I was a nervous flier. It was a quick trip across the water, but it still took a lot of composure to not drink all the alcohol available in first class. There was a man in the row across from me who stared at me like he might have recognized me. I only smiled back. Though this was risky, I also knew that most people would never do or say anything to me. Besides, my face might have been out there once or twice but Salvador was right—I wasn’t on anyone’s radar.

Though the airport was closer to San Jose del Cabo than it was to San Lucas, that wasn’t my first stop. I wasn’t lying to Este when I said I had business that needed attending to. This time, I wasn’t going to give an order and watch someone else do it. I was going to get my hands very, very dirty.

It was all for her.

And it seemed the more I did for her, the filthier I got.

Once in Cabo, I took a long stroll around the town. I hadn’t been here in a long time and was shocked to see how much it had changed. What was once a small marina was jam-packed with million-dollar yachts. Cruise ships hovered offshore while drunk teenagers on jet skis did circles in the azure surf. The beaches were filled with dance music and DJs announcing hourly body shots. The popular bars spouted Top 40 hits and celebrity-owned statuses.

The town had no soul. Perhaps this was good for tourists—indeed it was excellent for Mexico’s economy, as were my drugs. But I could never live in a place that catered to the other half. Sure, the town was safe and the drug wars hadn’t littered the streets. But where was the real Mexico? Where was the grit beneath the glamour? Where were the proud flowers rising from the mud?

I spent most of the day walking around, taking in everything. Despite all my misgivings toward the resort town, I still enjoyed myself. I was a tourist, just looking at all the sights. I was a man just looking for a bar, a place to get a drink.

And then I found it. It was barely distinguishable from all the other tourist traps.

Cabo Cocktails.

I went in and sat at the bar. Even though it was a hot, sunny day and nearing three o’ clock, the bar was fairly empty. There was an old man nursing a beer at the other end of the bar and a couple in a booth. That was it.

The bartender, a cute girl with blondish pixie hair, was quick to serve me.

“A gin and tonic,” I told her. “Perfect for a day like today.” I gave her the smile that I knew could remove panties.

She smiled back but I could tell I had no true effect on her. She was probably into women.

“No problem,” she said, and got to work.

“What’s your name?” I asked her while she fished out a can of tonic water.

“Camila,” she said, an edge to her voice that told her not to bother asking for more than her name. But I wasn’t here for her.

I waited until she served me my drink and told me the price, then I asked what I really wanted to know.

“Camila, I’m wondering if you can help me,” I said, smiling again. “You see, there’s a girl who used to work here.”

Her eyes widened. I wasn’t sure what tipped her off I was talking about Luisa; perhaps it was my sharp suit, or maybe she’d been on Camila’s mind. “And I’m very worried about her,” I went on. “Luisa is her name. Have you spoken to her recently?”

She shook her head, her eyes darting around the bar. “No.”

“But she did work here…”

She nodded. She looked to the old man at the end of the bar. I waved at him dismissively. “Don’t worry about him. I just have a few questions and I’ll be out of your way.”

“Who are you?” she asked.

“I’m a friend,” I told her. “One of the few that she has these days. So you haven’t seen her around here then? She hasn’t called you?”

“No. No, I haven’t seen or spoken to her since a few days before her wedding.”

“To Salvador Reyes.”

She swallowed. “Yes. Tell me, is she all right?”

“I really hope so,” I said. I really doubt it.

I knocked the rest of the drink back, feeling immediately refreshed and energized, and slid the money toward her. “One more thing.”

“What?” she asked, a bit of impatience mixed in with her apprehension. I could tell she was a tough girl. No wonder Luisa and she had been friends.

“Is your manager around? I’d like to ask him a few questions about her.”

She nodded and jerked her head down the hall. “Bruno. He’s in his office, I think. He comes and goes.”

I grinned at her. “Perfect.”

I waited until she left to go tend to the couple in the booth, then I reached over behind the bar and picked up the knife she used to cut up the lime for my drink.

I caught the man at the end of the bar watching me with mild interest that only tired old men have. I flashed the blade at him and smiled. He shrugged and went back to his beer.

