by Melissa Jane
Instead, I remained silent.
My ducks all needed to be a row—sitting neat and pretty for shooting season.
Something was off.
I could feel it the moment I got out of the SUV. The bouncers who usually occupied the front entry were missing. The carpark lacked any evidence of patrons. The door was already ajar when I approached, no music was playing. At this time of day, despite it being early for some, the club was typically already in full swing.
No one looked up when I entered, instead Clara the hostess, the waitresses and strippers united in the middle, hugging each other in comfort. The bouncers and in-club security sat on whatever chair or stage they could find, some with heads in hands, others looking to the floor in a daze.
“Clara.” I touched her shoulder, gently and encouraging. Her grieving, bloodshot eyes met mine. “What’s happened?”
The girls she had been comforting erupted into more sobs. I took a step back when Clara urged me away from the others. She was trembling, mascara staining her cheeks a dull gray.
“Tell me what’s happened,” I urged again, gripping her petite shoulders.
“Ana,” she said simply.
My hands dropped to my side, blood running ice cold. “Where is she?”
Clara’s hand covered her mouth as more sobs erupted. Her free hand clutched mine, guiding me through the club to Ana’s showroom.
In the semi-darkness, I waited until Clara composed herself long enough to deliver a warning.
“I’m sorry…” she began. “It’s not pleasant.”
I followed her gaze to the glass box and waited as the lights warmed to reveal the space.
What I saw, ripped me to shreds.
What I felt, destroyed another piece of my soul.
I was responsible.
I had put Ana in this position.
And it had come to this.
“God! No. No. No,” I begged, knowing full well God had left us a long time ago. My eyes prickled with tears for a girl who had no escape. She had been born into this world. She saw what it was worth, the corruption and violence, and she had no way out. She had played along with its demands keeping herself safe, and as soon as I entered her life and she went against the tide, this happened to her. Numbly, I walked down to the box and stared at the face that was once beautiful.
It wasn’t a face anymore.
Ana had been decapitated. Her head sat on the floor of the box facing out, her lips sewn shut with a crude and careless effort. She had received a brutal beating, eyes blackened, hair pulled out in patches. A small circle of coagulated blood spilled from underneath the head.
Closing my eyes, I rested my forehead against the glass in an attempt to steady my rage. It would serve no purpose others witnessing my grief. It would only fuel speculation.
“We found her like this.” Clara touch my shoulder in comfort. “We don’t know who could have done this, not to Ana.”
I turned, swallowing the hard lump. “I know exactly who it was.”
The police were never called to investigate the brutal murder, and Ana would never receive a burial. To the average person, she wasn’t worth it. To someone like Gabriel Santos, she was worth even less. I wanted so desperately to make this right. She was just another name on my ever growing list to avenge.
I found Gabriel.
I wanted to end the miserable fucker’s life before any others lost theirs.
I wanted to make him suffer just like he loved doing to helpless women.
But I didn’t.
I couldn’t.
I needed to find and destroy the king before I took out his minions.
While my heart raged for Ana, I wore a look of indifference as I approached the edge of the pool. It would be easy to shoot him mid-stroke and watch the clear water turn red with his blood. It wasn’t the time.
Gabriel emerged from the water, narrowed eyes meeting mine. He waded over to the edge and stood, water circling around his hips.
“What’s wrong, brother?” he asked, his term of endearment toward me taking on a slight edge.
“You haven’t heard about what happened at the club?”
“Of course. I hear everything.” He paused. It was a silence that alluded to more than he was willing to share.
“You’re not there sorting it out? They’re all pretty distraught.”
“Understandably so. Ana was a valuable and much-loved member of the club.”
I held his gaze squinting against the bright sun. “She was beheaded. Lips sewn shut. The head left in the glass box.” I wasn’t sure why I was telling him, he was the one who had orchestrated the murder. But I wanted the fucker to admit to it… to some degree at least.
Gabriel dropped his gaze to the puddle forming on the ground. “Yes, quite unfortunate.”
“You’re not concerned that this sort of violence is going on in the club?”
Admit to it you bastard!
“Antonio…” He threw his towel on the pool chair in frustration, apparently fed up with the conversation. “This is the world you’re in now. Not everything is fairy floss and candy. But shit happens in the drug world, and sometimes it’s the ones you least expect that are the snitches.”
“What makes you think Ana was a snitch?”
He held my gaze, eyes loaded with challenge. He wore a knowing smirk, and for a second my fingers itched to grab my Glock. The truth was, he knew we’d had conversations. The room was wired, and it would have recorded me asking Ana to come out and talk. After that it had gone quiet. Suspiciously quiet. It must be eating him from the inside out not knowing what was said. It would have sent his paranoia through the roof, not knowing if she was revealing Los Santos trade secrets.
She was a precautionary kill.
She would never have received a chance to deny anything.
She was the example.
