Brooklyn Blood Page 9

  “Missing?” Amy said. “What do you mean?”

  “She went to my aunt’s house in Santa Isabel last night, but never returned home. No one has seen her since.”

  I realized her mother was still living in Colombia, as Amy said, “Maybe she went to stay with a friend.”

  “She not answer her phone...she has been taken. I am sure of it.”

  “Do you think Alex could be behind this?”

  “I have no doubt. My aunt say he been calling, wanting to know where I go. I afraid if I don’t contact him, my mama will be killed.”

  She went on for several minutes, breaking down and saying that she had to contact her husband. Amy told her that if she did, it would only make things worse, but Sophia wouldn’t listen.

  “Your husband is taking steroids,” I said. “That makes him violent and unpredictable. You’ve got to stay away from him and let us handle this.”

  She sighed. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Why not contact the police?” Max said. “If Alex is involved in kidnapping, it becomes a federal matter.”

  “No. The police be no help, and I sure Alex kill mama if I do that. There’s got to be another way.”

  Amy glanced at Max and me, looked back at Sophia. “Give us twenty-four hours to come up with a plan. In the meantime, you’ve got to promise me you won’t contact your husband.”

  Before leaving, we got a promise that I wasn’t entirely sure would be kept. After stopping off for a bite to eat, Amy mentioned that Mojo was supposed to come by our apartment at eight and tell us what he’d learned at Warren’s Gym.

  “We’d better get home before he gets there,” I said, “Otherwise, he’ll be wearing our underwear.”

  ***

  As luck would have it, we arrived home at the same time Mojo was trudging up the steps to Balfour Chapel. The weather was cold, and, when we called out to him, he turned and slipped on the icy steps. He went down hard, hitting his head.

  “Are you okay?” I said as we got over to him. I saw that he was bleeding and rubbing his head.

  “I don’t...know.”

  “Let’s get him on his feet and inside,” Max said.

  After a couple tries, we managed to get him vertical and inside the chapel. He stumbled and seemed a little disoriented, but we were eventually able to steer him down the passageway to our apartment.

  “I’ll get some ice for your head,” Amy said, going over to the refrigerator, while Max and I got him over to the sofa.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked, after he put the icepack on his head.

  “Better. I think maybe I just have a concussion.”

  We offered to take him to the hospital, but he refused medical treatment. After a few minutes, he seemed to recover enough to answer our questions.

  “Sorry to get down to business,” Amy said, “but we’ve got some stuff breaking on Sophia Puig and need to ask you how things went at the gym.”

  Mojo removed the ice bag and ran a hand through his stringy hair. “It took some time, but I finally managed to gain the confidence of a couple of gym rats. I think the place is a front for a lot of drugs. I was offered some coke before I left.”

  “That would fit with what we’ve heard. What about Puig and his manager? Did you see them there?”

  He nodded. “Puig was sparring with somebody. Bobo eventually came around with a couple of guys who acted like bodyguards. He watched for a while, then they took off together.”

  “Did you follow them?”

  “Yeah. They went to a strip club.”

  “Gonzo’s?” A nod. “What happened then?”

  He shrugged. “Don’t know. I didn’t have enough for the cover and couldn’t get inside.”

  “I gave you forty bucks for expenses. How could you have spent that in the gym?”

  “Lunch and cab fare. I told you my minimum is two hundred a day.”

  “That’s ridiculous, and it’s not going to happen.”

  Mojo had recovered enough to give us one of his lopsided grins. “If you want me to check out Gonzo’s, it’s going to cost you.”

  “Geeze.” Amy looked at me and Max. “Even if he gets inside the place, I’m not sure it’s going to do us any good.”

  “I don’t think we got a lot of other options,” Max said.

  I agreed, adding, “Maybe we should go with him. It’s only nine, I’m sure the place is open most of the night.”

  Mojo’s normally dull eyes brightened. “Hey, that’s a great idea. You could all go as my pussy posse.”

