Fistful of Benjamins (17 page)

I bolt straight up, sweaty and confused. I realize that it's the middle of the night and I'm crashed on Malena's couch.
It was that damn dream again.
Dropping my head in between my hands, I exhale a long, frustrated breath. How much longer is this shit going to go on? Night after night, it's the same gunfire, the same woman's screams, and the same dark water. What the fuck happened that night? If I can figure that shit out then I'll know why muthafuckas are trying to kill me.

A sound catches my ear and my hand snakes out for the .45 tucked beneath one of the couch cushions. Malena clicks on the living room's lights and finds herself staring down the barrel of a gun.

“What the hell?” She jumps, eyes wide.

“Oh. It's you.”

“Who else would it be?” she snaps.

I lower my weapon. “Sorry.”

She keeps her gaze locked on my weapon. “Diego said that there was a shooting at the club last night. Why didn't you tell me?”

“Yeah. I don't know what the hell that shit was about. Dude took one look at me and started blasting.”

“This isn't good. We now have my brother mixed up in this shit.”

“What did he tell the cops?” I ask.

“Nothing. He said it was a couple of party goers—but the cops confiscated his security tapes. It's just a matter of time before that tape jams Diego up.”

“He's going to rat me out?”

“I don't know what he's going to do—but I doubt that he's going to risk losing his baby to protect you. He gave you the job as a favor to me.”

“I get it. I get it.”

Malena's eyes tear up. “I'm sorry but I think whatever's going on it's a little too much.”

“What are you saying?”

“I'm saying that . . . I'm scared. I think I'm in over my head. Maybe in your past life you . . . you . . .”

“I—what?”

“Maybe you weren't such a nice guy,” she says and then looks contrite for having spoken her mind. “Look, Diego said—”

“Diego. Diego.”

“My brother has done nothing but try to help you out,” she defends. “And he's pretty adamant that the man that tried to take you out is a known drug lord with the Rosales cartel. A cartel! So that means if they know you then . . .”

My blood boils at her insinuation. “Then what? I'm one of them? That's what you think of me—that I'm some low-life drug dealer? C'mon. Give me a fuckin' break.”

“And what about the police?” she asks.

“What about them? They're some dirty fuckin' cops. What do you want me to say?”

“I don't know. I just know that you're in danger or dangerous—and the longer you stick around here, I'm in danger, too.”

I want to understand, but the more she talks the more she's pissing me off. “Just fucking say it already. You want me out of here.”

There's a long pause before she finally says, “I'm sorry.”

“Whatever.” I stomp past her toward the spare bedroom and toss what little clothes and stashed money I have into a duffle bag.

Malena rushes into the room. “Wait, Julian. You don't have to do it right now.”

“Now is as good a time as any.” The idea of bouncing suddenly feels liberating. I don't know what's waiting for me out in the streets but it's got to be better to meet my fate head-on than to suffocate in this damn house, fucking this needy bitch to keep a roof over my head.

“Julian, please wait. Please.” She is frantically wrestling my arms and trying to block me from grabbing more clothes.

“I didn't mean it. I didn't mean it,” she raves. “I'm just under a lot stress. Don't go. I don't want you to go.” She gives up holding my arms and instead tries to cradle my face and force me to look at her.

I easily pry her hands away from my face, but she springs up onto the tips of her toes to pepper my face with kisses. The shit annoys me at first—but then my dick gets hard and the next thing I know I'm ripping her clothes off.

I
curse Emilio's ass for the millionth time, leaving me with all these damn bills. I should've listened to my mother and married for money instead of love. Emilio Vega was a sexy, smooth-talking devil that never met a set of tits that he didn't like. When he wasn't off fucking everything he could nail down, he was gambling us into a debt that'll take two generations of Vegas to pay off. If I didn't love being a nosey bitch, I would pack up my shit and start all over again somewhere else. Somewhere like Argentina or Brazil. The same places that Emilio had always promised to take me.

There's a knock on the door.

“Who in the fuck is that?” I glance at my watch and wonder who could be here at this time of night. Standing from my desk, I retrieve my Glock and then creep to the front of the office. I immediately recognize Angel peeking at me through the glass.

I relax, click on the safety and then rush to answer the door. “What are you doing here?”

He comes through the door, looking around. “I got your results back and since I was coming through the neighborhood, I'd figured I'd drop them off.”

