There’s a horrible sight laid out in an oddly fashionable manner, right in front of Lorenzo’s virgin eyes. A horrible sight so similar to his own helplessness. A horrible sight he knows he can’t cover his eyes to escape from. The expensive marble floors, recently waxed, recoated in pools of blood. Limbs sprawled every which way in a calculated, professional way. Every puddle is large yet just barely separated from the others. The different flavors of blood make no contact with one another. Each body part that leaks red is twisted into certain poses and shapes. All of it comes together to create a gruesome, meticulous puzzle. A landscape portrait of pain, a cruel display of absolute power and control. This is no crime scene, this is art. The artist he is too familiar with for his own comfort. Lorenzo knew his life had gone down a dark path, but he never thought he’d been sharing tongue with Lucifer.
His grip on the door handle behind him tightens. He needs to leave, he wants to, suddenly the urgency of needing to escape becomes overbearing yet he is frozen in place. After years of being an accomplice to somebody he thought was misunderstood, he never stopped to realize the danger he had thrown himself into. Not until now. Not until there was nowhere to hide from it. Not until all of a sudden there was a price to his newfound prosperity. The currency being death.
Putting together the pieces of the human puzzle below him, Lorenzo can make out the remains of a woman. She wore a red dress. A very expensive one. One he had seen on the TV the other night, when the woman was being interviewed. He can’t find her head, so he can’t see what her last expression was, but somehow–compared to the rest–he sees himself most in her. Perhaps it was intentional from the artist.
An outside force pushes the door behind him open. His feet remain glued to the floor; he’s stuck feeling every drop of impending doom fill him with terror and paralyze his body. The wretched sound of those expensive leather boots becomes the only sound in the entire room. They echo like a roar. With no warning, Lorenzo feels a hand greet his neck from behind him, in such a gentle, loving manner.
“Do you like it?”
His mouth opens, but Lorenzo can’t speak. The other man gets closer to his ear, and whispers to him, “Not so amateur now, am I?”
“Ignacio, what did you do?” Lorenzo chokes out.
The man takes his hand back and steps around him. Similar yet different to what Lorenzo was doing, he gazes upon his own work with morbid curiosity. As if he himself didn’t do it. “You’re gonna call me Leon from now on, okay? Understood?”
“Ignacio–”
“What did I just say?” He snaps back, though his voice remains sweet. As if he were lecturing a dog.
Lorenzo silences himself. The stern yet still kind tone brings back his guilt, and it buries his previous question as it piles upon itself. “I’m sorry.”
He keeps his eyes on Leon, and watches him circle around his painting of carnage like a lion admiring his hunt. Somehow, he never took the time to think about what they were doing all these years. All the petty crime, the simple favors with minimal bloodshed–maybe he just forgot the in-betweens, but somehow Lorenzo can’t remember how they got here. Both of them are fathers now, with plans for new lives. At least Lorenzo has those dreams, this whole time he thought Leon had them too. With blood money they were able to buy nice homes like this one. Rich homes in nice neighborhoods. Already Lorenzo has been setting aside the money stolen from their mutual enemies for the futures of his children. All this time, he really thought Leon had the same heart he did. He doesn’t know who this man is. This isn’t who he fell for. This isn’t who he kept secrets for.
The longer Lorenzo watches Leon step carefully around every corpse and every spill of blood, the more he recognizes what the real meaning behind his artwork is. He made the mistake of coming to his senses and thinking about everything. Just like he made the mistake of trusting anybody in his life ever again.
Leon breaks the silence. He knows what’s on Lorenzo’s mind, and it brings him satisfaction. His eyes are making contact with the corpse of the woman in the red dress. Leon turns his head towards him. “You know who this chick is, Lorenzo?”
Lorenzo recognizes her the most compared to the other amalgamations, Luna Alfaro. Despite the mess he knows who everybody in the room is, or once was. For once he’s too afraid to share his knowledge, and he knows Leon wants him to know. He slowly shakes his head.
Leon knows he lied, it does nothing but amuse him. He looks back at her corpse “Daughter of our good friend, Mr. Alfaro. The hot-shot celebrity.” he defiles his masterpiece by kicking the woman’s torso “I’ve had her before. She was a sweet woman. Great taste in fashion, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. You’ve always had an eye for those types of things. I’m sure you can tell what brand this dress is, right?”
Seeing him kick her corpse so carelessly startles something buried deep within him. Lorenzo complies out of a new type of fear.
“Aimée Alarie. Designer.”
Leon smiles “Sharp boy. You know how much this dress costs?”
“It was the only one of its kind. Advertised and paraded around to filth when she was last interviewed. Fifteen million.”
