CHAPTER FIFTEEN

 

Manuel watched his old lady stuff her face with chili and corn bread, downing it with cheap wine. He was doing the same thing, but didn’t enjoy it half as much.

“I need some money,” he told her without prelude.

She lifted her face. “There isn’t any,” she said, as if this pleased her. “Not till I get paid next Thursday.”

She expected him to believe that? Did she think he didn’t know that she hid money from him?

Bitch.

“Just give me twenty for now,” he said nicely, “I can wait for the rest.”

She rolled her eyes cynically. “What didn’t you understand, Manuel? We don’t have any money. You’ve already spent everything the rent hasn’t gobbled up. Maybe if you got a job, we’d have more money—”

Before even he knew the rage that had built within him like fire in the furnace, Manuel had backhanded her across the face. She clutched her reddened cheek like it was about to fall off. For just an instant, he regretted hitting her. But he would not apologize. Hell no.

She was disrespecting him. The stupid bitch. He did not like it when women challenged his authority. Why the hell did he put up with her crap? She was only really useful for sex, and he could always get that somewhere else.

“See what you made me do!” He blamed her. Women were always to blame for making men do things to hurt them. They usually got what they were asking for. Even the whores.

“You bastard!” she spat defiantly.

He nearly slugged her with his fist, but thought better. Control your temper. Don’t do something crazy. Not to her anyway. Not when you still need the bitch.

They would kiss and make up later and he would still get his damned money. As always. Right now, he had to get out of there and clear his head.

Manuel backed his chair from the table and stood, glaring down at her. “Have it your way.”

“Where are you going?” she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

“I need to go out for some fresh air,” he lied, knowing there sure as hell wasn’t much of that in this neighborhood. “Don’t wait up for me.”

He knew she would. It wasn’t as if anyone was waiting in the wings for her. Not that he would mind much if there were. If someone actually wanted to put up with all the crap he took from this bitch, the man could have her.

* * *

Manuel left by the side door, but not before rummaging through her purse and taking what she had.

He went down to the tavern on the corner. The neighborhood was largely Hispanic and African-American, though some Asians had recently begun to take up residence as if to escape their own hell. There were also the white whores who worked the streets and gave whatever they earned to pimps, giving the area a multicultural look. But to him, it would always be first and foremost working class Mexican turf.

At the bar he had beer while sitting on a stool. A flat screen TV sat on a wall like a picture. Manuel considered this his home away from home. His office, where he sometimes conducted business. He was tight with the owner, another Latino who also grew up in the hood.

Manuel put the mug to his lips and watched the ladies go by. They all knew him by name and swooned over him, wanting the chance to get into his pants—and let him get into theirs. Sometimes he was accommodating, other times disinterested. He liked it better when he took what he wanted. It gave him a sense of power no consensual sex ever could.

He looked up at the TV. The Asian broad on the news was talking about the murder of the judge again and about his wife being raped and beaten.

Now they showed the face of the man being charged. They said his name was Rafael Santiago.

Manuel gazed steadily at the man who looked enough like him to be his twin brother. Same good looks, olive skin tone, and short black hair.

Problem was he didn’t have a twin brother. Or maybe he did and just didn’t know it? Could be that they were separated at birth, he grinned, scoffing at the notion.

He watched with interest.

How sure were they that they had the right man in custody? Manuel wondered amusingly, drinking more beer.

If anyone else noticed the resemblance, they weren’t saying it to his face. I just might pay Santiago a visit before they inject his ass with a lethal dose of drugs. People would think they were seeing double. That sure as hell would shake up the foundation at the place where they were keeping him.

The Asian lady now talked about a dead woman identified as Adrienne Murray, whose body was fished out of Eagles Lake like a dead salmon. She was believed to have been murdered. Videotape was shown of the grieving husband, who promised to do everything in his power to bring the killer to justice.

Promises, promises. Manuel frowned. Why did everyone want to be a damned hero? Even those who had something to hide?

And just as much to lose...

* * *

Manuel followed the one named Penelope from the bar. She was a petite Latina, with nice breasts and blonde-streaked brown hair. She had on a black leather mini dress, practically showing half of her ass, and black stilettos.

Her apartment was two blocks away. He knocked on the door, feeling the rush of excitement just like all the other times. When the door opened, he gave her his best smile.

“Manuel!” She regarded him with surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“To be honest, I followed you from the bar.” He looked her over lasciviously. “I’ve been wanting us to get together—” He hadn’t really, but she had been coming onto him for months.

Penelope beamed. “Really?”

Manuel grinned convincingly. “I’m here, ain’t I?”

She parted razor thin bangs. “Come on in...”

He did, locking the door behind him.

They didn’t waste any time with the formalities. They both knew why he was there, or at least part of the reason. The other part he was keeping to himself for now.

She took him to her bedroom. There they stripped and he was on top of her in a flash, spreading her legs wide. He played with her breasts and pinched her nipples, watching Penelope react gleefully as they turned rock hard. He made sure she enjoyed her final moments as she ground her hips against him and whimpered to his powerful thrusts.

“Ohh, ahh, you feel so good, Manuel,” she cooed.

“Yeah, so do you, baby,” he returned, feeling her clamping around his penis like a vise while she climaxed.

As his orgasm released deep inside her, Manuel placed his hands around the whore’s neck and began squeezing the life out of her. Penelope’s eyes were agape with terror and she tried to break free of his hold, but proved no match for his strength and determination.

Manuel took out his switchblade and gave it a workout, finishing the job and putting Penelope out of her misery.

He left her limp, naked, bloodied body for someone else to find and weep over.

It was time to go back home and make peace again with his old lady.