Free Emily Kimelman - Sydney Rye 02 - Death in the Dark by Emily Kimelman Page A

at him. In his other hand he held a half empty beer. Adolfo, the young man, leaned against his elder and said something into his ear. Benito nodded and pushed his chin toward the exit. Adolfo got up and worked his way through the crowd. I lost him as he disappeared into the sea of men and boys pressing toward the spectacle.
    A cry went out and I looked up to see the sand floor kick up dust as the two cocks charged. They met in the middle, airborne, like Greek gladiators. Their legs kicked as their wings flapped behind them. The spurs sliced through flesh and feathers, gushing bright red blood on the ring’s dirt floor. The white bird lay still as the referee pulled the other cock off. It was over.
    Money flapped between sweaty palms as bets were paid and collected. “It was so quick,” I said.
    Malina nodded. “It often is.”
    Frito stood looking down at his dead bird. The winner held his bird aloft, the man grinned broadly, his cheeks ruby. I turned back to Benito who sipped from his beer and smiled at the scene. His youngest boy leaned across and asked him something. Benito nodded his head and the youth hurried off into the crowd.
    Adolfo returned, his face a mask. “That guy does not have much expression does he?” I asked Malina. She turned her attention from the ring and looked over at Adolfo.
    “No, he is one without many words.”
    “What’s his deal?”
    “His deal?”
    “His story. Like, who are his parents, where does he come from?”
    “He is an orphan, since he was very young, I think. Follows Benito like a dog.”
    “Does he partake at your club?”
    “Only on occasion. The boy does not seem to be one for pleasure.”
    Adolfo was saying something to Benito which was clearly making the older man upset. He shook his head, then shrugged his shoulder and nodded. Benito looked over at Frito and I followed his gaze. The handsome man was picking up the bird’s corpse; he tossed it over the side of the ring.
    “I was once here with a customer,” Malina said. “He was from China and told me that in his country, it is considered a great honor to eat the dead bird. But here, we just throw them away.”
    Benito caught Frito’s eye and he started toward him. Benito stood and said something to his son then handed him some bills. The boy smiled and pushed the money into his pocket. Frito joined Benito and Adolfo, all three men headed toward the exit.
    Malina followed them, taking my hand. The air cooled as the press of the crowd eased. Outside we spotted the three men under a tree that looked like it was the only one for miles. All three men held cigarettes. Malina and I stood in the shadow of the tent and watched the burning embers move up and down with each drag.
    “If I sneak around I think I can hear them,” Malina said, and then before I could respond she disappeared into the night. I stood still under the starless sky ensconced in shadow and watched the three murderers of Paty Vaquez. It took most of my will, and all of my might, to control the emotions roiling inside of me.
    Benito, the sturdiest of the figures under the tree, dropped his cigarette to the ground and twisted it under his boot. The other two followed suit and started to move toward the parking lot. Silently Malina appeared by my side again. We watched as the killers climbed into an SUV. The headlights lit with the rumble of the engine and they pulled out past the games and rides toward the open desert.
    “They have another girl,” Malina said. “They are holding her in some abandoned buildings outside of town. I know where it is.”
    I nodded.
    “We must help her,” Malina said, her voice high and anxious.
    I looked around the parking lot. “We need a ride. A pickup would be best.”
    “I do not know any taxis that are trucks.” She pulled out her phone. “I can call around.”
    I shook my head. “That one will do,” I pointed to a black truck in a spot near the rear of the lot. Mud splatters proved its rugged nature and the