“Of all my children, you’re the one I worry about the most,” Eduardo said. “Andres is set in who he is, but you cost me sleep.”
“Me? Por que?”
“Because you worked so hard to be everything I need you to be that I truly did not know if you would ever become who you were destined to be,” Eduardo said, releasing him.
“Papa, these past two days showed me who I am.”
“And who might that be?”
“I am El Bocaracá!” he said with pride. “I am the eldest son of Eduardo Benicio de la Marta Castanza Delgado. I’m the heir and the bringer of justice to our people. No more shall they journey by feet to foreign lands in a hope for a better life and lose the ways of our culture to survive in one that is not their own.”
“You sound as if you have grand plans, mijo,” Eduardo said.
“Papa, my plans are to sign that contract and put the wedding off for 18 months,” Yuńior said. “I need to travel and see the world. In between, I plan to clean out Central America and get rid of the scum lords, overlords and men who have been given too much power. I’ll start by stopping any drugs the Cartel ships to the country; cut off the supply of drugs and cut off the money. Then I’ll root them out one by one and transport in fresh water and sturdy housing and fetch the people home.”
“That is going to cost money, Yuńior,” he told his son.
“No worries. I’m going to take the money these scummy men already have and put it back into the economy,” Yuñior said. “Tito Montoya is making a cool million each shipment. Let him make the sale and take the money, and I’m going to take his product. Then, I shall take his money. It’s a win for all, no?”
“No. You’re going to make some enemies, and I can’t give you my blessing on such a campaign,” Eduardo said.
“What blessing? This conversation never happened,” Yuńior said. “I shall be on another continent when it occurs and you will have no knowledge either. At one point, I may even be standing beside Tito when he is hit. Keeping up appearances and all, extending an olive branch from the Delgados by providing him the name of his biological father, which I’m certain will also keep him occupied mentally.”
“It is a risky venture,” Eduardo said, “but the idea of men around the world robbing the daughters of Central America of their innocence and heritage is troubling to all in the Cartel.”
“You and the Cartel shall discuss this matter and a course of action, smoke cigars, and brag about the annual revenues you earn,” he said, taking off the blood-stained shirt. “But Papa, I’m going to do something about it.”
“Yuńior, I understand, but keep in mind, Irena is still here,” Eduardo offered.
“Don’t worry, Papa. I’m going to do something about that as well,” he said with a wink that stunned his father.
He’d come back so different from when he left. Eduardo was concerned as a father but as the Czar he had to remove himself from the scenario and look at the bigger picture. The frame of the big picture cracked when his son removed his shirt. The spots of blood covering his chest made Eduardo really notice the busted lip.
“Yuńior you seem so different,” he said, “and your lip. What happened?”
“Tito punched me in the mouth,” Yuńior said with a wry grin. “Plus, I think I may have made a friend, a true one, like you and Saxton the Blakemore. This man, Brody the Johnson, had my back, figuratively.”
“What? Tito, put his hands on my son!”
“Papa, relax. I handled it. I covered his torso with nicks from my favorite knife,” Yuńior said raising his eyebrows. “I gave him the antivenom which is worse than the cuts. He is going to be shitting all night like his crew from the Abuelita’s chili.”
He started to laugh as he made his way to his bathroom. “I shall be down for dinner and to sign the contract and begin courting my fiancée.”
“The girl, Yuńior? Is that over?”
“Jesus is Heaven, yes,” he added. “She’s a dangerous woman. Good to love, but hell on a man’s well-being. My time of being a child is over. I’m ready to lead.”
He closed the bathroom door and started the shower. Eduardo could hear his son whistling as the water hit his body. So many parts he didn’t know, which in his mind was a good thing. If it was brought to his attention, he wouldn’t need to act surprised, he would be. Yuńior had astounded him tonight.
He’d never been prouder.
