Emily Kimelman - Sydney Rye 02 - Death in the Dark (6 page)

Either way this night was starting to drag on. There seemed to be a lot of sad problems here but I didn’t see any solutions or even the suggestion of one. When Malina came back to the table, her cheeks red and her neck slobbered on, I had lost most of my patience. Her beau returned to his friends at the bar and Malina, eyes glittering, waved at him. “Now that that’s out of the way,” I said, “I’d like to know why you invited me here. Do you know who killed your friend?”

“Why do you want to know? There is nothing that can be done.” She reached for her pack of cigarettes again.

I stood up abruptly. “I’m sorry, Malina. I thought you invited me here because you were seeking justice, but it appears you’re only interested in pity.” I took out my wallet and began pulling out money.

“Please,” Malina said quietly. “Sit down.” I stared at her. “You’re right,” she continued, “I do want help. Justice.”

I sat down. “Do you have a plan? Or even a suspect?”

“There were three of them. She never had a chance. She wasn’t strong physically anyway. One of them could have over-powered her, let alone three. She must have forgotten her mace,” Malina said, almost to herself, “Because none of them had red eyes.”

“Malina?” She looked up at me. “Are you saying you saw them?”

“Yes.” She nodded and reached for her drink, removing the pineapple and maraschino cherry, she took a long sip of the frozen cocktail. “Right after they came to the club, the one I usually work. They were bragging about it.” She took another sip of the drink.

“Bragging about it?” I felt a chill run down my spine and land in my gut like a stone.

“Yes,” she pulled out a cigarette and tried to light it but her hands were too unsteady. I took the lighter from her and lit the flame. She looked up at me and I saw through the haze of alcohol a deep and throbbing hurt inside of her. She leaned back with her cigarette burning. “One of them showed off the scratches on the side of his face while another made fun of him, asking what his wife would say. You see, to men, we are nothing.”

“Not all men,” I said.

“Every man I’ve ever met,” Malina answered.

“What about Ramon?” I asked.

“Ramon is not a man. He is a child, a stupid child.”

“No, Malina, he is a man who lost his sister and is grieving deeply.”

“If he was a man, like the kind you imagine- one that cares about women- he wouldn’t have let her come to this awful place. And if he could not stop her then he would be sitting with me now, seeking justice. Why are you here instead of him if he is such a man?”

“I’m more qualified,” I said with more conviction than I felt.

“Will you help me then?”

“Help you do what exactly?”

“You’re an American. Can’t you do something? You just said you were qualified.”

“What do you want me to do?”

Malina held eye contact with me and it was as if the room quieted around us. “I want you to kill them.” The request hung in the air between us. She didn’t say it like she was shy or afraid of the idea. She said it like it was a burning desire. When I didn’t answer, she continued, “You don’t understand what it’s like to hear men joke about a girl they killed. Laugh at her fierce, yet feeble, attempt at living. You know they set her on fire while she was still alive? She screamed so loud that birds sleeping in a nearby tree took flight into the dark night rather than hear it through.” Her hand shot out and grabbed mine. “Can you help me?”

Malina’s regular separated himself from his friends at the bar and began moving through the thick crowd toward us. “Your friend is coming back,” I said and stood. “Let me sleep on it. I’ll call tomorrow.”

Malina looked up at me and smiled. “I know you will help me. You are a good woman.”

I laughed. “You don’t know me that well.” Leaving cash on the table I walked away right as the young man reached us.

Outside the night was cool and I shivered as a breeze blew through my lightweight shirt. Walking back toward the hotel I thought about what to do. Should I talk to Merl? Or would he just try to stop me? The likelihood of him offering help was zilch and he might even call Mulberry and tattle on me.

Back at the hotel I packed my bag quickly and, with Blue at my side, headed out into the night. A text to Merl let him know I’d see him back at the farm and not to worry. Then I powered off the phone paranoid he would track me.

