by Carmen Faye
They pulled into the driveway of Maison’s Hall and walked inside. At the front desk, Cyn inquired about the reservation for that Saturday, and they were led down the hall to the doors of a large room.
“There will be twenty tables set up, not counting the three long tables for food. I know the bars were ordered, but nothing about food.”
Cyn nodded. “We’ll do a potluck, thanks.”
“You got this for Derrick?” Daphne said.
She looked at her friend and decided it was safe to tell her, “Actually, Hank did. Is that alright? He won’t be coming, he has to work, but he wanted to do this much for you and Derrick.”
Daphne bit her lip. “He really was with you, that night? No phone calls?”
“Yes, Daphne, he really was. I couldn’t stand it if he was the one who did that to you, no matter what the reason. Alright?” Cyn told her, deciding that adding that Hank really wished he was the trigger man wouldn’t be helpful right now.
Daphne looked around the room. “Well, we can’t put up a notice at the club, since he didn’t die as a member. So, we have a lot of phone calls to make.”
Cyn gave her an enthusiastic hug. “Let’s go!”
Cyn worked like a demon to catch up for the day, and she then helped with the phone list.
The first number Cyn called was for someone named Big Ed, who she didn't remember meeting before.
“Yes?”
“Ed? Big Ed?”
“Sometimes, who is this?”
“This is Cyn. I’m calling about Derrick’s wake on Saturday at the Hall in Lakeside,” she offered.
“Cyn? I’ll be damned, I was just talking about you. I want to say I’m sorry about that. Never should have happened. You were dead right, and no hard feelings,” Big Ed told her.
She hesitated for a moment, finally remembering meeting him, and then said, “Accepted. It’s been rough on all of us.”
“Thank you. And can I ask where the blood on your clothes came from?”
“Well, Ed, about an hour before I arrived at the club, three men came into my house and tried to rape and kill me.”
“Where are they now?” Ed said with a low growl in his voice.
“They’re dead, Ed. They’re all dead,” she told him flatly.
Ed let out a long breath. “Not club, right?”
“No, not club. I’m not sure who they were, but they weren’t club, though club took care of the cleanup for me. Knight helped with that.”
“Good call getting him involved. And sorry to pry. I’ll see you Saturday. Thanks again,” he said and broke the connection. As Cyn lowered the phone, she noticed Daphne staring at her. “Ah shit,” she said, looking down at her hands.
“You didn’t tell me,” Daphne said quietly.
“No, I didn’t tell you. You have too much now, and it was taken care of. I got a little scratch on my neck, that’s it, alright? And I wish you didn’t know about it now,” she said softly, near tears.
“You didn’t know them?”
“No, I didn’t, and they didn’t know me. They just came in and … and … I fought, but I wasn’t strong enough, and god, I was so scared Daphne,” she told her friend, tears coming down her face. “The one, he was so fucking evil.”
“Is that why you wanted to be roomies for a while?” Daphne asked.
Cyn nodded, wiping her eyes with her hands. “Yes, some of it. I haven’t been back to my house since, except to pick up some stuff to come here. The couch is ruined, and so is the coffee table. There are blood stains on the carpet. I can’t sleep there. Not yet. I’m afraid, alright? I’m really scared to sleep there alone.”
“What happened? I mean, to them?” Daphne asked.
“Hank came over. He just stopped over, and he killed two of them. I killed one as they were coming inside.”
“Did it change you?” she asked softly. “Killing him? Did it change you?”
Cyn nodded. “Yes. I thought it didn’t. I didn’t think about it at all, except to wonder how I could have done the same thing to the other two. But this morning, after Hank left, I was getting ready to come over here, and it hit me really hard. I puked. I barely made it to the bathroom. I know the guy was going to kill me, and rape me, and he didn’t even see me as a human being, just a body, but I can’t see him that way. I just can’t.”
Daphne came over and sat down beside her, hugging her close. “I know what you mean. I don’t want to talk about it, not now. But I know exactly what you mean.”
Cyn nodded, and she wiped at her eyes again. “Well, I don’t want to talk about this anymore, so let’s get back on the phones. I’m alright now.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Hank had already accepted the fact that he was going to murder someone. It was Thursday, about six in the evening, and he was holding his gun to the back of the head of a man who had been running one of the distribution chains for the Orlin cartel. Apparently, he took a little more than he should have. It was strange to Hank that this was such a common problem.
Orlin is talking to him, mostly in Spanish, which Hank is fluent in, though he hasn’t let Orlin in on this information. Orlin’s monologue is tedious and, in Hank’s mind, a flagrant waste of time, because Hank can tell that Orlin is going to order him to kill this man. It is all over his body language.
It is a test to see if Hank will hesitate or act when given a command.
