I had an office in the part of Orlando where ambulances regularly pulled bodies from bullet-ridden buildings. It was an alright neighborhood if you didn’t mind Spanish. Once the neighbors knew you spoke the language, they called you mijo and cabrón just like one of their own. You could also listen in when they talked behind your back.

I was sitting behind my desk. A little boy played with an iPad in the reception room. A woman named Angela Dominguez sat across from me. She wore a tight blouse and white pants. She had gold hoop earrings and tall curly hair. Her face was black with mascara and her fist clenched a wad of tissues. Picutures of her husband, Eddie, were scattered across my desk.

“How long’s he been missing?” I said.

“Since yesterday.” Angela dabbed at her eyes and sniffed. “Sometimes he goes out with his friends, but he’s never been gone for this long. I’m sorry. I need to smoke. Is that okay?”

I slid open the window next to my desk and grabbed a stick of gum for myself. Angela pulled out a thick cigarette and a gold-plated lighter. When she had the smoke in her lungs a glaze came over her eyes like dull dishwater. The sweet, citrusy smell of marijuana filled my office, and when the lights came back on, she suddenly seemed ashamed of what she was doing. She stared down at her knees.

“Eddie has a record,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ears. “The cops told me to go away. They won’t look for him because he used to deal fent. But Eddie’s been clean for six years, ever since Juan was born. I guess that doesn’t make a difference. A missing drug dealer is just one less problem for them. That’s why I came to you. I thought you could help.”

I thoughtlessly stared at the pictures on my desk. The marijuana was messing with my head. I was dimly wondering how much longer her blouse could take the strain her body was putting on it. “What was he doing the last time you saw him? Was he going anywhere, doing anything?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered in a voice pillowy-soft and sad. “He was just gone when I woke up yesterday. I thought he’d gone out with his friends or gone to the store, but he didn’t answer my texts. Around noon I called him, but he didn’t answer. He didn’t come home last night or this morning.” She tilted her eyes up at me. They were wet with dew-like tears. “Do you think you can find him?”

Before I could answer, a small plastic clatter came from the other room. The iPad was on the floor. Juan stared at it with dumb, expressionless eyes. Angela turned toward him and shouted something in an exasperated voice. It was technically Spanish, though it sounded incomprehensible, so she was probably Dominican. She took a hard pull on her cigarette and held it in. Dullness returned to her irritated eyes.

“Mrs. Dominguez,” I said in a comforting voice. “You said none of his friends have seen him, right? Where did he work? Have you talked to any of his coworkers?”

Angela shook her head and her curls shook with a mind of their own. “He works in one of those ghost kitchens off Colonial Drive. La Hacienda, I think. I don’t know those people. He didn’t like me talking to them.”

“Any chance he’s dealing again?”

“Oh God,” she whispered. “I hope not. He said he gave that up. Why would he do that?”

“Mama,” Juan said.

“Sometimes people go back to dealing drugs if they need quick money,” I said. “Does he have any large bills or debts? A large purchase he’s paying off? Any reason for him to start dealing again?”

“No, nothing like that. We couldn’t afford it. And without him—”

“Mama,” Juan moaned from the other room. His iPad was still on the floor.

Angela turned and shouted something incomprehensible again. Juan slumped petulantly against his chair and sighed. She flashed a pained look and excused herself. I looked up the restaurant she mentioned, La Hacienda. It had a social media page listing an address and a phone number. I put the address in my phone and joined Angela in the reception room. She was scolding the boy in her garbled Spanish. He tapped blankly on the iPad, ignoring her.

“I’ll find your husband,” I said. “And maybe while I’m gone, a book for that child to read.”

“He doesn’t like to read,” Angela said, lifting Juan and setting him on her hip. “Puts him right to sleep.”

I showed her to the door. She stopped in the frame and gazed up at me with dark, smoky eyes.

“I’d like to give you an advance,” she said, “but money is tight right now. Is that okay?”

