by C. I. Lopez
“I thought you didn’t want to use the police, Boss.”
“I’ve changed my mind,” Tomas said as he staggered and barely caught himself by grabbing onto the bedpost, a wave of dizziness nearly overcoming him. When he got back his bearings, Tomas walked to a table containing liquor and glasses. He poured a good measure of scotch, drinking it down in one gulp, and gagging in the aftermath.
“I’m going fucking crazy, Chilo,” he exploded emotionally. “Where could she be?”
The son of a bitch really is going crazy, the guard thought, trying to work out the best way to avoid impending disaster. This whole operation is going down the tubes with me in it. He might have to disappear like Mrs. Chacon did.
“What do you want me to do, Boss?” Chilo retained a calm and businesslike voice with no hint of his sudden discontent over the state of affairs.
“We’re going to the police to file a missing person’s report. What do you think about that, Chilo? You think it’ll be okay?” The boss sounded like a kid trying to get his father’s approval, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and blowing loudly into it.
The guard backed away. “Sure, Boss, if that’s what you want to do. They send pictures over their computers and fax machines to other police stations. Maybe some sharp rookie might have seen her and can match her to the picture.” Chilo waited for Chacon to challenge his remarks, dismiss him or tell him what to do next.
“What in the hell are we waiting for?” Chacon snapped, lifting the decanter to pour another generous drink.
“Boss, there’s something here you ought to see,” Chilo interjected, carrying the morning paper in his hand, and reluctantly handing it to Tomas. “The police raided the warehouse last night. The paper says it’s the biggest drug bust ever made in Panama. The losses are the greatest ever, and they have four of our guys in the slammer. The other two arrested were buyers.”
Tomas froze, grabbing the paper and letting his eyes scan down the page. He flung the paper across the room where it hit a vase on a table and sent it to shatter on the floor. His hands were shaking like a jackhammer. His heartbeat accelerated, and his face turned a bloody red.
“Buyers, like hell, you say. They were probably goddamned Feds. That damned son of a bitch who was handling the sale didn’t check them out. What in the hell is wrong with everybody? Can’t any fucking body do anything right without me having to lead them by a leash?”
Chilo remained silent, once again not sure what to say for the best.
Tomas’s gray eyes glittered like ice, and his face settled in stern, grave lines. “I want to talk with Prince. He never failed me before, but lately, everything bad that’s happened is within his jurisdiction.”
“He’s not at the compound at the moment, Boss, but I’ll let him know you want to talk with him as soon as he gets in.”
Tomas scanned again at the lines beneath the bold heading:
DRUG BUST PRODUCES LARGEST YIELD YET. Tomas was considering canceling his trip to Colombia when his phone rang.
“Yeah,” he snapped impatiently after selecting speakerphone. His contorted features softened considerably when he heard the voice of Sanchez, his boss in Colombia.
“Things are very sloppy over there, Tomas. I just read the paper, and you better damn well make things right. I want you here for a meeting tomorrow. And, by the way, you better get things straightened out with that bitch you married or you’re out of here. She’s polluting your mind.”
A click signified that the call was over, and the phone had probably been slammed down at the other end.
Tomas Chacon, Kingpin, was shaking like an old man.
“You still want to go downtown and file that missing person’s report, Boss?” Chilo sounded as humble as any human being could. He didn’t want to provoke his boss at a delicate moment. He knew Chacon’s temper, and he damn well didn’t want to be at the receiving end of it.
“That’s what I said, wasn’t it? Bring the car around. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
The chief guard left the room, thinking events would only get worse if Tomas stayed on the booze. His boss was aware of how dangerous things had become, but he seemed unable to focus beyond finding his wife. Chilo was sure the alcohol had more to do with it than Mrs. Chacon’s absence. Sanchez wouldn’t accept incompetence, and he never fired people; he eliminated them.
