The Kiss after Midnight (The Midnight Trilogy) (5 page)

“A policeman?” Chris stood up. “What does he want?”

She gave him a blank look. “He’s looking for Tobias, I think. He asked for him but didn’t know his last name. I told him you might know where he is.”

Chris swallowed with a dry throat, nervousness creeping onto his face.
Shit. Please tell me this isn’t about that girl
. “Where is he now?”

“He’s at the inside bar.” She seemed to study him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Chris shifted uneasily. He pulled out his phone, scrolled to Tobias’ number and promptly deleted it. He put his arm around Mandy’s shoulder as he approached the dance floor. “Don’t say anything. If they ask, you know Tobias from the club, but that’s it.”

Mandy gave him a confused look.

“Yeah?” Chris half-shouted.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said.

Chris took a deep breath, returned his phone to his pocket and walked toward the inside bar. The man looking for Tobias sat on a stool. He had a black suit on and looked about 45. “Hi, Officer,” Chris said. “You’re looking for Tobias?”

Smiling, the man stood and extended his right hand. “And you are?”

“Chris. Chris Hawkins.”

Monroe flashed his badge. “I’m Detective Jack Monroe. I need to ask Tobias a few questions.”

“About?”

“A personal matter. Do you know where I can find him?”

Chris struggled to keep his breathing steady. “I ... I don’t really know him that well. I just see him at the club. I don’t know where he lives or nothing.”

Monroe moved closer to Chris until their feet almost touched. “Are you sure?”

“Why would I lie? I have nothing to hide.”

“And you know that if you do know where he is and you don’t tell me, you could be charged with aiding and abetting, right?”

Chris swallowed again, sweat surfacing on his forehead. “But ... but, what has he done?”

Monroe walked past Chris to the outside area, where he ran his hands along the chairs in the cabanas. He returned about a minute later. “You let me worry about what he’s done.” His eyes swept the inside of the club and settled on the two waitresses standing still and listening to their conversation. He returned his attention to Chris. “Now, for the last time, where’s Tobias?”

Chris took a deep breath and walked up to him, his face tense. “I told you, I don’t know.”

The detective eyed Chris almost menacingly before taking a step backward. “Okay. Thanks for all your help.” He put a piece of gum in his mouth and headed for the exit.

Chris leaned against the bar, breathing deeply.

***

Fernando Sastre pressed on the car horn forcefully, occasionally sticking his head out the window to shout abuse at the drivers ahead of him. In the passenger seat, his boss, Antonio Cabrera snorted cocaine from a miniature bottle similar to the ones used as perfume testers, a scowl on his face. Rico couldn’t be sure how much he had done but hated seeing and even hearing it. Antonio was a dark-haired man with slanting brown eyes and huge muscles. He had a tattoo of a prancing bull on the right side of his neck.

Fernando’s mood seemed to be worsening. He pounded his fists on the horn. He was generally a cool guy, though, whose bald head and smooth features tended to make women swoon. With his dimples and toned physique, Fernando looked like your average ladies’ man given to expensive suits and watches. Rico knew a darker side of him, though, which would surface when their
comisionado
, Antonio, gave him an order to kill.

He remembered last summer when an immigrant from his home country—Tirianna—failed to pay back a loan that the family leader, Juan, had given him. The job of collecting had been given to Antonio, who delegated it to Fernando. It was said that Fernando had beaten the man to death with his bare fists, after which he shot his parents through the eyes with a railgun. The money was never collected, but Juan didn’t complain, believing that the punishment handed out was enough of a statement. His fellow
ejecutor
was a true monster of a man when he needed to be.

After spending five more minutes in traffic, Fernando parked the car on Christopher Street. Rico glanced at Antonio before opening the car door. Antonio took one last snort of the white powder and grimaced, traces of it still on his nose. He got out last, shut the door and, looking at his reflection in the window of an electronics shop, straightened his white shirt. Rico and Fernando stood behind him and kept quiet.

“I fucking hate these visits,” Antonio said, still scowling. He looked at the reflection of his colleagues. “All the work we do and we have to give most of it to him?”

Fernando folded his arms and rubbed a crease out of his Valentino suit. “It’s temporary, boss. Our time’s coming.”