I told her I didn’t need an advance. She merely nodded and walked down the hallway, all things bouncing and hoop earrings jingling. Her perfume lingered in my nose like a forgotten childhood dream. When I went back to my office I could still smell her marijuana. I put out her cigarette and got in my car and drove to the restaurant.

La Hacienda was the corner suite in a three-office plaza swallowed by live oaks drooping with Spanish moss. The storefront was nothing more than a hand-painted sign leaning carelessly in the window. A white cardboard sign set to “Open” hung inside the front door. Inside the suite was a plain counter with a cash register and a white tablet. Laminated and taped to the counter was an aged, yellowed menu entirely in Spanish.

A young Hispanic man came around the divider blocking off the kitchen, followed by a middle-aged Hispanic man. The older man leaned against the divider as the trainee came up and beamed at me.

“Hi,” he said. “Welcome to La Hacienda. Do you need a menu in English?”

“Nah,” I said. “Just give me your best burrito. Any kind, any size, whatever it comes with.”

The trainee hesitated at the tablet. His senior came over his shoulder and told him in Spanish how to navigate the menus. The boy moved through it with careful taps, then smiled at me again. “Anything else?”

“You guys sell anything else, special order?”

“What do you mean?” he said.

“Maybe you have a second menu I can look at,” I said. “Something special that you don’t normally advertise.”

We all looked at each other for a few seconds. The trainee’s smile stayed frozen on his face, unsure if those customer service training modules ever covered something like this. The senior looked at me with open suspicion. Nothing passed through my eyes at all.

“Go to the back,” the senior said in Spanish to his trainee. He pushed him aside and planted his hands on the counter and frowned at me. “Go on,” he said.

I leaned on the counter. Our faces were inches apart. He smelled of spices and meat. “I want to know if you sell something more under the counter. Maybe something starting with F.”

His black eyes filled with indignation and hate. “What do you want?” he whispered.

“I’m looking for a friend of mine,” I said, switching to Spanish. “His name is Eddie Dominguez. Dominican, about five foot ten with a mustache. He used to be in the drug game.”

“I don’t know him,” he growled in English. “Get lost before I knock your lights out.”

“He went missing yesterday. Anything you can tell me—”

“I said I didn’t know him.”

I let the comment linger, then tried again. “His wife is looking for him. You know he’s missing, don’t you?”

“Read my lips, cabrón: get lost. Last warning.”

His fists were tight on the counter. With a little twitch he could rip the whole thing off and smash me through the window. I wanted to see if he would do it. I wanted him to make my day.

A minute later, my order came out in the hand of a tired fat Mexican who dropped it on the counter and slouched back toward the kitchen. The senior pushed the greasy paper bag my way and jerked his head toward the door. I took it and left.

Outside, as I crossed to my car, the trainee came out from the side of the building. He jogged across the parking lot and stopped a few feet away from me.

“You’re looking for Eddie, right?” the kid said. “I know Eddie.”

“That so?” I said. “What makes you think I want to know anything about a guy named Eddie?”

“I heard you talking to Julian.”

“So what?”

The kid shrugged. “So maybe I saw Eddie drop a few thousand dollars in cash somewhere. So maybe you want to know where it is.”

“Maybe,” I muttered. “When’s the last time you saw him?”

“How about some names first, man? I’m Gomez.”

I stared at him waiting for my answer. He grinned at me, uncomfortable. “Hey, come on,” he said. “I told you my name, now you tell me yours. Just be friendly. What do you do? You dress nice, man. You a manager of some place? Health inspector? Tax collector?”

“Tax collector,” I said, pretending to be impressed. “Good guess, kid. You got it first try. I’m Buck Aldermann. You know Eddie, huh? He’s supposed to work here.”

“He works here, alright. But I haven’t seen him for a few days.”

“Any idea where he went?”

“I’ve got some guesses,” Gomez said.

“Alright, well, want to trot them out?”

“I don’t know. I can’t really remember too well.”

