The Nightlife: New York - Chapter 12

Talco pounded pavement for three nights, passing around the drawing of the woman’s face to every pimp, prostitute, and hustler he could find. No one had ever seen or heard of her. She’d never worked these streets, at least not anywhere near 60th and Palmetto.

He hated being exposed on the street like this. The rules of his probation forbid contact with felons. In most cases he could tell whether or not a person had been to prison by simply looking at them. But in the ghettos? Talco suspected his probation could get revoked simply for being in these neighborhoods. It looked suspicious, and it made him extremely nervous.

What a stupid idea. Escorts didn’t find dates on street corners. A sure way to get tossed in jail. Most escorts used classified ads and agencies with websites and secretaries

. Even Talco ran his own fucking website.

The more time he spent on this pointless, high risk activity, the angrier he became. Why was he beating pavement looking for this puta like a retard?

After three consecutive nights of wasted time he gave up. He’d have to find another way to placate Los Demonios. Probably have to pay them off. The detectives weren’t giving him credit without results. This was exactly what he’d been afraid of.

He had a wife and newborn baby at home who needed him. He definitely didn’t need this shit. When he came home at midnight, Evita awaited him with a kiss and a smile, six month old Mateo held in the crook of her arm. They were the best thing that ever happened to him. He’d gained so much in so little time, but he risked losing it all.

“What’s wrong, baby? Que paso?” Evita smoothed away the tension from his forehead with her free hand, baby Mateo cooing quietly in her other arm.

She was so beautiful as a mother. She’d blossomed with Mateo’s birth. Talco couldn’t imagine life without her and his son. He knew if he went to prison again, Evita might not be there when he got out. There were only so many mistakes a girl would put up with. Her golden skin, spicy Colombian attitude, and beautiful hazel eyes would surely attract another man if Talco went down for too long. He had to find a way out of this mess and escape those bastard detectives.

He pulled Evita into a tight embrace, “Todo está bien mi amor. I’m okay. You know I love you? Tu eres mi vida, mi corazón.”

She had cooked his favorite dinner, fajitas Evita-style, with fresh salsa and guacamole. The most gorgeous Colombian woman in the world was also a damn good cook.

Evita Rodriguez, formerly Evita Valenzuela, had come to New York on a visa paid for by Cartelitos, her stomach filled with latex balloons of high purity cocaine. A common way to catch a paid vacation for Colombians who otherwise didn’t have any money. She survived the ordeal without a single package bursting in her belly, collected her five-thousand-dollar payoff, and promptly disappeared into the streets of NYC.

Barely twenty when Talco met her, she’d begun selling her body to pay the bills. They became serious after several months working together. She told him she loved him. Many girls say that, but rarely do they mean it. Then came the night of his arrest.

By the time he started serving his sentence, he demanded she get off the streets and marry him. She did exactly as he wished, working a waitressing job at a local Denny’s for the entire year he spent in lock up. She stuck by him, wrote letters and visited the prison every weekend. She was his rock. She paid off the worthless defense attorney from her tips and overtime at the restaurant.

Two years had gone by and Evita hadn’t worked the streets since. Talco was determined she would never again sell her body to pay the rent. Evita was his angel, a godsend. How could he ever lose her?

Upon his release from prison he made it his mission in life to give her a child. The doctor told them the date of conception for Mateo was likely the first week of his freedom. He had never been happier, married to this amazing woman whose devotion withstood every hardship, and a beautiful son to show for it. If only he could avoid ruining their lives with his mistakes.

He wanted to open a restaurant and let the New Yorkers have a taste of his wife’s fabulous cooking. He’d even name it after her, Evita’s. With the birth of his son, Mateo Rodriguez, he had new inspiration, a new reason to make something of his life.

He’d spent endless hours working with the Small Business Administration. They had the business plans and guidance to make it happen. He worked up a menu, designed graphics for a sign, and even calculated projections of overhead and income. The SBA had loans for business startup, but Talco needed some cash in the project. That was the catch. He needed more money.

By his estimates he had three months left of running his little escort service to save up enough to start the restaurant. That was before the devil sent Oberman and Konowicz into his life to torment him. All his grand plans screeched to a grinding halt when Los Demonios began taxing the life out of him, threatening his whole family.

Evita gave him that angry stare. She was a real stinger when she knew he was up to something. “Papi, I want you to stop. You don’t need the girls. We don’t need that much money.”

“I know, baby, but we’re so close. We’re almost ready to start the restaurant.”

“How many times do I have to tell you, I don’t care about money. I want us to be happy. If you quit working with the girls, you can get rid of those detectives. They can’t touch you if you’re not doing anything illegal. Don’t you see this is hurting us?”

“Aye, corazón, you don’t understand how probation works. And these cops are dirty. You don’t even know how fucked-up they are. It doesn’t matter if I’m legal. Los Demonios can lock me up any time. Either I do what they want or I’m goin’ back to prison. Ain’t no judge or jury for me. If the pigs start pointing fingers, I’ll be revoked like that!” He snapped his fingers in demonstration. “That’s the way it goes.”

“Please Papi, just quit. Do it for me … can’t you do it for me?”

“Si, querida. If that’s what you want, I’ll quit. Right now. I’m done with this shit!” He assured her vehemently. And he meant it. “I’ll call the girls and tell ‘em they’re on their own. Talco’s goin’ legit. Next time the detectives call, I’ll tell ‘em to go to hell!”