Bourbon & Blood: A Crime Fiction Novel (Bill Conlin Thriller) Page 4

  Morgan walked over to a closet and pulled out a briefcase, which he handed to me. “Your tools,” he said. The briefcase seemed extremely light. What could be in this case that weighed nothing and would help me deal with such a dangerous man?

  I didn’t ask. I waited until I got back to my apartment to find out. Once inside, I set the case down on the kitchen table, lit a cigarette, and opened it. Fear and self-doubt clawed at me as I saw what I had been given: A steak knife, a large plastic bag, and a roll of duct tape were my only resources. I guessed this was another test to see if I had the guts and smarts to pull this off.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Later that evening I took the 1 train up to 125th Street to do some recon. I spotted the Tequila Lounge and Restaurant up a ways from the subway exit, and I headed up the street to a building opposite the bar. I starting pressing apartment buzzers and waited for someone to answer and buzz me in, but no one did.

  Four men stood in front of the restaurant, watching the block, scanning in each direction. I guessed this wasn’t a group of friends out enjoying a smoke, but guards. I realized I couldn’t stay where I was standing anymore without looking odd, so I walked back up the block and found a pizza place. I sat in the widow and ate a slice while I watched the bar.

  When I finished, I decided it was time to get a closer look. I managed to walk right by the men without attracting attention. The guards looked tough, tattooed with shaved heads, and they spoke Spanish. I headed into the Super Mini Mart next door to the bar and bought a pack of Marlboro Reds.

  When I came out, I headed in the other direction and walked around the block. That’s when I noticed an alley behind the restaurant. A wrought-iron gate, complete with padlock, blocked the entrance. As I examined the gate, the sound of shoes on the pavement started getting closer. Panicked, I climbed over the fence and squatted behind some garbage pails that were standing against the wall. I heard voices getting louder as they came closer, and men laughing loudly. Night patrols. Looking around the alley I spotted a fire escape. I thought if I had to make a break for it, I could always go up.

  I realized, hiding behind the trash, that I needed a better way to find out about Armando Sanchez’s businesses and activities. Watching from a distance wasn’t going to cut it. I had to get closer to see what made this operation so successful and find a weak spot. The only way was to become a customer.

  When I returned the next day, in the afternoon, the atmosphere was much less threatening. The guards, gangs, and street patrols were all gone. I stepped inside the Tequila Lounge and was immediately overwhelmed by the aroma of beans, chips, and chilies. It made my stomach growl. A family-style lunch crowd happily enjoyed Mexican food. A couple of folks were at the bar having cocktails. I sat next to an old man munching on chips with salsa and sipping amber liquid in a short glass.

  In a discreet way, I tried to make small talk. “Hi,” I said.

  “Hello, young man. My name is Hector.”

  “I’m Bill,” I said.

  He turned out to be an incredibly pleasant guy, friendly and talkative, and he offered to buy me a drink. Hector told me that he worked locally in construction and stopped here for lunch. I made up a story that I once dated a Spanish girl from Mexico, that she had left me for a Mexican guy once things started getting difficult.

  “I loved her so much,” I lied. “She was beautiful. Silky black hair, dark brown eyes, and a great body. She made me tortillas and chicken all the time. I fell head over heels in love with her,” I said.

  “Our women love to take care of their men. Cooking, cleaning, and loving with passion.” He took a sip of his drink. “You need a new girl, my friend.”

  I sighed. “I lost my job, then we started fighting over money and she found someone else,” I said.

  “Yes, yes. I understand,” Hector said, nodding with a sad expression.

  “This is my girlfriend now.” I said, showing him my right hand.

  He let out a big hearty laugh, and then went into a coughing fit. When he stopped coughing, he spoke again. “There are ways to meet girls, my friend. So when you meet a nice girl you don't ruin it by being too eager,” Hector said.

  I wanted to appear lonely and pathetic. Looking into my glass, I placed a palm on my cheek.

  “I have money since I started working again,” I said. “But where can I find some girls?"