I found another hotel, this one didn’t even ask for my name. When I woke in the morning, my skin itched where bed bugs enjoyed my flesh. I used the phone on the bedside table to call Malina.

She sounded groggy and far away. “Malina, it’s Sydney.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

She sighed, a soft sound through the crackle on the line. “When?”

“Let’s get some breakfast. I need more details.”

I showered, ignoring the scent of mildew and the mysterious stains that marred the once white tiles. Taking my bag with me I dropped my key at the front desk with no plans to return.

Blue and I passed by our old hotel. No sign of Merl’s truck gave me hope that he had left, taking Ramon and Abedella home.

Malina waited at an outdoor cafe on the main strip. She looked beautiful, her skin fresh and eyes brilliant despite the early hour and the scent of last night’s alcohol that clung to her. I introduced her to Blue then he settled himself under the table. “We can’t really talk here,” she told me, “let’s get something to eat and then go to your hotel.”

“I don’t really have one right now.”

“That is no problem. There are many.”

“Sure,” I looked at the menu for a moment. “Would it be okay if we put the room in your name?” She cocked her head in question. I shrugged. “There just might be some people looking for me.”

“Okay. No problem.”

Despite the restaurant’s touristy location, the food was good and the coffee great. We didn’t talk much over the meal, each lost in our own thoughts, but it was a companionable silence and at the end of breakfast, a closeness seemed to have grown between us.

We checked into a chain hotel that looked like a thousand others. Its blandness seemed to make us stick out more. As we waited for the elevator, I examined our reflection in the mirrored doors. Blue sat by my side, his tongue lolling out of his head. My new jeans fit me but not as well as Malina’s. The denim that wrapped her legs appeared like a second skin. My loose linen shirt was wrinkled and almost the same grey as my eyes. Malina’s halter top was synthetic and bright red. It matched the lipstick she’d applied as we left the restaurant. The scars that marred my face stood out pink and raw against my suntanned cheeks. Malina’s skin was smooth and the color of coconut oil. We were an odd threesome and I could see other patrons running their eyes over us looking for the connection. I doubted any of the business men in their lightweight suits and briefcases full of paperwork would figure it out.

In the room I filled a bowl of water for Blue and sat on the bed. “Tell me who we are going after here.”

Malina sat on the bed opposite me. “There are three of them. Like I told you last night. All police, but they run drugs for the cartels. I know the youngest the best. His name is Adolfo.”

“How old is he?”

“Just turned 21, graduated from the academy a couple of months ago. Benito, his uncle is one of the other men. Adolfo is under his wing.”

“Who is the third man?”

“Frito. I used to think him handsome, but now…” she wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“Do you have pictures of them?”

“No, but I know where they will be tonight. They go to the cockfights.”

“Cockfighting?”

“Yes, you have never been?”

“No.” The idea sickened me a little. The irony did not escape me that I was getting queasy at the idea of two birds fighting while planning a triple homicide.

“They are very vicious, cocks.”

I smiled despite myself. “Yes. I’ve heard that.”

“Will you come tonight, and see them, the men?”

“Yes, I think that makes sense.”

“They will be with their friends tonight so I do not think we can hurt them but maybe…”

“Let’s just see how it goes. Opportunity may present itself. But it will probably make more sense to take them on one at a time. Why fight more enemies than necessary?”

Malina smiled. “Of course, that makes sense. We can get them in their beds.”

“You know where they live?”

“No, but I can find out. Benito is married I know, with two children. Frito and Adolfo are younger and unattached.”

I didn’t want to hear about Benito’s family. It was better for him to remain a shadow in the dark, an evil figure to be shot down rather than a man who might be missed. Malina seemed to sense my hesitation. “You do not need to worry about Benito’s family. They will be happier without him. If someone had killed Paty’s father, it would have been good for the world. Leaving those boys without Benito will make them better men.”

“I hope.”

