His bowels ached again as he reached for his gun. Juan realized he had set it on the countertop when he rushed by to the bathroom.
“Who are you?” he asked as he took a step backward toward the counter. His fingers closed around the gun, and he brought it around and trained it on the figure. The figure hadn’t moved.
“Diego,” a weak voice called from the corner. It belonged to a woman.
He stepped closer. If it hadn’t been for the closed blinds on the window next to the corner, there would have been enough moonlight to see her. Even with his exceptional night vision, he could only make out the vaguest feminine shape. Long dark hair. Smallish shoulders. She was hunched forward.
Juan flipped on the lights. “Marta?”
“Diego,” she said again.
Juan walked up to her and quickly checked her for wounds. She didn’t appear to have any. “Are you okay?”
Her pupils seemed enlarged, which would have been normal for sitting in the dark like that. But they should have been contracting by now with the overhead light.
“What’s wrong? Are you on drugs again?”
“They’re gone.”
“Who’s gone?” Juan asked.
“Silvia and Rosalin. They disappeared. From the bar I work at.”
Juan squatted in front of her and placed his hands on her shoulders to calm her. “In Barranquilla?”
“Yes.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re gone. Probably murdered. By the snake people.” She made a retching sound.
Juan pulled her shivering body against his chest as he consoled her. “Slow down. Can you start from the beginning?”
She told Juan about the small-time drug outfit operating in the back room of the bar she worked at. While she hadn’t involved herself in their affairs, she’d overheard some of their conversations. A few weeks ago, several of them started complaining about hearing a hissing sound as they walked home or when they were trying to sleep. One night, one of them freaked out at the bar and said he heard snakes. There weren’t any snakes, though. The man drew a gun and shot his own brains out. The music was too loud out in the bar so none of the customers heard it, but it was horrible. They made Rosalin clean up the mess. That’s how she got involved. And since Silvia was Rosalin’s best friend, she got involved, too. The boss of the outfit liked them so much, and he was shorthanded, so he offered them some money on the side if they could use their charm and good looks to find more customers. They feared for their lives so they accepted, and besides, they really did need the money. Rosalin and Silvia both started hearing hissing sounds a couple nights later. Then they disappeared.
Marta dropped her head into her lap for a moment.
Juan looked at her. “I’m sorry to hear all that.”
“When you called this morning, I remembered how you always knew what to do.”
“You know who’s doing this, though? You said snake people. I’ve never heard of them. Is it a gang? Or another drug operation in the area?”
She didn’t seem to have heard him, so he put a hand under Marta’s chin and gently turned her face to look at him.
“I don’t know. They say they wear black hoods with eyes painted along the sides. I’ve never seen them.”
“And you’ve heard the hissing?”
“No. Oh no. I’d go insane, I think. I hate snakes.”
“Where are you staying in Barranquilla?”
“With another girlfriend at work. Rosalin and Silvia were staying with us too, after they started hearing the hissing sounds. Diego, I trust you. What should I do? I’m scared they’ll come and find me, the snake people. I don’t want to die.”
Juan looked at her tangled mess of hair and tear-smeared makeup. Her eyes kept squinting as if something was irritating her. “Marta?” he said, but she didn’t hear him.
She started to cry again.
Juan patted her shoulder and said her name again. This time she looked up at him from the wet spot on his shoulder. She wiped her eyes.
“I’ve got some friends,” he said. “We’ll come up and check it out tomorrow, okay?”
“I don’t want to go back. I don’t like driving in the dark. Snakes can see in the dark.”
What is it with snakes? Juan asked himself.
“You can stay here, then,” Juan said. Marta seemed so scared. From the vigorous way her body was shaking against his, it was as if she might drop dead at any moment.
She looked up at him, her own eyes watery orbs that glistened in the overhead light. “Thank you. Oh, thank you.” She clasped her hands on his shoulders and sobbed once more as her head and tangled hair leaned forward, tears dropping to the carpeted floor.
“Now Marta. Marta,” Juan said, shaking her arms so she’d look up at him again. With his thumb he wiped away some of the bleeding mascara. “Are you back on drugs?”
“No. No, Diego. I’d never . . .”
Juan didn’t think she was being truthful. For one thing, the corner of her right eye kept twitching, and in his observations most people had a tell that betrayed them when they lied. An eye twitch was one of the most basic tells.
Also, Marta’s pupils were still wider than they should be in the light of the apartment. She kept shading her eyes and blinking rapidly when she looked up at him. This was most likely an effect of some drug in her system.
“I hope not. I didn’t help you get off drugs years ago just to see you back on them.”
“I’m not. Oh, I’m not,” Marta said as she clutched at the shirt on his shoulders. She put her cheek against his shoulder again. “Thank you. Oh, thank you. I feel safe here.”
“You’re . . .”
Juan’s phone chimed, and he grabbed it from his hip holster. It was a text from CG.
Dude. Where you at? I’m like the only guy in here . . .
“Damnit,” Juan said as he got up. It looked like he’d just broken a promise. The studio wasn’t too far away—maybe he could still make it.
