From the grimy upstairs window across the street, I could see the whole block on both sides of the red door. Three days into my stakeout and I hadn’t seen a single person come in or out of that door, let alone our missing informant, Hugo.
The coffee was tepid in my cup and I grimaced at it in distaste. A lone stale donut sat forlornly in midst of yesterday’s icing crumbles scattered on the bottom of the Dunkin’s box. A wad of Mickie D wrappers in the wastebasket bore further testament to my culinary distress. Much more of this and I’d either go mad with the boredom or die of clogged arteries.
The famous Stairway to Heaven guitar riff coming from my phone jolted me out of my momentary stupor. The caller ID said Restricted, which meant one of two things - clever robo-caller or my handler, Katrina. I swiped the answer icon and waited patiently. After one minute of silence, the familiar automated voice requested my key code. I tapped it in and heard the click of a connection being made.
“Leo, there’s been a change of plan. New intel from the DEA says our guy was seen in Cozumel late last night. We’re pulling the surveillance and shutting down Red Door for now. You still haven’t laid eyes on his woman either?” Katrina got right to the point as usual.
“No, I haven’t seen a soul, no lights, no sign of activity inside. Where do you want me now?” I was glad to get out of this dump, it had been a long three days.
“Eliminate all traces of your stakeout, but before you go, we want you to take a look inside. Carlotta has probably gone to meet up with him, see if there are any clues as to where she went.”
“Gotcha, boss!” Finally, a little action, even if it was only snooping through an empty apartment.
****
It wasn’t in my best interest to do any lock picking in broad daylight right there on the open street so I resigned myself to cleaning up the nest then heading out for my first real meal in three days. From my reconnaissance at the start of the assignment, I already knew there was no back entry and no other windows other than over the doorway. It seemed like a pretty claustrophobic apartment to me, but maybe she felt safe there.
The hostess greeted me like an old friend and showed me to my favorite corner booth. I sat with my back to the wall and facing the doorway to keep an eye on the customer traffic. The smell of garlic bread hot out of the oven tantalized my nose as Jose sat the steaming plate in front of me.
“Will you be having the special tonight?” Jose asked with her cute grin, knowing that I would be.
“You know it.” I grinned back and took a long pull on the ice-cold Guinness she’d brought along with the bread.
It was just turning twilight with the street lamps flickering into service when I left the pub and headed back to Carlotta’s apartment. A leisurely stroll along the block past the red door revealed the same lack of activity as the past three days. Heading back to the doorway I stood casually in front of the lock with my back to the street. My pic-gun made short work of the lock and I eased the door open, stepped over the threshold and slid inside.
The stench hit my nostrils with the force of a jackhammer. I gagged and raised a hand to cover my nose while thumbing on the penlight I in my other hand. I could see a form laying on the floor of the kitchen area at the back of the apartment. My first thought was that Carlotta was the victim but the mass seemed too large for the petite woman that I knew her to be.
Treading carefully across the living room I made my way to the kitchen, avoiding the huge pool of black blood spread across the tile. The penlight illuminated the bloated face of our target, Hugo Domink, and laid across his chest was a handwritten note on simple white paper:
SNITCHES DIE!
I backed away as carefully as I had walked in and dialed the number.
“Kat, we got a problem.”