“Where there aren’t eyes and ears, brother, I use my better judgment. She was a talker. Loose lips. I couldn’t have one of my finest men being corrupted now could I?” Accepting a glass of liquor from the maid, he winked at me. “Eyes and ears everywhere.” He started to head back to the house, knocking shoulders with mine as he went. I remained rooted to the spot contemplating my future in this mission.
“Antonio,” he called from behind. I turned, his eyes ice cold like his fucked up soul. “Instead of it being something we all mourn, it should serve as a warning to others. You included.”
“Last fucking time, cocksucker!” The sound of Gabriel’s safety clicking off echoed up the staircase. I’d been sleeping with my own finger on the trigger, the slightest sound rousing me. I made it to the bottom of the staircase when I heard the desperate pleas of an unknown man. It was dark outside, yet someone was paying a late night visit.
“Where the fuck is the coke?” A fist smashed into bone.
I rounded the corner and saw Gabriel, shirtless and in loose pants. He had been woken up to deal with whatever situation was transpiring. His bare stomach and chest was covered in sprays of blood, knuckles raw. The man on the receiving end was close to passing out. He was on his knees, head struggling to stay upright. His face was red and swollen to such an extent he eyes appeared sealed. His lips had been busted multiple times and blood trickled from a cheek wound.
“I don’t know,” he barely muttered. I had to strain to hear the words.
“What was that?” Gabriel barked wrenching the man’s head back.
“P-Please.”
Two of the house security holding semi-automatics stood behind Gabriel.
“What’s happening?” I dared to interrupt.
Gabriel paused at the sound of my voice. He straightened and then turned his head left to right to crack his neck.
“Dragon fruit.” He blurted with a small laugh.
“What about the dragon fruit?”
“Brother, the dragon fruit was empty.”
“I was told to make sure it was loaded not to check the inner contents of the fruit.”
It was a callous accusation. I may not have been the one on my knees receiving the beating this time, but there was a promise in his tone that one day it could be me. No one was immune. Everyone was a suspect.
Gabriel held his gun to the man’s temple, the veins in his forearms popping as he itched to pull the trigger. “Last chance, fucker.”
The man spat the excess blood from his mouth to talk. “I packed them…” he mumbled, “…but I didn’t load them with the coke.”
“Then who?” Gabriel bellowed, his own face bright red with fury.
“Frederico. He was in charge. He put us on our stations. It was him who was filling the fruit.”
“Was he at the warehouse yesterday?”
The man shook his head violently, sobbing hard. “No.”
“Fuck!” Gabriel raged, fists clenched as he took a step back letting the man drop to the floor. He paced back and forth, the room silent except for the ragged breathing from the beaten man.
He stalked over to me, nostrils flaring. “He’s probably already sold it to the Triads by now,” he fumed, and for a split second, I could see the fear in his eyes.
This was a huge fuck up for Los Santos cartel. It was a major haul, and their backlog wait times meant they could lose some heavyweight buyers to other cartels offering a discounted rate after diluting the product.
He pointed his finger, eyes wide with expectation. “Find this Fred-a-fucking-rico and bring him to me!”
My first stop was the warehouse.
It was set in an abandoned district surrounded by old, deteriorated buildings that had been sitting vacant for years. It was eerie. Desolate. The most ideal location for the production of cocaine.
We pulled up outside and were greeted by the newly instated manager after the last one went MIA with fifteen million in white gold.
“Hola,” the gruff man sporting a thick mustache welcomed.
“Antonio,” I greeted shaking the man’s hand.
“Carlo. I’m showing you around.”
“Thank you. Don’t alert anyone to why I’m here.”
He shook his head to say it wasn’t a concern.
For the next thirty minutes, he guided me through the production and packaging rooms. There would have been around two dozen workers in each area. Labs were set up to produce both powered and liquid cocaine before it was handed over to the women who would package the contents. It was standard operation. The women were stripped down to their underwear while armed guards watched on.
“Who was in charge of the packaging room the day the dragon fruit was being filled?”
“Frederico.” Carlo rocked on his heels, arms folded as he took a moment to watch his staff.
“Point to some of the women who were working that night.”
He scanned the room again before pointing. “Juanita, Natasha, Mariana, Rosita, Deedee, and Sofia. The others are not scheduled to work until tomorrow.”
“Bring one of them over.”
“Juanita,” Carlo barked, startling the women. A woman with her back toward us stood and removed her gloves. She turned, and I was immediately filled with guilt and sadness. She could have been Ana’s sister. Twin even. The resemblance was uncanny… and unnerving.
“Que pasa?” Carlo asked, frowning.
“Nothing,” I shook my head as the girl approached, caught in a moment of grief and attacked by guilt. “She reminds me of someone, that’s all.”
Someone who blinked the wrong way and had her head cut off. Someone who saw the wrongs and wanted to make things right. Someone who died because they wanted to be a good person.
“Si, Carlo?” Juanita had a voice as smooth as honey.
“Antonio wants to talk with you.”
She nodded, and I could sense some unease. That didn’t mean she was guilty of anything. Like Ana, she worked in a hostile environment.