  “You’re out of your mind,” Amy spat.

  I motioned for her and Max to follow me into the other room. When we were alone, I said, “I don’t like the idea of going to a strip club with Mojo any more than you, but we’ve got to do something.”

  Amy sighed. “You’re probably right.” She glanced through the doorway, seeing that Mojo had turned on the TV and was watching a show about nude dating. “Just do me a favor and help me keep an eye on the little perv. If he starts acting crazy, I’m gonna crack his head open again.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  We got to Gonzo’s an hour later and each paid the thirty-dollar cover charge, something that Amy was still complaining about after we got inside. “What the hell do you get for thirty...?” Her gaze went over to the stage, where several totally nude women were dancing. “Never mind.”

  We found a table a few rows back from the dancers. A topless waitress came over, and Mojo, acting like we truly were his posse, ordered drinks all around. After she was gone, he smoothed out the bandage on his forehead from his earlier fall and said to us, “I need some coin to tip the ladies.”

  Amy’s eyes shot lasers at him. “We’re not spending another dime in this place.”

  “You don’t understand. It’s expected. If I don’t go over and tip the girls, it’s going to raise suspicions. I just need a few fives and tens.”

  Amy sighed. “This was a big mistake, but I guess he’s got a point.”

  We all dug into our purses and came up with a total of seven dollars. Amy pushed the bills across the table. “Here you go, big spender. I want you to be sure to take your time and get your money’s worth, ‘cause it’s all you’re getting.”

  After he was gone, Amy said, “I don’t see Puig or his manager anywhere.”

  “Maybe they’re in the back,” Max suggested. She rose from the table. “Let me go do some snooping ‘round, see what I can find out.”

  After she was gone, our drinks were served. As Amy and I sipped our drinks, we watched Mojo standing at the railing, with a big smile on his face, tipping the dancers as they undulated closer to him.

  “So much for his brain tumor,” I said.

  “He’s the same old pervert,” Amy agreed. “I must have been out of my mind to hire him.”

  “It was my fault. I was trying to help out my aunt and uncle.”

  Ten minutes later, Mojo returned. He was still smiling as he picked up his beer and took a gulp. When he set the glass down, he said, “I think I’m going to like this undercover work, even though it does make you work up a thirst.”

  “You find out anything about Puig and his manager?” Amy asked.

  “There’s a girl named Anastasia who, I think, might help us out, but I’ll need to talk to her privately.”

  “How are you going to manage that?” I asked.

  “It’s going to require a lap dance.”

  “Are you crazy?” Amy said. “There’s no way I’m ponying up the money for you to get laid with your clothes on.”

  Mojo smiled. “You do have a point. It’s too bad they don’t permit nude lap dances.”

  Amy and Mojo went at it for a couple minutes, as he insisted the dancer known as Anastasia could help us out if he got a lap dance. Max showed up after not getting anything about Puig or his manager. Her appearance might have prevented Amy from clocking her new employee. I told Max about Mojo’s request to pay Anastasia for a lap dance.

  Max l
ooked at Amy. “Maybe he could do a mini dance. Since the girl’s Russian and we know Bobo’s been using those kind of dancers, she might have something that’s useful.”

  Amy rolled her eyes, then looked at Mojo. “How much is a mini-dance?”

  “Twenty bucks, but I prefer the VIP,” Mojo said, his dark eyes growing larger. “You get champagne and an hour with your dancer. That would give me enough time to get the goods on Puig and Bobo.”

  Amy found a twenty in her purse and pushed it across the table. “Since you’re a hopeless little dick, you’re getting the mini, and Madison is going with you.”

  I glared at her. “What are you talking about?”

  “I don’t trust the little turd. Since this was all your idea, you need to be there to make sure he questions the girl, instead of trying to rape her.”

  Mojo smiled at me. “A threesome. This could be a lot of fun.”

  I sighed and stood. “I must be out of my mind. Let’s go.”

