The Angel Alejandro

by Alistair Cross

  What am I supposed to do, bring the padre with me everywhere I go? Besides, his cravings had been non-existent since his last drunk. He figured it’d be safe. He got out of the cruiser, locked it up, and started toward the club.

  “I need to speak to the manager,” he told the pimply-faced geek manning the door. The guy just stared. “Do you hear me, son?”

  “Oh, yes, of course … it’s just that-”

  Two guards approached, each as tall as Nick, their shirtless, muscled torsos greased to a high shine. They stood close, one on either side of him.

  Nick tapped his badge. “Nick Grayson, Chief of Police,” he said. “I’m here to see Mr. Jones.”

  As Pimples got on his phone and spoke in low tones, the greased guards stood like statues, their expressions unreadable behind wraparound mirrored sunglasses. One of them flexed his pecs, bouncing a painted red “M.”

  “You fellas want to give me a little room,” said Nick. “I’d hate to get Crisco on my uniform.”

  The guards took a simultaneous half-step back and continued to glower and gleam.

  “Mr. Jones says he can see you now,” said Pimples.

  “How charitable of him.” Nick’s tone was dry. “Which way?”

  “Oh, Philander will escort you.” Pimples nodded at Greased Guard Number Two.

  “Philander?” Nick asked. He recoiled a little when the guard flashed him an unexpected grin.

  Then, as quick as it had come, the smile was gone. “Follow me.”

  It speaks, thought Nick as he followed the big guard through a doorway narrow enough that Nick understood why they kept themselves so well lubricated.

  * * *

  Though Alejandro had promised not to answer the door, he couldn’t resist when he heard the knock. After throwing on his sweaty-pants and Winkie hoodie, he opened it.

  The woman on the porch was smiling, her blond hair pulled back into a loose knot, a black book in the crook of her arm. “I wondered if you had a moment to talk about our Savior.”

  “Our savior?” he asked.

  She nodded, still beaming. “The end times are upon us. Your soul is in danger and in need of salvation now more than ever.”

  Alejandro did not feel as if his soul was in danger. “That is not true. Why do you tell me this?”

  The woman blinked bright eyes. “Invite me in and we can talk about it.”

  “I am not supposed to allow anyone entrance.”

  She tipped her head. “Not even if it means saving yourself and your loved ones?”

  “My loved ones?” He thought of Madison.

  “Why, of course! We’re all in need of saving.”

  “From whom?” He was becoming concerned.

  “That’s what I want to talk to you about.” She tapped her book. “It’s all in here.”

  He glanced at the tome.

  “Only this can keep you safe.”

  “Can I have it?”

  She stared at him. “What is your name, young man?”

  “I am Alejandro. Can I have your book?”

  “I’m Lena. Lena Harding.” She held out her hand. “I’m here to educate you about this book. But I can’t give it to you. You understand.”

  Alejandro gave her hand a pat and did not like the feel of her. However, he was certain he’d heard her name before, from Madison. She’d said that Lena Harding spent all of her days getting her hair done at a beauty parlor. “You save people?”

  She nodded.

  Madison hadn’t said anything about the woman being a hero.

  “Can I come in and talk to you about it?” She wore a long skirt, shiny shoes, and she smelled of synthetic flowers. “The last days are upon us, Alejandro. There’s no time to waste.”

  The last days? “If I let you in, can I see the book?”

  She smiled. “Of course. But only after we talk about it, okay?”

  He stepped aside, very much wishing she would just give him the book and go away. He did not want to talk to her and he did not want her in the house, but if Madison was in danger, he needed to know.

  Only as she passed did he notice a silver half-moon pendant on a chain around her neck just like Dette’s. He did not like it.

  * * *

  “Ah! Chief Grayson!” Gremory Jones was on his feet, ushering Nick to a leather chair that looked as expensive as the mahogany desk itself. He smelled of something burnt. It wasn’t necessarily unpleasant, but it was strange, uncommon. “Please. Sit.”