  Hector got up to leave. “Speak to Luis, the bartender. He knows of these things.”

  I handed him a ten-dollar bill.

  “Thanks, Hector,” I said. “Please take this.”

  He stared at the money, then looked up at me. “No thank you, my friend. Give it to the girls.”

  On his way out Hector whistled loudly and pointed at me. The bartender stopped washing glasses and looked my way, but then continued his cleaning.

  Luis stayed at the far end of the bar and didn't seem concerned about me once Hector left. Luis was in his early forties, balding with a comb over, and a belly that stuck out of his vest. I signaled him for another drink and he meandered over.

  “Excuse me, but could you possibly help me out? Hector said you know where to find girls?”

  “I don't know you,” he replied gruffly, and gave me the once-over. “First you drink more, and then we talk about mamacitas.”

  “Beer and a tequila please,” I said with a smile.

  He gave me a look, then walked into a back room. After a while two guys with shaved heads and tattooed arms came over. One was short and thin, the other big and fat. The fat guy had to weigh close to three hundred pounds. They stood on either side of me.

  “Is there a problem?” I asked.

  The fat guy took my drink and drank it. “Yeah, you got a problem now, ese,” he said.

  The guy on the left bumped me.

  “Yeah, Holmes. You a cop? We don't like cops here.”

  “No, I'm just looking for a date,” I said, my palms up and shrugging, trying to come off as nonthreatening.

  “You wearing a wire?” the fat one asked and he started to pat me down.

  “No wire here, Paco. But I don’t trust this cop.”

  “Come on guys. I told you. I’m not a cop. I just heard you guys know where the pretty girls are."

  "Oh, we've got hot mamacitas bro,” said Paco. “But you gotta pay an initiation fee. White boy price is two knots to get in the club.” He held out his hand.

  “What’s two knots?” I asked.

  “Two hundred dollars, motherfucker!” he barked, agitated.

  I reached into my back pocket and the fat guy immediately grabbed my hand.

  “Whoa bro! Not now. Give it to Luis when he brings your drinks.”

  The two guys disappeared into the back room.

  Luis came back with beer, a shot of tequila, a saltshaker, and a lemon wedge.

  “That’ll be two hundred thirty dollars, my friend,” he said, smiling.

  “How do I know you’re not going to rip me off?” I asked.

  “Maybe you should talk to the boys again,” he said, the smile leaving his face.

  “No problem. Let me settle things now,” I said, giving him the money.

  He counted it, put it into the register, and pushed a napkin across the bar. I flipped it over. There was an address on the other side, 660 West 129th Street. Written below were the words “Ask for Angel Eyes. Say Luis sent you.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I returned to the neighborhood several hours later. The address Luis gave me was a few blocks north of the Lounge, just past Broadway. As I approached, one of the guys hanging out in front of the building stood up and flicked his cigarette at my feet. “You’re in the wrong part of town, pendejo!”

  “Luis sent me. I'm here to see Angel Eyes.”

  He stepped close, got in my face, and stared into my eyes for a few seconds. Then he turned and pointed to a camera by a green metal door. “Tell it to the cam,” he said.

  I took a couple of steps toward the green metal door.

  �
��I’m here to speak to Angel Eyes,” I said, looking up at the camera.

  After a while, the door buzzed. I pushed it open and entered. Loud thumping techno music filled the building. A large bouncer, a thick biker type with tattoos around his neck and arms, greeted me. He had a headset on with a microphone, and stood in front of a chain-link gate that blocked the upstairs. On his left was a hallway with stairs going down.

  I tried to peek around him but he moved in front of me and started to stare me down. I smiled and stepped back.

  Looking down at a clipboard, he asked, “Name?”

  “Alex. It’s my first time at the club.”

  “No Alex on the list,” he said, not looking up.

  “Luis sent me. Told me to ask for Angel Eyes.”

  He pressed a button on his ear and started speaking. “There’s a new guy here asking for Angel,” he said. He paused to listen then opened the gate.

