Down Among the Dead Men

80

“ You should make me walk back to the hotel,” Vargas said. “Sorry I screwed things up for you in there.”

Ortiz unlocked his car door and shook his head. “Did you hear what that fucking puta called me?”

“I tend to ignore things that don’t make any sense.”

“Damn right it don’t make sense,” Ortiz said. ““‘Frightened little boy’…She’s lucky that cholo had my piece. I would’ve popped one in her hairy little ass right then and there.”

“So we’re good?”

Ortiz opened his door and climbed in. “Get in the car, pocho.”

Vargas climbed in next to him and Ortiz said, “One thing you might’ve mentioned before we went in there…”

“What’s that?”

“La Santa Muerte? You don’t fuck around.”

“You know about them?”

“I know enough to keep my distance. And Little Fina’s right. You got those locos on your ass, you’re lucky to be alive.”

“So why aren’t you afraid to be seen with me?”

Ortiz took his cell phone out of his pocket and turned it on. “If I had to worry about all the people I hang out with, I wouldn’t have any friends. Besides, they start coming after me, I’ll just sic Yolanda on ’em.”

Vargas smiled, and Ortiz started the engine, checking his phone as he put the car in gear.

“What’s this?” he said, looking surprised. “I’ve got three calls. From you. ”

Vargas turned. “Those are from Beth. Let me see that.”

“What-I’m your answering machine now?”

“Just give me the phone.”

Ortiz gave it to him. “Careful, pocho. You’re stretching this whole customer service thing a little thin.”

Vargas checked the screen, saw one of the calls was a voice mail. He was about to ask Ortiz for his access code when the phone rang.

“If that’s Yolanda, tell her I’m busy.”

Vargas checked the screen, saw his name flashing, and clicked it on.

“Beth, what’s wrong? Are you-”

“He made me call you, Nick. I didn’t want to call you.”

“What are you talking about? Are you getting another headache?”

“No,” Beth said. There was panic in her voice. “This is real. It’s Rafael. He’s-”

The was a sudden loud rustling noise, a yelp of pain, then another voice came on the line:

“You’ve made this very personal, Mr. Vargas.”

Vargas felt something thud in his stomach, then spread upward into his chest, paralyzing him.

Mr. Blister.

“You motherfucker. If you touch her…”

“Oh, it is much too late for that, I’m afraid. I’ve touched her in ways you have only begun to understand. Many times, for many months.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I think you know,” Mr. Blister said. “And this is not a negotiation.”

The line clicked and Vargas snapped his head toward Ortiz. “Drive.”

“What’s going on? Is something-”

“ Drive, ” Vargas shouted.

Without another word, Ortiz jammed his foot against the pedal and took off, retracing their route at twice the speed they’d come here, reaching the hotel in half the time.

Before they came to a complete stop in the hotel parking lot, Vargas had his door open and was out of the car, bounding the outside steps two at a time to the second floor.

But as he reached Beth’s room, he slowed down, tried to catch his breath.

Her door was hanging open.

And he knew that Mr. Blister was in there.

Waiting for him.