Burn Cards

by Christopher Irvin

  The constant hum of techno bass increased with each step, climaxing when a man dressed as a black and blue mime opened the door for us, the inner casino entrance a shortcut avoiding the mess outside. The booming rattled my teeth. Inside, revelers were packed body to body in a sweat-infused dance. In the center of the circular club rose a giant column of fluorescent light that expanded as it flowed into the ceiling, at least double the height of the main casino. The light fluxed between a series of colors—blues, greens, reds. When we entered it was a subdued purple haze. The main bar was aglow in white light panels circling the fluorescent column. It looked like a space-age piano keyboard. Televisions circled about the bar displaying the evening’s sporting events for those who weren’t already overloaded by the atmosphere. Green lasers sliced through the crowded club as we made our way around white high top tables to a half spiral staircase. Antonio led to the second deck which hung out over the dance floor. People gathered, drinks in hand at the railing, watching the controlled chaos below. Along the wall were low white couches underlit by neon colors. A small cylinder table on each couch glowed in tune with the center column. A second bar owned the rear corner of the second floor, lit with white panels like the first. Nicole yelled over the noise that she was going to the bathroom as we settled onto an empty couch. I wondered what habits she’d picked up during her nights out.

  “What can I get you, Mirna?” Antonio said.

  “A cigarette and some Advil,” I told him.

  “How about something stronger?” he said. “You’ve been drinking water all night.” I shrugged. I could barely hear anything, least of all his baritone voice. He slipped over to the bar to order the drinks. I lost track of Nicole in the mob of people on the dance floor. I hoped that would keep her occupied. I doubted Doug kept in contact with Antonio after running him off, but if the names on the list were in any order, Antonio was among the latest loans. Minutes later he returned, two martini glasses in hand.

  The music changed and with it the lights. The club filled with a strobing pulse, turning everything to black and white slow motion. I took a small sip of the drink. The rum was strong and bitter. Antonio saw me grimace and forced a nervous smile, his lips stained red with his syrupy cocktail.

  “Wrong choice, eh?” He lifted his glass high. “Mine too. Let’s cheers and down these puppies for something better.” We knocked glasses but I only took another sip. The drink was terrible and I would have lost my head if I had downed it. Antonio drank half his cocktail before placing it on the table, disappointed. “Or not,” he said. I ignored him, leaned back into the couch.

  “Something has been nagging at me for a while,” I said.

  “Go on then; get it off your chest.” He looked bored and upset. I wasn’t playing the game. Questions simmered on the tip of my tongue. I didn’t know where Antonio sat in the whole scheme of things or if he had a hand in Doug’s death. What if our meeting wasn’t a coincidence? Then I thought, fuck it, and cut right to the chase.

  “Did you ever loan Doug money?”

  Antonio looked more apathetic than surprised. He sucked at his teeth and his eyelids shrunk into a squint. I was nervous and could feel my cheeks begin to blush. I took another sip of the bitter drink, starting to feel better, like the sickness had momentarily passed. He took a while to answer and passed the time by downing another quarter of the red syrup in his glass.

  “Yes, I loaned him money, what of it? Doug took money from everyone, he had quite the rep.”

  “How much?”

  “I don’t know, maybe a thousand? Not so much that if I didn’t get it back it would be a big deal. I felt sorry for the guy. He made me think of you.”

  Something changed in his demeanor, like his heart momentarily switched back on.

  “Did he pay you back?”

  “He did and even gave me a couple hundred extra for spotting him on short notice. I should do it again, take a little of the burden off his caretaker.”

  “Did he have anyone who had it in for him?” I said, ignoring the comment.

  “Not that I know of. Wait, what you do mean, had?”

  “What about quick ways to make money? Does the Macanudo, 3805 mean anything to you?”

  “A room at the casino? What’s all this about?”

  “Just answer the question, Antonio.”

  “Look, I know us running into each other like this is a bit sudden and maybe even a bit shocking for you, but I’m back.” He shifted closer on the couch, leaning forward to close the deal. “I got scared. I should have never left you like I did. I’m sorry.” I’d seen the bullshit apology on Doug’s face a thousand times. Antonio was a dead end. I stood to leave.

