The cat-like reflexes of Moreno saved Rafael's father that day. The straight blade razor nicked the skin as Guzman attempted the unthinkable. The hesitancy he demonstrated was not seen in Moreno’s decision to act. He caught the barber by the elbow before he could work up the nerve to finish running it across the foamy throat of his employer.
The barber had proven desperate enough to continue his fight, as men do when life hangs in the balance, like that of his three-year-old grandson. All the want and will, when faced against a more skilled and determined opponent, means nothing on the field of battle.
Guzman ripped his arm free and made several wild slashes. But, like a horse swatting a fly with its tale, Moreno disarmed the barber with ease, sending the blade clinking to the floor. Rafael remembered the feeling of relief at seeing Moreno save his father. He also remembered how fleeting it was. A breath after the blade hit the tile, Moreno plunged a knife of his own, a long, eight-inch blade, under the barber's chin.
Rafael could see it now, just as he had at ten. The silent pause as the blade pierced Guzman's brain. He was looking into Rafael's eyes. The desperation of the preceding moment was all but gone. Only sadness was left. A teardrop and trickle of blood drag racing down the side of Guzman's cheek had been interrupted by the sudden jerking of Moreno's blade as he ripped it free. Guzman, no longer supported by Moreno's knife, dropped to the floor.
Juan Carlos Moreno never muttered so much as a curse when the blade cut him. As a young boy, Rafael had missed it. But in the lightning speed struggle, Guzman had somehow managed to slice Moreno's face. He merely grabbed a towel from a stack neatly folded on a nearby marble counter and pressed it firmly against his head. Moreno's soulless eyes watched as Guzman's body convulsed violently at his feet.
Hector promoted him to head of security that very moment. Moreno continued to fill that position to this very day. Rafael never looked at either man the same. After his father's recent pressuring of Rafael to follow in his footsteps, it looked as though his birthday wish ten years ago was not going to be a reality.
Rafael knew why Moreno disliked him and it had everything to with his avoidance of violence. Rafael had never even been in a fight. What kid would dare strike the son of Hector Fuentes? But that wasn't the reason. His younger brothers picked their fights. Moreno could smell it on him, just as he did that day in the barber shop. Raphael wasn't a killer.
Moreno only respected men of action. Rafael had never gained that respect. Although knowing his place within the rank and structure of the cartel, Moreno never openly challenged Rafael's suggestions, but there was an air of contention in the way he responded to them.
"Juan Carlos, I'm glad you're here. We've got a bit of a problem. The Nighthawk woman from earlier is turning up the heat. She's becoming more than an annoyance. Rafael and I were just talking about it."
"I'll grab my team and have it taken care of."
"Did you need to speak to her first?" Rafael asked. "Killing her without first knowing everything we can doesn't seem like good business to me."
Moreno grumbled something under his breath that sounded more like a growl. Looking at the scowl twisting the already twisted face of the bodyguard, Rafael reconsidered. Maybe he was growling.
"Father, years back you told me every life should be weighed in accordance with the value that life has to offer. If in that offering, value is found, then it should be explored. I wasn't sure of its meaning when you said it. Still not sure I'm applying it correctly here, but I think what I'm trying to say is, let's find this woman and see what she knows. There may be value in that."
Hector Fuentes nodded his approval. His face brightened. "My son is becoming a man. A thinking man, but a man, nonetheless. Juan Carlos, I would like you to listen to Rafael's thoughts on this matter. It's time he started to learn the family business and the leadership needed to handle situations like these as they arise. For now, we'll consider this an apprenticeship of sorts."
"As you wish," Moreno offered. No growl or hint of disrespect was present in the man's voice.
Hector wrapped an arm around his son's shoulder. "Let this be your first real test of manhood."
Rafael swallowed hard. He felt both men’s eyes upon him. Juan Carlos, although shorter by about two inches, seemed taller. His intimidating demeanor added a few inches. Rafael felt like he was a little kid again in the barber shop watching the blood covered man stare down at the dead barber with a knife jammed inside, under his chin until it cracked the top of his skull.
"If you send a team out and dispose of her," Rafael was careful with his words, "we run the risk of bringing more heat down on us. We don't know who she is. She could be with the DEA or FBI. Who knows? Maybe she's with the CIA."
"Or maybe the family of that Rothman girl hired a private investigator? Who cares?" The disgust was inserted back into the tone of Moreno's words.
"Doesn't matter who. That's my point. If anybody knows she's here, we need to know. Because, if she goes missing, then more people come looking. Especially if she's got ties to a federal agency."
Moreno stepped one foot closer, his nostrils flared. "When I make people disappear, nobody knows where to look."
Rafael wasn't sure if the comment was made as a general testament to the man's skills, or a subverted threat directed at Rafael himself. Either way, he didn't like it, nor did he agree with it.
"That's not the point. I'm sure you can make her disappear so that nobody would ever find her, but if somebody knows that she was looking into us and they happen to have other resources like a federal agency, and she disappears off the face of the earth, then we can expect more visitors."
"Then, if you know better, tell me what you think we should do, Rafael," Moreno spat his name as if its taste in his mouth had soured.
"Eddie Munoz is already out there. He's got the authority to make any interaction with the Nighthawk woman to look like part of an investigation. She did just burn down a nightclub. I think it's a good idea if Munoz picks her up."
"And if she's with a federal agency?"
"We dust her off, say it was an accident."
"And let her live?" That part seemed a sticking point for the man who had chosen murder and mayhem as his life's calling.
"Maybe we hold her long enough, official-like, until we can get the Rothman girl sold off."
Moreno was quiet for a moment. It was Hector that spoke next. "Well, Juan Carlos, it sounds like you have your marching orders. Let me know when Munoz has our unwanted nuisance in hand. I'd like to have a conversation with this Ms. Nighthawk before we send her on her way."
Rafael gave a slight bow of his head and then departed the room, leaving his father to finish his brandy, while he went to find the woman responsible for burning down the nightclub.
Twenty
Angela Rothman sat in a cell no bigger than the one from the previous day. But this one smelled different. Instead of the caustic paint thinner she sniffed for the better part of twelve hours yesterday, she enjoyed the fresh clean scent of citrus, though yesterday's cell was a whole lot quieter. Since arriving at her latest destination, there had been nothing but an incessant banging and clanging of bottles and a mechanical hiss and whir from outside the door. Having never seen the other side, she had no idea what was making the noise.