Hiding

by N. M. Catalano

  My hands are tied until every damn ‘i’ is dotted and ‘t’ is crossed.

  I could have followed that asshole and found out who he was meeting, what he was doing, where he was going. But that wasn’t the fucking assignment.

  “I hope so,” Marco continues. “This drug situation is starting to affect my project. They’re beginning to move a little closer, and it’s scaring off some prospective clients.”

  Marco Kastanopoulis is building a multi-million-dollar development below the bridge in downtown Wilmington. His project is a cutting edge model of sustainable building practices incorporating the latest technology available in both the commercial and residential sectors.

  “I know what you mean,” I agree. “There doesn’t seem to be any boundaries with this. Usually dealers and gangs have areas. There’s no rhyme or reason to what’s going on. Hell, with Bambi and her crew, they were working the fight circuit, and the movie lot. Who the fuck has the balls to do that? And the connections?”

  The situation would flow in a concise pattern, then all of a sudden something would occur, and the direction would shift in a completely illogical and unrelated pattern. We’d pick-up the known dealers in the usual places and couldn’t keep them because the count they’d have on them would be so small, they’d get out on bail and pay the fine.

  No one’s talking and we aren’t getting anywhere with a name, or names, on who the suppliers are. Or where the shit’s coming from. There are no pompous markings on the packages showing claim to who the almighty creator is to the magic potion. Not a clue on who’s responsible.

  It’s really starting to piss me off.

  “That’s tough, Rico, I hate it for you. At least in the service, we knew who our enemy was, they shouted it at us loud and fucking clear every chance they got. This whole situation, it sounds like they’re a damn ghost,” Brian says.

  It feels like that.

  “Yeah, like the damn Grim Reaper. Death. Silently creeping in and taking a new victim with each baggy of shit that hits the street,” I grind out through clenched teeth.

  “Well, look at it this way. At least you’ll have a new project to take your mind off it. Figuring out why Maria hates your sorry ass,” John grins.

  “She doesn’t hate me. How could someone hate a person when they don’t even know them.”

  The mystery is starting to make me crazy.

  No answers, only more questions.

  “Oh, she sounded like she hates you alright,” Brian comments as he wipes the sweat off his face with a towel. “Man, this is going to be fun!” he laughs.

  “Rico’s right, Maria doesn’t hate him,” Marco cuts in. “She’s an intelligent woman. She’ll hate him after she gets to know him,” he smirks.

  “Alright, I’m so glad you guys are getting such a kick out of this. I’m going to figure this out. I’m not the bad guy. And when I do, you’ll all be kissing my ass.”

  Fuck safe, to hell with boundaries.

  “Good luck, bro, because I’ve never seen a woman hate a guy like she hates you.” John is grinning like a kid.

  “That’s alright. I’ll take care of Maria.”

  The comment, and acknowledgement, slipped smoothly from my mouth on its own. The decision is made.

  It felt good.

  Right.

  I shouldn’t.

  It’s a challenge.

  I’m doing it for the challenge.

  Then I’ll walk away.

  Back into my fortress of solitude.

  “Fine. We’ll be watching. Now it’s time for me to kick your ass, Rico,” John moves toward the cage.

  “You can try.”

  The metal cage. This is the part I love. The free rein to let my demon come out and play, whet his appetite to keep him complacent. He needs release, needs to dip his toes in the satisfying waters of violence and quench his thirst.

  That’s what this challenge is.

  Another means to satisfy my dark cravings.

  But I’m more than thirsty. I’m starved.

  It’s on, Maria. All’s fair in love and war, mi preciosa.

  Maria

  CHAPTER 5

  Who did that man think he was? He was probably from the same type of streets I came from?

  I slam the salt and pepper shakers down and move to the next table and the next set.

  I’m frustrated. A myriad of emotions had been storming through me since the moment I laid eyes on Rico. It had been a rollercoaster ride, up then down. Fear, curiosity, anger, desire.

