by Chris Pike
On the other hand, the dog had to be a service dog, otherwise it wouldn’t be allowed in a restaurant or bar. Kate sure must have the respect and admiration of the manager to continue working, especially if she had some type of problem serious enough to warrant a service dog.
Nico also noted the pouches secured by Velcro which contained unknown items big enough to pique the imagination. The pouches might contain dog biscuits or other treats for rewards.
Nah. No way.
On several occasions, he had noticed Kate reach behind the bar then give a treat to the dog. So what exactly was big enough and heavy enough to weigh down the pack causing it to tip to one side? He’d like to know the answer to the question. Now that he thought about it, there were a lot of questions he would like to have answered, like what had happened to her to require a constant companion.
Curiosity finally got the best of him. “Is he a service dog?”
When Kate didn’t reply, he said, “There’s no shame if he is. Have you been in the military?”
Kate replied tersely, “It’s none of your business.”
Okay, so she was a private person, one who probably had a good reason for having a service dog. Nico understood that. In his line of business he dealt with all sorts of problems people had. He had found it was the guy or gal who looked like they had the world in the palm of their hands who had the most problems. Everybody he saw had problems nobody knew about, which was why he tried to give people the benefit of the doubt.
Kate might be one of those people who appeared to have it all. Young, confident, had her entire life in front of her, to make it whatever she wanted. He noticed she had an exemplary work ethic being at the bar starting early afternoon until closing time, standing on her feet the entire time, and in perpetual motion wiping down the bar, mixing drinks, dusting, washing, and checking stock. During the week he had been here, he never saw her goof off, always staying busy with some sort of bartending duty. During her lunch break she tended to her dog by taking him outside for a walk.
When she sat on a bench located on the tree shaded plaza in front of the Alamo, he caught her looking pensive while staring off into the distance, as if she was missing someone, or longing for something. She’d stroke her dog between the eyes, over the flat part of his head, then to the ruff on his back. He’d paw her occasionally when she was deep in thought. Perhaps she was thinking about an old boyfriend. Maybe she did have a boyfriend, which would account for her brushing him off. Or it might have been a bad breakup. Regardless, neither her surliness nor the dog’s deterred Nico. When he asked again if she’d go out with him, the answer had been an unequivocal no.
Getting her to say yes to his invitation had become a challenge, and Nico liked challenges.
So not only did Nico have to win over Kate, he’d also have to win over the dog. Some big mutt Kate said she found in the alley behind the hotel two years prior. Named him Reload.
The dog had been hanging around the hotel’s garbage bin, and after weeks of feeding him, he finally let Kate pet him. He appeared to be a mix of Labrador, Belgium Malinois, German Shepherd, and a smattering of other indistinguishable large and threatening looking breeds.
The third reason Nico was in San Antonio, and specifically at the Minor, was the free room and board he’d been offered where he’d meet his contact. Someone by the name of Santiago.
Word on the street indicated the elusive Santiago was becoming the next dominant drug lord and had connections Nico needed.
Nico had been given a general description of an overweight, average height, balding man of Spanish origin which could describe about half the tourist population in San Antonio. Nico thought the appearance was a good thing since his contact would blend right in. Throw in a Hawaiian shirt, a ticket stub to the Wax Museum across the street where tourists took pictures with movie stars and historical figures, and there you go. He looked like the locals.
Between watching the door for his contact and the clock on the wall which ticked torturously slow, Nico had been trying to make nice with Kate. She was in her mid-twenties, possibly a runner, model worthy hair, and flaming eyes challenging him like no other woman had. For the past week she hadn’t given him the time of the day. She only took his money, scowled, and didn’t even say thanks.
He wasn’t used to that. Not the thanks part, because he had a thankless job, but the part about being challenged.
It had become his mission to get a smile, a nod, or some other indication she might be interested in him. However, after a week of being given the cold shoulder by the bartender, Nico thought it was time to throw in the towel.