Gomez was eyeing me slyly. I just barely stopped my eyes from rolling into the back of my skull. I motioned him closer and showed him a twenty. I was giving tax collectors a worse name than they already had. He palmed it and glanced at La Hacienda before he spoke.

“Eddie came by a few days ago with a briefcase,” said Gomez. “Totally calm, didn’t even talk to me, which isn’t like Eddie at all. He just went into Julian’s office, put the briefcase inside and walked back out. Of course after he left I went in to look at it. It was filled with money. I’d never seen that much dough in my life, man. Where do you think he got it?”

“Couldn’t guess,” I said. “Is it still in the office?”

“I don’t know. Julian keeps the office locked up tight, now. He never did before. Things got weird after he dropped it off, man. It’s real tense in there.”

“You got any ideas where Eddie might be staying?”

Gomez shrugged again, still sly. I thought about Angela drying her eyes in my office. I thought about Eddie with a knife in his back somewhere. I thought about giving Gomez five in the gut just to knock the image out of my head. I gave him ten dollars. He palmed it a little slower with a little more frowning.

“I heard Julian talking to him on the phone,” he said. “Something about a palmetto.”

Palmetto Arms, maybe—an apartment complex in a quiet part of town where white men in golf shirts sit around in cream golf carts. I thought that was enough to go on. I opened my car door and started to climb in. Gomez grabbed the frame.

“I saw what he was wearing last, too,” he said. “I know what kind of car he was driving. Taillight’s out. I have the license plate, too.”

I pulled the door closed and rolled down the window. “Thanks, but I’m not a cop. Just a tax collector.”

“Come on, cabrón,” he groaned. “Tax collector? Even I don’t buy that. What do you need Eddie for, really?”

“He owes the state of Florida thirty-two bucks,” I said as my engine roared to life. “Don’t spend that money all in one place, now.”

I had my lunch in a park and then drove out to Palmetto Arms. The leasing office looked like a yacht club. It bordered a crystal lake with a manicured shore. The front parking lot was crammed full of cars; beautiful women in white dresses sashayed by on the arms of handsome men in tailored blue suits. All around the office stood a large iron gate, barring the entrance into the club’s patio area where lights and music danced the salsa together. There wouldn’t be a lot of Hispanics wandering around a place like this, even if their music was playing. I didn’t even think I should be there. I turned on the radio and waited.

Around four o’clock, a car arrived at the side of the leasing office and a Hispanic man in dark clothes got out with a bag over his shoulder. I recognized him from his picture; it was Eddie. He went along on foot into the complex, first through a side entrance and then up to his apartment.

I followed at a distance and waited outside his door for a few minutes. I put my ear to the door and listened. A television was on inside. I knocked once and stood outside of the eyepiece. No change in noise came from inside. I knocked again and this time I called his name.

Inside, the television turned off. Quiet footsteps pressed into the carpet on their way to the front door. I put my thumbs in my pocket and stood in front of the eyepiece like a cigar-store Indian. The door cracked open just enough for a man to slip a ray of hope through it.

“No English,” Eddie said in a tight, nervous voice. “Sorry.”

“A friend of yours sent me,” I said in Spanish. “Said you might be in trouble. I’m a private eye, Eddie. You want to let me in so we can talk?”

The door closed and the locks inside jangled like shackles dropping off a free man. The door opened a little more this time. I could almost see Eddie’s face. “You alone?” he said.

“Just me and the carpet,” I said.

“Got a gun?”

“No, no guns.”

The door flew open. Eddie Dominguez stood just behind the doorway. A shiny silver Beretta gleamed in the yellow-orange hallway lights, pointed right at me. My lunch twisted uncomfortably in my stomach.

“Alright,” he said, low and cautious. “Come on in. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

I walked slowly into his apartment, confident and unconcerned, while my heart pounded double-time. It was a small, simple apartment. His TV was on a cheap stand that faced a couch with a well-worn middle cushion. The coffee table was stained with mug rings. An armchair faced the TV and the front door. The walls were bare but the floor was clean, and three pairs of shoes were in the entryway.