  Right on cue, Nicole collapsed into the table, spilling my drink and nearly knocking me over. Antonio caught me by the shoulder. My head spun for a second and I felt a dizzying rush, threatening my balance.

  “You guys gotta get out there,” she said, her words a slurred jumble. She grabbed at Antonio’s drink. “What’s this? Can I have it?”

  Antonio pulled it away with a laugh. “I think you’ve had enough, Nicole. To drink, that is—never enough dancing.” She jumped up and down like a drunken five-year-old. If I could have mustered the energy, I would have punched her in the face.

  “I think Mirna’s ready to dance, don’t you, Tony?” She clasped her hands together, her elbows on the table.

  “I certainly do,” he said grabbing ahold of my hand, pulling me to my feet.

  The last thing I remembered before I blacked out were Antonio’s stained lips and him uttering, “We’re going to have a great time tonight.”

  10

  The thumping electronica from the club still pounded in my skull as I pressed Antonio into the bed, our bodies slick with sweat and spilled drinks. The sheets were wrinkled and damp, the room smelling of mildew, but the blurred ecstasy was all I wanted, what I’d always wanted—rekindling that fleeting moment of my childhood. The raw passion overwhelmed me and I sensed his apprehension when I dug my nails into the meat of his shoulders.

  Somewhere I thought I heard Nicole moan, or maybe it was me as we rolled in a tangle of limbs across the bed. I used his momentum to stay on top, my hips rolling until we finished together. It was all of the euphoria, none of the pain, and not until we separated, hearts thudding against our rib cages, catching our breath, that the memories of the day found me.

  Antonio lay beside me, glazed over eyes focused on the ceiling as I told him what happened. I’ve never been a good storyteller—too much detail here, not enough there—and that night was no exception. When I glossed over Doug’s death thinking Antonio might return some of the warmth we’d previously shared, he left to make a drink.

  I stared at the angles of the bare room, suddenly much colder than before. A small hand-held camera stood silent atop a tripod in the corner beside another stand with a light bulb surrounded by an umbrella. The kind of setup you’d see in a photo shoot. Or a movie. The rest of the room was empty. Antonio had ignored the setup when we’d entered the room. I’d asked enough questions. It was off and that was good enough for me. Memory never lives up to the real thing.

  Every muscle in my body ached like one gigantic bruise as I struggled to push myself up against the wall behind the bed, tears of frustration dripping down my cheeks onto my chest. I could see the disappointment in his face when he returned, sipping from a tumbler of whiskey. I rolled over, rather than face his blank stare. He absently rubbed my back as I told him of the bookie’s men, the assault and their charge of carrying Doug’s debt in his stead. In the end he told me to clean myself up and he’d call a cab to take me home. Sleeping it off would do me some good. Nicole alone would be a handful in the morning. He’d chuckled at that, a joke.

  I collected my strewn bits of clothing in my arms, waving him off, unable to fully process the curt rejection. I crept out of the room, leaving the door open behind me. My eyes adjusted to the darkness of the hallway, bare walls devoid of any personal touch. Moo
nlight streamed in through an open door to my right. Inside, Nicole lay sprawled face down on a bare mattress, her hair a chaotic mess across her face. I paused at the entrance for what felt like an eternity, watching until her back slowly rose, her lungs taking in a shallow breath in the dim light.

  Everything in the bathroom was gold-colored. The rug, towels, fixtures—even the shower curtain. I closed the door, switched on the fan and sat on the closed toilet. Too many thoughts swirled in my head and I needed a moment to myself, away from the world.

  Antonio had taken my story with a passionless enthusiasm that bordered on morose. After the night we’d had I expected more. Hell, was due more.

  My tongue felt like sandpaper. I began to shiver like I had a bad case of the flu. I grabbed a hand towel hanging on the wall and ran the water in the sink until I could see steam. I soaked the towel in the sink, letting the hot water scald my fingers as I wrung it out. Gently, I rubbed the towel across my face and down my body, over my stomach and legs, wiping away Antonio’s scent. The swelling in my left cheek from the bookie’s men had begun to purple. My eyes were reddened and sore from crying. I cupped the water and sucked it down in handfuls, letting the burn quench my thirst. I dried with another towel, then slowly dressed, sobering a little more with each layer. Tying my hair back into a ponytail, I took one last look in the mirror, exhaled long and opened the door.