Movement at the entrance to the hotel caught his eye.
Nico turned.
The doors embossed in gaudy gold toned trim swung open. He had expected his contact to walk in because after a week of waiting, Nico had decided to blow this place and the claustrophobic crowds amassing at the Alamo.
What he wanted was to get out to the wide-open plains of South Texas and to the salty breeze hinting at the gulf waters close by. Yeah, after this was over, he’d take off for South Padre where the sand was white, the surf high, and where the women were friendly. The pretty bartender surely wasn’t the poster child for the Texas motto of being the friendly state.
Yeah, the waiting was getting old.
Instead of his contact walking in, a woman wearing sunglasses, Dallas sized hair, tight white pants, a low-cut silk shirt, bangly bracelets, high heels, and carrying an expensive oversized purse on her shoulder breezed in. She stopped out of reach of the doors, and immediately locked eyes with Nico.
She must have been forty something and a good ten years older than Nico. She didn’t interest him in the slightest, not because Nico didn’t appreciate a mature woman and the confidence this woman obviously had, but she was way out of his league. Like World Series homerun out of his league.
If she was looking for a sugar daddy, she had picked the wrong guy. He wouldn’t even be able to afford the pair of shoes adorning her manicured toes.
Nico swiveled the barstool a quarter rotation back to what did pique his interest: Kate, who had pretended not to notice the woman walking in.
The moment Nico swiveled back to face the bar, Kate raised an eyebrow and gave him that look. That look being: This is going to be funny. She turned her back on him and resumed cleaning a tumbler with a white towel. The problem was either Kate was bored or absentminded, because she had been cleaning the same glass for five minutes.
It was so clean and sparkly it now squeaked when she turned it.
Nico noticed things like that. He also noticed Kate throw him a look of warning, but of what? Nico could handle himself in dangerous situations, including the woman who walked in who obviously had eyes for him.
Nico took a long pull of the beer and was about to set the bottle on the counter when the woman came over to him and asked, “Is this seat taken?”
He swallowed the gulp of beer, wiped his hand across his mouth, and before he could answer, she slid into the seat.
Nico set the bottle on the counter. A river of condensation melted down along the slender bottle then to his fingers. He idly twirled the longneck, as if it was the most interesting bottle of beer he had ever seen. Come to think of it, the condensation had morphed into interesting shapes, probably something an artist would appreciate, but since Nico was no artist, he smudged the condensation with his finger.
“I’m guessing the seat isn’t taken.” Her voice was sultry and had a rich Spanish inflection to it.
“You guessed right,” Nico said without inflection.
Without missing a beat, the woman said, “I’d like a Bailey’s, and,” she paused, looked at Nico then to the bartender, “he’d like another one of whatever he’s having.”
It had been a long time since a woman had bought Nico a beer, so what the heck?
Scowling, Kate retrieved a beer and set it down hard on the bar. Her eyes pierced right through Nico, as if saying, Really? Her? Kat
e shook her head in disgust. “Unbelievable,” she muttered.
Nico returned an expression of What I’d do? You had your chance.
“Be a doll and pop the top for him,” the woman said.
Kate angrily snatched the beer off the bar and popped the top then set the beer on the counter. If looks were daggers, Kate sent the woman a complete case of WWII Fairbairn-Sykes commando knives.
“If your sharp wit matched your intellect you wouldn’t be working behind that bar,” the woman said, making direct eye contact with Kate.
Kate stood straighter, shoulders back. “I do an honest day’s work. I doubt you do.”
The women only returned an icy stare as she brushed a strand of hair out of her face.
Kate’s gaze went to the woman’s nails, freshly painted with a pale French manicure. Kate was keenly aware of her own hands, rough from washing and cleaning around the bar. She dropped them to her sides.
