Before I Go: A dark and tense psychological crime thriller., Marie Reyes [latest books to read .TXT] 📗

had died down, and the heat became oppressive again, like it was sucking away the oxygen from the room.

“Sit, sit. I bring you a menu.” The person manning the bar was bursting with enthusiasm, his eagerness to please putting Michael at ease. “Welcome. Can I get you a drink first?”

“Could I have your finest tequila, please? And a beer.” Michael couldn’t decide between both, and why should he when it was so cheap.

“A man after my own heart.” He held both hands in front of the left side of his chest, his every expression exaggerated. “And for the lady?” He probably wooed all his guests this way. Made them feel special.

“Just a coke, please. Extra ice.”

“Coming up.” He put two menus on the table and went back to the bar.

The menu was laminated and had pictures of the various dishes. “I don’t know about you, but whenever a menu has photos of the food it never looks good,” said Michael, perusing the greasy pages. “Potatoes with honey and mustard seeds. Weird. Sounds nice though.”

“I’ll probably take one of everything,” she mused.

A figure emerged in the front doorway, pausing for a moment, just standing there as if waiting for everyone to notice him. He and another man walked up to the bar and the owner’s relaxed stance changed as he straightened his back, standing upright like someone had a pole up his ass.

“Hola Eduardo.” The man who had just walked in held his arms out as if he were a friend, but the owner, Eduardo, seemed to recoil the closer this man got and they started talking.

“Che. Que estas haciendo aqui?”

The man, Che, leaned his forearm across the bar and pulled in closer. Michael could barely make out a word except the word dinero coming up every now and then. One of the few words he knew. A word that stood out—hard to mistake for any other. Their voices got louder and Michael had that horrible feeling, like trouble was brewing. He felt strangely protective of Eduardo. He seemed warm, and instantly likable. The kind of guy you could have good times with.

“Can you understand any of this?” Michael asked, hunching over the table.

“He wants him to pay up for something, not sure what though.” They both glanced at the exchange and looking down at the table periodically, not wanting to be seen paying too much attention to their private business. Something stood out about the man, but Michael wasn’t sure what. Maybe it was that everyone else was dressed casually for the weather, yet this man, all in black, looked like he was ready for a funeral.

The man was actually shouting now, and Michael’s blood pumped so fast around his body he could feel his pulse twitch. It was somewhere between fear and exhilaration. A secret death wish. Dying by someone else was far easier than dying by your own hand. There would be no guilt. Instead of people calling you selfish, people would mourn your loss like anyone else, babble on about how great you were at your funeral. His fantasies started as getting hit by a truck on the way to work until they escalated. Why couldn’t he just get shot down in the street? A swift bullet to the brain, a terrorist attack, or an asteroid would do. Wipe out the whole sorry world in the process. Then there would be no suffering.

Eduardo escorted the two men to the kitchen to continue their business in private.

***

The two men finally reappeared from the kitchen after what felt like about half an hour and headed straight for the door, not looking back.

Eduardo watched and waited for them to go out the door before he went to pour Michael and Josie’s drinks. He put them on a small circular tray along with a bowl of something and walked over to their table. “Sorry about the wait. I got you some tortilla for while you wait. On the house. Your food will be a little while.”

“De nada.” Josie pulled out the picture of her sister once again. “I wonder if you can help me. I’m looking for my sister. I don’t suppose you recognize her at all?”

Eduardo was too busy putting the drinks on the table to give the picture a proper look, his eyes darting around, seemingly unable to stay fixed. “No. Sorry. I’ll go check on your food.” He hurried back to the kitchen, taking the tray with him.

Two people from the table at the other side of the bar got up and approached them. They looked to be in their mid-twenties. One of them had thick black hair swept back with a copious amount of gel—looked like he could have been a model given the right circumstances.

“Hola. Are you Americano?”

“Si.” Michael replied, switching to Spanglish seemingly at will.

“Cool. What brings you here?”

Michael looked over at Josie to follow her lead. Straight away, without pretense, she pulled her sister’s picture back out from her bag and passed it to them and asked that same question.

“No. Not seen her. I’m sure I’d remember if I had. Pretty girl. We live in the next town over, so that’s probably why.” His English sounded impeccable. “Can we get you guys a drink?” He looked at their half-finished drinks.

“No, let me.” Josie reached for her purse and slipped out a note.

“I’ll go.” The chatty guy took her money. “No gringo prices for you. They do good rum. You’ll like.”

“Sorry, I didn’t get your names.” Josie asked the guy left at the table.

“I’m Jorge, and my friend is Álvaro.”

“So what do you do?” she asked, leaning her elbows on the table and leaning her head on her hand.

“We are surgeons,” he said meekly.

“Oh wow. Saving lives, eh.” She finished the watered down dregs of her cola.

“Well, we haven’t been doing it long. Álvaro has to do a Cesarean section tomorrow.”

Josie almost spat out her drink in surprise. “Should he be drinking so much?” She looked back to see him taking a shot of rum,