“Yeah. That woulda been some incredible shit,” I said with an eye roll.
With a crash, the door flew open. Shit. Martino’s blood drops must have led him right to the hotel. I tried to use Martino’s phone again, but our pursuer pointed his barrel dead at me.
“No... w-wait,” I stuttered as I slowly lowered the phone. Martino groaned as he tried to turn over in our direction. “He ... he needs medical attention.”
With rolled-up sleeves exposing the extensive ink down his forearms, he brought his aim in Martino’s direction. He fired two shots into Martino, killing him on the spot. Before I could yell or scream, he turned his gun back toward me.
This was it. I closed my eyes, not wanting to know when the fatal shot was coming.
“If it was up to me, I’d kill you right now,” he hissed. “But Alejandro wants to see you. You’re one lucky fuckin’ maricon.”
I kept my hands up in the air as I opened my eyes and glanced at Martino, who hadn’t been nearly as lucky. It looked like Alejandro’s man didn’t realize who Martino was or his significance. Our meeting up and his saving me was really a crazy coincidence, but I was alive because of it—something that didn’t make Alejandro’s man too happy.
“Of course, he didn’t say nothing about your condition when I deliver you,” he scoffed just before he cracked me upside my skull with his gun.
As everything faded to black, the only thing I could think of was that I hoped LC was proud of me. I was unconscious before I hit the floor.
Paris
45
“A w.w.w, fuck me!” I’d arrived at the hotel on the edge of Beverly Hills too late. The kicked-in door and the dead white man on the bed were clues that I was in the right room, just at the wrong time. I must have just missed them, though, because no one had discovered this mess yet. A cell phone lay on the carpet. I picked it up and checked the call history.
The last call was to Orlando’s number. I hit the button to redial.
“Rio!” Orlando yelled.
“Guess again,” I replied. “I got here too late. There’s one dead dude on the bed. All ventilated. Whoever he was, I guess he wasn’t important. No Rio in sight. That’s a good sign, I think. I mean, who’s to say the dead son of a bitch isn’t the result of Rio’s handiwork? Perhaps he’s learned a thing or two from his li’l sis.”
There was silence on the line for a second. Guess Orlando wasn’t in the mood for jokes. Me, I preferred not to get too wound up, too serious, because it made me lose my focus.
“No,” Orlando explained. “The only reason Rio isn’t laying right there next to him is because he’s the only chip they have left. They still think Miguel is alive. But with what Pop just did with the two brothers, I don’t think they’re gonna think that for long. You better find him, Paris. Find him and get the two of you home in one piece.”
“A‘ight, a’ight. I’ll call you later,” I remarked, taking one final look at the dead body before quickly exiting the room with the dude’s phone.
At least I kinda knew what to look for—the black-tinted Suburban I’d tailed from Alejandro’s dealership to West Hollywood. I just had to find it again. It was what led me to Rio inside The Pink Lion after I found it parked near a bunch of clubs and restaurants. Leave it to my brother to convince Alejandro’s men to take him out to a gay bar before killing him.