  When we got to the back of the club, a young woman named Claudia, who arranged for the dancers, greeted us. “It will be an extra twenty if you want your date in the room,” she told Mojo.

  He looked at me. “Sorry, but I’m afraid you’re going to have to pay your own way. I’m a little short on change, thanks to my stingy employer.”

  I reluctantly handed over the additional fee. Claudia then led us to a small room, where a couple bouncers were standing nearby. Over the blare of loud music, she opened the door and said, “Anastasia will be with you shortly.”

  “Can you ask them to turn the music down a bit?” I asked her. “I’m afraid I have a medical condition—sensitivity to loud sounds.”

  She laughed. “Very funny. Enjoy your dance.”

  When she was gone, Mojo said, “This is gonna be fun.”

  I glared at him. “This is a job. You need to keep your mind on getting information from the dancer, nothing else.”

  His smile was still there. “Of course.”

  We waited a couple minutes before the voluptuous Anastasia slinked into the room. She wore a G-string and a skimpy bikini top that showed the tops of her nipples. She was a beautiful young woman, with long blonde hair and lots of makeup. She soon made it clear that she was skilled at her craft.

  “First you pay me, then I dance,” Anastasia said, smiling at us. She came closer, seductively running a hand over her perfect body. “If you like my dance, I keep going and you pay me for the rest later.”

  “There’s no need for dancing,” I said. “We just want some information.”

  She fixed her beautiful eyes on me. “I here to dance, not talk.”

  “Maybe we should let her do one dance first,” Mojo said. “Then we can discuss other issues.”

  I did my best not to look, but I saw the bulge in his pants as Anastasia brushed her body against him.

  “No information, no money,” I said, trying to hold my ground.

  The dancer headed for the door. “Then I leave.”

  Her hand was on the doorknob as I said, “Wait.” I sighed. “Okay, one dance. Then we talk.”

  She smiled, came back over, snatched the money out of Mojo’s hand, and began dancing.

  What followed will probably be stuck in my mind until my dying day. Anastasia removed her top and thrust her body at Mojo, then came over and did the same to me. While I’d never been attracted to other women, if I was, Anastasia might be at the top of my list. She had about as perfect a body as someone can get and was extremely skilled at her chosen trade. I did my best to keep my mind elsewhere as the dancer’s breasts were repeatedly thrust in my face.

  When the dance finally ended, Mojo demonstrated that his brain tumor had been a complete hoax. “I think we should do one more dance before we talk.”

  “No,” I said forcefully. I took a step closer to the dancer, and held out another twenty. “Just tell us where we can find Alex Puig and Bobo. That’s all we need.”

  Anastasia’s beautiful blue-green eyes took in both me and Mojo, as she probably calculated the odds of getting more out of us. She finally took the bill from my hands. “All I know is Bobo hire girls to do special dances at his penthouse. I invited once. I never go back there.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Bobo. He do things to the girls. I don’t like him.”

  “What about Alex? Was he there?”

  She nodded and turned to leave. When she got to the door, she stopped and looked back at me. “Bobo not a nice man. Be careful.”

  After she was gone, I looked at Mojo as he said, “I think we would have gotten more if she’d done another dance.”

  I shook my head in disgust. “I think you need to stay here until...” I glanced at his bulging pants. “...until you get yourself back under control.”

  I closed the door as he made another plea for Anastasia’s return. I walked away, wondering how my life had come this. I’d spent my night in a strip club, having a three-way that included a lap dance with one of the most disgusting men on the planet. God help me!

  TWENTY-FOUR

  “Pack your things,” Alex Puig told his wife. “You’re going with me.”

  Sophia’s voice was frantic as he stormed into the apartment where she’d been staying. “What about the baby?”

  “Leave her with Carmen. We’ll send for her later.” He grabbed her by the arm and pushed her toward the door.

  “Why are you doing this?” she demanded, pulling away from him. “I don’t understand.”

  Her husband was a solid, muscular man, with dark, brooding eyes. After years of putting their scheme into place, she knew when to push and when to back off. This was one of those times that called for diplomacy, despite his anger.

