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Overview
Nicholas Esperanza couldn't believe his luck. A winning $30 million lotto ticket took him out of NYPD Homicide and bought him Sueño Latino, a popular salsa club on Manhattan's Upper West Side. Dancing, drinking, partying, women--every day was a good day. The nights with his girlfriend, Legs, are even hotter. But now, Legs needs Esperanza to do her a solid: find her missing 14-year-old niece, Alina. With that, Esperanza's luck is about to change.
Before he knows it, Esperanza's plunged into a dangerous sexual underground of S&M clubs, fetishists, pornography, and murder. Anything can be bought and sold, especially innocence. The most beautiful faces mask the most vicious predators. As the quest gets more personal, and the lines between good and evil blur, Esperanza spirals into the darkest recesses of his soul, to places he never wanted to see. He's in so deep that turning back is not an option.
With The Devil's Mambo, Jerry A. Rodriguez delivers a gritty, wholly original urban noir--an adrenaline-charged, erotic thriller that's as twisted as it is addictive.
"Follow Nick Esperanza on his descent into the artfully portrayed dark and. . .seamy underbelly of the big, bad city." --Gary Phillips, Bangers
"A wild ride on the wild side. Rodriguez pulls no punches." --Rick Mofina, The Dying Hour
"The Devil's Mambo is dark, bad and gave me a case of the serious creeps. Heavy, tough stuff but also unputdownable. Rodriguez is working mean streets that haven't been worked before. He's the real thing. Dig this book." --Robert Ward, author of "Four Kinds of Rain".
Jerry A. Rodriguez is a writer-director who has staged dozens of plays Off Broadway and has conducted film-making workshops for such places as the Film Society of Lincoln Center. He wrote and directed the critically acclaimed short film, El Deseo, which was heralded by the Village Voice as "a Sydney Lumet-like gangster saga that revels in the beauty of the Puerto Rican visage." Jerry directed Problems of the World Today for Warner/Elektra, one of the very first Hip Hop videos to premiere on national television by the first rap group to be signed to a major record label. His writing will be featured in the upcoming short story anthologies, The Darker Mask and Bronx Biannaul II. He lives in Brooklyn, New York.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780758217103 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Kensington |
| Publication date: | 05/01/2007 |
| Pages: | 288 |
| Sales rank: | 619,472 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.50(w) x 8.50(h) x 0.68(d) |
Read an Excerpt
The Devil's Mambo
By Jerry A. Rodriguez
KENSINGTON BOOKS
Copyright © 2007 Jerry A. RodriguezAll right reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-7582-1710-3
Chapter One
"No kind of sensation is keener and more active than that of pain; its impressions are unmistakable." -The Marquis de Sade
Nicholas Esperanza thought he was dead. He couldn't open his eyes. Couldn't move his body. Last thing he remembered was the buxom stripper popping the Ecstasy tab in his mouth while giving him a wild lap dance. The rest was a blur. Fun-filled and crazy, but still a blur. So, maybe he wasn't dead after all. Maybe this was simply the worst hangover ever.
He concentrated his thoughts and finally managed to sluggishly open his eyes. Bright sunlight gushed through the windows and made his head shriek in pain. He clamped his eyes shut again, for a moment uncertain where the hell he was. Esperanza reached into his pocket, whipped out a pair of Calvin Klein sunglasses and popped them on. Now he could see without his pupils melting. The room steadily came into focus.
Oh, okay. He'd awakened from his post-party coma on the floor of his upstairs office, in his nightclub, Sueño Latino-Latino Dream.
On the floor beside him were his gold lighter and matching cigarette case. Esperanza reached out, picked up the case and opened it. Inside were several nicely rolled joints. Hestuffed one into his mouth, sparked it up and toked on it, enjoying the primo weed. Otherwise, Esperanza didn't move. His cobalt-blue Hugo Boss suit was covered in dust and carpet fibers, and wrinkled like an old lady's ass. A few feet away, there was a mustard-yellow, very comfy, Italian leather couch he could've crashed on. His brain was pounding as if a crew of gangsta rappers was locked inside, shooting off monster rhymes to a ceaseless, thumping ghetto beat.
Coño, I shouldn't have polished off that bottle of Bacardi last night.