The guard’s biggest worry was to be caught in the crossfire when the hit team took out Chacon. Chilo was thinking seriously of pulling out. Unfortunately, he didn’t know how to go about it and still avoid the fate the three previous guards met, along with numerous others tied to the organization.
Chilo had no idea how Chacon had managed it. Pedro, Mrs. Chacon’s chauffeur, was found a couple of weeks after her disappearance. Someone discovered his decomposing body in a dumpster near the bus station. His brains had been blown out. That bit of insight made the chief guard think twice about trying to disappear. He wondered how in the hell Mrs. Chacon did it so successfully, at least, so far.
*
When Tomas called everyone together that afternoon, the only person missing was Prince, who was making the next best move by ensuring the protection of the new shipment, scheduled to arrive in the next two days. Tomas knew that Sanchez would have liked him to find a way to get his coke back, but if it wasn’t possible, he knew Prince would come through with the next shipment.
Tomas avoided thinking about it. Things had gone like clockwork with Yasmin close by to keep his head balanced. Now, everything was going to hell. While Tomas waited for his men to come together, he would file the missing person’s report. When his lawyer arrived at the meeting, they would discuss the bailing of the four useless bastards in jail.
After the four were out of jail, Tomas would have them taken care of, to please Sanchez. They were, after all, responsible for his present problems with the cartel. With that done, Tomas would fly to Colombia, knowing he had solved the problem. Maybe by the time he came back, there would be some word on Yasmin.
*
Meanwhile, many miles away in the village of Paso Ancho, Violeta was breaking for lunch. She was passing by the facsimile machine as it started spitting out a photograph of a woman. Usually, she never let anything disrupt her lunch hour. Still, something about the picture caught her attention, and she waited to have a better look. Although it was a black and white pixilated photo, and the hair was much longer, the eyes in the picture resembled that bitch who stole Federico from her. The features defined her like a reflection in a mirror.
Ripping the paper apart from the other faxes, Violeta held it away for examination. Her farsightedness made close-up visibility a bit blurred, and her glasses lay beside the switchboard. She ran back and grabbed them, ignoring the office clerk sitting in for her. In her rush to put them on, she nearly stuck herself in the eye. It readily dawned on her, as she stared at the picture, that the likeness was a good likeness of the auburn-haired bitch. A slow smile teased the corners of her mouth, growing into a toothy grin.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” she snorted. The sandwich she’d brought for lunch, forgotten, Violeta went to the small lounge and read the information on the document. The woman might be missing, but it is by her choice, Violeta figured. Yet, somebody is looking for her.
Why is the slut missing? Violeta finished reading the information considering what to do about the report she held in her hands. Further, who wanted her bad enough to put out a missing person’s report? Could it be a concerned parent? Or, maybe it’s an irate lover or even a jealous husband.
She left the chair and walked back to the little alcove where the copy machine was kept. Looking around to make sure she wasn’t being observed, Violeta made a copy of the fax transmission and buried the original at the bottom of the pile of other missing person’s reports. She would handle this little matter from home. At least there would be no one to interfere with her gathering information that was not available now.
“Mrs. Yasmin Chacon,” she whispe
red to herself and folded the copy into her purse.
That answered the question of who was looking for her. Yasmin Samudio had changed her name to escape her husband. Violeta was only sorry it wasn’t a wanted poster. She would have liked to pin that up at the post office, where Federico collected the mail for the bank every morning.
Now remembering her lunch, she went to the refrigerator to pluck her brown bag from the fridge. She unwrapped her bologna sandwich and took a big bite, smiling as she chewed, her eyes glittering over her bitter taste for vengeance.
Several hours later, on reaching home, Violeta was on the phone. She didn’t call the police department in Panama City. She was talking to the operator and writing down names, addresses, and phone numbers of all the Chacon’s listed. She started calling each one, crossing off names one after the other. No result. The Chacon she was searching for obviously had an unlisted number.
“Damn it,” she swore and realized she would have to contact the Police Department at the capital. She would have to call them from work in case they called back to verify the information.
