So Herberto, the defected gang member, was a bust, but that was okay because I landed an even bigger fish. I got myself a meeting with the big bad himself, Tito Gomez. He was the one who Ricardo was saying had the affair with Luanne, and the way I was sure of that was because Tito was the only one in the gang who had the scarab tattoo on his neck.

I learned that bit of information when I had spent an afternoon drinking (mostly glasses of water) at a bar the Blood Scarabs were said to frequent. Sure enough, a few showed up and opened up to me, thinking I was someone ready and willing to join their ranks. See, members got a sort of “bonus” if they recruited new initiates that were actually worth it. They saw a gruff-looking guy trying to start trouble and thought I’d make a good addition to the gang. They weren’t exactly fountains of information, but they did break down some of their hierarchy (things I already knew) as well as the information about the tattoo (something I hadn’t known).

It took a week after that for me to be able to set up a meeting with Tito himself, but I managed it. I was going in under the guise of me wanting to interview the leader of local gangs for a documentary set to air on a prestigious network. I had gotten whiffs of Tito’s egotism and had a feeling he’d be the type to take the bait. I promised him anonymity on the show, but he wouldn’t take it. Said he wanted everyone to know where his turf was.

I had Helen completely change my face, making sure I’d be unrecognizable if you held a picture of the real me side by side. Looking in the mirror was an odd experience, but I got used to it after a few times. The new, rougher nose and the rounder jaw threw me off, but not as much as the slight unibrow I was now sporting, along with brows that protruded way more than my normal ones. A pair of round glasses made me even more of a new person, and the bald cap Helen expertly blended into my face took the look to a whole other level.

“I’m actually parking now. I’ll call you when I’ve got those answers,” I said, as I pulled up to the designated meeting spot. It was an old apartment building used solely for filming. I told him I’d rent the entire place out for him so we could assure privacy, and I did. We’d be the only ones in the entire building.

“Stay safe,” Enzo said. His voice helped calm some of the nerves that were riling up inside me, although I could tell Enzo was growing upset with my roundabout answers about my next interview. I felt bad I wasn’t telling him exactly what I was up to, but I knew how he’d react. He’d worry about the meeting for the entire time I’d be in it, and it would completely take him out of the time he set aside to spend with his family. I didn’t want to do that to him. There was nothing he’d be able to do if things went sour anyway. I told Andrew where I’d be, and he would call the police if I didn’t contact him in a few hours. That was the most that I could do to guarantee my safety.

Well, that and the heavy black pistol sitting underneath layers of my clothes. I needed to bring some kind of insurance.

I got out of my car, noticing there was no one else parked in the empty parking lot. I wondered what poor Uber driver had to pick up Tito, who was sitting outside the studios on a bench. He looked me over, up and down, his beady eyes practically drilling holes into me as he sized me up. I gave a nod and got the camera equipment from the back of my car. With two heavy bags slung over my shoulder, I locked the car and started toward Tito, who didn’t bother standing up as I drew closer.

“You the film dude?”

“Yes, I’m Thomas. We’ve been talking over the phone. I’m the one directing and producing this.”

“Cool, cool.” He got up, his heavy North Face jacket reminding me of a bulletproof vest. I wondered what insurance Tito brought with him. I couldn’t let my guard down. This was a hardened criminal who could have potentially murdered two people while they slept. I’d need to be extra careful and make sure I didn’t push it. If I sensed Tito getting anxious, I knew I had to cut the interview right then and there. I didn’t want him feeling like a cornered dog, because those were the ones that always bit.

We entered the building through the side, where there was a padlock holding the keys to the place. I had been given the password, so I set the numbers and tugged it open, retrieving the key inside and opening the heavy red door. The building was located down in Brooklyn and had definitely been an old apartment before it was converted into a filming space, most likely by some business-savvy millennial seeing a need for studios.

The lights clicked on by themselves as we walked through the hall, past rows of closed doors marked with a number. Since we had the entire place rented, we could choose whichever room, but the coordinator had told me the upstairs room had a view that would look great on camera, and I wanted Tito to think this was a legit production. He needed to, because it would keep me safe if he thought I had an entire production company knowing my whereabouts, and it would also lower his walls enough to talk to me. I knew he wouldn’t speak to me on camera about a recent murder, especially if he were involved, but I had an idea that could have him talking before he even realized we were filming.

We reached the topmost floor. I unlocked the door and walked into an airy room, empty of any furniture except for two chairs smack in the center. Big lights had already been set up around the chairs. Behind Tito’s chair was the massive window that looked out to the Brooklyn Bridge, which was only about seven blocks away. It was definitely an impressive backdrop, and Tito was ogling it the entire time while I setup the camera and moved around some of the lights.