  “I think Bobo has been stealing from me,” Alex said. “One of my accounts is empty.”

  Sophia realized this was a critical moment. It was the first time that her husband had suspected the money from his boxing matches was being diverted. If he caught on to what was really happening, she knew no one would be safe.

  “I’m sure you’re mistaking things.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not mistaking anything. Almost two million is missing, and I’m going to get to the bottom of it.”

  “What does this have to do with me?”

  Sophia’s husband took a step closer to her. He grabbed her by the hair and twisted her head until she was inches from his face. “You are a smart woman, Sophia. When I came up as a fighter, you managed my money. You will help me find out exactly what’s been happening—or else.”

  Sophia started to protest, but thought better of it. She knew Alex was capable of violence, extreme violence in some cases. This was not the time to push him. She had to find out exactly what he knew and then deal with things that benefited her interests.

  “Let me make arrangements with Carmen, then we go,” she said.

  After kissing her baby and telling Carmen what was happening, Sophia left the apartment with her husband. While her anxiety was on overload because of his actions, she’d also anticipated what was happening.

  Alex Puig was being squeezed out of every penny he had. When that knowledge fully hit him, his actions would be violent and unpredictable. And she had to make sure that violence was directed at only one person—Bobo Calderon.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  On Monday, Max and I spent an uneventful day at work, but saw that Amy was parked at the curb as we left Precinct Blue that evening.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, after we went over to her open window.

  “Get in,” Amy said. “I just got a call from Carmen Diaz, Sophia’s roommate. She said Sophia’s gone missing.”

  As we drove to Sophia’s apartment, Amy told us she didn’t have a lot of details about what happened, other than telling us that Sophia’s roommate was extremely distraught. After arriving at Diaz’s apartment, we immediately knew things had taken an ominous turn.

  “Sophia called last night while I was at work and left a message that she had to l
eave in a hurry,” Diaz said in a high-pitched voice as she cradled her friend’s baby in her arms. “She asked me to take care of Isabel. I checked on the baby when I got home and found her in her crib, and Sophia was still gone. She hasn’t been home all night.”

  “Did you try her cell phone?” Amy asked.

  She nodded. “It goes to voice mail. I left several messages, but she hasn’t called back. I’m afraid Alex might have taken her.”

  “But, if that was the case, why wouldn’t he also take the baby?” I asked.

  Diaz shrugged. “It’s hard to say. All I know is I have to work and I can’t take care of Isabel.” She held out the baby. “You will have to take her.”

  Amy accepted the baby like it was a sack of groceries. She looked at Max and me. “I don’t know nothing about taking care of babies.”

  Max and I glanced at one another. I said, “Don’t look at us.”

  Amy sighed and looked at Diaz at the same time she held the whimpering baby on her shoulder. “Anything else?”

  Sophia Puig’s friend went over and got an envelope off the counter. She came back over and handed it to Amy. “Sophia gave me this a few days ago. She said if she was ever in trouble, to give it to the authorities.”

  Since her hands were full, Amy told me, “Open it.”

  I took the envelope, unsealed it, and read the handwritten message out loud. “If you are reading this letter, it is because my baby and me are no longer safe. Please contact Armando Guillermo. He will know what to do.”

  I looked up as Amy said, “That’s it?”

  “There’s a phone number, nothing more.”

  “Call him.”

  I stepped out of the room and did as she requested. When a man answered my call and confirmed that he was Armando Guillermo, I explained what was happening.

  He responded in an accent that was similar to Sophia’s. “Bring the baby to my house. My wife care for her. Then we kill Alex.”

  ***

  Armando Guillermo lived in a small duplex in Queens. He was an older man, probably in his sixties, with thick graying hair, grizzled features, and dark eyes. His wife, who looked the part of an elderly grandmother, took Sophia’s baby to a bedroom to care for her while we settled in the small living room and asked him about his relationship with Sophia.