“Got a lot of visitors tonight?” I said.

“It’s a friend’s place,” Eddie said, closing the door. “Go to the couch. Walk slowly.”

I did as I was told. Eddie took a seat in the armchair, the gun still in his hand.

“What do you want to talk about?” he said.

“You want to put the gun down first?”

“Talk or walk.”

“Sure, okay,” I said. “About two days ago you walked out on your wife and child without a word to either of them. No phone call, no text, no goodbye note in someone’s lunch. The next day, Angela shows up in my office smashed to pieces begging me to find you. Here I am, on account of a little luck. I don’t know what kind of fight you had or what trouble you’re in, but you’ve really messed up your girl. She wants you home.”

“Of course she does,” Eddie said without any tone in his voice.

We sat staring at each other in the aching quiet.

“Anything else?” he said.

“I’m guessing you don’t want her to know where you are,” I said. “I’m guessing that’s on account of the money you’re carrying.”

Eddie stayed quiet, but his breathing hitched very slightly.

“What’s it for, anyways?” I said. “Getting back in the drug game?”

“I’m clean now,” Eddie said venomously. “And I don’t know anything about money.”

It got quiet again. A clock ticked somewhere in the apartment. For a few moments I could almost hear the party down the street. I was comfortable in the quiet; Eddie was not. His glares entreated me to say something, to get his temper rolling so he’d have an excuse to use that gun on me. I was patient. I was indifferent. I didn’t have to wait long.

“Where’d you hear about the money?”

“I thought there wasn’t any money.”

“What if there is?” Eddie said carefully. “What would you know about it?”

“Just that there’s a lot of it. I’m not here to take any of it from you. I’m only here to find out why you left home, and when or if you’re coming back. If you aren’t, you might want to make some of that money disappear so Angela and Juan can still have a life after you’re gone.”

Eddie’s eyes were roiling black pools. “Did Angela tell you to say that?”

“No, sir. Wrote that one myself.”

Eddie hollered over his shoulder. Two men came out from the bedroom, each with guns in their hands. I recognized Julian, but it took me longer to recognize the other one. He was the fat cook from La Hacienda.

“Get up,” Eddie said.

“Oh?” I said. “Is this the part where I say, where are we going, and you say shut up pendejo?”

I was grinning. Eddie put the gun to my forehead and pulled back the hammer. I stopped grinning.

“Get up, pendejo,” he said again, quieter. “We’re going out.”

They frisked me and marched me outside. The sky was purple and pregnant with thunderheads. Eddie shoved me into the back of a sedan and got in on the other side. Julian got behind the wheel and the Mexican got in the passenger seat. It was getting dark.

As we drove out of Orlando a steady rain came down like the curtain at the end of an opera. Eddie didn’t look at me. Neither of the other two spoke. I watched the city lights drift away into quiet suburbia, and eventually those faded into monotone orange streetlamps. We were entering the backwoods.

It was too quiet in the car. I knew that this was just a joy ride to shake me up. It wouldn’t be my first time getting my teeth kicked in, and hopefully not my last. Eddie shifted in his seat. It was enough for me to break the silence.

“What’s the money for?” I said.

“Not your concern,” he said.

“Sure. It just concerns Angela that her husband is buying a shipment of fentanyl.”

“I’m not buying fent.”

“Alright, then it bothers Juan that his dad is a mule.”

“I’m not a mule, either,” Eddie said. “You need to learn to shut your mouth.”

“What for?” I said angrily. “Unless you want to dirty up this car right now, I’m going to have my say while I still have oxygen in my lungs. Or you can pipe up for me and save me the trouble.”

Eddie finally looked at me, languidly and without concern. I saw that what he was planning was no different to him than planning a surprise party, and still took much less effort. He kept his gun on his lap, right where he knew I could see it.

“What’d you think about Angela?” he said.

I shrugged. “Nice enough girl.”