I frown. “You could've called.”

He continues to look around. “You got a minute?”

“Sure. C'mon in.” I lock the door behind him and then lead him back toward my office.

“
Sooo
.” I sit my gun on the desk, drop back into my seat and kick up my feet. “Please tell you got good news.”

Angel draws and levels his gun on me.

“What the fuck?” I drop my feet.

“
Ah. Ah. Ah
. No sudden moves,” he warns.

“What the hell is this about?”

“Where is he?”

“Where is who?”

“Don't play stupid. Where is your
client?
”

“Who?”

He laughs. “Don't play stupid. You only have one client.”

“Why? Who is he?”

“Let's just say that he's someone with a mighty big price on his head that I'm going to cash in. So I'm going to ask you again. Where is he?”

“How much of a price on his head? You know a sister is looking for a come up, too.”

He hesitates and studies me hard. I can't believe that up until a minute ago I thought Angel was one of the good ones—a rare commodity in the crooked police department.

“The address,” he presses.

I can't make a move for the weapon on my desk—but chances are he doesn't know about the .22 taped underneath it.

“What's the reward?” I ask, equally serious.

Silence.

“C'mon. How much?” My hand inches toward the .22.

“Twenty-five
million,”
he answers.

I release a long whistle. “That some serious fucking cash. Who posted the reward?”

Angel hesitates. “Vicente Rosales. Dead or alive.”

I whistle again. What the hell does a drug king like Rosales want with my client? “If I give you the address how much will you cut me in for?”

He waivers.

“Fifty-fifty?”

“Hell, no.”

“Sixty-forty. I'm not greedy.”

“Eighty-twenty,” Angel counters. “That's five million. Take it or leave it.”

I smile as my hand closes around the .22. “Oh. I'll take it,” I tell him.

He lowers the gun and I blow his fucking balls off.

M
alena pulls me down onto the bed, lifting her silky legs and hooking them over my shoulders to allow a deeper penetration. I lose myself in her jasmine scented body, but it's another woman I see. She appears more clear to me now than ever before. The heart-shaped face, sleek nose, rosy cheeks. She's dressed all in red and glittering with diamonds.

“
Oh! Oh! I'm coming!
” Malena pants.

My hips pound deeper while an image of a pair of ruby-colored lips spread wide over a pearly white smile comes into focus.

More. More.
I need to see more.

Wrapped up in the fantasy woman in my head I don't hear Malena telling me to stop, or even feel her fist hammer against my chest.

Finally, Malena slams a hard right across my jaw.

Enraged, I lock my hands around this bitch's throat, cutting off her air supply. “What the fuck is your goddamn problem?”

Startled and scared, Malena claws at my hands. “Julian! Please. Julian!”

But I'm too pissed about the disrespect that I can't think straight.
Who does this bitch think she is?

Slowly, my red rage ebbs away and reality sinks in.
What the fuck am I doing?
I jerk my hands off of her neck and spring off of the bed. “Oh my God,” I pant, looking down at my hands.

Coughing and crying, Malena backs away and takes a tumble off the edge of the bed.

I rush to help her.

“Don't touch me,” she screeches.

I jump back. “Malena, I'm sorry. I—I don't know what came over me.”

“You tried to kill me,” she screams, pressing into a corner.

“No. No. I—I . . .”
What?
I don't know what to say or what the hell had come over me. “I'm sorry,” I repeat. It's the only thing that I can say.

Malena breaks down sobbing, making me feel like a bigger shit.

“Don't cry.” I kneel and crawl over to her. “Baby, please don't cry. Please.” I gather her into my arms and let her tears wash my chest. I whisper my apologies over and over again.

Malena and I freeze.

Malena gasps. “Someone is in the house.”

“Stay put.” I stand, pressing my finger against my lips. Quickly, I snatch up my black boxers from the floor, slip them on and then creep toward the closed bedroom door. It's not until then that I realize that I left the gun in the living room. Holding my breath, I twist the knob and then ease out into the dark hallway. I remain calm as my senses heighten. All I hear is the soft whir of the air conditioner blowing through the house vents. However, every hair on my body stands at attention.

As I enter the living room, the darkness persists because of the closed blinds and curtains on the windows.
The gun is gone.
Inching by the fireplace, I pick up one of the iron pokers and continue surveying the house.

Nothing.

But everything within me says there's someone else here.