Antonio turned to face them, nodded and walked toward a solid oak door under a giant sign that read “Hwang’s Pool House.” As he reached for the handle, Rico stopped him.

“What is it?” Antonio demanded.

Rico held his boss’s chin with one hand and used the other to wipe some white powder off the lower part of his nose.

Antonio squeezed out a narrow smile—the first that afternoon—and put his arm around Rico’s shoulder. “What would I do without you? Always looking out for me.” His frown returned. “My uncle hates me doing it.” He pushed the door open. “He thinks it makes me weak.”

Antonio led the way into a brightly lit room. The walls were worn and permanently stained. Rico looked around as he followed Antonio past a large bar where four men were drinking and avoiding eye contact. They headed toward a staircase in the corner of the room, past six full-size pool tables being used by chubby middle-aged Asian men. Rico never liked the basement of this building.

They heard laughter as they reached the bottom of the stairs, some of it extremely loud. Antonio pushed open a frail black door with no lock, and the laughter faded. Antonio moved to make room for Rico and Fernando to enter the narrow entrance. The room was quite large but dark and somewhat claustrophobic. A large desk sat in the middle, with a number of chairs beside and directly in front of it.

Rico recognized everyone in the room. To his immediate right sat Andrés Perez, another
comisionado
of Juan’s. A gaunt, middle-aged man with a narrow face, Andrés hardly left Juan’s side. Seated on the other side of the table was Pablo Ruiz, an
ejecutor
for Andrés. He was short and stocky and wore a patch over his left eye because of an accident sustained while playing football as a child. Seated beside Pablo was Nino Delgado, Andrés’ other
ejecutor
and his cousin. A tall man with thinning dark hair, Nino was nicknamed Pinocchio because of his long crooked nose. Of course, anyone who called him that risked a blade to the gut.

Seated with the other three men was the gray-ponytailed
gobernador
, the boss himself, Juan Cabrera. His big brown eyes implied a soft persona that was miles from the truth. He was as ruthless as he was clinical, leaving absolutely nothing to chance.

Antonio took a step forward. “Anything funny?” He exchanged glances with everyone seated except his uncle. “Come on, what’s fucking funny?”

Juan stood up and put a cigar in his mouth. “Relax, Antonio. Not everything’s a big conspiracy.” He walked away from the table and extended both hands. Antonio embraced him.

When everyone had taken a seat, Antonio nodded at Rico, who rose and pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and put it on the table in front of Juan. An international banking code was written on it. Juan took a puff on his cigar and picked up the paper. “What we talked about?”

“More, actually,” Rico said, “at least two million more.”

Juan put it back on the table. “Not bad, nephew.” He faced Andrés and laughed loudly. Andrés hesitated but then laughed with him. Rico noticed Antonio frowning.

As silence returned, Juan nodded at Antonio. “This is good,” he said. “You always deliver on this front. That I give you.”

Antonio looked at Fernando and Rico and back at Juan. “But?”

“You forget who I am,” Juan said. “When were you going to tell me about Penélope?”

Antonio looked at the floor. “They just found her today. I—”

Juan silenced him with a wave. “It’s fine. You’re entitled to your moment of grief, and I’m sorry for your loss.” He looked at the ceiling. “
Que su alma descanse en paz.”

Andrés, Pablo and Nino all said, “Amen.”

Juan turned back to Antonio. “It’s very tragic what happened to that young girl, but this whole thing is slightly sensitive for all of us. I’m afraid the FBI will come after you on this, and that isn’t good for any of us, least of all me. You are my nephew after all.”

Antonio sniffed. “You don’t have to worry about that. The police have a suspect, and even if they come around me, you know there’s nothing they can find to incriminate you.”

Juan stood up and slammed his hands on the table. Antonio, Rico and Fernando looked at him curiously. “I’ve been hearing some foul rumors,” Juan said, “the kind that could ruin me and our entire family.” He walked to a small cabinet and pulled out a bottle of brandy. He grimaced after gulping two shots and looked at his nephew again. “This guy the police are after—I hear he has some damning evidence on me.”

