Speak of the Devil Read Free

Devil.
    She was vaguely aware of the warm wetness spreading on the mattress, as she lost control of her bladder.
    “ I am first,” the Devil said.
    He tossed the severed head across the room to Psycho, who caught it with a grunt and a grin. A line of scarlet droplets spattered the wall. The Devil rolled the machete in his hand and looked down at Tierra. He licked his lips and smiled, revealing a row of gleaming white teeth, each sharpened to a point.
    She screamed and screamed, but no sound came out.
    • • •
    Hector Ramos walked down the quiet street of row houses. Although the sky was dark, the night was warm. It had been a hot day for early October, and heat still radiated from the pavement, releasing the scent of asphalt and motor grease. The usual urban activity buzzed from a distance: cars honking on Thirteenth Street, sirens pealing a few blocks over. A man in a suit hurried past, engrossed in something he was texting. This street was a few blocks from Tivoli Square, a historic complex whose renovation had recently caused a wave of gentrification. But many of the longtime Hispanic residents remained, and this was now a diverse and vibrant neighborhood.
    It still had some blemishes, though. The brothel operating on Monroe Street was one of them. The redbrick row house looked like all the others on this street, although it hadn’t been fixed up like some of its neighbors. The shutters were peeling, the porch sagged, the windows were caked with filth. Weeds clumped in a mostly dirt yard.
    The brothel was small but a nuisance on the block. The neighbors didn’t appreciate the stream of men going in and out in regular fifteen-minute intervals. Complaints had been made; a quick investigation launched; a confidential informant reported four girls working ten hours a day in the basement apartment. Last week, Hector had conducted an afternoon of surveillance. Based on the number of men he saw, each girl might be handling a hundred customers a week.
    Hector could have brought his anticipatory search warrant to any sex-crimes prosecutor in the U.S. Attorney’s Office, but he preferred to knock on Anna’s door. Not just because she was pretty. Anna was kind and respectful, even when she was correcting some flaw in his warrant. If this bust went well, he’d have a chance to work with her more.
    For now, he focused on the row house. There were two things he always worried about at this stage. First, had the informant lied to him, and was he about to raid some innocent family’s home? Second, would someone inside try to kill him?
    The “Eyes” of the operation would watch with binoculars, and Ralph would listen through the transmitter tucked in Hector’s pocket. A fifth officer was waiting in the back alley, securing the rear door. But the arrest team was a block away, and they couldn’t see what went down in the brothel. Once Hector was inside, he was on his own.
    He would be quick. Go in, hand thirty dollars to the doorman, establish that he would be getting sex in return for the money. Take his poker chip. A real john would give his chip to the next available girl, who would give him fifteen minutes in return. But Hector would “have to go to the bathroom” first. Then the team would raid the place, arrest everyone inside, and search the house for more evidence. It wasn’t easy work, but Hector and his team had the routine down. They did it several times a month.
    Of course, another brothel would soon pop up a few blocks from here, part of the game of Whac-A-Mole the police played with pimps and prostitutes. But the good citizens of Monroe Street would be appeased. At least for a few months.
    Hector trotted down the concrete steps to the front door of the basement apartment. A couple of dark-haired kids were putting up Halloween decorations on the stoop next door, talking in mixed English and Spanish. Hector made eye contact with a boy who was holding a little plastic skeleton on a string.
    “Hola.” Hector