Nico took several big gulps then set the beer on the bar. “If you ladies don’t mind, I’m going to leave you two to whatever it is you’re talking about.” He pulled out a ten and slapped it down. He looked at the woman. “Thanks for the beer. I can’t be bought.”
Nico slid off his seat, took two long strides to the front door, and was about to exit the hotel when the woman with the Latin accent said, “Does the name Santiago mean anything to you?”
Game on.
Chapter 2
Nico stopped in mid-stride, turned around, and made direct eye contact with the woman. “You know Santiago?”
“I thought it was you,” she said. “Carlos Garcia, correct?”
“I am.”
“I thought you’d come back.”
“Santiago sent you?”
“Yes.”
Hmm, this was getting interesting.
Nico strolled back to where the woman was sitting at the bar. He sat back down in his seat, leaned into the woman, and said, “Your name is…”
“Marisa Sanchez.”
An alias, no doubt.
“Meaning…that’s not your real name?” Nico asked.
“Marisa Sanchez will do. What about you? Need I ask?”
“Carlos Garcia will do.” His tone was mocking as if they needed to confirm each were using aliases. “Your relation to Santiago? Sister or wife?” Nico asked. He casually picked up the beer and took a swallow.
“None of those. For the record, my relation to Santiago is none of your concern.” Marisa stood up and faced Nico. “Stand up, please.”
“What for?”
“Do you have to ask?”
“I’m clean.”
“I’d like to check for myself.”
Nico slid off the stool and faced Marisa. He towered over her in a commanding and challenging way, not so much threatening but the way a man stands when he knows he’s in the right. He held his arms away from his body, and Marisa patted him down, checking under his arms, then sweeping around his back and chest. She patted the outside of his thighs then right before she moved inward, asking, “You mind?”
“I do mind, but I don’t think it matters to you. Like I said, I’m clean.”
She gave him a quick pat in the soft flesh of his groin and returned to her seat.
“Why isn’t Santiago here?”
“Couldn’t make it, which is why I’m here.” Marisa eyed the bartender, deciding she was in earshot. “Let’s go someplace private where we won’t be overheard. Perhaps your room?”
“No way,” Nico replied. “I’m not going anywhere with you alone.”
“Why? Are you afraid of me?” She smiled coyly.
“Not in the slightest. Rather him.” Nico jerked his head in the direction where the mean-looking hombre had been standing during their conversation. The big guy had on a pair of sunglasses and a suit which probably concealed his weapons of choice.
“Thought you hadn’t noticed him,” Marisa said.
“I notice everything.”
Marisa gave a slight, unimpressed nod.
“We can sit over there,” Nico said. He flicked his eyes in the direction of a seating area. He took her by the elbow and guided her to a chair and sofa in the foyer, motioning for her to sit.
“I want to get paid first,” he said, taking a seat.
“No so fast,” Marisa said. “Let’s talk about specifics first. I’m a woman of many talents and I don’t like being told what to do. Santiago hired you for a reason to trade for a very valuable commodity, so when you fulfill your part. I fulfill my part.”
“What will I be bringing back?”
“That is none of your business. It’s an exchange. That’s all. If you’re successful, I’m sure Santiago will want to meet you. Word is you do what is asked of you, and have never failed. We have lost couriers before. You’re the best.”
“I am the best,” Nico said. He meant it. “Like I said before, I want to get paid first. So unless you hand it over, I’m outta here.”
The woman didn’t bat an eyelash.
“Your loss,” Nico said. He stood, squeezed between the lounge chair and the sofa, and took a step to the door.
“Wait,” Marisa said. “I’ll pay half now, and half when you deliver the package to me.”
“I want to know what I’m delivering to you.”
“That’s none of your concern,” she said. “As long as it’s intact and hasn’t been tampered with, you’ll be highly compensated. I can tell you it’s not dangerous and no explosives are involved. If you do this, I’ll guarantee a meeting with Santiago.”
Nico returned to the sofa. “I can work with that.”
