by Johnny Miles
“His…personal armory? How do you know?”
“It's the first thing he does when he hears of a slave escaping,” Bernardo said
simply.
“Why would he have his own armory?” Alonso mused. The longer his father
refused to look him in the eye, the more his irritation rose. He understood his
father's anger. Could appreciate it, in fact. But what game was he playing? Was his
father toying with him? Was this some lesson he was supposed to learn?
“Raúl is a man who sees a conspiracy behind every tree,” Bernardo explained
quietly, still not looking at him. Alonso got the feeling his father was choosing his
words carefully. “Raúl has also made a lot of enemies. There have been”—Bernardo
stopped to think—“at least a dozen attempts on his life that I'm aware of. I suspect
there will be more before long. Besides, he likes his…uh, hunting.”
“I still don't understand why you felt compelled to involve him,” Alonso
demanded.
Bernardo finally turned to look at him, and Alonso almost wished he hadn't.
There was something in his father's eyes—or rather, something missing from them.
“Raúl is head of the cooperative and in charge of helping plantation owners
with any slave issues—particularly runaways.”
“You all just…gave him that much power? What were you thinking?”
“He was the only one capable and willing to get his hands dirty,” Bernardo
explained. He looked pensive a moment, then added, “Besides, I had to involve him
because the man you assaulted is also Raúl's overseer, the only man we could find
who would take both positions for such a low wage. And now, thanks to
this…unfortunate incident…”
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“You're going to place more importance on one man's wages over the life of
another?”
“It's not about that. It's about telling Raúl before he finds out from the
overseer, who will twist everything. Coming to Raúl quickly was about ensuring his
trust.”
“But I don't understand. He trusts you! He said so himself.”
“Did he?” Bernardo asked with amusement. “Trust is easily revoked.
Especially by him. And once lost, it cannot be reearned. I need to make sure we stay
on his good graces, or he'll start watching Casa Rodrigo like a hawk.”
“Whatever for?”
But his father never replied.
Raúl appeared suddenly, a pistol in each hand, two others tucked into the
waist of his pants. Behind him, a startled young black boy—Tobias—struggled with
pouches of musket powder and torches.
Raúl tossed a pistol to Bernardo, another to Alonso.
“What's this?” Alonso asked in surprise.
“What does it look like?” Raúl snapped and glared.
Alonso had never before felt so naked beneath one man's stare. It was a
discomfiting feeling, and he understood why his mother would have despised Raúl.
Why she would never lay claim to their true kinship and preferred to keep it a
secret.
“I know what it is.” Alonso spoke with some bite in his tone. “I meant, what's it
for and why are you giving it to me?”
“So you can shoot that filthy negro coward if we should happen to run into
him,” Raúl mumbled and distributed the rest of the supplies to Bernardo and Perez.
Uncomfortable, Alonso swallowed, trying to catch his father's eye. But the man
had retreated again into the world of ignoring.
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Alonso, despite his experience and bravado, suddenly felt very much like a
child.
On horseback, the four men hurried back to Casa Rodrigo. They crossed Rio de
Piedras and made their way to Nana's house, where Bernardo questioned her.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Raúl growled when it appeared that no
information would be forthcoming. “That's not how you interrogate a slave!” Raúl
stepped past Bernardo and placed the muzzle of his gun against the black woman's
forehead. Nana screamed in horror and wet herself.
Without thinking, Alonso stepped up from the back of the small shack and
aimed his pistol at Raúl. But Bernardo already had his own pistol pressed against
Raúl's temple.
“What do you think you're doing?” Raúl spoke to Bernardo as if he were a
child.
“Reminding you that this is our property and that I will not allow you to
torture my slaves.”
“Fine,” Raúl spat impatiently and lowered his pistol. He then turned to Alonso.
“You realize if you'd shot me, you'd be dead as well.”
Alonso remained silent, almost afraid to speak for fear of what might emerge
from his mouth. He lowered his pistol, then followed Raúl's nod. Perez stood several
feet away. His own pistol was raised, held between both hands. His arms were
shaking.
“I think,” Bernardo started, “we all need to calm down.”
“I agree,” Raúl said, surprising everyone. “Perez, lower your weapon.”
They left Nana alone, whimpering and sobbing, and went off to search the
other slave quarters. Most of them were at the fields. The few who were not were
made to stay out of the way until they were done looking.
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From there, they scoured the cane fields. Every row. Every corner. Up and
down. They even searched the small cabin Perez had built at the bluff overlooking
the point where Casa Rodrigo ended and Raúl's property began. A little girl ran out
screaming at the sight of the men with their guns.
“Now that's disgusting.” Raúl turned to Perez and spoke in an almost
approving tone. Alonso's stomach turned at the thought of what Perez might have
been doing with the girl.