He smiled to himself as the memories of the bachelor party he and his boy Havelock attended came flooding back in Technicolor images of champagne drinking, cocaine sniffing, pot smoking, porn videos, strippers getting off with dildos, girl-girl sex acts and all kinds of other debauchery. Havelock had thrown the party for his cousin Justice Lightbourne. If Justice's fiancée found out what went down last night, Esperanza wondered if she'd still want to get married.
It took forever for Esperanza to sit up. At least the weed helped soothe his headache a little. As much as he drank these days, he rarely got hangovers anymore, but last night he'd gotten a little too carried away. He looked at his Hermès watch. Three PM. Esperanza sat there for a long moment, like a toddler in a playpen anxiously waiting for a grown-up to pick him up and take him out to play. But no one was coming any time soon. It required a ridiculous amount of effort, but Esperanza finally managed to heave himself to his feet. The office spun for a few seconds, then stabilized to a low-key sway.
Okay, Esperanza. You can do this. One step. Two steps. Three.
He dropped into the high-back leather chair behind the expansive glass-and-chrome desk. Behind him, the panoramic windows, which offered a spectacular view of Manhattan's Upper West Side, were letting in too much blinding sunlight. Though he should've gotten up and drawn the blinds, his body refused to obey the "get your ass up" command he repeated to himself several times.
As he continued to puff on the joint, his eyes scanned the far wall. It was decorated with framed citations, awards and newspaper articles detailing his career from Navy SEAL to N.Y.P.D. homicide detective. A couple of newspaper headlines screamed: Lotto Cop Wins 30M! That was the final chapter of his life in law enforcement. The ghetto kid from El Barrio in East Harlem, the oldest brother of three whose father prayed every day for him not to wind up on drugs, or in jail, or dead, like so many of the other boys in the neighborhood, was now a very wealthy man.
Esperanza retired three years ago at the age of forty. No more crime scenes, decomposing bodies, search warrants, stakeouts or courtroom testimony. All of it wiped away by the very first lottery ticket he ever purchased. He hit the jackpot, and it completely changed his life. Even made him a small-time celebrity for a short while. Esperanza appeared on a couple of talk shows and some local morning news programs, and did a television commercial for the New York State Lottery. Because he cut an imposing figure, with his rugged, dark, Boricua good looks, a couple of Hollywood agents believed he had the right stuff to become an action-movie star. A Puerto Rican Steven Seagal. Can you imagine that? The talent agents offered to rep him and get him auditions at the major studios, but Esperanza politely declined. He'd seen enough violence in real life and had no interest in playing pretend in some silly movie. Hell, he retired from the force because he was fed up with dealing with liars and criminals, so why would he want to go into the movie business?
Life was bien chévere. Esperanza was still madly in love with Legs, his high school sweetheart. She was formerly an investment banker, and now co-owner and manager of his club. She was five ten, with luscious legs that came up to her neck and glorious raven hair that came down to her waist, all topped off by a keen mind and discriminating taste. With Legs's guidance and advice, Esperanza made some wise investments in various stocks, bonds, mutual funds and startup dot-coms, and they paid off handsomely. Unless he screwed it up in some kind of major way, he'd never have to work another day for the rest of his life.
Esperanza owned the hottest salsa club in New York, a beach house in Isla Verde, Puerto Rico, an apartment with a stunning wraparound view of Central Park and several vintage sports cars, including a 1967 Jaguar XKE coupe, a 1963 red Corvette convertible and a 1971 Ferrari Spider. A total clothes hound, his closets were full of Armani and Hugo Boss suits, Donna Karan dress shirts and Gucci shoes. Esperanza was a man-about-town without a care in the world.
Except for that damn cup of coffee he so desperately needed. He could also use a shower, a workout, a steam and a massage. Vaya, his afternoon was already mapped out for him. Esperanza picked up the phone and buzzed Legs at the bar downstairs, where she was most likely doing inventory.
"Hey, angel," he said in a raspy voice.
"Well, well. The dead has risen," she said. Esperanza loved the fact that Legs's voice was always sultry, as if she'd just had multiple orgasms.
"You could've woken me up, you know. Helped me get on the sofa."
"Floor's better for your back."
"Keep it up with the smart mouth, mami. I'll deal with you later. Do me a solid and ask Maria to bring me a giant cup of café negro."
"I'll think about it," she replied and hung up. He also hung up the phone, thinking about what a pain in the ass Legs could be sometimes. That's why he adored her so much. She kept him on his toes with that sarcasm of hers. A Puerto Rican Princess, a salsa diva, she was all the woman he'd ever need.