Breathing.

Watching.

Yet, as the seconds tick by, doubt creeps around the back of my mind. Had I imagined the whole thing?

“Julian, is everything all right?” Malena calls out.

I relax, feeling foolish. “Yeah. Everything is fine.” I head back toward the hallway.

“What was it?” she asks breathlessly from the bedroom door.

“Nothing.”

Malena reaches out and flips on the hall light.
“Julian, behind you!”

I duck and turn as the gigantic intruder fires off a shot.

Malena screams.

I swing the iron poker like a nine-iron and clock the large, masked intruder under the chin.
Thunk!

The man is lifted a few inches into the air and then crashes onto the floor.

Another shot goes wild but I waste no time leaping on the muscled intruder with my fists flying. Each power blow cracks bones.

Despite being dazed and confused, the black giant regroups enough to counterattack. His first punch misses, but the second one slams into my jaw with the force of a wrecking ball.

I crash into the wall.

“Where is Cataleyna?” the man growls.

Who?
Shaking off the punch, I launch my full weight into my attacker. We tumble backward into the living room. A set of curtains rips off the windows while an end table splinters in half. When I look up, a big lamp is coming straight toward my head. I spring to my left and it crashes against the floor. Shards of glass spray me, a few slicing across my face and chest.

“I'm going to ask you again,” the man hisses through his bloody teeth. “What did you do with Cataleyna? Tell me and I
might
let you live.”

“I don't know what the fuck you're talking about. And I have no intention of letting
your
ass walk out of here alive.”

Judging by the widening smile, my words are right down his ally. “Bring it on, tough guy.” He waves me forward.

Too happy to oblige, I again hurl my body toward my opponent. Dude tries to sidestep the attack, but my arms lock around his waist and we flip over the arm of the couch and crash-land on the glass coffee table.

I don't even feel the pain. A black rage takes over my body and we go at it like gladiators.

Pound for pound, we're evenly matched.

At least that's my assessment until the ugly gorilla grabs me up and hurls me out of the living room and over the breakfast bar. When I hit the porcelain floor, the air is knocked out of me.

My attacker hits the kitchen light and snatches a large knife from the butcher block. “You know, I'm going to enjoy carving you up!”

I scramble back onto my feet, but I slip backward against the sink and knock over all the dishes.

The gorilla takes the blade between his fingers.

My hand edges toward the cutting board still on the counter.

Laughing, the man throws the knife at my head.

With lightning reflexes, I bring the board up in front of my face. The blade
thunks
into the center of the board.

He goes for another knife on the butcher block while I snatch out the one in the cutting board and then launch it right back at the muthafucka, who's about to throw the next weapon.

But it's too late.

Thunk!!
My knife slices into the middle of his throat like warm butter.

Eyes wide, the gorilla drops his weapon and tries to pull the knife out of his neck. The blade moves only an inch before he sinks to his knees. Blood spews like water from a fire hydrant across the kitchen floor.

Our gazes lock. I watch the life drain from him before he keels over with a final
thud!

I stand and walk over to him. “Now who in the fuck are you?” I roll him over and frantically search the body for some type of identification. There's a wallet in the back left pocket. “Duane Salazar,” I read the name from the driver's license. I repeat it in my head, hoping it will rattle a memory loose or something. When it doesn't, I continue my search: credit cards, receipts and a couple hundred dollars. Tossing that aside, I dive into the man's front pockets and find an open pack of gum and a photograph. I take one look at the picture and my heart stops.

It's her.
The same woman who's been haunting my dreams. That hair. Those eyes. That smile.
She's real—but who is she?
I flip the picture over, but there isn't anything written on the back.

“What the fuck?” I don't understand.

I hold onto the picture, stand and then step over the body. It isn't until I'm in the hallway that I even remember Malena. “Oh fuck!” I race to her even though she looks like a broken mannequin on the floor. I check for a pulse though I know that I won't find one.

“Shit.” Lowering my head I wait for grief to come, but oddly I feel nothing. After a minute, my pre-paid smartphone chirps from the bedroom.

Amalia Vegas, reads the name on the screen.

In the distance, sirens fill the air.

“Hello.”

“Julian! Thank God you're there,” Amalia says.

“Yeah. Listen there's . . .”

“You got to get out of there.”

“What?”

“I don't have much time to explain—or argue—but you got to leave the house.
Now
!”