Santiago

          The club is packed, music bumping, sweat in the air, summer bodies crawling over each other, floor tacky with spilled liquor. Lupe coerced me out with her again tonight, against my better judgement. Some bro-dude that she knows is playing a set, and she promised him she’d show. She always drags me along with her to these things saying she needs someone to be her bodyguard, but we both know that it’s because she feels sorry for me ever since I walked in on my girlfriend strip teasing for her boss on a “very important Zoom call”.

          Lupe adopted me as family when I was seven. One minute, I was on the playground around the corner from the house getting my face punched in, the next minute, Latina Wonder Woman was standing over me heroic after she pulled the asshole off me. The rest is history. She was a force, even at age nine. I don’t know what she said or did to the kid that day, because I couldn’t see through my tears, but he never showed his face at that park again. She never made me feel bad or stupid for the incident. She simply picked me up and dusted me off. We’ve been best friends ever since.

          Over the years, Lupe and I have both aged like fine wine. She got hot. Then, I got hot. We’ve had a handful of late-night drunk make-out sessions, but it’s never gone anywhere. Too weird.  We’re better as friends. I’m just glad to have her. I can’t seem to keep any of the other women in my life. Mom left when I was five. She traded dad for a rich man and started a new family. My sister dropped out of high school and started dancing in clubs when I was twelve. She couldn’t stand living with a drunk for a father who couldn’t keep a job or food on the table. And then there was Linda. The only woman I thought I could marry until that stupid fucking Zoom call. Lupe is the only woman with a heart I’ve ever known.  

          “Two shots of tequila!”, Lupe projects at the bartender. They are in her hands within seconds. Drinks always come quickly and/or free when I’m out with her. She’s drop-dead gorgeous, men constantly falling all over her. To their dismay, she not easy to impress. She turned to me pushing one of the shots my way.

“Knock it back, bitch! And don’t suck that lime or I’ll revoke your man card.” I oblige to keep what little dignity I have left. She grabs my empty glass and sets both back on the bar.

“Two more,” she mouths to the bartender who never took his googly eyes off her. He nods my way and asks if I’m her boyfriend.

 “No,” she giggles. He leans in closer to ask what she’s doing later tonight.

“Not you. Shots, please,” she says politely, maintaining firm eye contact with him. The color drains from his face as he gets the message and complies. Ouch.

We take our second shot and make our way to the dance floor. She knows I don’t like to dance, but she also knows that I’ll do it for her. Hence the courtesy shots. She doesn’t like being grabbed and groped by guys, so I act as her human shield. We move with the crowd for a bit until she motions that she wants to head to the bathroom. I nod and tell her to meet me at the bar. She disappears into the mass of bodies as I go to get another drink. I’m greeted with disdain by the butt-hurt bartender who clearly isn’t a fan of mine for obvious reasons.

“Tequila-soda, please.” He made it in seconds before my eyes, pushing it toward me as he looks past to get the next order. I slide out of the way and off to the side to wait for Lupe.

Several minutes pass as I sip my drink, waiting. There must be a line in the bathroom, or she made a friend and started gabbing. She does that from time to time. Then she brings them over, introducing us, hoping it’ll be love at first sight, and someone will soften my stone-cold heart. It never works. At best, it turns into a one-night stand, which is fine with me.

I’ve nearly finished my drink and still no sign of Lupe, but I’m hesitant to move incase she’s looking for me. I suddenly feel a clench in the pit of my stomach. Something seems off. I toss back the last sip of my drink and head in the direction of the bathroom to look for her.

The hallway is lined with several people waiting for both bathrooms. Ladies on one side, dudes on the other. She’s not here. I asked one of the girls at the front of the line to call in and ask for a girl named Lupe. There’s no response. I’m starting to get nervous. She never takes this long, and she always finds me. She wouldn’t have left without me. Maybe I missed her in the crowd. I make my way back through the trenches looking everywhere for her. Nothing. Kind of freaking out, I press my back against the wall in the sidelines to take a breath and think. Where is she?

Trying to keep calm, I stand looking, analyzing, listening, thinking, waiting for anything to come to me. In the distance to my right, a sequin bag catches my eye on the floor near a door with a sign that says, ‘staff only’. It looks like the bag Lupe was carrying. My heart starts racing. I bolt over to pick it up and look inside. It’s hers. Lupe’s ID falls to the floor as soon as I unzip it. As I bend down to pick up the ID, I hear a thud behind the door. Without thinking, I barge inside. There she is. Unconscious and half undressed as the bartender stands over her zipping his pants. Rage consumes me, inhibitions gone.

The first bottle of liquor within grasp gravitates toward my hand, goes up, and comes down smashing over the bartender’s head. The sound of crashing startles Lupe awake. He goes down in what feels like slow motion, taking more than a few bottles with him; knees first, twisting and landing on his back. The smell of liquor permeates the room, and glass sprinkles the floor like glitter. In the middle of it now lies the man who has just assaulted Lupe. A not so small shard of bottle protruding from the center of his throat. Not how I saw this night going.

Reality sets in. Lupe starts hyper-ventilating, then suddenly notices her state of undress and scurries to her feet pulling her clothes back into place. She looks at me with horror in her eyes, and says, “What do we do?”

Fuck, I don’t know. This is obviously a crime scene, and it looks really bad. Lupe is a victim, but now so is this guy. Fuck him, he deserved it. I’ll do anything for her. I dial in my panic, and shift my eyes from the wreckage to her, “What do you want to do?”

She fixes her hair and makeup, takes a deep breath, adjusts her outfit, and rolls her shoulders back, “We’re getting the fuck out of here. Now.”

Typically, I follow her lead. I always have. But my mind is racing. It’s a matter of time before someone finds this guy, and they shut the club down to investigate. I know she’s going to hate this idea, but maybe we should go to the authorities and tell them what really happened. Actually, I don’t like that idea either. The thought of them picking her apart makes me sick. And then, they’ll come after me for killing him, saying I probably could have done something differently. Fuck them. I stand there frozen in thought while Lupe stares at me wide eyed waiting for me to turn and open the door so we can bolt. Then, of course, the nightmare gets worse. Someone opens the door before I get a chance.

Statues, Lupe and I watch as the other bartender walks into the closet puffing his vape. He’s startled, not expecting to see us there, but then let’s out a giggle as if he just caught us hooking up. It takes a moment for him to notice the dead guy, but when he does, he hardly seems to care. He pulls a couple of bottles of the shelf and calmly asks, “What happened here?”

Lupe was speechless, for obvious reasons, so I had to find my voice. Not my best moment, “He raped her.”

Still completely calm and not surprised at all, the bartender nods, arranges a collection of bottles in his arms, and says, “Do yourself a favor and get out of here. That douche bag had a rap sheet like no other and a coke addiction from hell. He won’t be missed. Go.”

Lupe and I nod at each other accepting our free pass and exit the closet without a word. The swell of music hits like a tidal wave. I immediately put Lupe in front of me and keep my hand on her back as we make our way out of the club. We walk in silence for three blocks until she stops dead in her tracks and melts into the fetal position, finally allowing herself to cry. I collapse with her, wrapping myself around her like a shell.

Eventually, the sobbing slows. She emerges and looks me in the eyes, “Thank you, Santi. Can I ask you a favor?”

“Of course, I would do anything for you,” I said as I wiped the streaked mascara from her face.

“Will you help me kill one more? He’s not the first, and it felt good to see him die.”