Stone Cold

by Kristi Belcamino

  “I know. I’ve done some research. I have the location of his main residence high above Mexico City to the north of the capital. It is heavily fortified. Like a fortress.”

  “Hmm.”

  “He spends the majority of his time there. But as luck would have it, I heard he might be going to his beach house this weekend near Cuixmala.”

  “And?”

  “He thinks it is a secret. He will be less guarded.”

  “Then that’s where I’ll go. Where is it?”

  “Between Puerto Vallarta and Acapulco, in a 30,000-acre biosphere reserve.”

  “Sounds nice,” I said.

  “What will you do?” She didn’t seem concerned, just genuinely curious.

  “I’ll try to reason with him at first.”

  Eva nodded, not taking her eyes off of mine. “And if he won’t listen to reason?”

  “Then I guess I’ll have to convince him.”

  “I can arrange to have you on a flight to the mainland tomorrow afternoon unless it’s too soon. But I think if you can beat him to the location of the beach house and establish yourself as a tourist in one of the nearby hotels it will be a better cover story if you are caught,” Eva said.

  “I don’t plan on getting caught.”

  “So tomorrow then?”

  “Yes,” I said. “The sooner the better.”

  17

  He had waited long enough.

  It was time.

  Everything was in place.

  The inquiries were a definite concern and at first had thrown him for a loop, but as was his way, he’d immediately pivoted, shifted gears, and come up with a solution that was not only viable but an even better plan than the original.

  He wondered why he hadn’t thought of it immediately.

  As soon as it had come to him, he’d known exactly how to handle all of it. The only difference was that this plan had a ticking time bomb.

  But that made it even more exciting.

  Soon, though, it would all be over. He could slip away and live like a king for the rest of his life.

  Nobody would know any differently.

  They would assume he’d been murdered as well.

  18

  A service worker’s van would transport Nico to his beach house under the cover of darkness. Inside, it was fitted with reclining leather seats and a full bar, which he only used for the seltzer water and healthy snacks.

  Anthony would be staying in Mexico City in an attempt to clean up the mess from the high-profile murders in the jungle. In hindsight, Nico wished he had given explicit directions to keep the slayings low profile. Instead, to send a message to the rival cartel, the bodies had been hung up above a sign that everyone could see. Journalists had easily gotten hold of the gruesome photographs and spread them across the Internet. The murders had made international news. Leaders from around the world were calling “El Jefe Grande” a barbarian.

  It was indefensible, but part of him had still wanted to issue a statement that the bodies of the men were those of rival cartel members. These were not innocent farmers, as some had said. Every man hanging from the fence was a cold-blooded killer and drug cartel member. But there was no opportunity to defend himself.

  Anthony said he would stay back and do damage control but insisted that Nico make himself scarce for at least a week, if not longer.

  It was a good time for him to hide out at the beach house. He needed to keep a low profile while the international crowd put pressure on the Mexican president to go after him.

  “Will Valeria be accompanying you?” Anthony had asked.

  “No.” He said it matter-of-factly, and Anthony didn’t raise an eyebrow. In fact, he seemed pleased. The greedy son-of-a-bitch didn’t like anyone in Nico’s life who might play a more important role than he did. Sylvia was the exception. His disdain had been barely disguised.

  Nico didn’t say he was looking forward to going to the beach house as a way to force a break between him and Valeria. She was busy getting the renovated zoo up and running with the new animals, so he thought it would be a good time to physically separate himself from her beguiling body. The sex was good, but not great, mainly because there was no true tenderness there. At least on his part. He couldn’t help but see her as a platonic partner. He liked her fine. But as he had for years—as a friend. And frankly, that wasn’t fair to either one of them. Not at their age. At least not unless she felt the same, which she clearly didn’t. He could tell she was developing feelings for him by the way she looked at him. He had to cut it off before it was too late and she got hurt.

  19

  It took me a few hours to get from Mexico City to the remote seaside village.

  I’d kept my carry-on bag tucked under the plane seat in front of me, sweating bullets. Even though I’d traveled with it numerous times, I always imagined I’d get caught with its contents and be thrown in prison for life.

  It was a specially designed bag that made my guns and knives invisible to X-Rays. I wasn’t sure exactly how it worked, which was part of the reason I was always worried it would fail. The secret compartments were lined with some magical material or something.

  But I was always a nervous wreck until I’d cleared security at airports. I tried to play it cool while acting like a spoiled heiress to dispel any suspicion. It wasn’t a tough acting job since I’d been exactly that not so long ago.

  The village north of Cuixmala was called Farallon, which sounded like home to me since we had the gorgeous wild Farallon Islands in San Francisco—a national wildlife refuge home to birds, seals, sharks, whales, and a crazy scary number of mice. The Mexican Farallon was surprisingly free of American tourists and tourist shops. When my car pulled into the small main street near the beach, there was a café, a restaurant, a small market, and two gorgeous one-story resorts with rooms that opened up to the beach and ocean beyond.

  The hotel across the street from mine was nicer, but mine was right on the beach. I would forego room service, maid service, and a heated pool for a back door that opened up to the beach.