  “Fourth floor office,” he said and let me pass.

  I headed up the narrow stairs and came around to a landing, where a guy sat at a desk with a small grey metal box in front of him. He pointed and I turned to see another set of stairs going up.

  The music grew louder, vibrating the floor. People cheered with excitement as a woman's voice urged the crowd to move their bodies to the music.

  Up two more flights of stairs and another landing, two guys sat on either side of a door, with a sign that read Employees Only. Their arms were folded and they talked and laughed. When I approached, they stopped talking abruptly and stared at me with stone faces. One guy stood up and took a toothpick out of his mouth. “That's far enough, Holmes,” he said. “That door is for you.” He pointed to a door I had just passed in the hallway.

  He sat back down and said something under his breath. I couldn't hear him, but he and his goon friend both started laughing. I headed down to the door they told me to go to. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed the door at the far end of the hallway had opened. Armando Sanchez came out with two guards, following him. He looked very different from his picture. His head was shaved and a thick mustache replaced the goatee from the photo. I recognized Fat Paco with him.

  I hit the buzzer and the door opened. I entered the room and was patted down again by a guy I hadn’t noticed was behind me. The room had big windows looking down two stories onto the crowded dance floor. Colorful lights flashed giving the room a magical glow. A woman in a windowed booth shouted into a microphone. She was dancing, waving her arms, and gyrating to the beat. After a while she turned and came out of the booth.

  Her beauty stunned me. She wore a long black slinky dress displaying fantastic cleavage; and her breasts were pushed up and plump. She strutted over confidently, her dress swooshing with each step. She had beautiful black hair, long and shiny. Her eyes were dark brown and her skin had a tropical tint.

  She flipped her hair. “Welcome to the Club, hombre. I'm Angelica.”

  “Nice meeting you. I'm Alex. Would you have a drink with me?” I asked, smiling.

  “No, I’m sorry stud. You’ll have to pick up your own girl downstairs,” she said, winking.

  I headed down to the second floor. A guy at the desk held out his hand. “Thirty dollars cover charge.”

  I counted out the money and handed it to him. He slipped it into the metal box and opened the door.

  Inside, it almost looked like a regular dance club, but with no dance floor. Instead there was a center stage with twenty girls of different shapes and sizes dancing on a platform. Most were in bathing suits, others in lingerie, and others were topless with G-strings. They all held onto a pipe that ran around the ceiling, air-humping and gyrating to the techno music. Around the stage, mostly guys and a few girls watched.

  A bar circled the stage and bartenders were cranking out drinks as fast as they could make them. Leaning against the bar I watched as guys went to the stage and handpicked girls they wanted. Holding hands, the girls stepped off the stage and led their clients upstairs to private rooms.

  “What you having?”

  “Two fingers of Knob Creek,” I replied, and put a twenty on the bar.

  A guy next to me leaned over. “You’re new.”

  I sipped my drink and nodded.

  “This place is better than having a girlfriend,” he said.

  “Costs a whole lot more,” I said.

  “It’s only more at the beginning, with the starting fees and shit,” he said. “Then it’s not so bad. I got all my friends here. No old lady to bitch at me. I can come and go when I feel like it and have a different girl every time.” He took a swig of his beer. “If I don't like who I get, no problem. I just pick another girl. Ain't that right Eugene?”

  “Fuck yeah!” said a guy to his right.

  “I'm Roberto and this sorry sack is Eugene.” He stuck out his hand and we shook.

  “I’m Alex,” I said.

  “We work in demolition, gutting the abandoned building up on 136th,” Roberto said.

  “I've had a lot of these girls,” said Eugene, leaning in. “Most are pretty clean. I’ve been coming here for a year, ever since that other place had a shoot out. Sometimes, I forget where I am, until I have to pay.” He shook his head and started laughing.

  “Oh, before I forget, watch out for Angel,” Roberto said. “She’s gorgeous and lethal. Armando's the head guy and her brother. He'll rip off your balls and make you eat them if you touch her. His crew is always patrolling and reports in constantly.” He looked around, now suddenly nervous.

