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“All good, thanks to you.” A few years back, he saw himself in debt with a loan shark over a few default parlays and I paid them, with the agreement he do odd jobs for me here and there. Like this one: follow and report.
“Glad to hear it.”
Cisco’s phone pings then and he takes it out, showing me the message on the screen. It’s from his older brother.
The asshole just left. He’s drunk and on his way to you. ~ Tito
Three dots appear right away indicating he’s typing a second message, and it comes through before I can ask if Dalian is with him.
Solo. Uriel is here and not alone. A woman came to see him. ~Tito
An image follows of a blonde woman no older than her late twenties with an arm sleeve of roses and thorns. She’s sitting in his lap, whispering in his ear, while his hand is under the table. He’s touching her, it’s obvious, even if the empty beer bottles littering the wooden top block a bit of the view.
“He doesn’t leave them until they’re behind closed doors. I want a location.”
“Understood.” Cisco’s already typing this before I’m done, pocketing the device before digging into the opposite pocket. There’s nothing left of his cigarette but the butt now, and after smashing it onto the asphalt with the sole of his sneakers, he hands me something shiny.
“A key?”
“An apartment key, to be exact.”
A grin tugs at my lips; I don’t care how he got it. Instead, my body welcomes the rush of excitement that fills my limbs. It’s heady. This lick of fire snaps at my heels and brings forth a different kind of pleasure.
Because every human has a beast inside—a vengeful demon that I accept—and mine demands payment in blood.
Never threaten what’s mine. A lesson to be learned tonight.
“Gracias, Cisco. I owe you for this.” His head shakes at that, but I pay my debts. This goes beyond what I asked of him, a man who made a mistake but isn’t a criminal. This show of loyalty made him a friend. “Text me with an address when your brother gets it and pull back.”
“If you need me—”
“I know. Appreciate it, too.” With that, I walk away and toward the building with him coming up slightly behind me. There’s a small click to the door after he swipes a card, the lock shifting, and then I’m inside after pushing a signal scrambler given to me by Casper’s IT guy.
That British fucker is full of surprises, and this one has come in handy more than once.
With no record of my being here, I enter the elevator and wait for Cisco to push the floor’s number. I’m going to eight while he exits on the seventh, leaving me with a piece of paper that reads: number 808 and no neighbors.
Cisco’s response to my raised brow? One just moved out and the other is still at the bar.
I plan to leave a lovely present for Dalian and Jaime. They’ll know I’m coming.
The door in question is at the end of the small hall where there’s a circular ending and three separate entrances, and I slip inside the middle one without the worry of being seen. I find the entire unit in the dark, except for a small table lamp that illuminates a lonely grey armchair in the corner. It’s made of corduroy from the looks of it; I find that it suits my purpose when it faces the entrance, and the bar cart is slightly to the right of it.
Funny thing is, for being a dipshit, this asshole has decent taste in liquor. There’s an unopened bottle of expensive tequila, a few rums, and a whiskey that’s got a good age on it.
Opening the latter, I take a sip straight from the bottle while removing my gun from the holster and placing it atop my lap. I also straighten the bracelet on my wrist, a gift from my brother, and undo the safety clip on it.
This could go two ways:
Quick and clean.
Or messy and agonizingly slow.
On my fourth sip, there’s a rattle at the doorknob and I watch in silence as the man in question stumbles in, sloppy and drunk, singing to himself. He’s unaware of his environment, the danger that lurks, and I almost snort when he manages to hit his toe on the entry table while tossing off his shoes.
Fucking moron.
“Buenas noches,” I say, causing him to jump/fall against the door while I place the bottle atop the cart. Poor judgment on his behalf as I’d given him a slim window to run out the door and into the humid night, but to his surprise, the fucker managed to close it instead. “It’s rude to not greet someone back. I expected more from someone with such fine taste.”