  My room was tiny but clean. I immediately walked straight through the room to the sliding glass doors and threw them open to the sea breeze. Then I unearthed a bottle of whiskey and a pack of English cigarettes I’d bought duty-free at the airport and settled in at the small café table on my beachfront patio.

  It had been more than a year since I’d been this alone. My entire life for so long had been caring for Rosalie. I had left most of my vices behind during that time. But, now, I’d decided I’d treat my two days of waiting for El Jefe as a mini vacation.

  I would read at least three of the five books I’d plucked from Eva’s library and drink whiskey, smoke cigarettes, and nap in the sun until my skin turned bronze.

  Then, on the third day, when El Jefe was expected, I’d get to work. Figure out a way to meet him and then—bam! —surprise him by telling him who I was and what I was there for: to ask him nicely to back the fuck off. Or kill him. I was prepared to do that if it meant saving Rosalie from him.

  In case he could recognize me on sight, I’d brought thick stage makeup to disguise my scar, huge black sunglasses, a big floppy hat and bright orange, pink, and turquoise dresses that San Francisco Gia wouldn’t be caught dead wearing. But more than that, I intended to spread a story around town before he arrived that I was a rich divorcée from Palm Beach, Florida, licking my wounds—and looking for love.

  After a quick nap, I dressed in the pink dress with gold high heels and dark sunglasses that covered the upper third of my face and headed for the one restaurant in town.

  “Patio please,” I said in Spanish when the hostess greeted me.

  The hostess brought me chips and salsa, which I eagerly dug into until the waiter came.

  “A bottle of your finest Champagne,” I said with a smile.

  “Are we celebrating something senorita?”

  “Yes. I’m celebrating a divorce from my cheating, son-of-a-bitch husband. An
d there was no prenup, so right now I’m here to spend all his money, drink as much as I want, and maybe find a handsome Mexican man to spend some time with.”

  I figured I’d put it all out there immediately. The waiter didn’t blink.

  Instead he made an eloquent bow. “I can help you with the first two, but I apologize for the third, I am of no use. My wife would not approve.” His eyes twinkled.

  I laughed loudly and with delight. This was going to be fun.

  “I, unlike my cheating husband, respect marriage vows—my own and others—so we will get along just great, Mr…?”

  “You can call me Miguel.”

  “Thank you, Miguel. I’m Serena,” I said, using the name from the fake identification documents Darling had prepared for us in San Francisco.

  “Of course you are,” he said. “What can I bring you Senorita Serena?”

  “Please bring me your favorite dish. And something strong to drink in addition to the Champagne. My husband didn’t drink, so I have a lot to make up for in the drinking department.”

  He raised one eyebrow. “You are staying at the El Dolfin?”

  “Yes.”

  “I will be happy to serve you. But be careful. There is a group of American men here who are leaving tomorrow. They are bad news. I would not want you to drink so much you didn’t have your wits about you. I do not trust them. In fact, I would recommend my busboy, Sam, escort you back to your room. At least for tonight.”

  “Do you really think that’s necessary?”

  Miguel’s face grew somber. “I cannot say for certain, but there is some talk that maybe a local woman was mistreated by them.”

  I tried to keep my face neutral. It took a supreme effort, and I swallowed and gathered myself before responding.

  “I appreciate the warning. Can you tell me? Are they at the same hotel?”

  “No, the one across the street.”

  “Thank you. I will either leave early or I will take your kindly offer and ask for an escort from Sam.”

  He left to get my drinks, and I counted to ten to gather my wits.

  Every fiber of my body wanted to go back to my room, get my dagger, find the assholes, and slice their balls off. Mistreated? I would bet anything they’d raped the woman.

  It would, however, be best for me to keep my eyes on my mission. I would eat quickly and then retreat to my room for the night. In the morning, the men would hopefully be on their way out of this peaceful town. And safe from me.

  But just as Miguel brought me Champagne and a shrimp appetizer, a group of three loud American men walked out onto the patio. Everything about them disrupted the peaceful evening. The sun had just set, and the beach before me was bathed in a warm glow that matched the one in my belly from the alcohol. The men sat nearby and were laughing and speaking loudly about some fishing trip they’d been on earlier in the day. I was grateful for the large, dark sunglasses that hid my eyes as I studied them. They all wore wedding rings.

  I was not facing them directly but could tell right away when they zoomed in on me: Woman. Alone.

  The low murmuring of their voices sent a zing of alarm through me. I wasn’t afraid of them, but I didn’t need a confrontation to blow my cover.

  They stopped talking, and I could feel their eyes on me.

  The sexual innuendos reached me easily. They weren’t trying to keep me from hearing. They were trying to intimidate me. It made my skin crawl, and I was a killer. How must it feel to be an innocent normal woman and have those predators eyeing you and whispering like that? It filled me with fury.

  Do. Not. Blow. Your. Cover. Santella.

  I would ask for the check and leave before I went over there and kicked the biggest one in the teeth with my stiletto.

  Then one of them began singing that 1980s or 90s song, “I Wear My Sunglasses at Night.” And one of them said, “With my big titties hanging out.”

