“Another of our dealers is missing.”
“Who?”
“Antonio.”
“Mierda. When did you last hear from him?”
“Two days ago,” a young man says, his posture straight, his stare firm. “He was looking into a business opportunity.”
El Bandido sits, drink in hand, enjoying a night of love. Man and wife, they sit across from each other with eyes locked in a passionate gaze. Neither looks at the man giving them the news. The music continues to play, the lights continue to dance across the walls, but in their corner of the club, they are undisturbed.
“What kind of business opportunity?” the man asks.
The young man’s posture falters and his eyes dart to the sides. He’s nervous, and it’s clear. His dark hair is messily tussled, but deliberately, like he took the time to make it look like that before he left the house. His jeans are ripped, probably purchased that way, and his button-up hangs open, with a white T underneath. He could easily pass for a model, working a nightclub shoot. He’s attractive, but not in a rugged tough way. He’s the kind of good looking that makes you think he might have been the least popular member of one of those less popular boy bands you don’t really remember. At any rate, it’s very clear he cares about his appearance, to say the least
“Perhaps maybe this is a private matter—” he says softly, looking over his shoulder.
“Speak up nephew or you’ll never be heard. We own the club, we own the people in it, and we own the whole damn city. Say what needs to be said and leave us.”
“An offer came in for a purchase,” he responds, though his voice is still low.
“Guns? Drugs? Protection?” The man, on the other hand, bolsters his voice, in a show of his power in the room.
“Guns,” the young man continues. “He went to meet with the client, but hasn’t returned.”
“Do we know the client?”
“No. He reached out to us from Jaco.”
The comment seems to end the man’s good night. His wife, however, only continues to sip her drink.
“See what you can find about the client,” he orders, then softer continues. “And Diego.”
“Yes tío?”
“What have I told you about the cologne?”
“Less is more,” Diego responds, giving an understanding nod.
With a wave of his hand, his nephew is off, leaving only his stench behind for him and his wife.
“Vargas says the OIJ still has nothing on their murderer.”
His wife says nothing.
“He’s getting more brazen. Setting up a buy, that’s risky.”
His wife takes a sip of her drink.
“We need to figure out who this ghost is and why he’s coming after us.”
She only raises an eyebrow.
“Movement. We’ll begin moving our players. It’ll draw him out. Then at least we’ll know he’s coming.”
He raises his glass.
“To Antonio.”
His wife does the same.
“To Antonio,” she says. “May he have died quickly, with his tongue tied.”