Two days after his rendezvous with Mónica, Ricardo was still possessed by a singular pursuit: finding the missing statues. However, it was clear to anyone with a brain that confronting the person, or possibly persons involved, would take more than mere curiosity and devotion to fine art.

One body had already been slaughtered during the theft, so one more murder would simply be adding a grain of sand to the proverbial desert. This quest called for some firepower, especially the kind that was easy on the eyes.

Rico sat in a café across the street from the police station, hoping to catch a glimpse of a particular detective. The previous day, he'd bought a black baseball cap at the market. His long, dark hair was too distinctive and putting it in a dreaded man bun was not an option; he had more class than that. Cutting it all off wasn't thought worthy of consideration.

He sat at a table near the window, pretending to scribble in a notebook. On his head, he wore the cap; his beard was trimmed down to a five o'clock shadow (the most he was willing to cut off). And lastly, Rico had managed to find a pair of black-rimmed glasses to complete the look of a starving novelist. Every so often, he'd lift his head up to make sure Sonia hadn't eluded him.

What does a beautiful and strong woman do when she's not wearing the badge? She obviously takes care of herself and must bless the gym with her presence regularly. But in her line of work, fitness is an occupational hazard...how do you unwind when you're not trying to solve a case, Detective Mendoza? Or are you one of those people who leave the office without leaving the office? More importantly, how do you feel about sushi?

As he was reaching for his coffee, Sonia stepped out of the door across the street.

We've got some movement.

Immediately, Rico rose to his feet, stuffed the notebook and pen into his backpack and made for the door. Sonia rounded the corner of the red brick building, heading towards the parking lot. Her pursuer, meanwhile, tried to unchain his bike without looking like he was in a hurry. And no sooner than he'd stowed the lock when a red Mazda 6 left drove onto the street from behind the station.

Shit! Shit! Shit!

Rico jumped on his bike and gave chase at a reasonable distance. Along the way, he fell back some, trying his best to remain out of her sight. Thankfully, her car's colour made the task more manageable than it would have been otherwise.

At a red light, a stunning mural came into view on his right; Ricardo stopped at stared.

Interesting detail. Did the artist leave their signature, I wonder?

Painted on the side of a building was an Earth in the shape of a human heart; half made of flesh, vibrant with life; half was withered and disintegrating into dust.

Brushes often say what words fail to convey...

A car horn blared. Rico's head snapped forwards. He scanned the sea of vehicles with flashing brake lights but to no avail; Sonia's car had vanished. Ricardo's heart sank like a bronze sculpture falling into a lake.

Should've kept my eyes on the prize. But maybe she didn't go too far.

Ricardo rode up to where he'd last seen Sonia's Mazda. He peered down the side street and came up dry. A heavy sigh escaped his mouth, followed by a head shake. With frustration and resolve vying for control over his will, Rico put foot to pedal, continuing forward.

On the next side street, fate decided to be kind to the artist. In a parking lot behind an apartment complex was Sonia's elusive red car.

Hard not to love Luck when she's being a lady. So this is where my lovely detective calls home. Nice barrio (neighbourhood) too. There're a few restaurants just up the road and a park across the street—oh shit!

Sonia walked out of the building towards her car. Rico zipped forwards and made a hard right on the next lane. He looped back around to Sonia's street and breathed a sigh of relief.

Must have just forgotten something in her car.

He rode over to the park and found a tree that allowed him a good view of the detective's apartment. After almost an hour, Rico was getting ready to call it a day when Sonia stepped outside in a tight, red dress that desperately wanted to remain above her knees.

Am I getting a fever or something? My face is burning up.

The detective walked to the end of the block and entered a building with a glowing neon sign that said: Palapa Roja. Rico whipped out his phone and looked up the establishment.

Well, that's one way to get the body of a goddess. Looks like a change of clothes is needed.

* * *

Just over an hour later, Rico returned, courtesy of a cab, to where he'd seen Sonia go inside, hoping she was still there. He wore a black blazer over a white V-neck tee with a pair of dark wash jeans. Before leaving his apartment, Rico made sure to throw on some of the cologne his sister-in-law had given for Christmas as things would likely get up close and personal.

