King of Swords a-1
Page 27
As far as the American and Mexican publics were concerned, nothing had happened except some boring meetings where a bunch of finance wonks had voiced the hackneyed tenet that the world was all screwed up, and getting worse. It had hardly rated a few column inches.
Ironically, the outrage over the Mexican cop terrorizing the protestor had been the most memorable part of the G-20 summit. Footage of the cop, murderous intent etched deep into his features as he drew his weapon on the unarmed (save a tomato) peace advocate, received heavy network television and internet play, and the disheveled man in the Rastafarian cap had become somewhat of a minor celebrity, landing a few talk show appearances, and even getting a book deal. Though who would write it wasn’t disclosed.
No news was forthcoming on the cop. El Rey figured he’d either survived, or the government had covered up the shooting. After all, Mexico got enough bad press without aggravating their image with reports of cop killings at the global financial summit.
The boat had gotten to him, right on time, and it had then taken forty-eight hours to make its way to Mazatlan, where he disembarked and waved goodbye to a life at sea. Once on the mainland, he’d bused it to Culiacan, where he had a condo with a safe containing half a million dollars in cash and gold. From there he’d driven one of his cars to Mexico City, where he’d sold it to a man he knew who could make things disappear, then boarded a flight to Santiago, Chile, using one of his four fake passports — this time, a Spanish one. In South America, a Spanish passport got you waved through customs without comment, a throwback to the times when Spain had been the conquering victors.
After a night in Chile, he’d taken the recommendation of the hotel concierge and decided to try Mendoza. The rest was history. He’d settled in, found a few strip clubs with world-class talent, and cultivated an appreciation for fine wine and great food. He didn’t know where he’d wind up settling permanently, but for now, Mendoza was as good as anywhere.
He swirled the deep purple liquid around the curve of the glass and savored the aroma as the waiter arrived with his entree: a medium rare filet over a bed of grilled tomatoes and onions, drizzled with a balsamic glaze and accompanied by roasted vegetables and grilled potatoes. Heaven. He made a mental note to increase his time at the gym so he wouldn’t pay the piper for his indulgences. It wouldn’t do to get soft. One never knew what the future might bring.
Carefully setting his glass down, he sliced into the perfectly cooked filet and took a bite, admiring the way the beef flavor melded with the complements.
El Rey caught sight of his reflection in the restaurant window and saw a bohemian world traveler smiling back at him, enjoying the experience of being at peace with the world. He supposed he was, for once. For now.
Life was good.
FB2 document info
Document ID: fbd-7879c4-d16c-5746-9988-9dcf-f8f3-040d4d
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 17.01.2013
Created using: calibre 0.9.13, Fiction Book Designer, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6 software
Document authors :
Blake, Russell
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