“Thanks for offering to do this,” I said, sitting across from Tito once everything was set up and we were both wearing mics, ready to go. The scarab tattoo on his neck seemed to crawl with every pulse of his artery. His eyes were small, set into a face that was scarred from knife fights and broken bottles. He wore the wounds proudly, badges of honor that said he had made it out alive. He was wearing a black shirt that was baggy on his muscular frame. I could tell he lifted plenty of weights, a habit he probably picked up during his time in prison. He smelled like what I would imagine prison to smell like, too. It wasn’t pleasant.

Tito responded with a nod. His hands were held in a loose fist on his lap. I had given him a once-over when he was standing by the window without his coat on, and I didn’t notice any conspicuous bulges telling me he was carrying a weapon, but I assumed he was regardless. He shifted in the plastic chair, the material creaking under his weight. The camera’s lens clicked and whirred as it refocused on its subject.

“We filming yet?”

“No, Tito.”

We were.

“Okay, good.” He sat back in the chair, unaware of the fact that I had colored over the little red light on the camera with a heavy black permanent marker. I’d been rolling since I set the camera on the tripod.

“So, before we start filming anything, I want to ask you some questions to get you comfortable. Loosen things up. I like my interviews being as natural as I can get them. Some of my past interviewees say this is the therapy part of my films, before the camera ever even comes on. I might ask some tough questions, but it’s only to get you thinking—”

“Yeah, yeah, man. Whatever, just ask your fucking questions.”

Perfect. The bait was set. He’d be more open to talking now.

“All right, let’s get started. How long have you been the leader of the Blood Scarabs?” I held a notepad in my hand. I had written out a predetermined set of questions on there even though I didn’t need to. I got through about halfway down the list by the time I felt comfortable enough to start broaching the topic of Luanne and Oscar.

“So, recently, a big news story broke about a couple murdered in their sleep.” I paid close attention to every detail in his expression, but it was stone cold. He wasn’t giving me shit. “There was a report that the Blood Scarabs were somehow involved. Do you think rumors like that hurt or help you?”

It was a bullshit question, with a bullshit premise. There was a total of zero reports about Tito’s gang being involved in the murder, but I was betting on the fact that Tito wouldn’t follow up with a request for sources. Instead, I wanted to plant the seed of thought involving him and Luanne, and I wanted that to take control, to throw him off enough that he’d crack under further questioning.

“They help,” Tito said, crossing his arms, tilting his head. He was smiling. “We want stories out there, even if they aren’t all true.”

“Because it strengthens your street rep.” I noticed his attempt at throwing in doubt on whether or not they were involved. “But if something isn’t true, wouldn’t it hurt if someone else finds that out?”

“Nah, that shit don’t matter. Once it’s out there, it’s out there, man.”

“So, if it is because of your gang, how do you take credit without getting locked up?”

“Word spreads, but as long as there’s no evidence, what are those pinche cops going to do?”

I was nervous, although I was an expert at not showing it. I could feel my heartbeat pounding in my throat, but I knew Tito had no way of knowing that, so I kept my chest proud and my tone even. “If you did it, would you want to take credit for it or let your entire gang take credit?” I was trying to prod at his egotism, the same thing that got him sitting in front of a secretly recording camera.

“Yeah, but still, I won’t advertise shit. If I did it, then bitches find out and get put in their place. But I don’t need to be fucking shouting it from the roof.”

I took a moment, as if the next question had just come to my head, even though it was the one question I’d been wanting to ask since I arrived. I allowed some of my fear to show through, to make him believe this next question was difficult for me to ask.

“Tito,” I started, a small quiver in my voice, “did you do it? Did you kill them?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Tito scoffed, his yellow teeth looking like chipped canines. “Seriously, man? You kidding me?”

“No,” I said, staring the hyena down. “Were you involved in some way with the murder of Luanne and Oscar?”

Tito shook his head. His eyes were beady, the whites of them darkened by popped blood vessels. Fistfights must have been his style. Although, judging by the way his hand hovered by his hip, concealed carry was probably the case. I was on high alert. This was the most dangerous part of my job, but it was crucial. Sometimes, catching criminals off guard was the best way to catch them red-handed. They would bluster over their answers and incriminate themselves somehow without too much intervention. That was when I’d catch them on the mike taped against my chest. New York was a one-party consent state, so secret recordings could be used in court as long as I came in to testify. All I had to do was get this asshole to break and say he did it. Then I’d get the fuck out of there and get Ricardo out of jail. First, though, I’d pull off the prosthetic nose because it was getting really uncomfortable.

Tito was different than I was expecting. He was smarter than most. The couple of face tattoos he had would make people think otherwise, but I could sense it. He was sharp. “It wasn’t me. I wouldn’t kill anyone for that puta.”

I couldn’t speak Spanish fluently, but I definitely recognized the word for “bitch.” My eyes narrowed. “Sounds like you two knew each other. You didn’t get along?”

“Nah, we got along just fine. She loved having my dick deep in her ass, man.” He shrugged. “I just don’t think she’s worth killing anyone for. I’ve got plenty other bitches I could call for a fuck. She was one of the best, but there’ll be another. One that won’t make me post shit on her stupid ass food blog.”