Making sure the blade was hidden from sight, I walked down the hall and paused outside the door that said Bruno Corchado on it. I gripped the knife in my hand, slightly sticky from the lime juice. It would have been better if I had my own, but airplane security wouldn’t have let me fly with it in my boot or in my carry-on. Bastards.

I decided not to knock. I opened the door a crack and poked my head in.

“Camila,” the man grunted in annoyance until he looked up and saw me. His annoyance deepened. He obviously had no idea who I was. Good.

I shut the door behind me. “Bruno Corchado?”

“Who the fuck are you?”

I shrugged. “I could be a customer coming in with a complaint. Do you talk to all your customers that way?”

He glared at me. It was pitiful. “I can see you’re not. What do you want?”

“I wanted to ask you a few questions about your past employee, Luisa Chavez.”

He smirked and rolled his eyes. “Haven’t you heard? She’s Luisa Reyes now.”

“Is that right?”

“The bitch married a drug lord,” he said. “Salvador Reyes.”

I sucked in my breath. “I see. Well, good for her.”

He picked his nose and then wiped it under the desk. My lips wrinkled in distaste.

“She was money hungry,” he informed me, as if I was suddenly his friend. “She’d always come in here asking for money. Said it was for her parents. I bet it never was. But I don’t know what the hell she spent her money on, actually. Not men. Maybe she was into women, too.” He gave me a knowing look. “She was always such a prude. Doesn’t mean I didn’t get to have my fun with her, if you know what I mean.”

“I know what you mean,” I said, trying hard to keep my voice steady.

Bruno picked up on something anyway. “Aw, shit,” he said, straightening himself in his chair. “You’re not like a relative of hers or something?”

I cocked my head. “No. Though she does carry my name.”

He frowned. I could almost hear the rust in his head as the cogs turned.

“It’s on her back,” I told him. “Where I carved it.”

Before any panic could fully register on Bruno’s face, I swiftly flung the blade out. I aimed for his upper neck, but it went straight in the hollow of his throat.

Good enough.

He gasped, wheezing for air, but the air would not come. His hands went for his throat, trying to pull the blade out as the blood began to run down his chest, but he was already too weak to grab the handle. He started to pitch over, falling for the floor. I was at his side before he could.

I grabbed him by his greasy hair, holding him up by the roots.

“No, no, no,” I said in a hush, making sure to stare him right in the eye. “This is not over.”

I grabbed the knife and quickly yanked it out. Now the blood was gushing from the wound, drenching him in seconds. But as beautiful as the sight was, I had to be careful not to get any on my suit.

With my grip firm in his hair, I leaned over to whisper in his ear, the blade poised at his bloody throat. “You know all those things you tried to do to Luisa,” I said. “Well, I did them. I did them again and again, and she loved it. Maybe because I’m one of the few men who has ever seen her for the queen that she is. All you see her for is her beauty. I see her for her, stained and everything.” I pressed the blade in harder. “And I see you for everything you are—a sleazy sack of shit.”

I slowly, deliberately began to work the blade into his throat. He squirmed and kicked and fought against me, but in his current state, I was stronger. His will to live was pathetic, just like he was.

Eventually he stopped kicking. I kept cutting. When I was finally done, I was covered in a sweat and only a few drops of blood on my shoes and pants. They’d come out with a good wash.

I put his head into the garbage and pulled the bag out, making a knot at the end. I hoped it wouldn’t leak through. Then I looked around the office. It was a mess before I came in, piles of paper and empty beer bottles scattered around. The addition of blood and a headless corpse was barely noticeable.

I pushed in the lock on the door and quickly exited, shutting the door behind me. I couldn’t see Camila around, which was a shame. If she had asked me what happened, I would have told her Bruno had a headache and didn’t want to be disturbed. It was such a good line.

Soon I was out of the bar and strolling down the street again toward my rental car, bag of garbage hoisted over my shoulder. My first order of business was complete. Now it was on to the second.

I had a feeling it was going to be a lot harder.

* * *

“Excuse me,” I asked the aproned-woman who came to the door. “But do Raquel and Armand Chavez live here?”

The women stared at me for a moment, slowly wiping her hands on her apron. I had left Bruno’s head in an ice cooler in the trunk, so there should have been nothing too unusual about a smartly-dressed man standing on the steps. “Yes, they live here. Who is asking?”