IRENA’S EYES LIT UP as she arrived for dinner to find Yuńior at the table waiting for her. He pulled out her chair and seated himself to her right, taking her hand into his own. Her cheeks flushed as her parents took seats at the table. She held her tongue throughout the meal, also remaining quiet as dessert was served and Señora Delgado played on the piano. The shock of it all continued as Yuńior accompanied his stepmother with the violin, playing a beautiful concerto which made Irena nearly swoon.
“Yuńior,” Enrique Villareal called his name. “You seem, different. Is everything, well? We shall sign the contract tomorrow?”
“Señor, we can sign the contract tonight if you wish,” he said. “However, it is with the understanding that the wedding will not be for 18 months. I plan to travel a bit before becoming a husband and a father. During these travels, I shall visit my intended often, and with a chaperone have her accompany me as I visit some countries like Dubai and Portugal. Of course, that is with your blessing.”
“Of course. Of course,” Enrique said, “with a chaperone.”
“Irena, do you approve of this choice?” Yuńior asked her. “It shall also give you an opportunity to complete your studies at the University, in addition, a bit of travel before taking on the role as the Bocaraca’s wife.”
“Sí, Yuńior, I approve,” she said, feeling suspicious. “The house is warm. Can we take a stroll through the garden, my intended?”
“It would be my pleasure to escort you,” Yuńior said, walking over and offering his arm. “We shan’t be long.”
Quietly, he escorted her out the side door and down the pea gravel walk path. The full moon illuminated the route not covered by the solar lights Ryanne had ordered from an online service. Yuńior knew she wanted to be alone to ask him questions.
“You took care of your... issue?” she asked, squeezing his arm.
“Not an issue, but a boyish flight of fancy,” he said, stopping. “I’ve made my choice, and it is you.”
“Will you continue to visit her during this year of travels?”
“No, I shall not,” he said, looking her in the eyes. “She is behind me. You are the future in front of me. I am moving forward.”
“Forward,” she repeated, stopping on the walk path to view her intended in the dim light.
Yuñior released her arm, reaching inside the inner breast pocket of his jacket to remove a small velvet box. Opening the container, the light glinted on the gemstone as he presented the box to her. Taking to one knee, he offered the contents, she holding the box and he plucking the ring from the velvet bed in which is rested.
“Irena, with my own hands, I chipped this stone from the vein running through my mine. The stone, intricately laced with yellow and green emeralds were chosen for you to make this ring,” he said. “I offer it to you as a symbol of the union between not only our families, but our countries.”
Irena sighed at the chivalry that she hadn’t expected from him. He steadied her shaking left hand as he slid the ring onto her finger, flipping her wrist to place a kiss on the pulse, visibly showing through the throbbing heart beat which raced from his actions. My intended.
“Signing a piece of paper means nothing to me if the woman I am to marry does not tell me from her own lips that she takes me, flawed, and eager to prove myself in this world to be her husband,” Yuńior said softly. “Will you take me Irena? I present the ring and ask you to be my wife, the mother of our children, and the future Lady of Lands. Irena Villareal, will you marry me?”
“Yes, Yuńior, I shall be honored to be your wife,”
she said, wiping away the silly tears which trickled down her cheeks. This part she hadn’t anticipated. She never expected to like him as much as she did. Her husband to be stayed with tradition and took to the knee in an old-fashioned manner to ask for her hand.
Yuńior rose slowly, his gaze intent, looking her in the eyes, wondering, hoping and seeing his future in a whole new light. He gave her a full-on toothy smile which made her knees go weak. The glint in his eyes, powerful, promising, and slightly wicked made her know that inside was a strong man, destined for so much more than anyone imagined. She could feel the confidence radiating from an inner soul rising to an unseen challenge. This was not the man who left a few days prior. This one was...a new man.
“Mi Papa was right. You seem different,” she said. “Is there anything I need to know?”
“Sí, there is,” he said. “In my 18 months away, I do expect to reap the benefits of being the first man’s touch you shall know on our wedding night. I will not expect during our courtship to take liberties with you before our vows. Is this clear?”
“Yes, it is clear, but what about you?” Irena asked.