Alonso could feel Raúl staring at him from time to time, as if expecting Alonso
to produce the runaway slave at any moment. Alonso had never felt so dirty or
uncomfortable in all his life.
Long seconds dragged into even longer, more uncomfortable minutes as they
searched the island in the usual places slaves would hide.
There was a moment of detachment when Alonso thought, What are we doing?
Is this really happening? All this for one person?
The reality of what could actually happen sank deeply into Alonso's heart. It
horrified him to the point where he withdrew even further into himself. He prayed
desperately that Arbol was dead, dying, or already off the island. He hated himself
for thinking that way, but it seemed the only way Arbol would be spared from
Raúl's increased thirst for blood.
At sundown, heading back, Raúl lit his torch.
“So!” Raúl exclaimed suddenly. “No Arbol. But I'm not discouraged. He's still
near. I can feel it. I'm confident he'll turn up sooner or later. And when he does,
we'll be there to capture him.” Raúl turned toward Perez. “I suggest you look sharp.
Wouldn't want to have him slip past your fingers again.”
“What? But he—I didn't…” Perez protested. He too had been silent almost the
entire day. He huffed, sat up straight in his saddle, and pointed at Alonso. “It was
him. I know it was him. He probably gave him money or…or food…or clothes. Then
saw him off himself.”
Alonso, too tired for words, glared at Perez.
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“Careful what you say,” Bernardo said, his voice deep and throaty from
exhaustion. “If my son says he had nothing to do with Arbol's disappearance, then
he didn't.”
Perez, whose face was a horror of dried blood, looked as if he wanted to retort
but fought to remain silent. In the shadowy light from the torches, his nose and lips
were an angry purple and black, swollen as if a fist were emerging from the center
of his face. He consoled himself by hawking up a gob of bloody spit and projecting it
to one side.
“Gentlemen.” Raúl chuckled. “It's been a long day, and we all need some rest.
Tomorrow will be just as long, and it'll be here before we know it. Come, Perez. Let's
see if we can't clean up some of that face and make you look pretty.” Raúl turned his
horse around and disappeared into the night.
Perez remained a moment, shot Alonso a look of disgust, then trotted off.
“Well,” Bernardo started, his voice light, as if amused. “I'd say you've made an
enemy.”
Alonso silently turned his horse around and started the trek back to Casa
Rodrigo. He really didn't feel like talking, not even to acknowledge his father's poor
attempt at humor.
* * *
Neither of them spoke the several miles to the house. Even after Augusto had
taken the reins from them and they made their way wearily to the house,
Bernardo's son still seemed subdued and withdrawn.
Bernardo was well aware of the heavy silence between them. But it had been
necessarily so.
“Alonso,” Bernardo said finally as they stepped onto the porch. “Sooner or later
you're going to have to say something. You can't ignore me for much longer.”
“You mean the way you ignored me all day long?” Alonso asked reproachfully.
He clicked his tongue and huffed. “What's the point if you and I talk or not?” Alonso
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turned with tears in his eyes. “I've messed everything up somehow, and it wasn't
even all my fault! Arbol's a runaway now and hunted like some animal. Perez can't
stand me, which is fine because I really don't like the sniveling little rat, and you…”
Alonso stopped and choked back a sob.
“What about me?” Bernardo asked quietly, his heart aching. No matter what,
Alonso was still his son, and it hurt to see him agonizing. He put a hand on Alonso's
shoulder.
“You probably hate me,” Alonso muttered and began to cry in earnest. He
looked up at his father.
“Oh, Alonso!” Bernardo hugged his son and clutched the boy tightly. “I don't
hate you. I could never hate you,” Bernardo continued, his eyes turning watery.
“You're my son.”
With an unexpected whimper, Alonso clung to him. Bernardo closed his eyes
against the tears that threatened to show themselves. He wondered briefly where
they had gone wrong. Was it simply that Alonso was now an adult and their
relationship had changed? Was it that they now needed to reacquaint themselves as
two grown men, not just father and son? But how could he ever stop being a father?
Bernardo sighed softly as Alonso pulled away. His son wiped away his tears
with an embarrassed chuckle.
“Sorry…I…” Alonso trailed off, sighed, then yawned.
“No need to apologize,” Bernardo replied, disappointed that he couldn't be
father to his son for just a moment longer, the way he had once been. In that brief
moment, holding Alonso, it was as if he had once again been holding his little boy.
Bernardo had felt needed. Funny how he hadn't even realized just how much he
missed the boys who had grown into men.
“Father,” Alonso said and hesitated. “I—About yesterday… I'd like to
apologize. I was…a complete buffoon.”