  I had no idea where Antonio lived. The strip club he supposedly owned was on the western outskirts of MidTown. By the size of the place, I bet he lived further west in an apartment building. The hallway emptied into a small living room that was just as impersonal. A humongous flat panel television dominated the room, which was sparse with the exception of a daybed and a table with a small reading light. At the foot of the day bed sat an unopened bottle of champagne in a plastic bucket of ice. I couldn’t remember how it got there or if it had been there before we walked in. The entire residence was plain bordering on bland compared to his personality, and I wondered if it was even his apartment. I’d seen more character in a rent-by-the-hour motel room.

  Antonio’s white jacket hung loose on a stand beside the front door, along with my purse and Nicole’s puffy coat. I reached into his jacket to sneak a cigarette. In the left breast pocket was a thick envelope held closed with a thin piece of tape. Curious, I pulled it out and slit the tape open with a fingernail. Clean and crisp Benjamin Franklins stared back by the dozen. I flicked through the bills. There could have been fifty to sixty grand—maybe more. I’d never seen so much money in my life.

  “What are you doing?” Antonio appeared in the shadows at the edge of the room. He swirled the remaining drips of liquor in his glass.

  “Bumming a cigarette for the road. What is this?”

  I exposed the bills, fanning out the top. Antonio finished the last of his drink, wiping away the dribble with the back of his hand. He worked his tongue slowly along the edge to his wrist, savoring the last sip. His muscles tightened; fingers in a baseball grip around the empty tumbler.

  “Money, what does it look like?”

  The response caught me off guard, leaving me lost for words.

  “But Doug…the men—you could help me.”

  “Now Mirna, I think you’ve got the wrong—”

  “You sat there listening to me and you had all this waiting here the whole time?”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. I said I could hook you up with a job at the club. What you’ve got there is something I can’t part with.”

  He took a step forward and I backed into the door.

  “But you’re back.”

  “Nothing in this town is easy. I’ve got my own set of problems. It’s not—”

  I whipped the envelope at him across the room. It curved down at his feet, spilling bills in an impromptu game of 52 pickup. While he was distracted by the mess, I reached back into his jacket, felt his car keys next to his cigarette case and took both, palming the keys into my purse and flashing my theft of the latter.

  “See you around, asshole.”

  I slammed the door before he could say goodbye.

  11

  The hallway was dimly lit and had dark green carpet to match a thin stripe painted along the top of the walls. I noted his apartment number, 46. At the end of the hall I found the stairs and clattered my way down from the fourth floor. A television blared in the lobby, the sound echoing up from the bottom of the stairwell. When I neared the first floor, a door opened above me and I panicked, adrenaline momentarily washing away the start of a hangover. I bet on Antonio letting me go, but if he’d checked his jacket for his keys…

  I didn’t wait for the footsteps. I regained some of my composure, pulled open the door to the lobby and walked through with a sigh of relief. The attendant had fallen asleep at his desk, his loud snore matching the volume of the television. I ignored the security cameras, moved quickly past the front desk, and out into the parking lot.

  Three in the morning and the temperature outside had begun to warm up already. I walked through the parking lot searching for the Mercedes, unable to recall our arrival or where Antonio had parked. The area was foreign but I recognized the shape of the apartment building. A small high-rise in West University, north of I-80 and within walking distance of The University of Nevada. Must have been the perfect little place to get away, where he could sneak a girl or two in past a sleeping guard. Give them a ‘test’ or whatever a strip club owner did to vet his dancers. My body recoiled at the thought and I spit out the bad taste in my mouth. I still couldn’t wrap my head around everything from the past night. I found the car parked near a lamppost on the far side of the lot. I pressed a button on the key and the car unlocked with a quiet beep. I climbed inside, pulled the door shut and watched the windows along the fourth floor as the overhead light faded to black. I couldn’t remember what side of the building Antonio’s apartment was on, and I wouldn’t put it past him to watch me leave from his high perch. I buckled in, adjusted the seat and slipped the key into the slot beside the wheel. All clear.