“What about me?” Yuńior responded surprised by the question. He moved closer to stand in front of her. The full lips he’d thought about from the moment they first met danced in his mind. He lowered his head to take a taste of the mouth which would henceforth belong to him on late nights, long phone calls, and strolls along private beaches where he would walk shirtless, holding her hand. The kiss was tender, non-aggressive, but possessive all in one breath. Yuńior maintained a comfortable distance between their bodies to preserve propriety.
Irena sighed in pleasure that her affianced wasn’t a bad kisser, but a gentleman as well. She looked forward to taking the year and a half to get to know each other before the wedding. More than anything, she wanted to see the tattoo on his body. Her father was the water cobra of Paraguay. As old as he was, the muted colors of the viper were still strong, indicating his power.
Her betrothed would also be a powerful man once he stepped fully into his role in the Cartel. Women would come for him to have an evening and record the memory of sexing the Bocaracá. Yuńior wanted her to stay chaste. Her mind questioned if her betrothed would reciprocate? It was a silly question, but she had to ask.
“Señor,” she said softly, “will you save yourself for only me until our wedding night?”
“Hell no,” Yuńior said, clearing his throat, channeling Big Sarge, his step-mom’s 65-year-old African American father. “I’m the mufuckin’ Bocaracá! I’ve got shit ta do!”
-—Fin—
Epilogue
8 AM, AUGUST 18, 2019
The sound of a phone ringing jolted Mr. Yield out of his sleep. Fumbling around the nightstand, he located his phone. A number he didn’t recognize showed up on the display. He was ready to ignore it until a text came through which read – Answer the call.
“The hell?” he said, sliding his finger across the screen. “What?”
“That is no way to greet a friend so early in the morning,” a voice said, making Yield sit up in the bed. He knew the voice, but didn’t want to talk to him.
“Hey, how are you?” he said into the line as Millicent turned over in the bed, mumbling. The trip to Disneyworld took more out of them than he’d realized, especially with Shanice, Mr. Mann’s wife, the bottles of wine the ladies put away each night during their girl talk. The boys, Chad and Rocky had gotten along well, making the trip overall an enjoyable family vacation, and the wives insisted they do it again for the holidays and as often as they could in between. He didn’t care much as long as his wife was happy, and Mr. Mann echoed the sentiment.
“You are not awake on a beautiful day as today?” the voice asked.
“We are sleeping in; you know after vacation.”
“Rise my friend. I have gifts for you and the family,” the voice said.
“You’re coming here?”
“I am here,” the voice said. “Come open the door.”
“The fuck?” Yield said, hanging up the phone and looking for his pants.
“What is going on?” Millicent asked, struggling to wake up. “Someone is at the door. How did they get past the security systems?”
“That’s the same thing I want to know,” Yield said, going to the front door and seeing no one. He ran to the back door to see Yuńior Delgado on his fucking back porch with a bag in his hand.
“Buen Dia!” he said as Yield opened the door to let him in. “I was going to let myself in then thought about not wanting to get shot, so I called instead.”
“How in the hell did you get past my security system?”
“That is what you call security? My friend, you need an upgrade,” Yuńior said, breezing past him to see Millicent standing in the kitchen in a robe. Her hair was mushed to one side and sleep still held her eyes hostage. “Hey, you’re married to a Black American woman too!”
“Yeah, but what are you doing here? This is a long way from Colombia,” Yield said.
“I was thinking about how you stood beside me, ready to...” he looked at Millicent, “fight the good fight. Su esposo is a very brave man.”
The voices woke Chad, who came into the kitchen, moving instinctually to his father’s side. Yuńior smiled at the boy, who shrank back, nearly hiding behind his Dad’s leg.
“I bring gifts, coffee from my country and presents for the family,” Yuńior said, handing the coffee to Yield and an elongated black velvet box to Millicent. “My country is famous for its emeralds. I found a new vein last year in my mine, and the stones from it are only sold in select markets around the world. This one I hand selected for your wife.”
“Ahh, thanks, but who are you?” Millicent asked, looking to her husband for clarification.
