The first thing I do after locking the door is grab the small suitcase out of the front closet. I take it into the bedroom and throw in a few shirts, boxers, a toothbrush, toothpaste, my deodorant and my cologne.

As I'm going through my sock drawer, I come across a switchblade that belonged to my father. I pick it up, push the button on the side and the blade springs to life along with an idea.

Marcos wouldn't be able to say anything if his throat was slit.

All I have to do is wait for him to leave the bar; it's a long, lonely walk from there to his place. The spot by Montero Bridge is particularly empty and dark at this time of night. I'll run up behind him, draw a deep red line across his throat and push him over the railing. The current will take his body out to sea; I can throw the knife off one of the piers on the way home. It'll be quick and clean.

As I stare at the tip of the knife, a huge drop of blood flows out of it. The crimson bead rolls down the length of the silver blade, leaving a red streak along the edge. I carefully wipe the blood off the knife with my thumb before the drop reaches the black handle. I hurry over to the bathroom sink and rinse it off before folding the blade back into the hilt.

Suddenly, the heavy ticking of the clock echoes through the apartment, calling me into the living room.

It's almost 1:00 AM. The Blue Marlin closes at two, but Marcos likes to leave at 1:30, right after last call.

I slip the knife into my pocket and head out the door.

***

Near the plaza that's just off the bridge, I find an old beach almond tree with a broad trunk to hide behind. I can get a good look at whoever is approaching from the west side thanks to lights near the plaza. My heartbeat sounds like a loud drum in my ears.

I won't even have to be too quiet. Marcos will be so pissed-ass drunk, he wouldn't hear me coming if I was wearing bells.

There are no lights on the bridge, and the clouds covering the moon are making everything that much darker. The sound of laughter causes me to jerk my head towards the road.

That's Marcos. It has to be; nobody else has that stupid chuckle.

I pull out the knife, push the button and hear it flick to attention. A rock-sized lump forms in my throat as I peer around the tree trunk to confirm that it's him. The street lights wash over his face, and I freeze.

It can't be...

Maria is holding onto his arm, smiling at him like some love-struck schoolgirl. My body goes numb. It feels like an anchor is hanging from my neck while two knives pierce my back.

How long have they been messing around? Was all the stuff she always said about him just bullshit to cover up what was really going on between them?

My fingers lose their grip on the knife; it slips out of my hand and slices a long line in my palm before falling onto the ground. But I don't feel any pain; seeing them together hurts too much.

She even put on that tight white dress she wore the first time we went to the pier. There's nothing left for me in this city but death.

I bend down, pick up the knife, and slide it in my pocket. Something sticky and warm is running down my arm, dripping off my fingers like raindrops. Everything around me is fading to black. My feet are moving; they're taking me home...I think.

***

When I close my apartment door, it sounds like a clap of thunder. The blood draining from the slash in my hand has mostly crusted and dried.

Fuck that's a deep cut. That white stuff must be the bone.

I wander over to the kitchen sink, turn on the tap to run my hand under warm water. My fingers twitch, but I feel nothing. I open the cupboard overhead, grab a bottle of rum and pour some over the wound; there's still no pain.

I rip a dishcloth in half and tightly wrap it around my hand. Then I take the bottle of rum, press it to my lips and stumble towards the bedroom. Each time I bring the bottle up to my mouth, my body feels lighter, and my sight grows darker until I can't see anything at all.

I should go to Perú or somewhere further south like Argentina...

***

Sunlight burns my eyes as I try to open them. An empty bottle of rum is cradled in my arms. My head feels like it's been smashed by a rock, and there's a loud pounding in my ears.

Wait. Someone's...pounding on the door. What time is it?

A chill runs down my spine when I check my phone. It's nearly 3:30 in the afternoon.

They're here.

I jump out of bed; the pounding continues as I slowly approach the front door.

If I don't open it, they'll just shoot it down. Maybe I can just pretend like they have the wrong apartment.

With my body shaking like a leaf, I look through the peephole, and a wave of confusion washes over me.

Maria?

Absentmindedly, I open the door. She walks in, kisses my wrapped hand and leads me to the bedroom. Her mouth is moving, but I can't hear anything she's saying. We sit on the edge of the bed, and Maria presses her lips against mine.

"Amor," I say, breaking off the kiss. "I have to go. Marcos—"

"Is dead," she whispers.

"Dead?" I mumble.

"You don't have to go anywhere," she says softly.

I'm struggling to process her words.

"He was always jealous of you, Bebé," Maria strokes my face. "You were the only person who couldn't see that. It became even more obvious when you got the job at the bank, and he didn't. So I paid him a little visit last night to offer him something else you have that he didn't."

"What?"

Maria climbs into my lap and guides my hands to her waist.

"Me," she says.

I wrinkle my brow. "You slept with him?"

"Of course not," she scoffs. "He just thought I would. They'll find him on a beach somewhere with a crimson line across his neck. Apparently, Marcos owed the guys down at the Blue Marlin a lot of money; you know how those guys get when you can't pay your bill, right Bebé?" Maria says with a sly glint in her eyes.

That's when I notice a rusty smell coming off her body; it's intoxicating. I kiss her deeply until she giggles, and whispers, "Hold that thought." She climbs off my lap and saunters towards the bathroom. My phone starts vibrating on the side table; I reach over and answer it.

"Did you do it?" Maria asks.

"Do what?" I chuckle.

"I'm serious, Sergio. Did you kill Marcos?"

What?

I walk over to the bathroom...

It's empty.