The Middleman


Sanchez takes his glass of Black Label from the bartender and notices the bartender hesitate when he puts down the drink. It’s hard to be inconspicuous, Sanchez thinks, with his football player physique, which came in handy back in 1995 when this club opened. Sanchez had worked during the opening of the club as a bouncer, but he rarely had to use physical aggression to restrain anybody; one look at his chiseled face and hardened black eyes was enough to send a bear back into its cave. Tonight though, Sanchez came here for a different job. Now, being an undercover cop, he sits at the bar to look for information on the drug case that’s been busting his balls for years. An anonymous tip told him that the middleman would be at the club tonight. Who could it be, he ponders, flustered. Sanchez scrutinizes the bartender. Could it be Anthony Valdez? No, that would be too obvious. Maybe one of his nephews; but, it would have to be one of them I had never seen before, he thinks, because this middleman has kept himself off the radar for quite some time.

The bartender catches Sanchez’s cold, hard stare: “You look familiar, I know you, right?” His voice lifts at the end of the question, and his jaw clenches nervously.
“I used to work here,” Sanchez replies.
The bartender’s shoulders visibly drops, “Oh, yeah, yeah, the bouncer. I remember you.”
Sanchez throws back the rest of his drink and pushes the glass towards the bartender. As the bartender refills his drink, he turns his chair to look at the dance floor, immediately being drawn to the graceful, lithe woman in the middle of the dance floor. It was as if she were dancing under a spot light. She moves effortlessly, with her long dark hair following a second after the powerful moves of her shoulders. Then, with the instinct of prey, she stops and turns her head in his direction. Their eyes lock, and she makes her way towards the bar.
“What is your name?” the woman says with a slow voice to Sanchez.
“Alex, yours?”
“Serena.” She then turns to the bartender and says in broken Spanish, “Una tequila.”
The bartender replies, “Cuál tipo?”
Serena responds gravely, “El oro.”
As the bartender starts to turn his back, she calls his attention, “Tío, me comprendes?? El ORO.” Her eyes widen; his eyes look scared.
“No tengo el oro hoy,” his voice quivers.
“Entonces, si no lo tienes cuando regreso…” she raises an eyebrow at the bartender and then looks at Sanchez sitting on her left. “Can you believe this guy? He can’t keep his top shelf in stock.” She looks back at the bartender and reprimands him, “Boy, if my dad finds out, you have a lot to lose.”
The bartender looked as if he has seen a ghost, and in a frightened, almost shaking voice, he replies, “I will have it tomorrow.”
Alex Sanchez has never been known to have the looks of that of his Columbian ethnicity, which allows him to unsuspectingly eavesdrop on conversations in Spanish.
“Who’s your dad?” asks Sanchez.
“He started this club back in ’93.” Serena then excuses herself to the restroom. Sanchez follows her from a short distance.
Serena makes her way towards the emergency exit and opens the door wide. Before the door closes, Sanchez has a chance to slide through. Sanchez then says to Serena, who is unaware of his presence, “I wasn’t aware there was a bathroom outside.” As Serena turns to see who is speaking, Sanchez quickly grabs her, disabling her ability to run away. There’s a flicker of her eyes showing the fear of being caught, but instantly the seductive eyes first seen at the bar return.
“Couldn’t wait to get me alone, could you?” Serena purrs in the arms of Sanchez.
With her free hand she starts to touch him, and he says “You’re very smooth, darling, and your reactions are quick. ’93 was a good guess, but the club opened in ’95. My job was to keep people like you out.”
She plays innocent and says, “I don’t really keep track of my father’s business.”
He says, “I think that bartender understood you pretty clearly, and so did I. We Columbians are familiar with ‘oro.’”
Sanchez has come to the realization that he has found, with great surprise, what he was looking for: not a middleman, but a middle-woman.