Violeta arrived to work the next morning, earlier than usual so she’d be alone in the office. She took care of the call. Violeta felt exhilarated, hoping that if things worked out as planned, Mrs. Yasmin Chacon would be history in a couple of days. Violeta already had a plan on how she would get back in Federico’s good graces. He would be disheartened and sad over his loss, and he would need a sympathetic shoulder to lean on. Violeta would provide a shoulder, preferably a naked one.
“Hot damn.” She slapped her fist in the palm of her hand. Mrs. Yasmin Chacon, your husband, must be very pissed off at you to put out a missing person’s report. You’re about to become history.
PART FOUR
Chapter 2
Vengeance is Mine
Yasmin awoke early on the fourth day of her stay with Federico, already reminiscing about having spent the happiest days of her life. Aware that it was her last day with Federico, she walked through the Montenegro Ranch home, stopping to admire Federico’s meticulous remodeling. Remembering how often her own mother talked about the elegance of that house while Amparito still lived there. Now Federico had brought the house back to its former refinement.
She walked to the garage and ran her hand over the robin’s egg blue antique car. Yasmin wished to ride in it with Federico, much like Don Jose and his wife had during their happiest years together. Federico and Yasmin had shared meals cooked by Federico sitting at the kitchen table. So different from the memories of the lonely and unpleasant dinners she had shared with Tomas in their vast dining room, with a table big enough to seat twenty people. It was the reason Yasmin avoided the formal dining room at Federico’s house.
Never again, she told herself. Today would mark another stepping stone in her life. When she entered the kitchen, Yasmin saw Federico was already awake and working on the final details in his remodeling of the kitchen.
Upon seeing Yasmin, he dropped his tools, pulled off his gloves, and grabbed her into his muscular arms. He traced his fingers over her lips, watching them grow into a sweet smile Federico could not ignore. He kissed her, letting his hands trail along her shoulders, down her back, grasping her buttocks, and pressing himself against her.
“Honey, do you know what you’re doing?” she inquired with a sly twinkle in her eyes.
“I believe I might, but if you think I need to be instructed ….”
Needing no further convincing, Federico waltzed Yasmin up the stairs. He made passionate love to her in the room his father and mother had shared. Yasmin’s theory about using the room, instead of leaving it locked had proven to be sound reasoning. Maybe there was something to that cliché about looking fear in the eye. Having used his parent’s room, and especially the bed where Federico’s mother died, had dispersed any bad memories that still lingered in his mind. He had been so young when she died that he hadn’t liked being in that room.
Now it would forever hold the memory of Yasmin’s love.
There was something unusually special about their lovemaking that morning. Federico had never been more amorous, and Yasmin never more loving and affectionate. As he kissed her lips and breasts and navel, his hands slid over her body to send her into delirious shimmering ecstasy. She clung to him as never before, returning kiss for kiss, caress for caress, and embrace for embrace.
When he eventually ended the foreplay to relieve their eager yearnings by slipping inside her, his heart skipped a beat.
She whispered her love for the first time. “I love you, Federico. I promise you we will see each other again. I’ll be back when Tomas tires of looking for me—or when he’s dead.”
It was a poignant moment, and Federico crushed her into his arms as if he would never let her go, his own mutterings of love warming his breath against her cheeks. They were in love, a glorious condition both accepted. They spent much longer than they planned in bed that morning, forgetting all about breakfast.
“Yasmin, you’ve sure messed up my plans. I intended for you to stay here forever, but this has been such a special time. Giving me the hope that you’ll be back is the most wonderful news I could ever hear. I swear, I will wait for you. There will be no other women in my life until you come back. That’s a promise that won’t be hard to keep. I want you to be my wife.”
“Federico, I know that I am married and that we can never be married while I am in this situation, but I have thought about it. Nothing will keep me from being with the man I truly love and the only man I will ever consider my husband. Just give me time to figure this out. When I reach Mexico City, you will hear from me.”
