Neither of them smoked.
“Plastic bags, the big kind.”
“Sí, we have those.” Dylan gave Jones a nod, and Jones headed back up to the apartment.
“Cuban?” Pitón seemed to study Dylan.
Dylan nodded. “I came to support the Revolution.”
“And get rich selling stuff on the black market.” Pitón grinned, his expression telling Dylan that he could at least respect those motives.
Dylan smiled back. “That, too.”
Jones must have taken the stairs two at a time, because he returned quickly, a box of black plastic bags in hand.
“How are you paying?”
Pitón drew a five-dollar bill out of his pocket. “Is this good?”
“Sí, claro.”Of course. Dylan grinned, took the money, while Jones handed the bastard his plastic bags. “Give him a cigarette, too. When you pay with US dollars, you get a bonus.”
Pitón seemed pleased by that. “Gracias, panas.”Thanks, buddies.
We’re not your buddies, you motherfucker.
Dylan watched him go, he and Jones staying on the steps until the cigarette burned itself to ash. Then they headed back inside, neither of them speaking until they were behind locked doors once again.
“What the fuck was that about?” Jones asked.
Combined with that gunshot, it seemed pretty clear to Dylan. “Anyone want to bet they’re getting rid of a body?”
But whose body was it?
“You two need to see this.”
Dylan walked through the dark apartment to the window, but the doors to the warehouse were closed again. “See what?”
Nothing was happening in the street below.
“This.” Segal scrolled through images on the camera.
An image of Sister María peering out from the doorway, as if watching Pitón and his men. Sister María looking back over her shoulder.
“What is she doing—trying to escape?”
“No, man, watch.” Segal had taken video of what came next.
Sister María stepped outside and all but ran into the street and dropped something in the middle of the road before hurrying back indoors.
“What the …?” Dylan stared at the screen. “We better go see what she dropped.”
“I’ll go. I need some fresh air.” Segal stood, tucked a weapon into his jeans, and grabbed an old-school iPod and some earphones.
Dylan and Jones watched through the window as Segal, head nodding along to his music, came around the corner and walked down the center of the darkened street.
“He’d better find it.”
“He will.”