“I am Eduardo Benicio de la Marta Castanza Delgado, Yuńior, of Colombia,” he said, giving a mock curtsey. “I wanted to stop and pay a visit to my friend, break our fast with a traditional American meal, drink the coffee grown in the fields of my family’s land, and have the chit-chat. The phone is so impersonal.”
“A chit-chat,” Mr. Yield said, opening the bag of coffee. The aroma was heavenly as he sat the bag on the counter, looking for a measuring cup to scoop out the grounds to make coffee. Millicent’s focus was on the necklace in the case, and the small box Yuńior handed that Chad included a travel sized globe. “Care to tell me what this talk is about?”
“Ah sí. Sí. I’m planning to spend the next year or so traveling the world,” Yuńior said, offering a smile. “I’d like for you to come with me.”
Mr. Yield wasted a good portion of the grounds on the countertop. Millicent’s eyes were wide, boring into her husband’s back, who refused to turn around. They had only been married a few months; his current travel schedule was bad enough. Leaving his wife and son alone for a year was not an option. Instead he continued making coffee as if nothing unusual had been spoken.
“Although I’m flattered, Señor, I have a job that I can’t just leave,” he said, still refusing to turn around.
“This work you do where you find things people have lost, pays you what, 100, 150 a year?”
“Something like that,” Yield said.
“Bueno, that shall be your salary from me as well,” Yuńior said, clapping his hands. “Plus, travel per diem and bonuses.”
“Señor, I have a family,” Yield added, turning around slowly to look at his wife. “I can’t just up and leave my life to be your travel buddy.”
“No. No, when school is not in, they can travel with you, us,” Yuńior said. “My fiancé, Irena, shall travel at times with us as well. We must have the chaperone, and I would much prefer your wife to an old maid in a lace burka screaming ‘Two feet apart at all times!’ It would be most disconcerting to the romancing.”
“Wait, you want me and our son to travel with you as well?” Millicent asked, just to make sure she had understood the request correctly.
“It shall be, how do you
say, ‘hella fun’,” Yuńior said, clapping again. “My father has a villa in Italy where we may stay. Other times, we will use the yacht to sail to Greece and through the Mediterranean. We can hire a tutor for the boy if need be and visit the museums in Venice, art shows in Paris, and wander through the halls of the Louvre. I am opening my wing of the Villa in our home, and it has to be furnished. I’m not certain of my Irena’s tastes, so an outside opinion would be greatly appreciated.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m still trying to wrap my mind around you wanting my husband to be your travel companion for a year,” Millicent said.
Yuńior arched his eyebrows. “When you say it like that, it sounds as if I am the gay. No. My personal guard Gunther does not blend in, nor does he like to read or enjoy museums. I want to see the pyramids of Giza. Study the architecture of Rome. Have a salami sandwich in Genoa, but I want to do that with a person who gets it.”
“Honey, do you get it?” Millicent asked, cocking her head.
In a few words, he did. Yuñior wanted to travel the world with a set of eyes who wouldn’t be so focused on a statute to miss a threat to his person. If some shit went down, he needed to know he was traveling with a person who had his back and wouldn’t buckle if the bullets began to fly. Plus, he was more than certain the young man had done his research on him, and knew of his higher academic background before Lizzie gave him the ugly facial scar which changed his profession. Yield held his tongue as the young Delgado spoke.
“I want to travel with a learned man who has a moral compass and a family,” Yuńior said. “A person my age would want to party every night, pick up women, and consort in debauchery. Those things hold no joy for me. I physically and literally ship billions of dollars of raw coca leaves or manufactured product throughout the world to pharmaceutical companies each month. I want to visit these places I have not seen.”
Mr. Yield added water to the hopper, listening to the sound of the coffee dripping into the carafe. He wanted to show Millicent the world and take his son on adventures that he couldn’t afford right now to do on his own dime, at least not at the level that Yuńior could provide. A villa in Italy. A yacht through the Mediterranean. Sailing into Greece. The pyramids of Giza. He would be like a real Indiana Jones to Chad.
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