  He sat and Jones took a seat across from him. For a moment, Nick lost his words, staring raptly into the man’s eyes. They were so blank, so … uninhabited. It was like looking into eyes of a cadaver. Images of No Vacancy signs flashed in Nick’s mind. It startled him when Jones grinned and spoke.

  “I see you’ve met my guards.”

  “Uh, yes. Philander and …?”

  “Mandeep.”

  Mandeep?

  Jones’ bright smile widened to brilliant.

  The spider must have smiled at the fly like that.

  “They’ve been with me a very long time,” Jones said. “I’ve been meaning to stop by the station and introduce myself, however, business has been more demanding than I anticipated. How nice of you to come visit.” He tipped his head, his slicked onyx hair glinting.

  Nick felt ill at ease - the way you feel when you hear a mysterious sound in the dead of night. “Actually, I’m here on business, Mr. Jones.”

  Jones leaned back, his handsome face turning grave. He folded his hands. His eyes were an unusual shade that reminded Nick of fire.

  Nick opened his mouth to speak and was abruptly cut short.

  “Oh! Where are my manners?” Jones stood, making his way toward an antique liquor cabinet that Nick hadn’t noticed until now - in fact, he could have sworn it hadn’t been there when he walked in.

  The sight of the booze panicked him. “Oh, no thank-”

  “I’m guessing that you’re a vodka kind of man. Grey Goose, no doubt.”

  How’d he know? “I don’t-”

  “Straight from the source, no mixer, no chaser, isn’t that right, Chief?” Jones turned around, tumbler in hand, the clear liquid tugging at Nick’s resolve. “I can see that you’re a man who wastes no time with ritual and formality.” He placed the crystal tumbler on the shiny desk and slid it toward Nick. “It’s rare to meet a man who takes his vodka straight. I can’t help but admire that kind of … appetite.” His smile was vulpine, predatory.

  Nick swallowed, his throat clicking. He glanced at the vodka. Damned if it wouldn’t hit the spot. The smell of it struck him and set his mouth watering and his stomach grumbling for satisfaction.

  “I’m a bourbon man, myself. I prefer the dark spirits.” Jones sat, taking a sip of the amber liquid in his whiskey glass, his eyes falling closed. “Mmmm.” He sighed, his liquor-scented breath caressing Nick with light, seductive fingers. “Liquid bliss.” His voice was deep, heavy somehow.

  Nick shifted in the leather chair, trying to ignore the need.

  Jones frowned. “Pleasure always comes before business in my house, Chief Grayson.” He winked at Nick and pushed the untouched tumbler closer. “Now, please, drink. Then we shall discuss this business of yours.”

  * * *

  Lena Harding sat on the sofa and plunked the black book down on the coffee table. “This,” she said, “is what we call the Good Book.” Her hand rested over it possessively, and Alejandro noticed her nails were painted a deep shade of red. “Come sit by me and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  When he took a seat at the far end of the sofa, she slid over, moving herself, and the book, closer to him.

  “My goodness, it’s hot.” She fanned her face. “You don’t mind if I take my sweater off.” She removed her frumpy blue sweater to reveal a tight white tank top.

  He could see the dark rosy circles of her nipples, their rigid tips straining against the thin cloth. Between them, the moon pendant dangled. He swallowed, averting his eyes, but when
she brought her arms back and stretched, pushing her breasts against the translucent fabric, he was transfixed. Despite himself, his body betrayed him.

  “You can touch them if you want.” She smiled.

  Alejandro snapped his gaze away, cheeks hot.

  Lena Harding took his hand, cradled it in hers. “There’s nothing wrong with touching me, Alejandro. I want you to.”

  He pulled his hand back. He did not like the feel of her touch. There was something very bad about her. “No. I only want to talk about the book.”

  She laughed. “You’re different, Alejandro. You know that, don’t you?”

  “I only want to talk about the book.”

  “But I am talking about the book, don’t you see?”

  He blinked at her.

  She moved closer, put a hand on his thigh. “You don’t need to be saved. You already are. But if you want to be with Madison forever, you need to listen to me.” Her hand slid up his leg.

