I take out my knife and cut through the purse lining, checking for a secret pocket, but there’s none. The phone is the only thing that could be of use in here. I toss what remains of the small leather bag on top of the passenger seat before turning on the car engine.
It takes around twenty minutes to get to the apartment owned by the family. We use it from time to time to lie low. It’s in Washington Heights, the shitty part. Jeff and Vince are waiting when I stop my car in the building parking lot.
“Capo,” they both greet me, after opening the car door for me.
I toss Enzino’s cell to Jeff while getting out. “See if you can get anything out of it and get rid of the rest of the stuff.” I point at the bag on the car seat.
“Sí, capo,” he replies. He’s a good soldier. Too nice at times, but loyal.
Vince opens the car’s back door, but I stop him as he moves to take Enzino.
“I’ll get him, take my bag, and go check the apartment,” I order, looking at both of them.
Jeff grabs my stuff from the trunk and walks off, while Vince stays behind, looking at the unconscious body as I pull it up. His extreme curiosity will be the death of him one day.
He smirks at the blood and bruise on Enzino’s face. “You sure he’s a guy?” he adds, frowning at the skimpy clothes.
“Want to check yourself?” I hiss, draping the limp body on my shoulder. The skirt has risen up and I can see a strip of lace peeking under it.
Vince lifts his hands up and takes a step back, hurriedly stating, “I don’t do that shit!”
I glare at him. Another homophobe. He clearly doesn’t know about myexpandedpreferences. Few people do. Being bi is seen as unnatural in my world, not that I care, since I could crush anybody who looks at me wrong—that’s what Marco does. We are that powerful. Still, I don’t advertise it. My business is only fucking mine. Also, I rarely go for men; I could count my hookups with the same sex on one hand.
I start walking toward the building, Vince has just disappeared through the front doors, leaving one open for me. I get inside and head to the stairs. The elevator is still broken. It’s fine, this Enzino is so damn light. And he smells like fucking sunshine and…and Honeycrisp—the apple variety my mother used to buy from the little shop around the corner from our house. How is that possible? I tighten my hand on the back of his thigh and hurry my steps. When I get to the second-floor landing, I meet Vince on his way down.
“Everything looks fine upstairs, boss. I’ll go check the perimeter around the building and then keep an eye on the entrance,” he says, avoiding my eyes. Good. I nod and resume the climbing. Two more floors.
I’ve just taken a few steps when Enzino regains his senses.
“You fucking bastard, get me off your back!” he barks, hitting me with his tied hands. He doesn’t sound scared enough by the situation.
“Shut the fuck up,” I growl, without stopping. I should have hit him harder.
“My boots! Where are my boots?”
Really? That’s what he’s preoccupied with at the moment?
“I can’t see anything, and this movement…I feel nauseous. Stop, unless you want me to paint you with puke.”
His acting is done, it seems. “Try it and you’ll have to eat through a straw for the next week,” I threaten. One more floor. I should have had Vince carry him up. Why didn’t I?
He stays silent for only a few seconds. “Doesn’t this position aggravate your sciatica, old man?”
How old does he think I am? I grunt and squeeze my fingers on his thighs until I leave marks on his skin. But it doesn’t shut him up.
“Who are you?”
I don’t give him an answer. I’ll be the one asking the questions.
“I’ll find a name for you then. I have wacko, weirdo, old man…peach! Were you recruited by the crows, peach?”
Crows? Is that the name of a gang?
“They are out to get me. Not all of them, only the ones following me around. I’m not nuts. I’m not like going to decimate the bird population. Only the members of the revolution.”
Birds? Revolution? What the fuck is he yapping about?
“Are you going to tell me who you are?” he asks again just as I enter the apartment.