“Can I ask you something?” Marta asked.
“Sure.”
“Do you know where Juan Santiago is?”
“No.”
“And you didn’t . . . kill him or anything?”
“No. I wouldn’t turn on that man. He does good work.”
“Good,” she said, burying her cheek against his shoulder. “Or else I would have had to kill you,” she said, her words muffled against his chest. He saw the stock of a cheap revolver muzzle down in the purse beside her.
His stomach twisted, and it wasn’t due to her revelation.
Heading toward the bathroom again, he excused himself.
7
Bounce
Juan had just drifted off to sleep when his phone rang.
It was Rockwell.
“Hey boss. It’s midnight.”
“I just texted you an address. Meet me there in half an hour. It’s Paul.”
“But I’m tired . . .” He didn’t even get the sentence out before the line went dead.
“You sure you got the right place?”
“It’s the right place,” Rockwell said.
Juan looked around at the people lined up in front of the night club. A neon sign above the door said, Club Juvenil.
“You’re not worried you might not fit in with this crowd?” Juan asked as he looked at the line behind them. He couldn’t see the end. In the glare of the street lamps, he saw mostly bare midriffs and lots of leg. Almost everyone in line was in their early twenties or thirties. Juan wasn’t sure he’d ever seen this many hot girls in one place before. Of course, there were guys in line too, but his eyes were on the women.
Now this is where I need to take CG to get a date. Talk about fish in a barrel. More like fish in a bottle . . .
“You ready?” Rockwell asked.
They stepped up to a broad-shouldered man with a protruding gut. The man looked at Rockwell. “Name?”
“Michael Jackson.”
The bouncer looked down
at his clipboard for a second before his brain processed the name. “I think you got the wrong place, pal. Old man’s club is on the other side of the street.”
Rockwell slipped some money onto the clipboard.
“Yeah, okay. Go on in.”
Rockwell stepped past the man, but an arm stopped Juan when he tried to go forward.
“He paid for me, too,” Juan said. “I’m his date.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the bouncer said. “You on the list or have a hot mamacita on your arm? I didn’t think so—”
The man stopped as he felt Rockwell’s hand on his shoulder.
“Look, my, uh, partner and I don’t want any trouble.”
The bouncer looked from Rockwell to Juan and then back to Rockwell. “I’m gonna need to see some more cash.”
Rockwell’s steely eyes turned to spiked glassy ice.
“Okay. Shit. Go in before I change my mind. Next.”
“I didn’t know you felt that way about me,” Juan said as he shouldered up to Rockwell.
Rockwell didn’t say anything. They walked toward the door where two bouncers were patting down guests before they entered.
“I’ll take the one on the left if they want to fight,” Juan said.
“We’re not fighting them. That’s an order.”
“Why not?”
“It’ll blow our cover. Don’t be an idiot, Juan.”
Juan stopped cold in his tracks. As far as he could remember, that was the first time Rockwell had ever addressed him as Juan. Usually it was a stern Paul this or Paul that.
The two men at the club’s entrance patted them both down for weapons and let them in.
“You think those guys pat down the girls, too?” Juan asked with a smirk. “Cause that was a pretty thorough pat-down.”
“I’ve had more thorough,” Rockwell said seriously. It was difficult to hear him over the din of the music and the chatter of young people.
“Well, I have, too. Since my profession is smuggling. Was smuggling. Look, I’m just trying to make conversation.”
“Try to focus instead. I’m going to get a drink so I fit in. I’d suggest you do the same.”
“I don’t drink,” Juan said.
“That’s your problem. You blow this and you won’t want to run into me for a few weeks.”
“Oh yeah?” Juan said, unable to help himself from being a smartass. To his credit, he did try.
Rockwell split from him and headed to the bar on the right side of the room. The room was glowing with a luminescent, bluish-white light that pulsed to the beat of techno music. The floor was clear and lined with blue fluorescent light tubes. Both the floor and ceiling changed from dark blue to light blue, then to white before reversing until the room was dark blue again.
A surprising number of men and women had congregated on the clear, pulsing dance floor. Of course, it had been some time since Juan had last been to a nightclub. He had been kicked out of the last one he’d been to back when he was part of a gang. His crime: he drank too much and was grinding on a woman three times his size (or so his friends had claimed). Why the bouncer had decided to throw him out when there were so many others drunker than him, he had no idea. Coming to the next morning in an alley with a black eye and no wallet had served as a much-needed wakeup call.
Yes, “peso beer night” had been a bad idea.
While he could laugh about it now, he still didn’t like to think about those days.
Juan walked over to a plush sofa with a table in front of it. Sitting here would provide a decent view of the entrance. Set off to the side where foot traffic would have to walk past them, the sofa sat against the side of a stairwell that rose to the second floor. Juan didn’t know how deep the second floor went, but he could see a railed balcony on both sides of the dance floor where people could look over and see the dance floor below. Juan figured it was probably a pretty cool place to hang out if that was your thing.
It wasn’t his thing.
