his marriage never had been. Easy to compartmentalize too, since he could still hardly believe it had happened. He’d still capped it at two though. Two was barely worth mentioning. Three was a pattern.
It wasn’t as though this was heading in that direction. Although…men didn’t tend to strike up conversations with other men and propose impromptu lunches, no matter how gregarious they were. Was it possible this Lalo had another agenda? Howard knew how his clean-cut exterior and gym-honed build came off sometimes, and wasn’t unaware of the occasional looks he received from other men. But Howard always rebuffed them all. Except that one time in Tahoe. And Phoenix.
Knowledge of cruising almost storybook naive, Howard was still half under the assumption that men met in parks at dusk by whistling in code. He knew it was ridiculous. But maybe parking lot pickups were actually a reality. How would he know?
Lalo glanced up at him, and Howard was reasonably sure his thoughts weren’t written all over his face. He straightened out one of the napkins on their table.
“So what did you want to see a lawyer about anyways?” Howard asked before he could think about it. Lalo raised an eyebrow and Howard internally winced.
“I’m sorry. That’s personal.”
“Nah,” Lalo said, brow furrowing as he waved it away. “Shipping matter. Been trying to import produce for the restaurant between here and Mexico but a lot of red tape, you know? Mentioned it to a customer and he gave me that guy’s card. Thought I’d check him out. No rush though. I know where to find him.”
“That right?” Howard said, drumming his fingers on the table. “You know, I’m just remembering this restaurateur who gets involved in some of our firm’s philanthropic events. Has a small chain restaurant in town called Los Pollos Hermanos. You’ve heard of them?” he asked Lalo who’d perked up.
“Every restaurant owner in town has heard of them,” Lalo said, giving Howard his full attention. “Practically famous.”
“I don’t know the owner well or anything,” Howard continued, feeling put on the spot with those bright eyes not leaving him, “but I could get his information for you if you like. I’m sure he’d be happy to talk to another business owner and give some friendly advice.”
“Are you kidding?” Lalo asked. Howard couldn’t read his wide grin. “That would be really nice of him. And you.”
“Least I can do,” Howard said. “This is the best lunch I’ve had in a while.”
“Good,” Lalo said, smile softening somewhat. “Actually, there is another reason I invited you out.”
“Oh?”
Lalo nodded as he took a sip of beer. Howard’s pulse thudded as he watched him swallow. So now he’d know at least.
Lalo set his beer down, looking at Howard. “Something you said earlier. How I needed a better lawyer. Why’d you say that?”
Oh.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” Howard said again, wiping his fingers with a napkin, not sure if he was relieved or disappointed that this Lalo didn’t have ulterior motives. “It was more of a personal matter. Nothing to do with his skill.”
“So he is a good lawyer then?” Lalo asked. It was reasonable that he should be concerned. It wasn’t easy being a small business owner, and Howard didn’t want to give him the wrong advice. If Jimmy could help this guy out, it was none of Howard's affair.
“He’s…” Howard’s voice trailed off, flashes of so many testimonials about Jimmy running through his mind, some shouted in vehement defense by Kim, some given in exasperation by Cliff Main, some dripped into Howard’s ear one at a time by Chuck… Howard shook his head.
“He’s a very good lawyer,” he said firmly. It was the truth. He often wondered how differently things might have gone if he’d stood by that opinion at the beginning when it counted most.
Lalo flicked his hands open, closed, and shrugged. “So what’s the problem?”
“He’s a good lawyer,” Howard repeated because it felt right, “and he’ll always do whatever it takes.”
Lalo looked pleased about this, as he spooned more salsa onto his food. “But…?”
“I mean whatever it takes. He bends the rules too much,” Howard settled on. It didn’t seem to bother Lalo who seemed like he was hoping for something more.
“Bends the rules. I can work with that,” Lalo said between bites.
“Can you?” Howard asked carefully. Despite feeling significantly loosened up from the cocktail of food, liquor, and conversation, there was still… something he couldn’t quite place about this whole afternoon. He’d thought he’d identified one possible source of tension, but nothing seemed to be heading in that direction. So what was the prickling under his skin and why wouldn’t it leave?
“Well depends what you mean by bend the rules,” Lalo said. He held the tequila bottle towards Howard who shook his head. Lalo poured himself another shot. “I thought all lawyers had to be bullshit artists to a certain extent. No offense.”
“No, please. You’re not wrong,” Howard admitted with a rueful laugh. “But it’s more than that. It’s what I went to see him about today in fact…”
Howard trailed off, and Lalo lifted the glass to his lips, expression unchanging. Howard decided it wasn’t mean-spirited gossip if he was just being honest.
“I wanted to ask him about certain rumours I’d been hearing. Some of his…clientele.”
