There weren’t very many people in attendance. Ana followed the instructions, finding a side door and heading up to the second floor. There she was greeted by a couple of surly-looking young men in red jackets who led her down a hallway and to a large room that was wallpapered in gold and red, with an elaborate Persian rug on the floor and billowy red fabric hanging from the ceiling. In a corner, an old fan moaned as it spun its blades, tired and discontent.
An overstuffed couch had been placed in the middle of the room, and a woman, attired in a red velvet robe, lay there, staring at the ceiling. A young man sat on the floor attempting to deseed a pomegranate. Behind the couch stood Kika, incongruous in a cocktail dress and heels. There were others, of course: men standing in a corner, the boys who had escorted her, a fellow pacing by the windows.
“Welcome, Detective Aguirre, it’s nice of you to drop by on such short notice. Would you be wanting a drink?” the woman asked.
“I won’t be staying long,” Ana replied.
The woman shifted on her couch and sat up, glancing at Ana. She looked maybe close to sixty but Ana knew she was younger than her. Valentina Saade had headed Deep Crimson for nearly twenty years. She had been the girlfriend of the previous bastard who ran the criminal organization, back when it wasn’t really that much of anything. One day she must have been tired of being someone’s personal punching bag and she cut off his dick. She’d been running Deep Crimson since then, possibly because nobody wants to mess with a lady who is willing to slice off your dick with a rusty knife and possibly because she had a great deal of common sense. It was probably a bit of both.
“But you must at least have a drink.” Valentina snapped her fingers and motioned to the young man at her feet. “Get a couple of glasses and the red.”
“No, really—”
“Calm down, darling, you’re not on duty.”
Valentina smiled, showing Ana a gold tooth.
“Funny front you’ve got yourself here,” Ana said, glancing at a large glass pyramid that sat by an open window, next to a couple of potted plants.
“I have many spiritual concerns. Everybody does. I’m sure you’ve noticed the state of the world. All the diseases afflicting us: drug-resistant strains of gonorrhea and tuberculosis, that horrible Croneng’s disease, increasing cases of sterility, rampant violence in the streets.”
“Yeah, a pity.”
“I find refuge in my faith, in this holy abode. Except recently I’ve felt my sanctuary might be violated: vampires, Detective Aguirre. Vampires in our midst. It is an affront. The Condesa is mine.”
Tacuba, Condesa, Popotla, Verónica Anzúres. Deep Crimson territory, the lot of them. With vampires controlling drugs outside the metropolis, someone had to provide the goods inside the city. Deep Crimson dealt in a lot of marijuana courtesy of fine hydroponics systems, but the big-ticket items were the synthetic drugs. A lot of their income also derived from robberies, kidnappings, and run-of-the-mill extortion. Smaller, subway gangs, composed of teenagers, generally affixed themselves under the patronage of these larger criminal groups, though there were those with entrepreneurial spirit going at it solo.
“As I told your friend here,” Ana said, fixing her eyes on Kika, “I would be happy to look at whatever information you may have that might help me solve my case.”
“Come now, you don’t have a case. You didn’t have one yesterday and you won’t have one tomorrow, not without us. We need to work together.”
The young man had returned with two glasses for Valentina and Ana. Ana shook her head, rejecting the drink. Valentina had no such qualms; she gingerly grabbed the glass and drank deeply. The young man settled by her feet once more.
“I’m a cop,” Ana told her.
“And a good one. Kika is impressed with your record in Zacatecas.”
“Eight dead vampires,” Kika said, smiling at Ana.
“I didn’t go around hunting vampires. Those vampires died because they didn’t know the meaning of the words ‘handcuffs’ and ‘arrest.’”
Ana had always prided herself in being more John Wayne than Clint Eastwood. She didn’t love shooting random people, giddy to star in her very own spaghetti Western. Some bastards did. They became cops because they could give free rein to their desire to shoot strangers, but Ana’s grandmother had been very clear: you don’t waste your bullets needlessly.
“The point is that they died, Detective. That’s exactly what I want: dead vampires. Kika must have communicated this point. We have resources. We have weapons.”
Valentina motioned to Kika.
“We could offer some form of compensation for your trouble,” Kika said, casually walking around the couch and handing Ana a small card.
Ana grabbed it and stared at the numbers. The word “bonus” was underlined. Christ.
“You don’t even have to kill them. You can be a consultant,” Kika said. “Easiest cash you ever made.”
Both women smiled at her. The boy at Valentina’s feet continued working on the pomegranate. Ana looked away, her gaze fixing on the wallpaper with its pattern of fruits and vines.
“We both want the same thing, Detective. We want safer streets,” Valentina said. “Mexico City is an oasis.”
“You are suggesting I help you murder two people.”