He took a seat as Rockwell came toward him and took a seat next to him, placing two drinks on the table.
“Sitting a little close, are we?” Juan said.
“I know you’re acting like this because you’re nervous. So I’ll let it slide. Paul was always more professional.”
“How many times do I have to remind you that I’m not Paul?”
“And yet I keep finding myself expecting more from you.”
“Sorry?”
“Just pay attention. And sip your drink.”
“Oh. And here I thought they were both for you.” Juan tried to pick up the short, square glass of dark liquid, but Rockwell beat him to it, indicating with his pinkie the tall bluish glass with a pink umbrella.
“It’s non-alcoholic,” Rockwell said.
Juan sniffed it. He didn’t smell any alcohol vapors. He could smell the alcohol from Rockwell’s glass, though. “You order a double for yourself?”
“Focus.”
“What am I supposed to be focusing on?”
Juan stared out at the dance floor in front of him, at the tall bistro tables with silk skirts stretched under the bases. Men and women stood around the tables talking and making out and . . . other things. A couple tables had only women standing around them. They were talking and making out and . . . well, the same things as the other tables, it seemed.
Whatever had happened to public decency, he wondered. And then, Oh God, I’m becoming an old man, aren’t I?
“So, you come here often?” Juan asked. He sipped his drink. It was surprisingly sweet but also sour.
“Why do you ask?” Rockwell asked as he brought his own glass to his eyes. They looked like two guys observing women ten or thirty years younger. Nothing weird about that.
“I just figure you’d like seeing all these scantily-clad young women. These very young women.”
“Wouldn’t be my first choice of venue,” Rockwell said.
“This couch smells like sex,” Juan said.
They sat in silence for a while until a woman in tight black leather asked if they wanted a “cootie shot.”
“What’s that?” Juan asked.
The woman climbed up onto their table and started to gyrate her hips with the pulsing of the light while her hands explored along her body.
When she was done, Juan turned to look at Rockwell. “I’m still not sure what it is, but I’ll buy one for you if you want it.”
Rockwell held up a hand to the woman and politely declined.
The woman stuck out her tongue and walked away.
“I like her,” Juan said. He felt an elbow in his ribs as Rockwell nudged him. Juan watched as an older man in pinstriped gray suit pants and a black button-up shirt walked past them and started to climb the stairs above them.
“Huberto Nolla,” Juan said. He didn’t have to worry about whispering. In fact, he practically had to shout to be heard over the Spanish pop song currently playing over the speakers.
“Yeah,” Rockwell said. “From a rich Ecuadorian family. Should be at least one more guy coming to the party. Business party in a back room on the second floor.”
“How did you know it was going down?”
“Informants,” Rockwell said simply.
“Where do you think Paul is going to enter from? Front door?”
“Not likely. I’d say from one of the fire escapes outside the building.”
Juan yawned.
“You’re not going to fall asleep on me, are you?”
“No,” Juan said. “It’s been a trying night. Also, if this doesn’t pan out, I think I might have a lead on Paul or the snake gang he’s caught up in.”
Rockwell almost choked on his drink. “Snake gang?”
“Snake people. Whatever they’re calling themselves. I see you know something about them,” Juan said with an observant eye as he took a sip.
Rockwell cleared his throat. “You know what I know.”
For some reason, I sincerely doubt that,
Juan thought. While Rockwell didn’t have a tell as far as Juan could discern, the man had lied to him in the past. Rockwell was the most dangerous kind of liar—he had trained his body impulses well, and Juan respected the man for it. He was also very irked by the talent.
“I’m going to need to go to Barranquilla tomorrow,” Juan said.
Rockwell chuckled. “Don’t think it’ll be happening.”
Juan thought about Marta staying in his apartment right now. He didn’t like here being there, especially if she was on drugs again. Yep. I’m going soft, he thought. “Why not?”
“Remember the Teodoro Vaquero trial? The crime lord?”
“How could I forget?”
“Spoiler alert, but Captain Aguilar is going to be assigning a schedule tomorrow for guard duty at the witness’s safe house. I’ve seen the list, and you’re on it for tomorrow.”
“Shit,” Juan said.
“Maybe the day after you can take a field trip. Aguilar will do almost anything to make sure the witness makes it to trial. You know how he gets when he takes a personal interest in a case.”
“Yeah,” Juan said, taking another sip. “Hopefully we can catch Paul tonight, and that will be one last to-do item on my checklist.”
“Agreed. If we can wrap this case up without involving the rest of the team, that would be optimal. It’d be bad for both you and Paul if they found out they were being duped.”
“Trust is a bitch, eh?” Juan said. “Doesn’t lying to your team ever eat at you?”
Rockwell gave his answer by finishing his drink.
They made their way up to the second floor after Rockwell refilled his coke and whiskey. From their new position leaning against the forward wall, they could look over the railing at the party below. As the speakers throbbed through the wall and vibrated within Juan’s muscles and bones, he found himself imagining Cali down there, moving sensually to the music.
His reverie was interrupted by his second rib-nudge of the night.
The Colombian Rogue Page 4