Antonio’s eyes widened. He looked at Rico and Fernando, who both looked shocked. Antonio rose and held his hands out. “I know nothing of these rumors. This is the first I’m hearing about this.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” Juan shouted. Antonio sat back down. “Someone started these rumors. You think you’re the only one with ears on the streets? You think you’re the only one with police officers in your pocket? I know things, too, and the word is that this kid has some serious shit on me.” He stepped away from the table and leaned against the wall beside the alcohol cabinet. “The only thing about me that may be remotely interesting to the police is that thing that happened last week, but of course, there’s no way this”—he paused, a scowl appearing on his face—“this civilian could have any kind of evidence, is there?”

“Unless, of course, Penélope gave it to him,” Andrés said, and everyone in the room turned toward him. “I’m just saying, if he did kill her, she probably knew who he was. Who knows what they talked about?”

Antonio frowned at Andrés before turning back to his uncle, his eyes filled with anger. “Uncle or no uncle,” he said, “you can’t stand there and accuse me of something I haven’t even done. My girlfriend was killed last night, and I have to take this crap from you guys?” He punched the table and kicked his chair to the floor.

Nino drew his .45 and stood up. Fernando did the same. Juan raised his hands and nodded at Nino, who holstered his weapon. Antonio sent Fernando the same signal.

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” Juan said. “No one here is.” He glared at Andrés. “I’m obviously telling you something you don’t know. I just thought you would be all over this thing, this guy, whatever his name is.”

Antonio nodded and retreated.

“And I thought that if anyone would, you would know about these nasty rumors.”

“And I’d tell you if I did,” Antonio said. “You’re family, Uncle. We do what we do for the business, but you’re blood.”

Juan smiled and walked forward to embrace his nephew again. After feeling a pat on his back, Antonio arched his head back and nodded at Fernando and Rico, who immediately stood up. He faced Juan. “I’ll get on it straight away. I’ll find this man. I’ll take care of everything. You have my word.”

Juan sat back down. “I have no doubt in your word, nephew.” Antonio pulled the door open and charged up the stairs a yard behind Rico, who looked back to see lines forming on his forehead.

When they reached the top, Antonio punched the wall repeatedly, and Rico grabbed his hands. “You see what I mean?” Antonio growled. “No fucking respect. Nino pulled a gun. Can you believe that? Nino pulled a gun.” He shook his head. “If my father was here, he’d be a dead man, I’ll tell you that. My uncle doesn’t know what loyalty means.”

Fernando held on to his shoulders. “Not now, boss. He’ll get his.”

Antonio nodded and walked to the door, which opened just then. All three men stood still as three other associates of theirs walked in. Leading the way was Jorge Huerta, a tall middle-aged man with a thick moustache. He was a close friend of Juan’s and was said to have been one of the brains behind the evolution of the entire organization. Rico had even heard that he declined the opportunity to be
gobernador
, instead giving the honor to his childhood friend and opting to be his
comisionado
instead.

Behind him was Eduardo Ramírez, a skinny man with a thick beard who had been the last
comisionado
. He was practically Jorge’s shadow and trailed him everywhere he went. He’d started as Jorge’s understudy and quickly rose through the ranks, eventually becoming his mentor’s equal in the organization. Along with Jorge, he had the connections to most of the lucrative businesses The Dominguez Family participated in.

The last man to enter was Reynaldo Machado. Jorge’s
ejecutor
and a previous love rival of Antonio’s. His large arms and slicked-back hair gave him a look reminiscent of gangsters from the twenties and thirties. The large mole on his left cheek made him impossible to miss, even from a distance.

Reynaldo whispered in Jorge’s ears upon noticing them. Antonio walked forward, both his men behind him. He stopped in front of Jorge and embraced him.

“It’s a terrible thing, what happened to Penélope,” Jorge said.

Antonio nodded.

Eduardo took Antonio’s hand in both of his. “It’s indeed a terrible thing,” he said. “May her soul rest in peace.”

Antonio nodded again before his eyes fell on Reynaldo, who seemed to be smirking. “What’s your fucking problem?” Antonio shouted.

Reynaldo’s face stiffened. He glanced at Jorge, who shook his head, silently telling him to walk away. Reynaldo took a step forward and nodded at Rico and Fernando, and Antonio grabbed his hair. Rico quickly intervened. “Not here, boss! Not here.”

Antonio released his grip. Reynaldo’s face was filled with anger. Jorge shook his head at him again, and after taking a deep breath, Reynaldo pointed at Antonio. “Soon.”