I looked at him, trying to spot a chip in his armor. “And you would sleep with her where? Her own apartment?” I made sure not to let on that I knew exactly where he slept with Luanne.

“Yeah, fucking bitch, she never wanted to give me a copy of the key, so she would leave it outside.” He laughed at that. It was a biting, acidic sound. “Probably what got that dumb bitch killed.”

“So she’d leave a key just for you outside?”

“Yeah. She liked it when I came inside the house without telling her. She’d tell me the days her pinche husband would be out of the house, and I’d just show up whenever I wanted. If anything changed, the key wouldn’t be inside the frog and I’d find someone else to bang. She always made sure she had the key when we were done, too—she probably thought I’d take it.” He scoffed at that. “Puta madre, I’m in a gang; I’m not a thief. Speaking of her husband, why don’t you look into him, eh? He was into some fucked-up shit.”

Well… that was unexpected. My interest was immediately piqued, but I didn’t want to show it. This could easily be Tito trying to throw me a bone so he could keep me off the real trail.

“What kind of shit?”

“All I know is that she mentioned something about him not being innocent. That he was worse than she was.”

I was getting frustrated, and that’s exactly what Tito wanted. I controlled my expressions, making sure I wasn’t feeding into his pleasure. “Help me figure this out,” I said, my tone making it clear I wasn’t playing around, “before the cops start focusing on you.”

That got his attention. The last thing a gang member wanted was for the police to start digging around. Even if he was innocent, they’d still find something worthwhile. He stared me down, expecting me to break. I held strong. This wasn’t the first time I’d been intimidated, and I knew it wouldn’t be the last.

He shook his head. “Fuck that, man. Why are you even bugging over this bitch? They already have the guy that did it.”

“Ricardo?”

“Sí, ese.”

I cocked my head. “So he was involved with Luanne? You’re saying a gay prostitute was sexually involved with a woman and fell hard enough for her to kill two people in their sleep?”

“No, man. You fucking dense, aren’t you? I think he was involved with Oscar.”

“Bullshit.” He was trying to throw me. Either way, my interest was piqued. “Why’d you think that?”

“Because that fucking weak-ass bitch came up to me crying for drugs the second I left Luanne’s place one night. He told me that he’d do anything. Suck my dick if I wanted. Told me I could ask Luanne’s husband how good he was.”

I didn’t say anything. All I did was read his face, studying it for any miniscule tell that would denote he was lying. A recurring twitch of the lip, a nervous tic that only grew worse, a rapid success of nervous glances down to the floor.

Nothing. The guy was giving better poker face than a Gaga song.

“Why, eh?” Tito asked, leaning in. “Why you so interested in what happened with esa puta?”

“It was a rumor on the street that I wanted to get clarified.”

“Well, you just clarified it.” He sat back in his chair, throwing a tattooed arm onto the back of it. “The only thing I’m responsible for is fucking that woman until she couldn’t walk straight. I think it was that fairy they have behind bars. Has to be. He was getting some good dick from that puta’s husband, then he had too much coke one night and lost his goddamn mind. The night I saw her she was all fucked-up in the head. She looked crazy. Like she’d just got back from fight club or some shit. She probably went off on that Ricardo bitch, since she knew Oscar was up to shit. And it had to be something she considered worse than sucking my nuts.”

It took a lot for me to restrain myself. I couldn’t lose control even though I wanted to deck this guy. “What do you mean? What did she look like?”

“Her shirt was torn up and her hair was a fucking mess, like someone tried yanking it out of the dumbass ponytail she always put it in.”

This was new. I had to keep digging, though. I felt like I was on the brink of something. I had to push. “Tito, be honest with me. Did you get in a fight with Luanne? Were you upset she married Oscar? Did she promise you she’d be with you?”

He sucked in his bottom lip and tilted his head back, as if he were looking down at me even though he was sitting just across from me. “I’m fucking done with this.” He was cracking. I told myself I would quit while I was ahead, but I was feeling greedy. I needed to figure out everything he knew.

“Did she accidently leave the keys in the frog that night? Did you walk in on them and fly into a fit of jealousy?”

“Fuck off,” Tito spat, getting up from his chair. “Interview’s fucking over.” He smacked the camera and sent it flying across the room. It bounced on the floor with a loud crack. I was up on my feet, sure to show that I wasn’t intimidated.

“Good luck figuring out who killed her.” He started walking, although I noticed him watching me through the reflection of the window in the door. “Shame. She was one of the best fucks I’ve had.”

I let Tito leave. When he was gone, I picked up the camera, turning it on only to hear it give its last dying clicks and whirls. I looked around the big empty room. This meeting was supposed to solve it all. Tito was the missing link, the one who had a connection, a motive, and a means. But there were no answers. Instead, I was left with a broken camera and more questions than I had answers for.

Except there’s one person who has more answers than he was letting on.