  Damn!

  I didn’t need this thing, him, to worry about. My life sucked, there was no denying that, but I’d fallen into a routine, and in routine there’s a sense of familiarity, a certain calmness in knowing where you’re at and what you’re doing.

  His appearance had blasted the walls out from my nice shitty box and I felt exposed and vulnerable. He made me feel. I hadn’t felt anything in so long except wariness, fear, sadness, loneliness. He’d brought things back to life in me I thought I would never experience again. And the way his eyes searched me, I couldn’t hide. They stripped me, he made me feel he saw every single secret I kept locked up tight. I’d wanted to run, to fight, to lash out at him. Because he could see me, me, beneath the layers and the thick shield I’d erected. I couldn’t hide from him, and it scared me to death.

  He made me feel.

  I was drawn to him.

  Then he found my weakness.

  It wrecked me.

  I know I got smart first, but did he have to take such a low blow?

  My whole life I’ve had to deal with prejudice. Prospective employers assumed I was stupid because of my last name, people from school thought I was a criminal because of where I came from, and the guys, especially the white men, took for granted I was a whore because of my nationality. Everywhere I’ve ever turned I’ve been slapped with stereotypes degrading me and belittling me, I’ve busted my ass constantly fighting against it.

  But he, this Rico, pulled it out like a blade and cut me so fast, I didn’t even see it coming.

  It hurt. Bad.

  I had insulted him first, insinuated he never even made it to high school. Wasn’t that worse, or at least just as bad?

  Guilt ebbs its way into my pity party, and makes me feel horrible.

  “Isn’t this just wonderful, now I feel like shit,” I murmur to myself.

  He affected me. He came in here like a damn asteroid slamming into the earth and threw me completely off kilter. I was stunned. I was shocked. And, damn him, I was incredibly attracted to him. But I was scared. He terrified me, and everything somebody like him stands for, where he comes from, and the danger he could bring with him. Nothing good ever comes from a guy like that, only pain and death.

  Los Muertos.

  Even if he doesn’t have anything to do with them, and common sense tells me he can’t, I can’t stop the automatic reaction to someone like that, someone like him, someone that emanates the dangers of a gang member having you on their radar. I mean, what are the odds of one man in a small city in the south having anything to do with a gang from New York? They’re so small, virtually impossible, I can’t even fathom it.

  But there was danger in the depths of Rico’s dark eyes, a sultry heat that threatened to burn me, promising it would scorch me if I let him get close

  He stirred something inside me, something that I thought had died the day Rafi had.

  I wanted it.

  I was afraid of it.

  I loved it.

  I hated it.

  I wanted him.

  He scares me.

  I’ve been hiding for six long months, no outsiders, no one except my grandmother and aunt, the employees in the restaurant, (and those I keep at arm’s length), and the customers I wait on. Elsie is the only exception. We clicked from the first time she walked in to the restaurant. She pulled no punches, just like me. She was real, honest, and she was passionate about being alive.

  I respected her immediat
ely.

  Talking with Elsie has been the only reprieve from the loneliness I’ve lived in since I got here. My heart ached constantly for everything I’ve lost. I had been drowning in quicksand, the weight getting heavier and heavier, crushing me slowly. I had to find an escape, a tiny little hole I could flee to.

  I’d found it.

  One afternoon on my day off, I had been walking to the riverfront and passed a tattoo parlor. The streets were empty, void of the summer tourist traffic, so I wasn’t as paranoid as usual, (it seemed like paranoia was my coffee every morning, it’s what I’ve woken up to every day since the morning I left New York). That particular day, I was in a good mood for once, there was no weight pressing down on me. A surge of recklessness came out of nowhere.

  So I walked into the shop.

  That impromptu visit started the work on the tattoo design on my back. I’d found an outlet from the dark world of solitude I lived in. It’s helped me survive my existence in hiding all these months. The only person who knows about it is Elsie.