They don't make 'em like her anymore.
He stubbed out the joint in the crystal ashtray, dropped his head onto his folded arms and impatiently waited for Maria, the assistant manager, to show up with a dose of pure caffeine.
Legs stepped into Esperanza's office and stopped dead in her tracks when she heard the shower running. Esperanza, who was hiding behind the open office door, got excited as he spied on her. Legs dragged her fingers through her waves of shimmering hair and seemed to be debating whether she should come back later.
She ran her tongue over her meaty, eminently kissable lips and yelled, "Mira, Nick. Why are you buggin' me to come see you if you're taking a shower?"
Esperanza kicked the door closed, and when it slammed shut, Legs reeled around, startled by the loud noise. Before she could utter a word, he grabbed her and roughly pushed her, face first, against the door.
"Assume the position," Esperanza demanded, and without question, Legs complied.
He was naked except for a towel wrapped around his waist. She bent forward and firmly planted her palms flat against the door, then placed her feet wide apart, like a suspect ready to be patted down.
Legs's body provocatively filled out her white, silk blouse and her tight, black skirt, which came to her knees and was slit high up the back. Before touching her, Esperanza's eyes took a leisurely stroll along her sumptuous cuerpo. She was a straight-up mami, blessed with the kind of curvas that convinced even the most devout atheist that God does exist. Esperanza's hands traveled up and down her thick thighs, then vigorously explored every inch of her warm body, caressing, squeezing and fondling.
"What did I do, officer?" she asked in an exaggerated girly voice. Legs admired Esperanza's muscular body. He was six foot one, with copper skin, a square jaw and neatly trimmed, jet-black hair with streaks of silver at the temples. She always said he looked more like a rugged 1940s movie star than a cop.
"You have the right to remain silent," he said as she arched her back and rubbed her impressively round ass against his erection, which eagerly poked through the towel. "But I don't necessarily want you to exercise that right."
He pulled up her skirt, revealing round, smooth cheeks accentuated by the line of a black thong. On her lower back, there was a tattoo of the sun glowing amber. Inside the sun, written in black Chinese calligraphy, was the word "hope," the translation for "esperanza." Legs wriggled her big Puerto Rican butt, urging him on. Esperanza pressed against her, and buried his face in her smooth-as-silk hair, which smelled faintly of coconut. She reached back, grabbed his cock and aggressively stroked it.
"You're not gonna hurt me with your nightstick, are you?"
"Only if you resist." He spun her around and kissed her slow and deep, his hand crawling underneath her skirt, pulling her panties to the side, penetrating her already soaked pussy. Legs recently got a Brazilian bikini wax and was extremely smooth down there. Her musky sex-scent hit him, and nothing turned Esperanza on like the bouquet of a woman ready to be ravished.
"Then resist I will." She gazed at him for a moment, her honey-hued, enigmatic eyes catching fire.
She kissed him with such ferociousness, she made Esperanza's head spin. He loved kissing those voluptuous lips of hers, so incredibly supple, hot tongue darting and spiraling and exploring. From the very first beso they shared back in high school, no woman had ever kissed him with such unbridled hunger.
She gave him a hardy shove to the chest, knocking him back, then leaned against the door and leisurely peeled off her clothes. Her breasts weren't too big or too small. They were just right as far as Esperanza was concerned. Still taut and pert, and sprinkled with tiny, reddish freckles, they were beautiful.
"Think you can handle me, papi?"
Her resplendent beauty entranced him. The golden afternoon light hit her body in a way that highlighted the arc of her hip and the roundness of her perky breasts. Her finely textured piel canela-cinnamon skin-gleamed with tiny beads of sweat, and he could no longer contain himself. Esperanza attacked her and crushed her body against his, sucking on her ear as she moaned. He slipped his cock inside her and was consumed by pure euphoria as he plunged deeper with every thrust.
She nibbled his earlobe and whispered, "This could be constituted as sexual harassment, you know."
"I guess I'll have to report you, then."
Legs and Esperanza melted into each other, mouths and legs and hands and fingers and tongues colliding and then drawing away, investigating and teasing. Sinking, crashing. Breathlessness. Candela-heat. Eyes searching, making declarations of love, revealing passionate secretos. Arms encircling, thighs clamping, voices clamoring.
"Oh, Legs, mi amor. You drive me so crazy."