The energetic atmosphere washed over Ricardo as he wove through clusters of people towards where the music was loudest. The bar came into view to his left, so naturally, a pit stop to wet the whistle was made. He left with some rum on the rocks and found a lonely table just off the stage area.

Shortly after taking a seat, his eyes caught the unmistakable lady in red whom he'd hope to find. Sonia's body moved like rhythmic water. It wasn't so much dancing as it was being one with the music. Rico threw the drink down his throat, stood up and walked on to the dance floor.

Rico tapped the shoulder of the man who'd been dancing with Sonia; he reluctantly stepped aside.

"Fancy meeting you here," Ricardo smirked.

Sonia rolled her eyes. "Give us a minute, Manuel." He nodded and walked away. She turned to Rico. "I was wondering when you'd show up."

"Excuse me?" he put on his best surprised face. "I got a text from one of my compadres—"

"Spare me the lies," Sonia walked past him, heading towards a table.

"What makes you think I'm lying—I have the text if you'd like to see it."

"Black baseball cap," Sonia flipped her hair before sitting down.

"Forgive me, but I'm not following—also," he bent down, picked up her purse and hung it on the back of her chair. "You shouldn't leave that on the floor; not unless you want money to run away from you, of course." He pulled up an empty seat, turned it around and sat down.

Sonia laughed. "You're certainly a riot, Mr. Torres. Though, I have to hand it to you; when you commit to lying, you don't break that engagement."

"Maybe it's the drinks I had before dropping by, plus the ones the bar here, but I'm really struggling to understand just what it is you're accusing me of."

She crossed her legs. "Consider this a final warning shot, Mr. Torres: I don't make baseless accusations. When I ask these kinds of questions, it's because I already know the answer. So, why did you follow me here?"

I like when you tell me what to do.

Rico exhaled. "Guilty as charged."

"Thank you. Now go on."

"I have it on good authority that the Botero statue at the station is a fake."

"I'm curious as to how you obtained that information, Mr. Torres, but—"

"I'll take that as an admission," he interjected. "Which brings me to why I'm here," Rico looked Sonia in the eye. "You need my help."

She shook her head. "I've solved countless cases prior to this one, and it might be the drinks, but I don't recall you being there for a single one."

"Granted," he conceded. "But this is different."

"How so? Enlighten me."

"The artist community in our fair country tends to be very closed off to outsiders. I don't doubt your skills, but why not make your job easier by having a man on the inside: use an artist to catch an artist."

"Why would I enlist the help of my number one suspect?"

"I thought you spoke to Tina—"

"What makes you think that was enough to clear you?"

Rico smirked and pushed back his hair. "Well, for one thing, I'm at a salsa club talking to you."

Sonia smiled and shook her head. "Fine. It seems your story had sufficient merit."

Guess Tina didn't fancy the conjugal visit option after all. Or maybe it was a missed opportunity on her part.

"So is that a 'yes' to having me aboard the investigation?"

"Not quite," Sonia tilted her head. "This arrangement is off the record and on an as-needed basis. Is that clear?"

Sure. I'll be your occasional boy toy.

"Of course."

"Good."

"Shall we seal the deal with a dance?"

"You can salsa?" Sonia raised her eyebrows.

Rico nodded. "My grandfather said that a gentleman should always know how to dance. Besides, I spent an eventful weekend in Cali once."

Sonia stood up and extended her arm. "Show me."

Ricardo rose to his feet and gently took her hand. But before he could lead her to the dance floor, Sonia yanked it back.

"What's wrong?" He asked.

"My phone." Sonia grabbed her purse, fished through it and pulled out her phone. "Talk to me," she said.

Sonia turned away from Rico and covered her other ear. Then she lowered the phone and said, "Looks like you'll have to demonstrate your dancing skills at another time."

"Did one of your friends conveniently call you as well?"

"I wouldn't call Juan a friend per se. He's just the coroner, and it seems we have the identity of our victim."