After another minute of talking, Hank realizes that he is wrong, this isn’t Orlin wasting time. Orlin is trying to see if Hank will lose his cool under this kind of pressure.
Hank allows himself the slightest of grins, since he doesn’t feel any pressure from the situation at all. The pressure left him when he decided that yes, he was going to murder this man. From that point, he’s been calm.
The man under his gun, however, is feeling the pressure. He is quaking at this point, shaking so badly that the sweat pouring out of his forehead is being flung off by the trembles.
“So you understand, Hector. I have to do this,” Orlin said in English, and then to Hank, “Kill him-”
The gun went off before Orlin could quite finish the command.
Hank straightened up, checked the room, and then put his gun into his side-holster. “Do you need anything from his desk? Perhaps his laptop?”
Orlin studied him. “Actually, yes, bueno. His laptop, please.”
Hank strode over to the desk and found the travel case for the laptop. He packed it all up and looked around again. “Yes?”
“Si, we go now,” Orlin agreed.
Outside, two enforcers fell into step behind them as they went down the walk to the waiting limo.
Once inside, Orlin gave Hank another appraisal. “You did not drive the truck today?”
“It is at the body shop being repainted. It will be done by next Tuesday, they told me,” Hank said.
“And this suit, it looks very good on you. I did not expect you … how do you say? … cleaned up so well, yes.”
Hank allowed himself a grin. “You mentioned last week that today would be busy with negotiations.”
“I did? It is, definitely, si, but I guess I must have, perhaps in passing? Certainly not as a directive.”
“No, nothing like that. I think your motivation was to let me know I might be bored most of the day,” Hank said.
“There are many emotional states I can picture you occupying, Hank, but boredom I don’t believe is one of them.”
“Professional wrestling,” Hank offered. “Bores me silly.”
Orlin laughed at this, and his laugh was genuine. “My son, he is into this, and may the Virgin bless me, I cannot get through a whole show with him. I try, I really do, but it is just too much.”
“It shows much that you try anyway. He’ll remember that. I’m sure it will be one of his fondest memories,” Hank said, looking out the window as the limo descended off the freeway and into the valley of El Cajon.
Orlin turned thoughtful. “Yes, maybe it will be. I have a sim
ilar memory of my father and his attempts to be interested in my interests. I knew even then that he wasn’t, but he did try. Yes, Hank, a very fond memory indeed.
“So,” Orlin said, returning to his business posture, “You performed very well back there. Any thoughts?”
“No, not really.”
“How would you be with, say, interrogation? Perhaps chain saws and such?”
“I think you would find better value using my talents in other areas,” Hank suggested.
Orlin nodded at that. “True, very true. Brutes are for that kind of work, and you are not a brute. In fact, now that I think of those talents, especially your talents in the areas of observation, I have a meeting in an hour which I was not going to have you attend, but I think I should change my mind.”
“A meeting like the last one?” Hank asked.
“No, this meeting is with Cuarto Rivera. Do you recognize the name?”
“Runs a sizable territory east of Tijuana. His father was one of the main heroin growers until the War on Drugs, when just like everyone else, he realized that cocaine was much more profitable, anyway. He has a wife and three daughters, no legitimate sons.”
“You say legitimate as if there are sons who are not,” Orlin pointed out.
“There are. Two, in fact, by a woman who lives in a house he provides in Tijuana. It is more or less an open secret; everyone knows, no one talks about it.”
“Personal feelings?” Orlin asked.
“None. I’ve never met the man. My information is what I’ve picked up from newspapers,” Hank told him.
“Then your recall is impressive. I would have sworn you had at least met him, the way you discuss him so clearly. But, this is good, for my purposes anyway. Fresh eyes on Rivera, and then your thoughts afterward,” Orlin said, pleased with the idea. “It would be preferable if you just listen, however.”
“Of course.”
The meeting was held in a medium-sized room. It felt expansive with the large slat doors leading to the balcony patio open and the sunlight pooling across the thresholds. Three short couches were situated around a glass and rattan magazine table.
After introductions, at which Hank was introduced as Orlin’s new executive assistant, the two cartel leaders took a couch across the table from one another while Hank took the one in the middle. He sat against the arm toward Orlin’s side of the room. Guards were stationed outside of the room out of ear shot, but a yell or commotion would bring them in quickly.
Hank also noticed that neither man objected to his sidearm.
Cuarto Rivera was at least thirty years Orlin’s senior. Slightly round in the middle and mostly bald on top, he still had the presence of a very powerful man. But he was nervous about something — extremely nervous.
Rivera made a twisting motion from left to right on the couch when he sat down. “Forgive me, please. I have to keep my back loose these days or it becomes very painful.”
