I see a camera mounted onto the wall to my right swivel to an angle, which encompasses me fully; I plaster a fake grin on my face, broad and arrogant, and then proceed to flip it off.

Rushed Spanish bursts out of the walkie-talkie in the taller guy’s hand; the voice sounds angry. Both guards’ faces solidify into aggravated steel—sorry motherfuckers!—as they open the gate for me. I get back into the Camaro and make sure to spin the dusty desert sand up into their faces as I burn past them. Outside the huge, single-story building that lies within the walls, a dark, lithe shape paces down the steps to meet me. The figure of a woman. I park up and take a moment to get my story straight in my head: I’m just passing through, looking for a place to crash. Charlie knows all about this.

In reality Charlie has no fucking idea I’m here. Charlie has no fucking idea I’ve even left Seattle, or that I decided to go against orders and didn’t kill Rick like I was supposed to. My mood is still blacker than black over the prospect that the old man might have told the police I was the man who killed Murphy. If I’d seen his fucking face before I left, I would have beaten down on it until his whole head had caved in.

The woman in the tiny, skin-tight dress that comes out to meet me is Alaska. I remember her from the last time I was here with Charlie. Or more specifically I remember her tits. She’d danced for me; Julio had insisted. Girl has exotic blood in her, should have been an Olympic gymnast. She splits me a wide smile as I make my way toward the building.

“So you eventually come back to see me, huh?” she laughs. “Only took you four years.”

Four years wasn’t long enough away from this place. She places her hands against my chest as she leans up to kiss my cheek. I bear it as long as I can. The woman’s a whore, and I don’t let whores touch me. Not like they wanna drop to their knees and blow me where I stand, anyway, which is how she’s touching me right now. I take her by the wrists and remove her hands.

“Just came to pay my respects to your boss,” I snap out. She pouts, pretending to be offended by my rejection.

“I’m a lot friendlier than Julio tonight. Come on, come inside and I’ll keep you to myself for an hour before you go talk boring business.” I just look at her. Her coy smile fades as she reads exactly what I think of her offer clearly written on my features. “I see,” she says. Raising both eyebrows and tipping her head to one side, she points back inside the well-lit building. “He’s by the pool. Don’t get lost finding it.” She turns and storms back into the building, hips swinging, fizzing with fury.

I find Julio exactly where she said he would be, sitting on a lounger by the pool. He sips from a cut-glass tumbler, grinning when he sees me. He’s put on even more weight since I saw him last, and the fat fucker was already obese to begin with. Probably on the verge of coronary failure by now.

“Zeth! My good friend!” His accent is thick, laden with his heritage. “Why have you waited so long to come see me, huh?” He doesn’t rise from the lounger. Just holds his hand up for me to take hold of in some semblance of a shake. He points to the lounger beside me, groaning as he reaches across to his other side for the tumbler of amber liquid. Smells like whiskey. He free pours three fingers into another glass and holds it out to me. I accept; I’d be shitting on his hospitality otherwise. Bad start to an already precarious meeting.

“Where’s that ugly English bastard? He come down here with you?” Julio wheezes.

“No, I’m flying solo. Long drive to Las Flores. Thought you might lend me a bed for the night,” I tell him casually. “Maybe I could impose on your hospitality two or three nights if you’re feeling really generous. There are a few old friends I wouldn’t mind catching up with while I’m in the area.”

Julio takes a deep sip from his glass, dark brown eyes pensively studying me over the rim of the glass. He probably thinks Charlie’s sent me down here to spy on his business. These bastards pretend to be thicker than thieves but the reality of it is, they don’t trust each other one fucking iota. Which, by default, means that Julio doesn’t trust me, either. “Sure thing, my friend. My house is your house as the Spanish say,” he says, laughing at the fact that he says it in English instead of his native tongue. I look behind the smile, though, and catch what I’m looking for: suspicion.

“You’re very kind.” I drink from the glass—definitely whiskey—savoring the burn.

“You’re timing is also impeccable, my friend,” Julio says softly. “If you stay until Tuesday, you’ll be able to attend our little event.” The emphasis on the final word tells me exactly what kind of an event he’s referring to. The kind I used to hold myself until recently. Until Sloane. “I got plenty of fresh meat ready to be well seasoned,” he laughs. His belly shakes like a half-deflated waterbed. “This one’s a bit different, though. You gotta bring someone to the table if you get what I mean. If not for touching then at least for looking at.” He gives me an exaggerated wink, the jowls of his cheeks swinging like a basset hound’s. “I doubt you’ll have any problem finding someone to come with you.”

Tuesday. If Alexis is here, then she will definitely be attending a party like that. Today’s only Friday, though. I hadn’t really planned on staying that long. I’ll just have to make sure I run into the girl before then. I nod, taking a healthy swig from the whiskey. “Yeah. I doubt I’ll have a problem.”