SIX MONTHS (A Seven Series Novel)

The building where Sanchez wanted to meet wasn’t far from where I worked, so I jogged most of the way. When I arrived, I slowed my pace because the road leading up to the warehouse had some major cracks and potholes that weren’t easy to see in the dark. Out of breath, I warily looked around and observed nothing out of the ordinary, although I’m not sure what I was expecting to see. A tactical unit? Police dogs? A crowd of mobsters holding machine guns?

 

Just to the right of the road, the pale moonlight illuminated a white BMW in the parking lot.

 

I swallowed hard and approached the main door, clutching my purse tightly. Most of the windows had been boarded up or smashed in, and graffiti covered the dark brick on the exterior walls. It was an eyesore, but since it was away from the road, no one had bothered to have it torn down or painted. It probably cost more to demolish than it was worth.

 

I wondered how he’d gotten the key to open the door, or if it had always been open. Maybe squatters lived inside. I cupped my elbows and peered through the doorway to make sure no one was in there. When I saw it was clear, I headed toward a white glow of artificial light down the hall to my right.

 

The concrete floors were covered with pebbles, dirt, cigarette butts, and old soda cans. An acrid smell of filth infiltrated my nose and I couldn’t identify the scent, but it reminded me of the time I found a dead dog in a ditch. My stomach knotted when I glanced behind me at the dark corridor. I thought about leaving the money right at the doorstep and taking off, because I had no business being out here by myself.

 

“I’m in here,” he called out impatiently from a lit room.

 

I peered through the open doorway and Sanchez was sitting at a metal table, smoking a cigarette. He made little donut rings, which floated up to a hanging light and quickly broke apart. When I realized the room had working electricity, that’s when I got the impression he used this location frequently.

 

“I have the money,” I said.

 

He glanced at his gold watch. “Sit down.”

 

Across the table from him was a dirty chair and I wiped the seat with my hand before sitting, despite his chuckles.

 

Sanchez narrowed his eyes as he took another long drag from his short cigarette. I reached in my purse to pull out the envelope.

 

“You’re late,” he said.

 

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t get here any faster. Here’s the money.” I pushed the envelope across the table with a shaky hand. “It’s all there.” My eyes skated to the open door and back to him. I kept telling myself that my grandma had done this all the time, and she never came home missing a finger.

 

Sanchez bit the end of his cigarette between his teeth and tore open the envelope. Very meticulously, he separated the bills by denomination and counted the money. Then he eyed me closely and put his forearms on the table, patting out the butt of his smoke.

 

“Where did a vanilla girl like you come up with this much green so fast?”

 

“I had some tucked away,” I lied. “That should square me away with Delgado.”

 

He tapped a fingernail against his tooth as if contemplating whether to believe my story. “The man will be pleased he got his money.”

 

“Good,” I said, rising to my feet. “Let him know we’re even.”

 

“Not quite,” he said softly, beating me to the door. “You were late. There’s always a penalty for tardiness.”

 

I stared at him dumbfounded. “I paid what I owed.”

 

He clicked the door shut and leaned against it.

 

“I need to go home. Someone’s waiting for me,” I said calmly, reasonably. “If Delgado has any issues, he knows how to get in touch with me.”

 

Sanchez grinned in such a way that all the muscles in his face relaxed, as if it were drug-induced. “Sit down.”

 

Collecting my nerves, I said, “Open the door. You have the money and—”

 

“Sit the fuck down. Last warning.” He bared his teeth and chomped down once, causing me to step back at the sound his molars made when they clicked together. “I know you walked here, because there’s mud on your shoes and I didn’t hear an engine. You think you can run away from me? Let’s negotiate like civilized people and things won’t have to get ugly.” He folded his arms and waited for me to comply.

 

I did as he asked because the man scared me. He not only had a car, but I could never outrun him. Plus, the idea of being chased like an animal frightened me enough that I decided we needed to have the conversation. It would also give me a moment to recall if I’d seen any objects I could use as a weapon. The chair would be a last resort, but getting out of the room would be a smarter option than trying to take down a man who outweighed me. Since this was a business transaction, I kept my wits about me and calmly sat in the chair, folding my hands on my lap.

 

Sanchez strolled back to his chair and sat across from me. The light from the bulb that shone on the table wasn’t soft, but harsh and sterile. The metal shade directed the light so that it didn’t illuminate the outer walls of the room—just the table.

 

“I charge one hundred dollars for each minute my clients are late,” he said, looking down at his watch. “You came in at 11:14 p.m. That means you owe me…” He tapped his finger on his chin, lifting his eyes to the ceiling.

 

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