“I understand. I only hope I age as gracefully as you have,” Orlin lied, though Hank didn’t believe Rivera picked up on the signs.
“The last time I was here,” Rivera said with an easy manner, “I was with my granddaughters. Remember, Ruiz?”
“Oh yes, two of them, I believe.”
“No, three. Isabella, Maria and Sibel.”
“Sibel?”
“She is the oldest. She was wearing an orange dress, if memory serves.”
Orlin turned thoughtful. “I am ashamed at my lack of attention. The only one I recall in an orange dress was … well, she was another guest.”
Something solidified in Rivera after this exchange. He wasn’t nervous anymore. Hank reflected on his own calm after he had decided that he was going to murder that man earlier.
He’s here to kill Orlin.
All the signs were there: in the eyes, the shoulders, the hands. This man was bent on murder now. He wasn’t angry, not really. Hank also bet it had something to do with the oldest granddaughter as well. The one Orlin recalled as being another guest. Did he mistake Sibel as being someone else, or something else?
Hank’s gut churned with conflicting ideas and emotions. It could end here. He could simply let it happen. Orlin would be dead, and the club could go about its business. Of course, there was the strong possibility that he would be killed as well by the guards of both of these men coming into the room and then turning on each other.
Shit.
No, it wasn’t the right time, and certainly not the right place.
The men talked easily to each other, discussing possible price increases and delivery incentives, for about twenty minutes. Orlin was completely relaxed now. He was in his element, on his own turf, and growing in power. He didn’t fear this old man, though he did respect him. Orlin wasn’t a fool.
Then Rivera began to do his back exercises again, and Hank knew this was it. The back exercises would camouflage the pistol draw. Orlin would die never comprehending how the old man shot him.
Rivera began with the right side, and then twisted his torso to the left as Hank rose and walked steadily in his direction, coming between Rivera and the table, hiding the draw from Orlin as Rivera came out of the twist with a small, nickel plated .38 automatic.
Hank snatched the gun, keeping the slide from moving, and twisted it from his hand. He slipped it into his jacket pocket while he continued to walk by.
Rivera was stunned.
“Senor Rivera? Are you alright? Hank? Did you do something? Step on his toe, perhaps?”
Hank turned back. “No, but if I did, I certainly apologize Senor Rivera.”
Rivera didn’t get to be the head of a cartel by letting himself be surprised for very long. “No, nothing like that. I just twisted a little too far that time. Hank, please, don’t concern yourself at all.”
“I’m very relieved, but perhaps you would like a drink?” Hank offered.
“Maybe a water?” Rivera asked.
“Right away,” Hank said, and he continued walking toward the small fridge in the room. “Orlin?”
“Si, that would be good, Hank, thank you.”
After that, River was so closely guarded he made poker players appear enthusiastic. Twice, Hank noticed Rivera men poking their heads in from out on the balcony and opening the door.
They were told, Hank thought to himself. They’re expecting the signal. What will they do now?
The answer appeared to be: nothing.
When the two men decided to break for dinner, Rivera did his exercise thing again and then stood up. Maybe the exercises were real, or he was simply a thorough con-artist. Then Rivera rose and came over to Hank.
“Are you learning much?” Rivera asked.
“More than you can imagine,” Hank assured him.
Rivera studied him and then nodded. “That could be true. You have an eagle’s way of looking at things. You see vistas. Here is my card. If you are ever in Mexico and require assistance, use it.”
Hank checked the position of the others in the room, and then said, “Perhaps Sunday, around two, we might talk? I believe it would be mutually beneficial, and it would also allow what I rudely interrupted to move forward.”
Rivera studied him intently. “Si, but first tell me how you could have known so precisely.”
“You told me,” Hank replied. “First, you related what happened to your granddaughter. Orlin thought she was one of the entertainment women. She was probably so scared, she couldn’t cry out. Afterward, she was so ashamed she couldn’t speak. And then your exercises: They were the perfect camouflage for a draw. It would have worked beautifully. Of course, it was a suicide run. You didn’t expect to walk out of here, and I am not ready to die. So, I had to stop you.”
“If you could have left the room?”
Hank met the elder’s eyes and said, “I would have and with a prayer on my lips for you.”
Rivera nodded his head thoughtfully, then agreed. “Sunday, then, at two. I’ll be available. I have a feeling that it won’t be a waste of
my time.”
“Thank you, sir,” Hank said. He moved away to watch dinner being brought in and observe Rivera’s guards looking nervously into the room.
Rivera went to his man on the balcony and whispered in his ear. The man nodded and talked into his radio. Both men appeared much calmer after that.
For the rest of the evening, Hank’s mind churned through scenarios of how best to use this windfall.