“Lot of characters in there today,” Lalo agreed with a laugh, shaking his head.
“Well, more than just characters,” Howard said. “And I’m not telling you this to put you off him, but the talk coming out of the courthouse lately…” Howard lowered his voice, “...is that he knowingly assisted a cartel member. Took him on as a client. Cartel here in Albuquerque.”
Lalo thumbed the rim of his shot glass and smiled, lifting his eyebrows in what Howard assumed was disbelief.
“Wow. That’s big.”
“It would be a new low for our friend, that’s for sure,” Howard said, shaking his head. “I went to go tell him…well…I don’t even know. I guess to tell him it wasn’t too late to choose a new path if he wanted one. Trouble is, he’s never seemed to want it.”
“What’s the expression, horses and water?” Lalo asked. “You can lead a horse to water…”
“...but can’t make it drink,” Howard said. He cracked a smile and assented as Lalo held up the tequila bottle one more time, finding it hard to resist the grin opposite him. Last one though.
“So you don’t think this guy should be representing anyone in the cartel,” Lalo confirmed, pouring out the shot for Howard.
“I don’t,” Howard agreed immediately.
Lalo nodded and leaned forward on his elbows, tattoo on his forearm shifting with the motion. “Why?”
Taken aback by the question, Howard searched for words as he drank and then slowly put down the empty shot glass. It seemed obvious to him, but maybe Lalo was genuinely interested.
“There are some lines you just don’t cross in this business,” Howard settled on.
“I thought lawyers weren’t supposed to judge their clients,” Lalo said, dragging a knife through a larger piece of beef. “Innocent until proven guilty.”
He popped the meat into his mouth plain and swallowed with a smile. “Ethically speaking.”
This was steering uncomfortably close to ill advised conversational territory. Howard’s fraternity had had a mantra for rushing new pledges. In the first round of recruitment, always avoid the three Ws: Wages, Watergate, and Women. Aka, don’t discuss money, politics, or love life. The next year they’d updated it to the three Fs: Finances, Ford, and Fuckin’.
“That’s true. But we’re not talking your run of the mill crimes here,” Howard said. “We’re talking organized crime. Practically a whole other legal system unto itself.”
Lalo tilted his head as though agreeing but asked: “You’re a lawyer too, hmm? Don’t you accept guilty clients?”
“That’s not exactly how we think of it but…of course,” Howard said.
“Ever defend murderers?” Lalo asked, eyebrows raised, going straight for the big guns.
“Our firm doesn’t really specialize in…yes, it’s happened.”
“Thieves?” Lalo asked enthusiastically. And while terms like embezzlement and inheritance fraud might have distanced those crimes from the image of a man in a ski mask carrying a sack of money, the fact remained that…
“Yes. Plenty,” Howard said. His shoulders had shifted into courtroom posture, as though sensing an argument.
“What makes it so different if he represents cartel?” Lalo said. “I thought everyone deserves a fair defense.”
“Well that’s the million dollar word,” Howard said, voice naturally settling into a pleasant, reasonable, jury-friendly tone. “Fair. Everyone does deserve a fair defense, but they’re saying that Jim - ‘Saul Goodman’ - knowingly misled the court where this client was concerned. Misrepresented him. Basically scammed the court into getting him bail. That’s not what I’d call fair.”
Lalo hummed. “Maybe, maybe not. But forget ‘fair’. Before, you said he shouldn’t represent the cartel at all . Why not?”
“Look, he can represent whoever he wants at this point,” Howard said, lifting his hands peaceably. “But it’s a line in the sand. Any lawyer getting mixed up in all that with both eyes open, isn’t coming back from that. That’s all.”
Lalo settled back into his seat, apparently relaxed but for his eyes that were piercing as they assessed Howard. There was a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
“Interesting. And still not an answer.”
Howard laughed uncomfortably. “I feel like I’m on the stand here.”
Lalo stared at him a beat longer, moustache twitching. Then he broke into a laugh too, all affability again.
“I’m just messing with you, man,” he said, “eat up, the last one’s yours.”
Howard took the last corn tortilla from the basket, lining up some meat, tomatoes, and salsa, avoiding the onions because he really should go back to work soon.
“This was fun,” Howard said, after swallowing his last bite.
“You have no idea,” Lalo said, still with that grin. “And hey, if ever you -”
The bell over the door jangled. They’d been alone the whole time, and Howard had hoped it wasn’t a sign of Lalo’s business doing poorly, but then again they’d missed the lunch rush. Maybe this was the early dinner crowd making an appearance.
But the man in the doorway was no customer. He filled the entire frame and scanned the room, taking in every corner, huge fists adorned with rings. He looked at Howard, eyes narrowing somewhat in confusion, and then walked across the room making a beeline for Lalo.