We walked into an office on a mezzanine level that overlooked the production on the ground floor. I watched from the window as some of the women subtly conversed, glancing up at the office in the hope of some answers.
“Juanita,” I began. “I understand you were working the night the coke was being packed inside the dragon fruit.”
“Si.” Her eyes flicked between Carlo and me.
“You don’t have anything to worry about. You’re not in trouble.”
“Okay.”
“I need you to remember some things for me.” She nodded so I continued, “Were you one of the women packing the fruit?”
“Si.”
“How many of you worked that night.”
“Everyone was sick. So less than usual.”
“And the guards? Were they the same as the two working now?”
“Si.”
“Thank you. How many boxes of fruit did you pack?”
“Sixty.”
“How many pieces of fruit per box?”
“Two dozen.”
“Were there any boxes left over?”
“Yes.” This caught Carlo’s attention who up until now had been flicking a pen between his fingers.
“What happened to those boxes?”
“They remained in the truck around the back. Because so many people were sick, Frederico ordered us to unpack the truck around at loading.”
“So you unpacked sixty boxes and there was still some left in the truck?”
“Yes.”
I turned to Carlo. “Who takes care of ordering?”
“Frederico.”
“Show me the books.”
Carlo dug through the desk drawers and retrieved the order book. He flipped through to the date before passing it to me.
This was all the proof I needed.
“Thank you, Juanita. You can leave now.”
Carlo waited until the girl had closed the door before starting, “I don’t understand. What did that achieve? I could have told you some workers were sick, and Frederico was in charge.”
“I know.” I grabbed my jacket and stood ready to leave. “Carlo, have you ever killed someone before?”
“No.”
“Then you don’t know what it’s like to end someone’s life. The guilt. It’s even worse when the life you just ended was actually the wrong person. Someone who was innocent. Someone who had a family he would never return to. I don’t want blood on my hands that doesn’t belong there. Research is important, Carlo. Now I know for certain.”
“How will you find him?”
I smiled. “That’s the easy part.”
Those who happened to “stumble” upon a great deal of money always behave the same. At first, they tell themselves to remain discreet, to not have their actions announce it to the world. That’s until temptation becomes too much. Gabriel suffered from the same vice. He was a man with money and he flaunted it. He became a target. Easy to find. Able to be sniffed out in places men like to unload the dollars.
It seemed strip clubs were my hunting ground. They were dime-a-dozen in countries known for drug production. They became a place to blow off steam as well as conduct business meetings. They were dark enough to hide the most nervous of players and seedy enough that others wouldn’t batter a lash at dodgy dealings.
It wouldn’t be my first stop.
I pulled up outside his small unit block that looked like something out of the slums. Two houses away, an argument between a man and woman filtered out onto the streets. Stray cats skulked across the road and in the distance there was a gunshot followed by an eerie silence. It was understandable why Frederico would take the drugs and run. The problem was, he wouldn’t use the money to better himself. He would use it to get himself killed.
His unit was dark and appeared empty. Using my knife, I jimmied it in the door until it unlocked. Slowly, it creaked open to reveal an awful stench. Flicking on my torch, I scanned the room, repulsed by what I saw. He was messy which bode
d well with me. Messy people were more reckless. There was month old garbage still waiting to visit the trash bin outside. A buzz of what could only be flies flittered through the plastic bags of rotting food scraps. The kitchen was overflowing with dirty dishes and countertops were loaded with junk. The rest of the house faired just as bad. Judging by the decay of food, Frederico hadn’t been home for quite some time. I walked further into the living room, bits of debris crunching under my boots.
The overloaded coffee table caught my attention. On top of a mountain of pizza boxes sat a business card.
DESEO (Desire), it read in bold capitals.
He was reckless and stupid.
Leaving the door wide open, I left. It didn’t matter, he wouldn’t be returning.
The drive took just over an hour. Somehow, he had deemed this a safe distance from hunting cartels.
It was late when I pulled into the parking lot, but the place was heaving with male patrons. One man stumbled out the door, sidled by two women half his age. No doubt he thought taking them to a strip club would be a turn on and he’d be in for a night of kink.
The bouncers greeted me like I was a regular, and once inside I started my hunt. Judging by the photos on the wall in his house, I was looking for a pudgy man in his mid-thirties with a receding hairline.
The club was like all the others, but this one was rank with piss and other bodily fluids. All eyes seemed to be on the one girl on stage. She was nearing the end of her show, folding over with her ass to the crowd, panties inching south. The men pushed closer, desperate for a close shot of her opening legs. She parted her cheeks, and the men applauded. In her stiletto’s, she lowered into the splits and straight onto an upright dildo that replicated a real life cock. It was suctioned to the floor allowing her to bounce on it. This was a good thing. While DESEO offered this type of show, men fondled their dicks. And when men stroked their dicks, they were less interested in what was happening around them.
“Can I help you?” a waitress asked gliding her finger in what was meant to be a seductive move across my chest.
“You can actually.” She smiled, hopeful. “I hear you have private rooms out back for the real fun.”