  He shifted away. “I do not know what you mean.”

  “Yes, you do. You know exactly what I mean.” She was close enough now that her breasts pressed against his arm. They were warm and soft. “Don’t you want to save her?”

  Alejandro closed his eyes, willing his thoughts to calm, his heart to stop pounding.

  “Don’t you?” She stroked his chest.

  “Yes.” His voice creaked.

  “Then let me help you.” She leaned in and he felt her hot breath, then her tongue, on the ridge of his ear.

  He shuddered, trying to pull back. “No. I-”

  “Let me teach you how to make her love you.” Her hand moved lower. She reached beneath the bottom of his hoodie, touching his bare skin then gently stroked the light hair around his navel.

  He moaned, feeling as if he might explode. Despite her unpleasant touch, he wanted this woman and his body knew exactly how to take her.

  Her breath was hot on his ear as her hand slipped under his sweats and traveled down, down.

  “How can I save her?” he whispered.

  She giggled, soft and warm and breathy. “Fuck me.”

  And Alejandro knew what he needed to do.

  * * *

  Nick pushed the crystal tumbler away. “No, thank you. I’m on duty, and I’m not a drinker.”

  Jones studied him a long moment, his strange eyes filled with something Nick couldn’t interpret.

  Nick held the man’s gaze, never blinking. “I need to ask you some questions about your club.”

  “Very well.” Jones gestured at the vodka like a game show host. “I’ll just leave that there in case you change your mind.”

  Nick ignored the glass. “What kind of establishment is this? I’ve heard everything from a dance hall, to a strip joint, to a magic show.”

  Jones’ smile was bright, disarming. “You’re more than welcome to come by anytime and see for yourself. And as chief of police, your money is no good here. I’ll make sure Philander and Mandeep see to it that you-”

  “I’m not interested. Just tell me what kind of club this is.”

  “Well …” Jones leaned in, steepling his fingers. “I like to think of it as a …” He paused. “A bouquet, if you will.” He made an all-encompassing hand gesture that startled Nick.

  “A bouquet of what?”

  “Of entertainment that caters to tastes of all kinds. There are exotic dancers, yes, but their acts are only of the artful kind. And magic shows, of course, for those who enjoy sleight of hand. And I am considering incorporating a comedy show, as well, and perhaps karaoke, even if it is rather déclassé. Our guests must receive what they most desire, of course.”

  “A comedy show?” Nick ignored the rest of the man’s bullshit. “How does that tie into the … theme?”

  Jones cocked his head. “The theme?”

  “Yes. The devil horns, the pitchforks, Mephistopheles. Clearly, there’s a theme here, and I don’t see how comedy and karaoke go with that.”

  “Ah, yes. Well, Chief Grayson, as you well know, temptation is a diverse mistress and sin wears many masks.” Jones glanced at the tumbler of vodka.

  Nick held his gaze. “So is that your theme? Sin and temptation?”

  Jones stayed very still for a moment. “Our theme is pleasure, nothing more.”

  “Anything special in your drinks?”

  Jones laughed. “You mean like absinthe or cocaine? No, but we do have our own line of fine liquors. You’re more than welcome to take a peek at the bar if you’d like. You may find something there that pleases you more than the Grey Goose.” He gestured at the lonely tumbler.

  “No, thank you.”

  “As you wish, Chief Grayson. But if you aren’t actually interested in what Mephistopheles has to offer, I’m afraid I don’t know how to help you. Perhaps you can explain exactly what it is you’re hoping to learn. I assure you there is nothing illegal going on here.”

  “I’m not looking for illegal activity, Mr. Jones. I’ve looked into your establishment and it appears to be as clean as a whistle.” Nick chewed his bottom lip.

  “A man who does his homework. Another admirable quality.”

  “But something doesn’t add up.”

  Jones tilted his head, his eyes sincere, his beaming smile unwavering. “And what is that, Chief Grayson?”