*
Preparing for her upcoming journey, Yasmin was planning every step in her mind, including how much money in cash she needed to withdraw to carry her through to Mexico City. She was subtracting purchases and putting totals in her checkbook when the doorbell rang. Thinking it was Tilly, Federico’s trusted cleaning lady coming to work a little early, Yasmin opened the door without checking who it was.
A blast of sun-parched air, putrid with the smell of old booze and sweat, blew through the open doorway.
Yasmin froze. Her heart stopped beating. Her mouth went dry as she gasped and stepped back, eyes growing round with shock and fright. Her heart seemed to plummet from her chest to the floor. She felt a scream rise in her throat, but no sound escaped. She was a statue, frozen as stiff and still as she was during and after one of her immobilizing nightmares.
Tomas stood at her door, appearing as tall, powerful, and domineering as he had ever been before. His face looked dark, angry, and dangerous. His beard had grown since his last shave, and thick dark growth on his jaw and chin give him an ominous appearance that made Yasmin’s skin crawl. He stood looking at her for several seconds, neither of them saying anything, just staring at each other as if they couldn’t comprehend if their eyes were deceiving them
Then a slight flicker of pleasure eased the hardness of Tomas’ features.
When the first stab of shock passed, Yasmin’s mouth fell open in surprise, solidifying her expression like a frozen block of ice. When she was able to think and move again, she shoved hard at the door, trying to close it in Tomas’ face before he crossed the threshold. She was too late.
Tomas jerked his arm up, shooting it out, so his palm stopped the door from closing. He moved inside, pushing past Yasmin. At that same instant, Yasmin saw he wasn’t alone. A woman stepped inside behind him, a puckish smile on her face. She stood full of herself, overly pleased.
“Where is Federico?” Violeta asked in a tone besmirched by a mixture of anger and triumph over finally getting even. “I told the son of a bitch I’d get even with him, and I have. Did he know you had a husband looking for you?”
“Federico isn’t here.” Yasmin was quick to answer, hoping to spare him the sight of Tomas in his home, lying to save his life.
If Violeta had known Federico was in the kitchen just a short distance away, she would have be
en more careful with her outburst. He always parked in the garage, so anyone driving by wouldn’t know the amount of time he spent at the house. The use of the garage served as a deceptive measure against gossipers, and obviously against Violeta as well.
Yet, the vindictive Violeta couldn’t resist the temptation of showing up with Chacon and seeing Yasmin’s face as her husband shocked the shit out of her with his unexpected presence.
Guarded, Yasmin backed away, daring not to even imagine what Tomas had planned for her. She could wind up in some swamp along the coast. Her remains could be carried off by alligators and other wild animals, or might he have more immediate plans for getting rid of her?
Violeta kept up her accusations in a burst of curses and strong disapproval. “You bitch, you should have known better than to mess with me,” Violeta cursed, not once noticing the dark look growing in Tomas’ eyes.
Locked into a frozen stance between her two enemies, Yasmin saw the familiar anger in Tomas’ eyes. He was staring at a despised wife on one side and a sick and embittered young woman on the other.
“I hope to hell you get what you deserve.” Violeta snorted contemptuously and took a lunge toward Yasmin with an outstretched hand.
Before Yasmin could back away, Tomas reached out an arm catching Violeta by the collar of her shirt. He snatched her back, an ugly snarl about his mouth. “Get the fuck out of here.” Tomas threw a staggering blow to Violeta’s cheek, unbalancing her, and sending her to the floor.
Violeta lay there temporarily stunned. Upon seeing Tomas bending over her with his arm pulled back, a balled fist ready to crash into her face, she cowered away from him. She slithered and slid on her backside along the floor toward the door. Violeta thrust herself across the threshold, gaining her feet in a frantic motion of startled flight. Turning her back on her attacker, her feet took wings, and she ran as fast as she could to some place of concealment outside.