"Yeah. You like that, papi chulo, don'tchu? Mi macho. Dámelo."
Against the wall. On the desk. The floor. The sofa. Everything on fire. Skin, tongue, pussy, mouth, cock. Raw and tender. Loving and nasty. Kisses and caresses so familiar, yet always, always full of surprises.
Legs stretched and groaned. "Hmm, that was fab, you horny beasty boy, you." The office glowed bright orange as the sun lackadaisically retreated to its daily hiding place. Legs and Esperanza cuddled on the sofa, basking in rapturous satisfaction, limbs tangled in a knot of sheer tenderness. She grabbed his face and mashed it. "Tan chulo." She planted a sloppy kiss on his mouth, followed by a hard slap to his ass. "Time to get dressed. Some of us have a business to run."
He grabbed Legs's wrist and looked at her platinum watch. "You can stay a little while longer."
"My boss wouldn't appreciate my slacking off." His fingers gently painted circles along the small of her back where the tattoo was. "Fuck 'im."
"I already did." Legs rested her head on his broad, hairy chest, and he squeezed the breath out of her.
As far as Esperanza was concerned, to hell with the money, the cars, the clothes. These were the best of times, this soothing intimacy they shared. The tenderness. The laughs. They'd been through it all: Breakups. Reconciliations. Marriages to other people followed by divorces. The bottom line was, through the toughest of times, they were always there for each other, no matter what. If there was ever a couple that should be called best friends, it was Legs and Esperanza. He could always be himself with her. No pretending. Ever. And that was a rare and wonderful thing.
Esperanza smiled thoughtfully and said, "You're my heart."
Even after all these years, Legs beamed every time he said those words. "And you're mine." She gave him a peck on the cheek and chuckled. "By the way, I'm impressed that you managed to survive Justice's bachelor party," she said as she pinched his nipple.
"Barely."
She looked up at him, squinted and scrunched her face. "You look like hell, papito. Got suitcases under your eyes, and shit."
"The price one pays for having fun."
"You didn't bang any of those strippers last night, right?"
"Of course not. Why pay for pussy when I have you?"
"Hey. Remember," she said and gave his balls a gentle squeeze, making him wince. "This is the most expensive pussy you'll ever have."
"And worth every goddamn penny."
"You can give me the sordid party details later." She climbed off of him and began collecting her clothes. "I have to get back to work."
He turned onto his side, rested his head in his hand and admired her as she dressed.
"I'm going home and-"
"You don't have time," Legs said. "You have to meet with Abuela in an hour."
"Shit, I forgot I was supposed to see your grandmother."
Legs wiggled into her skirt and chuckled. "With all the drinking and smoking and who knows what else you did last night, I'm surprised you even remember your name."
Esperanza sat up and realized his headache was gone. No better cure for a hangover than sweet, nasty sex.
"This is about Alina, right?" Not again. Dealing with Legs's buck-wild niece was not something he was in the mood for.
"Don't be coy," she replied as she slipped on her shoes.
Legs's grandmother had been raising Alina and Alina's younger brother, Cookie, ever since Legs's sister Soledad-whose life revolved around cocaine, alcohol and bad boys-abandoned them several years ago. Alina used to be a well-behaved kid, until she entered that warped dimension called puberty, and now she seemed hell-bent on following in her mother's footsteps. She ran away a couple of times, not liking her great-grandmother's strict, traditional rules, and Esperanza was drafted into finding her and bringing her back. He was tired of this whole business with Alina. They needed to send her to an all-girl Catholic school or boot camp or something. He'd gladly pay for it.
"Chasing after runaways isn't one of my favorite pastimes, you know. We went through this last year."
"She didn't run away this time," Legs said, sounding exasperated. "She disappeared."
"What makes you so certain?"
"Abuela said so." Legs picked up a brush from his desk and ran it through her ebony waterfall of hair. "Besides, interrupting your partying for a few days won't kill ya."
"Says you." Esperanza searched her eyes, knowing he didn't have a choice in the matter. "I'll speak with your grandma, then make some inquiries. Okay?"
Legs sat down beside him and casually played with his flaccid penis. "That's all I ask."
"You're lucky I can never say no to you," he said as he became harder with every dreamy stroke of her hand.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Devil's Mambo by Jerry A. Rodriguez Copyright © 2007 by Jerry A. Rodriguez. Excerpted by permission.
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