Page 83 of Last First Kiss
She turned around and slammed the bedroom door closed. “Fuck!” he yelled. How the hell was he going to fix this?
An hour passed and she would not unlock the bedroom door or talk to him. With no other choice, he left for the shoot. Thank God it was the final day.
* * *
She had bared her soul to the man. This is who she was, and he couldn’t accept it. He knew how important it was that she prove herself, yet he’d gone and gotten her fired. The tears fell freely from her eyes and she refused to let him see her this way. It wasn’t until she heard the door close that she left the bedroom.
Wiping her eyes, she paced around the room. She was no longer needed. Joey had commanded her to sleep and eat. As if she was a little girl. She’d then had a text from Leo, her oldest brother, asking if she was okay—and also demanding that she sleep. If it wasn’t that the other two were somewhere on a mission, she’d probably get the same messages from them. She hated for them to think her weak, and she cursed Rocco for doing this to her.
Annoyed, she went to the bedroom, took out her luggage, and started to throw her clothes inside. She was out of there. Fuck them all. This time she really was going to quit ICS and find another job. She didn’t want to be under her brothers’ thumb one more second.
Once she had everything packed, she went to the other room to put her computers away. One of the queries had finished. She couldn’t help but look at it. She scrolled down and it was a chat room. A lot of it was in Spanish with the words “Americano” and “Rocco” on it over and over again. She didn’t understand, but then she saw a photo of a weapon. An AK-47, an older model, exactly the same as the one used in the brawl with Mendoza and the one replicated on the set. Wherever she had stumbled on, it was inside this particular chat room where the answer lay.
Her curiosity started to pique as she continued to scroll. The most verbal person, the one who seemed to be funding and instructing everyone, had a handle called matador070765. Interestingly, though, someone had slipped and referred to him as Julio.
She wrote it down on a paper and then started a new query. Julio Matador. Matador translated to killer. Julio the killer. That was of no help. She searched for the numbers when it hit her, the date of the brawl. When had it happened? With a quick search it came out that it had occurred on October 4, 1965. So, what was 0707?
The date must have had some sort of significance. She continued to run queries, acknowledging that perhaps she was going insane. But now it was a puzzle she needed to solve. What was the connection between Julio and Matador and 070765? She deleted all her queries and started a new one. All births in Villavincencio on July 7, 1965 of children named Julio. The system ran, the black screen telling her that it would take an hour.
She let it run as she continued to research on the other laptop. She’d done extensive research on Mendoza and on his wife Victoria, but not on all the players of the story. She decided to search the captain, Joaquin Diaz, who held the alleged vendetta. It was a dead end. Nothing worthwhile came up.
She pulled her hair up into a messy bun, cracked her knuckles, sipped some more Red Bull, and searched Hilda Diaz. It was a fairly common name, but she found information right away about her elaborate wedding to Joaquin. Apparently Hilda was a local socialite and their wedding was a big deal to the villagers of Villavincencio. There were photos of the happy couple dancing, of the wedding dress, even of the invite. She read everything she could find and learned that Hilda died at the shootout at Ilusiones, “childless.” Then, when she zoomed in on the invitation, something stuck out. Hilda Maria Mata. Her maiden name was Mata. The translation of Mata was Kill.
Matador.
Mata.
Too many coincidences. She began a new query, putting in the same parameters as the other one but adding the last name: Julio Mata, births in Villavincencio on July 7, 1965.
And there it was. Almost immediately. Hilda Diaz had a baby. A woman who had died “childless” had had a baby on July 7, 1965 and the baby’s name was Julio Mata.
The rumors were true. Hilda had had the illegitimate child of Mendoza. And even though most of the players of the event had died on that bloody day, or from old age, Julio Mata could possibly still be alive.
She grabbed her phone and her laptop and ran downstairs to hail a cab. She needed to go on set. This was big. Julio Mata could possibly hold a grudge against his father or against the making of this film that portrayed his father in a bad light. Or shit, a love story about his father with another woman. The reasons why Mata might be upset were endless.
The hair on the back of her neck stood up. Something was off and she couldn’t pinpoint what it was, exactly.
As soon as she arrived at the set, she threw money at the cab driver and ran out of the car. She needed her wits about her. Running onto the set yelling and screaming about something—she still didn’t exactly know what—wouldn’t help. They were in the middle of a scene, but Rocco’s sad and concerned eyes quickly met hers. She ignored him and sat at her usual table, loading up her laptop but also looking around.
What were they planning? The prop guys were in their area polishing their imitation guns and setting everything up for the shoot. The costume designer was sewing an extra into his costume, and the makeup artist was patting Julia’s forehead with powder. Everything looked as it should.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Spelling hollered over his shoulder. “I need you to consult on something for us. Would you mind?”
Her eyebrows furrowed and she shrugged. “Okay.”
“We have these photos of the crime scene. What would it take to re-create this? Where would the shot have come from? I don’t like how it’s looking.” He rewound some of the scenes that were already shot.
They spoke quietly while the cast took a break. An hour later she felt confident in how she’d described the way she thought the shooting occurred.
“You’re good at this. Have you ever considered consulting for a living?”
“Really? I didn’t even know that was a thing.”
“Sure is. We always hire one but because of the short notice and the danger and budget cuts, we had to make do. You’ve been a real asset. I’m looking forward to sitting down and talking to you when this project is over. I have two films that require an expert and I’d love it to be you.”
“I’d love that,” she admitted. And it was true. That sounded thrilling. Traveling. Being on set. Not having to work with Joey. Not having to work behind a desk. Yes. This excited her.
Spelling explained to all the extras how the scene would go—where they would all stand and where they would all end up. He also placed Rocco and Julia where he needed them to be. Once everyone was clear the prop department handed them their weapons, the makeup artist retouched the scratches, blood, etc. and they were ready to shoot.