  I stood, my chair scraping back loudly, and rushed into the restaurant. Their laughter rang in my ears as I stepped inside.

  Miguel looked at me and shook his head. I handed him a fistful of pesos and headed for the door.

  “Do you want me to find Sam?”

  I paused, my hand on the doorknob. I was going to refuse, but not for the reason he thought. I didn’t want Sam around if the men followed me. I didn’t want any witnesses to what I was going to do. But it would also seem odd if I refused an escort.

  “I’m going straight back to my room and barricading my door. They just ordered another round of drinks. I don’t think they will leave until those come. Will you delay the drinks slightly to give me time to get back?”

  “Claro.” Of course.

  I turned to leave.

  “Senorita? You gave me too much,” Miguel said before I made it to the door.

  “That local woman?” I asked.

  “Yes?”

  “Is she okay?”

  He nodded solemnly.

  “What is her name?”

  “Catalina.”

  I pressed my lips together and walked out.

  20

  While still at his Mexico City home preparing to leave, Nico had received a phone call: something strange was going on in Farallon.

  Three drunken American tourists had raped Catalina, a local woman whom he’d known for years. When he found out the men were scheduled to leave soon, Nico decided to send some men ahead of him.

  “Make it hurt,” he said. “And make sure before they take their last breath they know it is because of what they did to Catalina. In fact, invite her to watch. Or participate if she likes. If she wants to cut off their manhood, give her the tools. Let her run the show. Or let her have nothing to do with it. It’s up to her. And when it is over, dispose of the bodies and all the men’s belongings. Prepare the townspeople for inquiries from American authorities. The cover story is that they rented a small boat one morning and never came back.”

  When he was satisfied the men would pay for what they did to Catalina, he hung up.

  Valeria was watching him.

  “You don’t mess around, do you?” she said lightly.

  “These men raped a friend of mine.”

  She nodded. He couldn’t tell if she approved or thought he was despicable.

  He sighed.

  “What is it?” She was suddenly in front of him, looking up into his eyes.

  “That phone call is why I need to have this conversation with you,” he said.

  “Oh, it’s over now?”

  “You just heard. You know my life. You cannot be a part of it. You are an innocent.”

  “But Sylvia could?”

  “She was not innocent like you.”

  “I’m not innocent, Nico.” Her words were calm.

  “But you are not damaged,” he said. “And I want to keep you that way.”

  It was true, but it was also easier than telling her he didn’t love her. Enough time had passed that any potential love would have blossomed by now. You couldn’t force things like that.

  “I knew this was temporary,” she said. “That’s why I tried really hard not to care.”

  He waited. Her eyes pooled with tears.

  “Mi cara,” he said in a soft voice.

  “Don’t,” she said and turned away. “It’s better I know now.”

  She picked up her bag and walked out without looking back.

  He felt a pang of guilt and sadness but, at the same time, he felt a small sense of buoyancy. The relationship had brought an intimacy he craved and needed but also a small burden of guilt since he did not love her. It was good that it was over. For both of them.

  21

  Once outside the restaurant, I slipped off my high-heeled sandals and walked as fast as I could without attracting attention. Nobody was out in the sleepy village. I listened for any sounds and turned to look frequently behind me to make sure nobody was following. I made it to my hotel without being trailed.

  In my room, I immediately changed into jeans, sn
eakers, and a T-shirt. I tied my hair back and tugged on a baseball cap. I strapped on my custom-fit holster and tucked my Glock, with its suppressor attached, inside.

  I crossed the street quickly, keeping to the shadows. The men’s hotel had only five rooms situated in a semi-circle around a swimming pool.

  It didn’t take me long to find their rooms, all in a row. They’d left all the lights blaring and the curtains open. The remaining rooms were also unoccupied.

  I broke into the first room easily by picking the lock with the tool kit I’d grabbed from my suitcase. Once inside each room, I rummaged around until I found passports and airplane tickets. I did this in each room. I set the documents aside and then proceeded to clear their rooms of all personal belongings by dropping them quietly into the pool. I wasn’t sure if the manager stayed at the hotel, but I didn’t want to attract any attention if I could help it.

  I wanted to teach them a lesson they wouldn’t soon forget. I realized I was trembling with rage. The most important thing was to not blow my cover. But at the same time, I could not sit by and let this sort of behavior take place.

  Tell their wives they’re going on a fishing trip to Mexico and then come and rape the local women? It was disgusting.

  In fact, what I was planning to do was letting them off easily. What I really wanted to do was cut off their dicks and stuff them down their throats. But I had to be cautious.

  I left all three doors wide open and sat in a lounge chair by the pool with my gun resting on my lap and my nerves on fire. I made two phone calls from my cell phone, managing to convey my desires in rusty Spanish, and then I sat back to wait.

  The men didn’t return until much later. I could hear them coming a half block away. I lit a cigarette as they drew near. They were talking about trying to find me and have a last “fling” before they left.

  I waited until they saw the open doors to their rooms. They turned and clocked that all of their belongings were either bobbing in the swimming pool or had sunk to the bottom.