I arrive at Julio’s compound at nightfall. Somewhere in the city, Rick’s waiting impatiently for direction from me. Michael, my most trusted guy, is already here too, having been watching the compound for me since he learned of Alexis’s presence. The place is way out in the boonies, skirted with a ten-foot-high concrete wall that encircles the whole place apart from the front entrance, which bears a fierce-looking wrought-iron gate with formidable spikes on the top. No fucker gets in or out of here, if not without Julio’s direct say-so, then at least without him knowing about it. Two beefy guards smoke joints by the gateway, scowling at me with dark eyes as I pull the Camaro up out front. Their hands move to the blatant weapons they carry in their waistbands as I step out of the car.
“Turn around, hombre. This ain’t the ’burbs. You ain’t got no business here,” the short, fat one tells me. I arch an eyebrow.
“Sure I do. I got open an ticket with Julio.” The other man spits on the floor, and then draws deeply on his joint. The smell of pot blossoms in the night air. “We ain’t got no white boys on the guest list tonight, brother. You need to go on home.”
I walk straight up to the railings of the gate and press my face close to the bars. “Better check your list again, brother.”
The two of them look at each other. I’m not driving a Benz, so I’m obviously not their regular clientele. The size of me doesn’t seem to be doing me any favors, either. A tense minute follows—them staring at me and me staring right back at them—before the tall one tuts disapprovingly and turns his back, mumbling in Spanish into a small walkie-talkie. He quickly turns back around and gestures upward with his chin. “Smile for the camera, pendejo.”
I see a camera mounted onto the wall to my right swivel to an angle, which encompasses me fully; I plaster a fake grin on my face, broad and arrogant, and then proceed to flip it off.
Rushed Spanish bursts out of the walkie-talkie in the taller guy’s hand; the voice sounds angry. Both guards’ faces solidify into aggravated steel—sorry motherfuckers!—as they open the gate for me. I get back into the Camaro and make sure to spin the dusty desert sand up into their faces as I burn past them. Outside the huge, single-story building that lies within the walls, a dark, lithe shape paces down the steps to meet me. The figure of a woman. I park up and take a moment to get my story straight in my head: I’m just passing through, looking for a place to crash. Charlie knows all about this.
In reality Charlie has no fucking idea I’m here. Charlie has no fucking idea I’ve even left Seattle, or that I decided to go against orders and didn’t kill Rick like I was supposed to. My mood is still blacker than black over the prospect that the old man might have told the police I was the man who killed Murphy. If I’d seen his fucking face before I left, I would have beaten down on it until his whole head had caved in.
The woman in the tiny, skin-tight dress that comes out to meet me is Alaska. I remember her from the last time I was here with Charlie. Or more specifically I remember her tits. She’d danced for me; Julio had insisted. Girl has exotic blood in her, should have been an Olympic gymnast. She splits me a wide smile as I make my way toward the building.
“So you eventually come back to see me, huh?” she laughs. “Only took you four years.”
Four years wasn’t long enough away from this place. She places her hands against my chest as she leans up to kiss my cheek. I bear it as long as I can. The woman’s a whore, and I don’t let whores touch me. Not like they wanna drop to their knees and blow me where I stand, anyway, which is how she’s touching me right now. I take her by the wrists and remove her hands.
“Just came to pay my respects to your boss,” I snap out. She pouts, pretending to be offended by my rejection.
“I’m a lot friendlier than Julio tonight. Come on, come inside and I’ll keep you to myself for an hour before you go talk boring business.” I just look at her. Her coy smile fades as she reads exactly what I think of her offer clearly written on my features. “I see,” she says. Raising both eyebrows and tipping her head to one side, she points back inside the well-lit building. “He’s by the pool. Don’t get lost finding it.” She turns and storms back into the building, hips swinging, fizzing with fury.