“Necesito un minuto,” he said in a rush, bending down over Lalo. Howard could see a tattoo creeping out the collar of his shirt.
“Can’t you see I’m enjoying lunch with a friend?” Lalo said in English, gesturing to Howard. His voice was pleasant, but if Howard worked for this man, he would have heard the ‘fuck off or else’.
Clearly the stranger did too, and he faltered as he looked between Lalo and Howard, mouth like a fish. But urgency must have prevailed over niceties, because he continued:
“Lo siento, Lalo. Es la esquina de Eubank. Hubo un incidente,” he said, sticking to Spanish.
Lalo sighed, and wiped his mouth. “Business,” he said to Howard, and Howard nodded.
“I can go if -”
“Nah, nah, Andreas here only needs a minute, that’s what you said, right?” he asked the man. “¿Bien? Vamos.”
The man bent down further and spoke to Lalo in a quiet voice. Howard had been aimlessly looking around the restaurant as though to give them privacy, fingers turning his empty beer around on the table. But gradually he stopped fidgeting and stilled as he actually started to listen to the conversation across from him. Both men were speaking Spanish now, low and rapid, not meant for Howard, but the thing was…
Howard spoke Spanish too. Of course he did. He’d been honour roll all through high school, never dipping below ninety percent in any class, and that included his high school Spanish. He even kept it up in university as an elective every year. Most of his classmates in law school didn’t bother, but Howard was aware that if he wanted to make his mark in the legal field in New Mexico, functional Spanish would be an asset. It would have had more use had Howard become a public defender like he’d briefly wanted, instead of jumping into the position already waiting for him. But still, he always liked an opportunity to surprise a client, especially if they came in with older family members who instantly relaxed when they heard Howard reply in their language.
Lalo and this man spoke fast and used some terms Howard didn’t recognize, probably street slang, but Howard heard enough to get the general drift. And what he heard had his heart rate picking up, going from a steady staccato to a driving thudding in his chest. Seeing Lalo outside of Saul’s office, Lalo’s needling of Howard about the cartel, the way he seemed to be privately laughing at Howard, and now this conversation not meant for Howard…
He stared at Lalo who was in the middle of telling Andreas he didn’t want things to escalate. Neither man used any definitive terms, at least none Howard knew. Not until Lalo said the words ‘guerra territorial’. Turf war. And then Howard’s mind blanked, the threads of his day rushing and wrapping together, coiling into a noose that jerked Howard into reality with a hard yank.
Lalo glanced over at Howard who immediately looked down, heart and mind now racing. He gave one final dismissive instruction to Andreas who straightened up and nodded, leaving them both alone again without another word. Lalo turned back towards Howard whose pulse was roaring in his ears.
Lalo appeared to be totally relaxed, settled into his chair, hands clasped in front of him, one thumb circling the other in thought. But his eyes stared at Howard so intently, Howard felt his feet twitch of their own accord.
“¿Quieres más comida?” Lalo asked Howard, nodding at his empty plate. Howard shook his head.
“No, thank -” he stopped. Lalo’s eyes glittered.
A silence fell over the table, no sound but the muffled radio still coming from the kitchen. Neither moved, Howard desperate to, Lalo looking in no way inclined to. He was the picture of ease. But he knew. And Howard knew he knew.
“I think I’m in the middle of something,” Howard finally got out.
“Don't worry about it,” Lalo said. He smiled at Howard.
“I should go,” Howard said, hoping his voice was even.
“Me too,” Lalo agreed. He watched as Howard stood up, patting himself down for his keys. Howard forced himself to laugh as he retrieved them from his pocket. He turned towards the door, and stopped.
“Your car,” Howard said uncertainly. “We left it back there.” And then instantly cursed himself. Was this the final nail? An instinct to be polite overcoming the voice in his head telling him to turn around and just run? But Lalo waved it off.
“One of the guys can pick it up,” Lalo said easily.
“One of the guys. Right.” Howard shook his head, whatever scenarios he’d been imagining here fully crumbled, and rebuilding themselves into a whole new reality that was starting to feel more and more like a cage the longer he stayed here.
“Are you okay to drive?” Lalo asked, pointing at Howard. “You put away a few of La Malinche . That’s the good stuff, you know.”
“I’m fine,” Howard said, and he was, mostly. “I’ll take the service road and drive slow.”
“I get it,” Lalo said with a grin. “Bend the rules a little, no?”
Howard opened his mouth and closed it. He needed to get out of here.
“Thank you for lunch,” he said, taking out his car keys. If Lalo noticed the way Howard held them between his fingers he said nothing, just smiled wider.
“Come back anytime,” Lalo said, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied stretch, legs crossing under the table.
Howard nodded, tightening his grip on the keys. And then he fled.