  Nick folded his hands together. “I’m looking for connections among the recent crimes. So far, your club is the only common denominator.”

  “Recent crimes?”

  Nick was getting sick of this guy’s shit. “Come on, Jones. This entire town’s gone mad. You don’t mean to tell me you haven’t heard of the suicides, homicides, double homicides, break-ins, domestic disputes, and street beatings?”

  “My dear friend.” Jones put his hand over Nick’s, his cold, clammy touch sending an icy shiver over the chief that soured his stomach. “I am here to run a business,” said Jones “What goes on among the citizenry outside of this club is, quite frankly, of no interest to me.”

  Nick pulled his hand away. There was something about that touch that frightened - and sickened - him. It was like touching something dead. “Still, the only connection is this club.”

  “How so?”

  Nick shrugged. “From what I can gather, the crimes are being committed by people who have visited your establishment.”

  Jones chuckled. “But the entire town has been here, Chief Grayson. And, as you said yourself, the entire town has gone mad. I’m afraid I’m not seeing any connection.” He paused, then reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a narrow black case. “You don’t mind if I smoke.”

  “Actually, I do mind. It’s illegal to smoke in public venues.”

  Jones’ eyes glittered with intrigue. “But this is my home, Chief Grayson.”

  “And it’s also a business.”

  Jones was still for a moment - so still, it was eerie. Finally, he tucked the black cigarette holder back into his inner pocket.

  “Such a shame,” said Jones. “I’m certain you’d like one. I have them made special from a very robust tobacco.”

  Nick refused to even blink. “No, thanks.” Dark spirits and unfiltered tobacco. He wondered how Jones kept his teeth so white.

  “Don’t drink, don’t smoke …”

  Nick waited for him to sing, ‘What do ya do?’ but this guy was just full of surprises. “And good genes.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You asked how I keep my teeth so white. The answer is good genes.”

  Nick’s jaw fell open. “I didn’t … I didn’t ask that.”

  Jones laughed, deep and hearty. “Of course, you did, Chief Grayson.”

  Nick wracked his brain. Did I?

  Jones looked at his watch.

  Nick cleared his throat, trying not to look as bewildered as he felt. “What brought you here? I mean, this club of yours seems to more suited to Los Angeles or San Francisco than Prominence. There must be a reason you chose this place.”

  “We - my associates and I
- prefer a grassroots approach to business.”

  “Grassroots?”

  “A bottom-up rather than top-down business plan. Meaning that we prefer to start in small towns and grow from there rather than opening in the flashier areas and filtering into the homier locales. It seems somehow … ostentatious to compete in a major city.”

  Ostentatious? Where the hell is this guy from?

  Jones answered that question promptly. “As you undoubtedly know from your research on us, we began in Moonfall, our home town. We like the idea of retaining that small town sensibility. Moving to a place like Los Angeles would feel like selling out.”

  “But why here?”

  Jones shrugged. “What brought you here, Chief Grayson?”

  “The job.”

  “My answer is the same as yours.”

  “But-”

  Jones was on his feet. “I do hate to be ungracious but I’m afraid I really am out of time, Chief Grayson.”

  For a long moment, Nick didn’t move - he and Jones were locked in a staring contest. At last he stood. “I’ll be in touch, Mr. Jones.”

  Jones clasped his hand and again, the man’s repulsive touch tipped Nick’s stomach - it was like finding a spider crawling over your hand.

  “As I said, you’re welcome to visit Mephistopheles at any time.” Jones’ smile was serpentine, his face suddenly not handsome at all, though Nick couldn’t have said what had changed. “No cover charge and as many free drinks as you wish.” His eyes roamed Nick. “I’ll bet a man your size can really put away the liquor.”

  As the contents of Nick’s stomach rose, he broke the handshake and turned to leave. Before exiting, he gave Jones one last glance. He was back to his pleasant, handsome self, though something about the office was different, he was sure of it.

  Greased Guard Number Two - “Philander” - was outside the door, hands clasped behind his back like a warden waiting to chaperone Nick out of the building.