  “Thanks for the tip, man. See you around,” I said. I finished my drink and took a cruise around the club. There were definitely patrols and bouncers all around the stage.

  I looked up to the booth where Angel spun out tunes and danced. I thought about what Roberto said, that Armando was her brother. I decided I had to get close enough to Angel to enrage her brother. His anger could be the key to bringing him down if I could catch him off guard. It was a fucked up plan, but I had to give it a try.

  “Please send a bottle of champagne to the DJ up in the booth,” I said.

  He gave me a distressed look. “Not a healthy idea, my friend. Angel is off limits to clients.”

  “Just send it. I'm not a client yet and these girls aren't my type,” I said, trying to sound irritated.

  “Okay, it's your funeral,” he said. He placed a bottle of champagne and ice in a metal bucket and carried it out of the room.

  After a while, he came back.

  “It’s been delivered,” he said.

  I looked up to see if Angel was in the sky booth, but it was empty. On the other side of the club I noticed a reserved section of tables and chairs. Armando and his crew were drinking and smoking, their watchful eyes scanning the club. A man walked over, put a metal bucket on the table, whispered in Armando's ear. Pointing in my direction, he said something and they all laughed.

  The guy with the bucket came over. “Manny Sanchez would like a word,” he said. “What’s your name?”

  “I'm Alex,” I said, and I followed him to the table.

  “So Alex. I've never had a gift sent to my table,” Armando said, sizing me up. “Are you a queer or maybe this is something else? I like the gesture very much, please sit and let’s talk.” I took a seat.

  “You are new, and don't like our girls?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

  “I’m looking for something different,” I replied.

  “Ah, something different, I see. Well first I'll give you a gift, have a cigar, vato,” he said.

  Manny opened a box of Cubans and offered me one. I took one and bit off the end. A crewmember came over and put a flame to it. I puffed until the cigar was lit, the tip flaring brightly.

  “Nice quality,” I said and puffed again. I blew out the smoke, and started to panic. I’m way too close now and this is too dangerous, just stay calm. I never thought I’d be in this spot so fast. How long could I keep this up? I need to get out of here and regroup.

  Angel walked over to the
table and gave her brother a kiss on his cheek. She turned to me. “I see you met my new friend,” she said to her brother, still looking at me. “We have to find someone very special for him.”

  “Yes, we are sharing gifts,” he replied, a big grin spreading across his face.

  She held out a glass. “I love Champagne,” she said, and Fat Paco immediately rose and filled her glass. He then plopped back down into his chair and fired up his own cigar. Smoke hovered around his round face as he lit it.

  I watched Angel pucker her lips and sip from the flute. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. I felt my mouth hanging open. I turned to Manny, his watchful eyes on me, anger clearly welling up inside him.

  “I have an idea,” he said. “Let's take a walk, Alex.” He got up. “Follow me,” he said.

  The guys at the table stood as we left the room. I followed Armando up the stairs to the third floor. He opened the first door and we went in. Inside was a main area with two couches facing five doors. The doors led to small individual rooms. Each room had a number on the door, and was locked for private use. Manny unlocked and opened the second door.

  “We tame and train our new girls here until they feel sociable. This one’s for you, Alex,” he said, coughing up phlegm and spitting it on the floor. “I’ve had this one a couple of times. Sweet as honey and still has a little fight in her.”

  Manny dug in his pocket and pulled out a condom.

  “Gotta be safe, Holmes,” he said with a smirk and handed it to me. “Fuck this puta and prove you’re not a cop. We’ll wait here while you get your thing on,” he laughed.

  I entered the room and found a bed with a small end table, and a girl crying at the foot of the bed. She had straight black hair and was curled into a ball. Cigarette burns marked her arms and legs. I immediately felt sick, as bile rose up from my stomach. Sadness came over me. I’d seen this before, war stricken children abused at the hands of their captors.