“What was she wearing when she came to see you?”

“Hoop earrings. White pants, white shirt.”

“She do her hair? Have a lot of makeup on?”

I nodded.

“Cleans up nice, doesn’t she?” said Eddie, wistfully. “That’s why I married her. There’s always pretty girls but there’s only ever one pretty girl. Sometimes she gets away. I was lucky enough to get mine. Maybe I’d have been smarter to let her get away.”

While I listened I got out a piece of gum from my pocket and started to chew.

“The money is Juan’s,” he said. “Angela and I saved it after I stopped selling. It’s his college fund. We had to pull back on how we used to live—how she’s used to living. She took it well for a while. When Juan started school things changed. Juan, you know… He’s just a little slower than the other kids. He missed joining the Gifted program this year. That’s when Angela started talking about the money again. Maybe we use a little for this, a little for that. Saying that Juan might not amount to much, so we should use it for ourselves. She started wearing her old clothes and reading her old flashy magazines. I told her he’s going to be an engineer or a doctor someday. He’s going to be somebody special. You just have to give him more time.”

Eddie was looking out the window now. I carefully spit my gum into my hands, split it in two, and rolled it between my thumbs.

“I caught her taking hundreds out one night,” said Eddie. “Big stacks, not enough to just do her hair and nails, but real big money. You know where she was going? On a shopping spree. A shopping spree, with my boy’s college money. I should have blackened both her eyes. Maybe it would have been easier. Instead I talked her down, made her go to bed, and took the money early the next morning.”

“So why take me on a road trip?” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Because you found me. If I let you go, you’ll tell Angela where I was staying. Even if I move the money she’ll find a way to find me again, and she won’t stop until she’s got it back. I won’t let her have it. It’s his money. Maybe I’m overreacting. I can’t change that now. I have to make choices like these to protect Juan and his future.”

Eddie was still looking out the window. I put the gum wads into my ears.

“We’ll stop soon,” he said. “I’ll let you pray or have a smoke. You can jerk off if you want, and then we’ll leave you bloody enough for the cops to find you with their dogs. Okay?”

“Okay,” I muttered, and unbuckling, I lunged for his gun.

I yanked the seatbelt over his neck and pinned the gun to his leg. It went off, going straight through the driver’s seat. Julian yelled, going first for his ears, and then for his chest. The Mexican was throwing himself back and forth to turn around. His gun was in his hand.

Eddie’s door popped open. I fell over him, and the Mexican’s gun left a hole in the back seat. With one elbow I pressed down on Eddie’s jaw, grabbed his gun with both hands, and shot near the Mexican. It hit him. It was not the way I wanted it to go. It was too late. He slumped into the driver’s seat while Julian wheezed curses in Spanish.

Eddie yanked his hand free and swung at my face. I shot him in the leg, pulled myself free, and shot him again. He cried out something that was lost in the wind and slowly he went limp, half-hanging out of the car. I could smell hot blood pouring from an open artery. Julian had a hand pressed to his chest, still wheezing, still cursing. We were slowing down.

I climbed over the center console. Julian hadn’t touched his gun. His face was sweaty and swollen. I took it and the Mexican’s and stuffed both in my waistband. The car came to a stop under a cold blue streetlamp.

I kicked open my door and stood in the warm, pouring rain with my teeth chattering and my legs ready to give out. I collapsed back into my seat and sucked in gulps of clean air. Behind me, Julian coughed and spit and started to gurgle.

By the time I got to the driver’s side he was dead. Up and down the road there were no houses, nothing but pastureland for miles, nobody for me to call, nobody to look out and see what happened. I sat for a long time feeling sorry for myself.

I left the bodies by the side of the road. I took everyone’s keys, and with Julian’s phone I dialed 911 and tossed it in the brush with them. I knew Florida Highway Patrol would grill me for it, but my mind was somewhere else.

I drove the car back to town and parked it at La Hacienda. Julian’s keys let me into the shop and into the office at the back. Tucked underneath his desk was a small, square black valise. I opened it. It was filled with money.

