I find Julio exactly where she said he would be, sitting on a lounger by the pool. He sips from a cut-glass tumbler, grinning when he sees me. He’s put on even more weight since I saw him last, and the fat fucker was already obese to begin with. Probably on the verge of coronary failure by now.
“Zeth! My good friend!” His accent is thick, laden with his heritage. “Why have you waited so long to come see me, huh?” He doesn’t rise from the lounger. Just holds his hand up for me to take hold of in some semblance of a shake. He points to the lounger beside me, groaning as he reaches across to his other side for the tumbler of amber liquid. Smells like whiskey. He free pours three fingers into another glass and holds it out to me. I accept; I’d be shitting on his hospitality otherwise. Bad start to an already precarious meeting.
“Where’s that ugly English bastard? He come down here with you?” Julio wheezes.
“No, I’m flying solo. Long drive to Las Flores. Thought you might lend me a bed for the night,” I tell him casually. “Maybe I could impose on your hospitality two or three nights if you’re feeling really generous. There are a few old friends I wouldn’t mind catching up with while I’m in the area.”
Julio takes a deep sip from his glass, dark brown eyes pensively studying me over the rim of the glass. He probably thinks Charlie’s sent me down here to spy on his business. These bastards pretend to be thicker than thieves but the reality of it is, they don’t trust each other one fucking iota. Which, by default, means that Julio doesn’t trust me, either. “Sure thing, my friend. My house is your house as the Spanish say,” he says, laughing at the fact that he says it in English instead of his native tongue. I look behind the smile, though, and catch what I’m looking for: suspicion.
“You’re very kind.” I drink from the glass—definitely whiskey—savoring the burn.
“You’re timing is also impeccable, my friend,” Julio says softly. “If you stay until Tuesday, you’ll be able to attend our little event.” The emphasis on the final word tells me exactly what kind of an event he’s referring to. The kind I used to hold myself until recently. Until Sloane. “I got plenty of fresh meat ready to be well seasoned,” he laughs. His belly shakes like a half-deflated waterbed. “This one’s a bit different, though. You gotta bring someone to the table if you get what I mean. If not for touching then at least for looking at.” He gives me an exaggerated wink, the jowls of his cheeks swinging like a basset hound’s. “I doubt you’ll have any problem finding someone to come with you.”
Tuesday. If Alexis is here, then she will definitely be attending a party like that. Today’s only Friday, though. I hadn’t really planned on staying that long. I’ll just have to make sure I run into the girl before then. I nod, taking a healthy swig from the whiskey. “Yeah. I doubt I’ll have a problem.”
******
The sleek black car follows me from the highway all the way to St Peter’s. Lacey sees it first—I’m literally having to take her to work with me, which is all kinds of fucked—and points it out as I drive. It doesn’t pull into the parking lot behind me, but draws up on the curb outside the coffee shop across from the hospital, the engine cutting as we get out of the Volvo and make our way to the entrance. The generic-looking dark vehicle has blacked-out windows so it’s impossible to see inside, although Lacey seems to have a good idea who it is.
“That’s one of Charlie’s boys for sure,” she announces. She’s way more nonchalant over this tail than I am; I’m on the verge of bolting inside the hospital and hiding in a cleaning closet or something. “Bet they’re there when we leave,” she adds.
“If they’re there when we leave, I’m calling the cops.”
She snorts. “Good luck with that.”
“What do you mean?”
Pulling one shoulder up to the side, she looks at me like I’m stupid, eyes rolling. “The cops are all in someone’s pocket. Mostly Charlie’s. They probably wouldn’t even show up, let alone do anything about it.”
Well there’s a worrying piece of news. It feels like I’ve been sucked into a 1950s gangster movie, except this is real. And not being able to call the cops? Just great. Seriously. Just great.