The hallway leading to Izzy’s flat smelled heavily of the peppery drift of marijuana and essential oils. There was a definite ruckus inside the flat, banging loud music pulsing through the walls. I knocked on her door, pounding my fist against the cracking red paint. The music stopped, and footsteps were heard up to the door.

“Marco? Mi bonito, I told you, packages are strictly delivered to Dmitri’s house. I don’t want no stinking deals here,” she hissed throught the door.

“Izzy? What the…”

“Oh, Menina! Uh, um, just….come in. Go, go,” she said, opening the door just barely enough for me to squeeze through and pulling me in quickly.

“Who’s Marco?”

“Ninguém, nobody,” she said, with a shrug. I should know not to ask about Izzy’s male aquaintences, but the name Marco has been popping up a lot lately.

“So menina, tell me about your sexy, sexy man.”

“That’s why I came over here…”

“So?”

“He’s blind. And his wife died. Recently, or something…”

“He’s what?!”