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“No, Alonso. It is I who should apologize to you. I should have told you long
ago. I meant to, but your mother would rather die than admit the truth. It
just…never seemed important.”
“It doesn't matter. As far as I'm concerned, Raúl is a stranger to me. It's better
that way.” Alonso turned and started for the door, but Bernardo stopped him.
Bernardo stared at Alonso and searched his eyes in the dim light. A moment of
understanding flashed between them, then slipped away quietly into the night.
“I'm going to bed now. Good night, Father.”
His son walked away and disappeared into the house. Bernardo stood by
himself a moment, wondering if he'd read his son correctly. Then he remembered
the late hour and that they were both tired; under those circumstances, anything
was bound to be misconstrued.
Stifling a yawn, Bernardo stepped into the house a moment later. He didn't
agree with Raúl on much of anything, but the man was right about one thing.
Tomorrow was going to be another long day.
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Chapter Fifteen
In Raúl's bedroom, Perez sat back in a chair and babbled angrily while Raúl
tended to his wounds. A pail of water sat on a table with a needle and thread beside
it, just in case. Behind them, a fire roared as Raúl dabbed none too gently at the
overseer's face. As he wiped away at the blood, he realized it had looked far worse
than it was, and felt almost disappointed. He had looked forward to stitching the
man's skin together.
Still, there were other things. The smell of blood had aroused him. Perez's
backbone, beginning to show, his temper flaring, had made Raúl's cock and balls
tingle. He had a feeling there just might have been a spitfire growing somewhere
inside the overseer after all these years.
His mind, however, was playing tricks on him, and he didn't know why. He
needed to focus. To remain alert now that a runaway, one who he wanted, was going
to occupy his time. Still, he kept going back to Bernardo. To the night they first met.
He'd almost lost his life to the pirate he'd been trying to cheat. Only he had told
Bernardo it was the other way around.
The naive always wanted to believe so much.
“As pretty as you're going to get.” Raúl tossed the wet cloth into the pail,
pushing the thought of Bernardo aside. This will not do, he thought. Not at all.
What he needed was a distraction. Raúl readjusted the erection in his pants.
“Rum?” Raúl asked casually, his cock now so blatantly hard that Perez was
staring at it. He was a poor substitute for the man with whom Raúl had enjoyed
such wonderful sex with, a man whose company he had actually enjoyed. A man
who…
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Again, Raúl stopped himself. What was it about Bernardo that still lingered in
his mind? Raúl took off one boot, then the other.
“Ummm… Ahhh… What?” Perez stammered, taken aback.
“I asked if you wanted some rum?”
Perez gulped, unable to keep his gaze off Raúl's pants.
“Qué pasa, Perez? You're acting like a little girl,” Raúl teased and chuckled.
“Like you've never seen an erection before.” Raúl stood and pulled his dress shirt
from his pants, then up a
nd over his head. He stood bare chested and let the shirt
flutter to the floor.
“No. I mean, yes.”
“Which is it?” Raúl drew near, his erection inches away from the side of the
overseer's face.
“Yes. I would like some rum. Please.”
“Good. You're going to need it.”
Raúl patted Perez's face, and the overseer winced. Raúl could see the man's
cock bulging despite Perez's obvious pain. An excited fear rolled off him in waves.
Raúl walked across the room and filled two glasses.
“What are you—Are you…seducing me, señor?”
“Seducing you?” Raúl laughed. “Don't be ridiculous!” He walked back to Perez
and handed him the full glass. “Only women and virgins are seduced.”
“What?” Perez thought about this a moment and then stood indignantly. “But I
never—No man's—I've never been taken like a woman!”
Raúl chuckled and put a hand against Perez's chest. He shoved him back down
into the chair so hard, rum spilled.
“What's so funny?” Perez demanded, licking at his hand.
“You,” Raúl said and took a swig of rum. “Acting so innocent. You don't think I
know what you do? In the rooms over el Puerco Sucio?”
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“I don't know what you're talking about,” Perez said and slammed the glass
down on the table, spilling even more rum. Raúl took great delight in seeing the
overseer's face turn crimson.
“Oh, but I do. I've known for some time about your…gatherings. How you take
the most beautiful brown boys from various plantations, the ones with the biggest
cocks. How you take them to el Puerco and invite everyone to come and watch as
you tease those big brown shafts to full erection. Throbbing. Leaking. Then charge
them for a taste of fresh black meat.”
“I don't want to be an overseer all my life,” Perez protested.
“Understandable. And frankly, I don't care what you do.” Raúl put his glass
down, undid his pants, and let them drop to the floor. His erection slapped against
his belly and pointed straight up. He approached Perez until he was but inches
