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But not yet.
First, I have other things to address.
“Henry, come here.” The man stands from his place inside. He’d been sitting on the couch for two hours now without moving much. There’s been a twitch here and there, sweating, but for the most part, he’s the perfect companion on this trip.
Silent. Dutiful. Nervous.
Moreover, he has every right to be.
“Yes, Mr. De Leon?” he asks, coming to stand beside me. I’m on the fourth floor of my building on a popular road that leads to a few touristy restaurants that serve food catered to their taste buds. It’s old architecture and indoor water features inside of open courtyards where the waitstaff is taught to serve and entice while offering a milder taste of our cuisine.
“Dalian is dead.” I’ve kept that tidbit to myself just to watch his reaction now, and he doesn’t disappoint. There’s a quick, indrawn breath and gripping on the metal railing in front of me. I also don’t miss the abject look of horror that mars his features, but it’s to be expected. They were close friends, the best of, and something as little as lying to me won’t change that. “It was quite the spectacle.”
“Oh.”
“Is that all you have to say? Oh?” Turning so my back faces the veranda, I motion for Israel to collect my laptop. See, while this asshole was busy lying and feeding me bullshit, I began to look past what’s in front of me.
There’s always another picture. Another version of the same story.
Karen Lopez isn’t his sister.
She isn’t willingly sleeping with the Uriel brothers.
Yet Cindy Johnson, also known as Jasmin Davila, who’s at my parents’ home under surveillance with a long enough rope to hang herself, is related to the idiot. Actual sibling. The dots connected themselves. I just needed to look a little further into the theatrical performance they set up.
If anything, how quickly he was willing to sell his own best friend out to save his skin is testament to Henry Davila’s lack of morals. His believing me to be stupid enough to fall for and not capitalize on his incompetence is his penance, not mine.
MacBook in hand, I unlock the screen and pull up a small feed—security camera from another business that shares parking lot space with the bar. Same bar where Cisco and his brother reported from, while these men partied. This is the beginning of their ends. Pressing play, I let him watch as the other Cuban sicario brought to protect them is attacked from behind by a now-dead Pirro while the woman, Karen, cries and thrashes.
She’s calling out to the unconscious man. Begging them to stop, but no one listens, and all the while Dalian and Jaime laugh. The younger of the two Uriel boys has an arm around her waist while palming her tit with the other.
No regard for her distress. No shame in touching a woman who’s clearly disgusted by you.
I have no respect for a man who abuses women, and Dalian deserved worse than what I gave him.
“I-Ivan, I—”
“Finish watching.” I press another button and enlarge the angle. “Describe what I’m seeing.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You will be.” A sardonic laugh escapes me. “Now, tell me what happened here.”
“I’d gone by then.”
“Go on. Amuse me with this story.”
His eyes shift toward the exit. I see the intent to move away from me, but one blow to his leg from my boot sends him to the floor. “Not in the mood to talk now? All right.” I snap my fingers at one of the guards, a man from the Cuban capital, and he forces Henry to his bruised knees. “I’ll fill in the blanks for you.”
“I’ll tell you everything.”
“You’re disposable, Davila. A puppet.” Placing the laptop on the ground, I pace the small space. All the while, his eyes are on me. Waiting for the strike. “I had men on you that night and they did as I asked—more than, but once I pulled them away, this happened. Not their fault, but mine, and I see that. Had I paid better attention, I would’ve noticed how Karen slightly cringed while on Dalian’s lap. How when she came to see my mermaid with fresh heroin tracks on her arms, she was fidgety. Twitching and crawling in her skin while the woman has no prior record of drug usage. If anything, she’s intelligent and resourceful—was only looking for a way to bring her husband here after his service. That’s where your friends came into the picture…isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Who approached her?” I ask, even though I’m sure the answer is him. Because that’s who this man is; a glorified gopher and nothing more. “Who made the offer to help her?”
“I did.”