  As the morning slips into afternoon and the restaurant fills with the usual regulars that take the same seats they always do, (people are such creatures of habit), I cringe when I hear her voice.

  “Girl, you and me are going to have a little talk about what went down the other night.”

  Elsie.

  I knew the confrontation was coming, I’d been dreading it all weekend.

  When my mind wasn’t preoccupied with the highs remembering the heat that had passed between Rico and I, and the lows from the fear worried he might be my destruction.

  Am I ready for the questions? Am I prepared for the inevitable interrogation, the undoubtedly grueling one, in the ‘take no shit’ Elsie way?

  Am I going to be honest? Completely?

  Probably not.

  It’s the tail end of the lunch shift and the crowd is starting to leave.

  “I can’t, I’m busy,” I fumble for an excuse to ditch her.

  “I’ll wait,” she huffs with her hands planted firmly on her hips.

  My jaw tightens as I hold back a snide comment.

  Don’t be a bitch, she’s being a friend. Yours and Rico’s.

  “Okay,” I give in. “Are you eating?” I ask as I walk her to an out of the way table.

  “Yes, I’ve been waiting to come in until I thought it would slow down because I knew you’d try to avoid me. I’m starved.”

  I smile. She really is a good friend, which also makes me nervous. Because she’s both mine and Rico’s friend. I’m sure she’s got to feel torn. I don’t want to lie to her, but there’s no way I can tell her the truth. The people in my family are the only ones who know why I’m here. I’m afraid to tell anyone else. Not only for me, but for them too.

  Elsie slides her tiny frame into a booth while I get her soda, a Dr. Pepper, and put her order in, her ‘usual’, she gets the same thing every time she comes in. By the time her food is ready, the dining room is virtually empty. I put her plate down in front of her as I slip into the seat across from her.

  The best way to deal with Elsie, I’d found out, is straight up, take the bull by the horns. If not, she’ll chew you up and spit you out.

  As she unwraps her silverware, the interrogation begins.

  “What the hell was wrong with you the other night?”

  I draw back from the sudden attack.

  “Whoa, hold on. What was wrong with me? He insulted me too.”

  “Yes, but you started it. Rico was being polite, until you turned all bitchy on him. Do you know him or something?” she asks before she scoops up a forkful of food and shoves it into her mouth.

  “No I don’t know him, but I know a million guys like him. Guys like that are all the same.”

  “So you were rude to Rico merely because of what he is and what he looks like?” she asks between mouthfuls of food.

  That hit home.

  I’d treated him just like I’d been unfairly treated so many times in the past. I’d stereotyped him and pegged him for a hood, an ignorant, dangerous thug, and cut him down.

  I couldn’t admit it.

  “It wasn’t like that,” I avert my eyes so Elsie can’t see my guilt.

  “It was exactly like that. When I first met John, I’d tried to avoid him like the plague. But, Jesus Christ, you and Rico tore each other to shreds. I’ve never seen two strangers have so much animosity toward each other like you two did.” She takes a long swig of her drink as she glares at me.

  “It wasn’t that bad,” I squirm in my seat as I cringe inside.

  “It was totally that bad,” she points her fork at me. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you two were having a lover’s quarrel. There was so much…it was so…shit! If that’s how intense it would be if you two got together, heaven help us all.” Another long drink.

  Heat sears my chest, throat, face and scalp, I’m so embarrassed. I laugh. It isn’t at her and what she’d said, but she doesn’t need to know that. It’s nerves. Because that had been exactly what I’d been imaging all weekend.

  How hot it would be between Rico and I.

  Between being afraid of him.

  “Never happen, El, I want nothing to do with guys like that.”

  “Like what?” she asks around the food in her mouth. Damn, she’s hungry. “Cops? You’ve got something against cops?”

  What?!

  “Excuse me?” I lean in closer, not believing my ears.

  “Rico’s a cop. A detective actually. You don’t like cops? What? Have you been busted before?” She looks at me over the rim of her glass, the question flowing as easily from her as if she’d asked me if I’d had breakfast.