Malina stood. “I will leave you now. Can you be ready at 8?”

“Sure.” Malina started toward the door. “Wait,” she turned. “What should I wear?”

Malina smiled. “You can go like that.”

“I have a feeling as long as I’m standing next to you everything will be okay.”

She smiled. “I feel the same about you.”

Malina knocked on my door a little before 8. She was dressed in a tight pale blue dress that stretched over her curves and left little to the imagination. No one was going to be looking at me as long as I stood next to her. I was wearing my jeans, wrinkled shirt, and a baseball cap I’d picked up that afternoon. Blue tried to follow us out but I pushed him back into the room, figuring dogs were not welcome at cockfights.

We hailed a cab out front and when Malina gave the driver our destination he softly whistled between his teeth with disapproval. The cross swinging from his rearview mirror helped me guess where his judgment sprung from. We rode in silence, watching out the windows. It was a Saturday night and people were out and about. The streets glowed with white head lamps and red brake lights, illuminating the crowds of revelers as they moved from restaurants to bars. Men slung their arms over women’s shoulders who smiled under the weight.

The taxi took us away from the traffic and crowds into the night. The sky was a dense cloud cover that reminded me of the matte-black color one of my mother’s boyfriends had painted his pick-up truck. But while the original factory-applied blue still peeked through his paint job, God had blacked out the heavens without a patch of light in sight. The pavement under the wheels crunched with sand from the desert that surrounded the city. Out of the darkness rose a fairground, almost a mirage in that thick blackness.

“It comes at this time every year,” Malina said. The Ferris wheel’s bright lights seemed suffocated by the dense night. Strung bulbs looped between shacks that offered games of chance. I paid the cabby and climbed out. A man stumbled past me, tripping on his own feet and spilled some beer out of the plastic cup he gripped. “Pardon,” he said, and then carried on toward a large tent at the rear of the fair. It’s red and green stripes gave it away as our destination.

Children ran past in small groups, chasing each other, their laughter leaving a trail behind them. Malina glided through the crowd gathering the appreciative glances of every man we passed. The women on their arms scowled at her. I remained invisible. At the entrance to the tent, Malina flashed a smile to the man working the door and he pulled back the flap grinning widely.

The tent was packed with men drinking, smoking, and yelling. They all faced the center of the space where bright lights illuminated a ring painted half red and half green. In the center of the ring a man stood with a rooster held above his head. The crowd pressed toward him. I reached out for Malina’s hand afraid that I would lose her in the squeeze. She laced her fingers with mine and pulled me through the crowd swiveling her head as she went. Men felt her touch and turned back with scowls until they saw whose touch it was. Once they’d had a second to take her in, they stepped aside allowing us to pass by without a word, some even took their hats off and nodded at her.

Closer to the ring were benches where fat men sat passing bills between each other. Cigars hung from their lips and pesos popped from between their fingers. The smell of money was thick in the air. We stood at the edge of the benches watching. A fat fuck with greasy skin and thinning jet black hair stood in the center of the ring holding a rooster. He took the bird over to another man who appeared to be a judge of some kind. Short and sober-looking, he was tying something to the rooster’s legs. Malina leaned into me. “He is attaching the spurs.”

“Spurs?”

“They are sharp knives. And now you see-” The little man picked up a lime and squeezed it onto the spur. “He does this to get rid of any poisons that the owner might have applied. They fight to the death so it is very important that the fight is fair.”

A second man stepped into the ring, a white rooster struggling in his grip. The first cock, armed and ready was handed back to its owner. The second man was handsome in a slimy kind of way. His broad shoulders drove sharp lines into the world around him. There was nothing wasted in his face, a roman nose and deep brown eyes placed above just the right amount of cheekbone. His shirt was buttoned-down and freshly pressed, his pants fitted, but not obscene. “That is Frito,” Malina told me. “He comes to where I work often. His looks are considered very fine.”