Leon grabs a cigarette from his pocket “In what nation’s currency?”
“American dollars.”
He reaches into his other pocket for his lighter. He doesn’t feel it.“I’ll admit, that I didn’t know. I was curious” he turns his head to look at Lorenzo “Come on over and light this for me, will ya? You’ve been standing in that spot like some kid all scared. Come here.”
Lorenzo glances at his own pocket briefly. “Because you’re scaring me. This is scaring me, man. What’s gotten into you?”
He huffs. His kind exterior falters for a moment “Quit acting stupid. If you wanna be that way, so be it, just toss the damn lighter over.”
He does as he says. Lorenzo reaches into his pocket to grab his lighter and slides it through the gap separating the different body parts. Leon bends down to catch it as it moves towards him.
Once Leon grabs the lighter, he stands back up. “Yeah, thanks.”
Again, the only sound left in the room comes straight from Leon. The flick of the lighter, and the sound of him breathing in the smoke and then blowing it out. From Lorenzo’s perspective, it looks as if he’s standing over the body of Luna Alfaro. He’s right in the middle of the field of bodies, it is his pride and joy. Leon sucks in not just the smoke, but his newfound mastery. His eyes meet again with the dress, the gems on it bounce the light from the chandelier above off of them. Something about it angers Leon.
“I’m sure you remember when she was interviewed.”
“Leon.”
He looks up, but not at Lorenzo “Yes?”
“What are you trying to say to me?”
“You know. Now go on and tell me. Tell me when she was interviewed.”
Lorenzo looks down at the dress again “Leon, what are you upset about?”
Leon’s voice becomes stern in a way it never has before. He has the control, he will have the control “You don’t get to ask questions yet.” he begins to breathe heavily, the cigarette in his hand begins to drop ash “Answer me, Lorenzo.”
He keeps his eyes on the dress, and only the dress. He doesn’t want to think about how he’s staring at a corpse anymore. Staring at his future. “That interview. It was only a few days ago.”
“Tell me the date!” Leon screams.
He jumps “Saturday.”
Leon crumples up the cigarette, letting his bare hand extinguish the embers “You know what you did. You know.” he stomps his way back towards Lorenzo “You know where you were now tell me.”
Leon ruins his piece further, stepping on the blood below and leaving traces of his boot in red. Such a unique pattern. Identifiable. Lorenzo stares at anything but Leon approaching him. Blood. Dress. Where is her head? Blood. Red. Dress. Red. Red. Red. Gold. Leather. Lorenzo knows he’s being yelled at but he can’t hear. Where is her head? Why is only her head gone? He hears himself be slammed against the door. Red. So much red. If the police came they’d know. Dress. A hand on his neck again, forceful, no love behind it. Red. The dress. Red. The dress.
“Where is her head, Leon?” he chokes out.
Leon’s breathing steadies, he looks back at her corpse but keeps his hand on Lorenzo’s neck. He notices how he’s left a trace in bloody shoe prints. “What are you talking about?”
“Her head! Her head… It’s gone. All the others I could find, where is hers?”
Leon stares for a moment. Eventually he shifts his gaze right back to Lorenzo’s face, and smiles. “Don’t you know how valuable her head was? I thought you were smart enough to get that through your thick skull.”
“I know you. I know it wasn’t just that.”
“Well. Hide things from me and I’ll hide things from you.” Leon snickers “I thought the dress was beautiful. I knew you’d appreciate it. I thought her tortured face would ruin your immersion. Because I think about you all the time and you never think about me.” his grip on Lorenzo’s neck tightens.
Lorenzo tries to keep his breathing steady “I love you. I just didn’t want to kill anybody. I never do. I hate what you’ve become.” he speaks as if these were his final words. His voice trembles.
His grip loosens ever so slightly “So what? You gonna tell the cops? You’re gonna go cry on the piggies so that they’ll keep you safe?” he moves his face closer to Lorenzo’s, emulating a kiss. He whispers to him “You’re in this mess with me now. Tell on me and you’ll only be telling on yourself.
The crime kings of the world kneel to me now. I’ve got every cartel in this country wrapped around my finger. What makes you think you’re so special? So protected? Your dying faith?”
“I know everything about you. Even the things you don’t know about yourself.”
Leon laughs in his face. “Oh really? Tryna say I’m all bark no bite? Does all of this not prove what I am now to you? You just wanna be the smart one.” he pulls Lorenzo’s body closer to his “You just wanna be in control again.” he growls.
A bit of bile comes up, which Lorenzo can taste from the back of his throat “I’ll get you caught one day, Leon.” the other man’s lips approach his and it sickens him.
“You stupid fuck…
Nobody will ever believe you.”