  The quiet purr of the engine sounded more like a roar in the emptiness of the early morning. I put it in reverse and twisted around to look behind me to pull out of the spot. I blinked away the fog of a lingering buzz that still lurked in my veins. If I could back out of the tight spot without hitting anything, I could make it home. I took it slow, foot resting on the brake as I pulled out, turning the wheel at the last second to avoid the line of cars behind me. I shifted to drive and tore out of the parking lot in a stop-start flurry, taking the next two blocks to get used to the car’s power. I hadn’t driven in years. Half-cocked in a stolen car was not a good time to practice. I gripped the wheel tight and took it slow, eventually merging onto the highway with the mix of cabbies and truckers carrying their early morning cargo. The rest of the drive was a blur until the bright lights of the Lucky Strike fully woke me up. I turned onto a side street and took the long way around, scanning the apartment complex for police, or worse. After all, I was a criminal already returning to the scene of the crime mere hours later. The men and the truck that were standing outside when I first left had disappeared, the nearby party long dispersed.

  I parked in a spot close to my apartment and listened to the sounds of the cooling engine. The locked glove box caught my attention. I twisted the key inside and popped it open. The owner’s manual sat at the bottom of the narrow slot, covered in a stack of beige napkins. I brushed the napkins aside to reveal a small gray revolver.

  I shut the glove box and sat in the darkness, rolling my fingers over the stitching in the leather seat. Antonio would never have helped me. He was just out for himself, looking for a good time. With or without Jazmín’s help, I’d never be able to pay off Doug’s debt working at the salon. The bookie knew where I worked and I couldn’t drag her into this, not after everything she’d done for me. The goons would tear up the shop without a second thought, just like the apartment, or worse. It would ruin her. I could drive until I ran out of gas, but the
n what? With little money and nowhere to go, I’d end up crawling right into the bookie’s arms. Doug’s debts weren’t mine to keep. But…

  I reopened the glove box and pulled out the revolver by the grip. The heavy weight of the small weapon surprised me and I almost dropped it, sending half the napkins fluttering to the floor of the passenger seat. I traced the sharp lines of the barrel with a finger, flashing back to Antonio’s apartment and the envelope full of cash—my solution, my escape. A gun would’ve changed his tune, gotten him to see my situation for what it was. My heart thudded yes against my chest. He’s a scumbag who used you. Pull the trigger and take the money. Antonio wouldn’t buy a bluff from me, not ‘little ol’ Mirna’. It would take more than that. I imagined pulling the trigger, watching as a red flower blossomed on his chest. Reaching for the stained envelope—and seeing Nicole shivering in the corner, her eyes wide with terror, taking in all I’d done.

  Nicole. Her presence shut the door on the idea. Even if she was still out by the time I got back to the apartment, my name would be the first she’d drop to police. I could work up the courage to do Antonio alone, but I wasn’t a killer.

  Still, the gun fit snug in the top of my purse beside Antonio’s cigarette case, and I left the car for the apartment with a renewed sense of security, purse over my shoulder, hugged against my side. If the bookie had left any surprises for me, I’d be ready this time.

  The apartment building was deathly quiet. I pushed open the broken door and flicked on the light in the apartment. The mess was the same as before, but the pungent odor had calmed. I did a walk-through to make sure the apartment was empty. I lit one of the cigarettes I’d taken from Antonio to help calm my nerves, no longer caring about Doug’s no-smoking rules. I left the chaos of the bedrooms and got an icepack out of the freezer in the kitchen. I wrapped a thin paper towel around it and pressed it against my cheek. It stung but the chill felt nice against the warm bruise. I fell into the couch and lay there thinking about the previous day. Whoever Doug owed money to was not going to leave me alone until I paid them back. I wondered how long it took Doug to blow through the money. And what if they didn’t stop there? I needed to get past the thugs and talk to someone who made decisions, the bookie herself.