  “N..no,” I stutter. “No, I’ve got no problems with cops. It’s criminals I hate.”

  Stunned, I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact this guy who’s got gang screaming from him is actually a detective.

  “You thought Rico was a criminal? That’s why you turned psycho?” she asks as she pushes the plate away from her and sits back, content, rubbing her stomach.

  “Well, yeah, I guess, if you have to analyze it.”

  She shrugs her shoulders. “We did too, when he first showed up. He was a complete ass, God,” she rolls her eyes. “It turned out he was working undercover on a case, that’s how we met. He’s a good guy, Ree,” she sits up and rests her arms on the table and leans forward. “He was there for me when I was mess. I got sucked into that case, and I can never repay him for what he did, when he dropped everything and came running when I called.”

  This is not the guy I pegged him for. How could I have been so wrong about him? Were my instincts so wrong, am I so paranoid that I automatically assumed he’s gang because of what he is and what he looks like?

  Regardless of everything Elsie’d just told me, the facts and circumstances, I couldn’t shake the nagging suspicion of what I’d felt about Rico as soon as I saw him.

  Trust your gut, not your eyes, it’s usually right.

  Isn’t that what they always say?

  It’s obvious Rico is what Elsie says he is, a detective. Someone who enforces the law, not breaks it, someone who’s supposed to save lives, not drag them to their death. And he’s a friend, the kind of friend that comes running whenever he’s needed.

  “He’s a good guy, Ree. Don’t judge him until you get to know him,” Elsie repeats with a genuine smile.

  Can I do that? Not judge people, not automatically assume they’re guilty until proven innocent? Can I let my need for self-preservation not consume me and make me always want to attack first, ask questions later?

  Can I give Rico the opportunity to prove he’s not the bad guy?

  I doubt it.

  RICO

  CHAPTER 6

  “What a shitty day?” I grumble as I push open the door to La Cocina restaurant.

  It might get a whole lot shittier.

  Sick bastard that I am, the thought only makes me smile.

  It’s late
. The mountain of paperwork I had to fill out in the precinct was massive. And the number of pictures and databases that had to be gone through was unending. I’d been trying to put an identity to the unknown man from the bus and I kept hitting dead-ends. I’d been ready to punch something from the frustration.

  This case is only building and becoming more complex. One lead opens up more questions with most all the possibilities ending up cold. My hands are tied with ropes of rules and regulations.

  Questions and dead-ends.

  It’s fucking pissing me off.

  So I come here? Am I out of mind? I MUST be a glutton for punishment, I shake my head, smirking to myself, as I shrug off my suit jacket and walk straight to Maria.

  She’s in the back of the dining room facing the other direction.

  She won’t see me coming.

  My grin gets wider.

  “Excuse me, but is it too late for dinner?”

  I wonder if she’s going to be happy to see me.

  She whirls around.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Surprise hits her first, then it morphs to suspicion evident with her narrowed gaze and beautiful pursed lips. But for a fraction of a second between the two, there was a flash.

  She was happy to see me, I saw it in her eyes. What is going on with her? One second she wants me, the next breath I’m the worst human being that ever walked the face of the Earth.

  “It’s great to see you too. I’m hungry, so I came in to get something to eat. It’s been a long day.” I smile at her.

  I’m not going to goad her. And I’m definitely not going to let her entice me into another confrontation.

  Keep control.

  Keep it safe. She’s just a challenge.

  “Is it too late?”

  She’s beautiful. And guarded. There it is again. What is her problem with me?

  I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her. Every time I wasn’t preoccupied, she seeped into my thoughts and clouded my mind. An oasis in the shitstorm of drugs and death I walk in everyday, soothing the darkness inside me, whispering to the secrets. I hear her voice saying things to me she would kick my ass for. Wild things, things I’m sure she’s going to. Eventually. If I let her.