Zade
The thud of techno music from the Agua nightclub vibrates through the walls, its bass a constant presence. Outside, the sound dulls, muffled by insulation, yet the ground still pulses with the beat. The club’s back door bouncer lies in a heap in the corner while Damon and I let the other capos file in. They would blend in with the crowd easily, unlike us—our height and build can be most inconvenient when trying to blend in.
Once they're inside, Damon and I count down silently. At zero, we slip in and follow them in, but head to the far side of the club, armed with loaded syringes in our pockets.
Getting through the dance floor to the other end of the club takes a few minutes since the place is packed with sweaty gyrating bodies. We step into the relatively quiet hallway that leads
