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says. I lower my head and wave goodbye to Hunts before I make my way up the stairs, the mixture of fresh and fetid air reigniting the stink in my nose. It's disgusting. If hell is real and smells like something, it'd be pretty damn close to this.
 
    The
botanica
is only a few blocks away so I don't bother driving. I'm not going to risk not finding a parking spot. The stink of the scene is still in my nose and I spit to the side to try and dislodge it. An old woman comes out of the
botanica
, pushing a wire shopping cart. I hold the door open for her and she smiles warmly at me. Her face is all wrinkles and she grins at me toothlessly, thanking me in Spanish. I just smile back and duck into the store.
    The owner of the store comes out of the back holding a box in his hands. He's dressed all in white and doesn't look like the kind of guy who would own a shop like this. Rows of candles, herbs, statues of saints. It smells like incense in here. Danny is a young guy, not even thirty years old. Good looking, more Taino blood than Spanish. Curly dark hair. Used to sell drugs but never got busted for it. Something happened and he took up Santeria and working with his uncle. His uncle was killed about a year ago and I helped clear Danny and his practice of the charges. He and his uncle were some of the good people. I didn't give a shit if they killed animals from time to time. They turned a coke dealer into one of the model citizens in the neighborhood.
    Danny looks happy to see me and he puts the box on the counter. Some music plays in the background, some old salsa music. “Luis,” he says. “What brings you here?” He's calm and goes to the little fridge he keeps behind the counter and pulls out one of those cheap sodas, coconut flavor. “You need a drink?”
    “Business, not pleasure, Danny,” I say. It comes out grim. Danny twists the cap off the soda and gives me a strange look.
    “What's up?” he asks me and I pull out the receipt. It's still in the plastic bag and I place it on the counter. The door opens and a different little old lady walks in. Danny waves at her before he looks over the receipt. He gulps. I see it.
    “You know who bought this?” I ask. “A few days ago? I know you got cameras in here.” I point to the corners of the shop and wave into one of them. “This person a regular?”
    “No,” Danny says quickly. I can tell he knows the guy and he looks worried. Thinking back to the bodies in the room, I'm not surprised. “I don't usually deal with this guy. He paid cash, before you ask.”
    “But you know him,” I say, stating the obvious. “I can't tell you what he did but I can say, it was very, very bad. I don't want him doing it again. I don't think you would want him to do it either.”
    Danny just shook his head. “He's not a
santero
,” he insisted, pulling out a video tape from under the counter. He slides it over to me. “He's not from this neighborhood. He's from the Upper East Side.”
    “Why's he coming down here to cause trouble?” I ask. Danny just shrugs. “What'd you sell him?”
    “Just a few candles. Black and green and red. He came in around closing time.” Danny takes a sip of his soda and his hands are shaking. “Is everything okay?”
    “I'm going to try to make things better.” It's the truth. “Do you know his name?”
    Danny can only shake his head and he sets the soda on the counter. “No. But people call him
El Maboyero
.”
    El Maboyero
. I look at Danny and I can't help but feel it's a bit theatrical. Come on. “You guys need to chill out with this,” is the advice I give him. “Can I call you if I have any questions?”
    “Yeah, definitely,” he says. “Just,” He's nervous, still. “Be careful.”
    “Right,” I say. I put the tape in my bag and I walk toward the door. The eyes of the saints follow me on the way out, or at least they seem to. They're just plaster and paint after all.
    “I'll keep you in my prayers,” he calls after me. I