Chapter Fourteen: Teixeira Debt

How did the Texiera’s find my RV? All manner of tracking devices were viable for that task. I hadn’t taken their packages back to my RV, and I hadn’t even stayed at this lot last night.

Mister Texiera was probably a few years younger than I was. He still looked intimidating nonetheless.

Two other heavies stepped into the ‘main’ room from my bedroom. They’d infiltrated my RV quite thoroughly!

“It has come to my understanding that a package was delivered to the dead drop outside the convention center an hour and half off schedule.”

This made man didn’t talk like he was out of The Godfather. Didn’t mumble, but didn’t talk particularly slowly or restrained either. Very blunt. I tried not to waste mental bandwidth wondering where the accent was from.

“I, uh, hit traffic,” I said.

It didn’t count as a lie if I was technically stuck bumper-to-bumper there for the last thirty minutes or so.

The mafioso steepled his hands, only now looking the part.

“We have it on good authority you picked up the package on-time…” began Mister Texiera.

The other two toughs didn’t make any moves towards forcing me down into a chair.

“… why then, were you delayed over an hour at the drop-off?”

Ah, they probably assumed I was bugging the package or something. Now, I was batting above-replacement in the realm of bluffing and fast talk. I hadn’t had occasion to test this out with an actual organized crime representative.

There was a first time for testing out everything.

“Yes, well, I had, uh, prior-commitments.”

This made me sound guilty of something. Probably not the best line of argument.

“Indeed,” said Mister Texiera. “We have it on good authority that you were in the Hills.”

Hills by which he meant Beverly Hills, of course. Yuki’s mansion. But how did they know?

“Uh, well, that’s—y’know how deliveries work? I go all over.”

“This seems more consistent than simple gig work,” said Mister Texiera.

One of the toughs raided my pantries. They handed some chips to Mister Texiera, who started munching on them.

“We at the legitimate logistics company of Texiera Associates have no problem with independent contractors pursuing their own gigs.”

I pulled up my own chair and sat down. Better than being forced down into a chair by the two goons. If it got to that point, things could get ugly. Plus Mister Teixeira was acting somewhat rational right now. Maybe he really was just here to talk?

“… it makes us look like our couriers have been sniped,” Mister Teixeira concluded. “It makes us think that someone is pushing into our turf.”

I waved my hands about, nervous. “It’s nothing like that, Mister Teixeira.”

Those two goons, who had been relatively laid back until now, moved in to surround me on either side. They put their hands on my shoulders, politely but firmly encouraging me to stay put.

Silently, I prepared to say goodbye to my thumbs.

“Who is this mysterious benefactor?” Mister Teixeira asked with a measured tone.

“It’s just some celebrity whose deliveries I’ve been sniping.”

What could an organized crime syndicate want with an internet microcelebrity/foreign idol/budding movie star’s UberEATS orders? It didn’t seem like a viable path to nefarious criminal activity, at least from where I was sitting.

“When did she come to America?” Mister Teixeira asked.

I hadn’t mentioned Yuki by name nor even implied this new benefactor was a woman! I mean, perhaps one could assume, but it was awfully presumptuous of the gruff old made man.

“Does she have any Yakuza ties?” asked Mister Teixeira.

There was an awkward pause.

“Well, hell, I hope not,” I said.

“Where does she normally put in delivery orders?”

“I mean, these days she mostly just puts an order in on the app, and I see it automatically…”

“Could you encourage this celebrity to take on Teixeira-family clients?”

“Maybe?” I had no plans of doing so, though.

Mister Teixeira was absolutely obliterating my supply of potato chips. I didn’t dare stop him, of course. It was a strange juxtaposition compared to his well-kept mafioso shtick.

“Mister Viktor,” he said. “There will not be another delivery for some time. The package has been picked up, and its security has been verified. The job was completed successfully.”

I gulped, feeling a sigh of relief.

“… one day, however, you will receive a call to do us a favor. It is in your best interest to do so.”

“I, uh, what kind of favor?”

“Whatever the family may require,” Mister Teixeira said.

Oh, good, I was already in debt to the mafia. That never ended well. Even without a monetary debt, there was no telling what kind of trouble this could cause here in the coming days, weeks, or even years.

“We’ll be in touch,” Mister Teixeira said.

At some unseen signal, Mister Teixeira rose from his chair. The two minions secured the exit and left first, with Mister Teixeira casually strolling out of my abode last.

The door swung shut of its own accord. I was left alone, listening to the heavy footsteps of these mafia goons as they left the RV park.

Only when I was certain they were not coming back did I go searching for a stash of wine in a hidden compartment behind the sink. While the Teixieras had raided all my other food stores, they wouldn’t have found this bottle in a million years. This was most fortunate, as I sure could use a drink about now…

+++

Moving to another RV park somewhere in town seemed like a good idea. How did the family even know I was here?

They seemed to have a better intelligence operation than I would have ever imagined. They knew about Yuki, even where I’d been earlier that day. This could make a guy paranoid. Were they watching me? How, and how thorough was this surveillance network?

Moving RV parks within the greater metropolitan area or even the entire state would surely be futile. If they could track me to Yuki’s house, they could surely track me anywhere. I felt the sudden flight-or-fight urge to get the heck out of town. The Teixeiras were relatively small-time and surely wouldn’t be able to chase me much further than Vegas. I dipped out of every other town I’d ever passed through. What was one more?

I dared not return to Yuki’s party. Not right now. I sent a text back to her apologizing with a noncommittal excuse. To my surprise, she answered back pretty quickly, saying everything was alright and the party was winding down anyway. She’d just have to get me that present some other time.

Something happened that hadn’t occurred when I thought of leaving any of the previous cities. I felt a slight pang of loss. If I fled, I’d have to say goodbye to Yuki and Janae as well. I might not even get a proper chance to say goodbye.

I sighed, sitting on my couch.

“It was only for a few days,” I muttered, then took a swig of my hidden emergency wine.

Evening crept up, then turned into night as I remained in my RV. I was left shuddering in apprehension as I dreaded what possible favors the Teixeira family could force upon me. So cowed was I by their surprisingly in-depth intel network that I didn’t even dare try to enlist the authorities or Janae.

I groaned, finishing off the emergency wine. The next time I receive a delivery order from Yuki, should I turn it down? It would be the worst thing in the world to rope any unassuming civilian into this. I sighed again, then tossed the empty bottle into a receptacle to be taken out to the RV park trash compactor.

“Ah, it was fun while it lasted,” I said, morosely.