Page 109 of Embriagado

He laughed. “I don’t think you need to worry. I mean, with how noisy it is, I can hardly hear myself think.”

Are you even capable of doing that?

He then got closer, nearly bumping his shoulder with mine.

“All I’m saying is that I didn’t know something like that happened here, that’s all.”

“You’d be surprised to know about the number of things happening in this city under your nose,” I said, and he tsked.

“I’m not a stranger to crime, you know? I’ve spent three years in prison.”

It didn’t escape me how his demeanor had just shifted. And it wasn’t the first time either. Whenever his time in the slammer was brought up, something came over him. Bad memories, regrets, trauma? I didn’t know, nor did I care to ask.

“We’re here,” I said, stopping in front of a glass door.

“Thought you said it was a club.” Taking a step forward, he studied the sign on the door. “This place looks like a travel agency.”

Ignoring his confusion, I walked in first, with him right behind. Inside, the noises from the street quieted down and were replaced with the soft sounds of jazz.

“How may I help you, sir?” asked the girl at the front desk.

A random person might confuse this place for a travel agency, with posters of cruises around the world and other similar crap hung on the walls. Only it wasn’t at all the case.

“I’d like to book a two-way trip to the French Riviera,” I said, a slight smile on my lips.

“The hell’re you on about⁠—”

“Of course, sir,” the clerk said, cutting into Mr. Rivas’s growing confusion before she pointed toward the elevator at the far end of the room. “Please go to the first floor, where my associate will help you book your trip.”

“Thank you.”

“Bon voyage, sir,” she added, and I smiled at the Frenchman’s odd sense of humor.

“What the hell is going on?” Mr. Rivas asked while sticking to me like glue.

“Just stay quiet.”

Reaching the elevator, I pressed the call button while he kept looking around.

“Are we really booking a trip?”

The elevator’s doors opened.

“Get inside.”

“But—”

I clicked my tongue before I shoved him in first.

“Put your mask on,” I said after the doors closed, leaving us locked in an elevator that seemed to be from another century, with its handcrafted wooden walls and glorious chandelier.

That French bastard really dug this shit, didn’t he? Jealousy filled my mouth, as I should have gotten such a pretty elevator for my hotel. Where did he even find such a nice piece? Perhaps he imported it from France. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had connections⁠—

“What’s up with the creepy cat?” Mr. Rivas asked. He had pulled the two masks out of the bag I’d given him earlier.

“It’s not a cat, but a fox. It's a kitsune mask.” I took one from him and put it on.

“Well, that’s one ugly fox.”