Marisa opened her large purse and retrieved a thick envelope, bulging to the point the flap on the envelope wouldn’t close. Holding onto the envelope, she handed it to Nico. He grasped it, but Marisa wouldn’t let go. “Instructions are inside where you’ll meet with Jose and Emiliano. Don’t even think about double crossing Santiago, or think about skipping out with the package and the money. Santiago will hunt you down and kill you.”
“No doubt about it,” he said. “I personally guarantee I’ll be back with the package.”
“In a few days from now, you’ll meet your contacts at the Rio Grande border at a pre-arranged place. Once they have the duffle bag you will be delivering, and you have Santiago’s package, report back here at the Minor Hotel. Santiago will get in touch with you.”
Marisa motioned for the big man to come over. He handed her a large duffle bag then she dismissed him. She handed the duffle bag to Nico. “Give this to Jose and Emiliano. In turn, they will give you the package for Santiago.”
“Why don’t you go down there and get it?”
“I can’t. I have my reasons and I don’t need to explain them to you.”
“Fair enough.”
Marisa stood, wobbled for a moment, then hastily sat down. She pulled a Kleenex from her purse and coughed into it.
“Are you okay?” Nico asked. “You don’t look well.”
“I’m fine,” she said icily.
Marisa reached into her purse and pulled out two pills. She popped them in her mouth, downing them with the Bailey’s. She set the glass on the coffee table, put her sunglasses on, and unsteadily stood up. The big man, worthy of being a sumo wrestler, took a step forward. Marisa waved him off. He melted back into the wall.
“One more thing,” Marisa said. “Be back here in a week or I’ll put a bullet right through your bartender girlfriend’s pretty little head.”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Nico said coldly.
“But you want her to be.”
Nico said nothing.
“I thought so. Now, if you don’t mind, our meeting’s over.”
Marisa brushed past Nico. She left the hotel, followed by the big man. They disappeared, mingling into the crowd of tourists who drifted along the street, past the stores, the Alamo, the ice cream shop, and into the labyrinth of sidewalks and narrow walkways above the Riverwalk level.
Nico wondered what w
as so all important about the item he needed to deliver back to Marisa, requiring the exchange of who knew how much money for whatever the duffle bag contained.
Whatever it was, it had to be of life and death importance, but more importantly was the promised meeting with Santiago.
Months of dangerous work would finally pay off.
Chapter 3
“You disappoint me,” Kate said. She was standing behind the bar. Her hands were finally still and calm, having set the tumbler down. She flipped a white towel across her shoulder.
She also had Nico’s full attention.
“How so?” Nico asked. He walked back to the same seat he had been previously sitting in.
“I never pegged you for running drugs,” Kate said. She took the hand towel from her shoulder, folded it, and placed it on the counter. “I’m a good judge of character and you had me fooled. I can pretty much guess what a person does by how they are dressed, and how they treat me.”
“And how have I treated you?”
“Not the way a drug runner would have, which makes you a conundrum, Carlos Garcia.” She studied him, noting the dark eyes and the expression of a man who knew what he wanted. “If that’s your real name.”
Nico took a swallow of the beer. “You remembered my name. For a while I didn’t think you did.” Nico put a hand on the bar and leaned closer to Kate. He raised an eyebrow and with a mischievous tone he said, “It might even lead to you agreeing to go out with me.”
“Never. I don’t go out with drug dealers.”
“You just said you didn’t peg me for a drug runner.”
“If you’re doing business with the woman who obviously is running some sort of drug operation, well, a person can tell a lot about someone by the company they keep.”
“Who? Marisa?” Nico huffed and glanced away. “She ordered some tile from Mexico and wants me to go down to the border to pick it up. It’s specially made and quite expensive, and she doesn’t want it going AWOL. I did work at her house recently, so she knows she can trust me. That’s all there is to it.” He didn’t exactly like lying, but Kate was on a need to know basis, and she didn’t need to know all the particulars.