In the morning I called Angela Dominquez and told her to come to my office right away. I paced around like an angry bull before the rodeo. She arrived in an hour, freshly showered, in a yellow sundress and flats with her hair down and a pretty straw hat with a ribbon resting on her head. I kept my thoughts optimistic. We sat at my desk again. I forgot to speak, so she took the liberty.

“You found Eddie?” she said hopefully.

“Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, I found Eddie. I’m afraid your husband is dead.”

Nothing changed in her face. My words could have stopped her heart or passed right through. I could have said it was going to rain and seen the same thing. Something slowly began to dawn in her eyes, like a dim light coming on in a room around the corner. She tucked her hair behind her ear.

“Oh,” she said.

I said nothing.

“Did he say anything?” she asked. “Did he… mention… Anything? Before he died?”

That perfectly manufactured look was filled with hope, with longing. I hated looking at her. I felt all my blood boiling in my veins. In my disgust all I could wrangle out was an angry sigh.

I stood and slammed the valise on my desk and knocked it over. Billfolds scattered across the wood.

Angela’s eyes widened in surprise. She moved in quickly, and then she paused, looking at me like a beaten dog asking for a drink of water.

“Go on,” I growled. “Take it. Take your damn money. Count it if you want. I didn’t take a cent.”

She scrambled through the money with her mouth half-open, fingering every bill, mouthing every denomination and stuffing it back into the valise. As she reached the end she sped up, as ready to be through with the whole thing as I was. A happy smile slowly spread over her face.

“So,” I said. “Everything okay?”

“More than okay,” Angela said cheerily. “Every dollar accounted for.”

“Good.” I had to grit my teeth to take it. “I’m happy.”

She closed the valise and stood up, smiling. “I am, too.”

“Really?” I said. “Because I just told you your husband is dead.”

Angela looked at me blankly. I saw then where Juan got it from. Her little eyes searched her toolbox of tricks for something to fool me with, and she landed on surprise again. “I’m just shocked,” she said. “I guess Eddie got back into the drug game after all?”

“He didn’t.”

“Oh,” she said again.

“You don’t seem surprised to see all that money,” I said.

“Well, I’d heard Eddie kept some money stowed away for—”

“Juan’s college?”

Her eyes glazed over with indignation. My tongue was coming loose.

“Lot of nerve,” I said. “You call me to flush out your husband, over whom I nearly get myself killed, and all the while you knew where he was and that he took the money with him. And you knew if I made it out alive, if I got Eddie out of the way, I’d have to bring the money back because then it’d belong to you. What happens if I got killed? Then what?”

“I call the police?” she said as if it was obvious. “Then they’d have to find Eddie.”

“Sure. And I’m just the dead guy in a ditch somewhere.”

“But you’re not dead! So it all worked out.”

She was smiling. I couldn’t think of the words I wanted to say. She turned to go. I caught her at the elbow, gently, and she turned those smoky eyes on me again. I felt weakness in my voice.

“Is any of that going to the kid?” I said. “Any at all?”

“That’s my business.”

“It’s his money.”

“Well, actually, it’s my money now.” She brushed my hand away and headed for my door. “Send me a bill in the mail. I’ll pay it, with a bonus for your troubles.”

“Thanks,” I said in a voice as tired and resigned as a man standing at the gallows.

After she left the silence sent me sinking into my chair. What did it matter to me what one woman used her own money for? Or one man, for that matter? Money of that scale was squandered every day in casinos, in yacht clubs, on penny stocks and crypto, all for the fun of it. Pointless money used for pointless things, like putting dumb kids through expensive schools just because their parents were alumni. I always thought that letting one kid try to make something of himself was worth something. Anyone could be anyone if they were given a shot to prove it. Maybe no one believed in that anymore. Maybe it didn’t matter.

The following week, Angela sent me three grand in cash and a note expressing her gratitude. I saved the cash and I destroyed the note.