The Cartel

by A. K. Alexander

  Actually, he liked being home with Bella. She was such an intelligent and curious child. There was a clear bond between the two. After all, she was the reason he now had a real family. As he had hoped, once he’d disposed of his father, Javier had accepted him with open arms. He’d treated Pedro like a son and had come to trust him. It hadn't been as easy to win over Antonio’s trust, however. But through time and perseverance, even Antonio had come around. Pedro knew that someday he would run their empire. After all, both Javier and Antonio only had daughters. And as the business partners aged, Pedro figured that he would only have Emilio to contend with. Emilio was such a hot head that he was bound to screw up sooner or later. Pedro, whose instincts were usually on the mark, felt that Antonio loved his baby brother, but for some reason he didn’t completely trust him. That would be Emilio's downfall and Pedro's winning ticket.

  "Pedro," a soft voice called out to him. It was coming from the garden below the balcony, outside his room.

  He knew that Bella must be up and feeling better. Her long, dark hair was pulled back with a yellow bow. She wore a T-shirt with a pair of denim overalls as she stood below, looking up at Pedro on the balcony, squinting her bright green eyes against the sun.

  "Buenos días, Bella. How are you this morning?"

  As if she didn't have time for this small talk, she replied, "Come quick! I think the mare is about to have her baby."

  Pedro set his coffee down and hurried down the stairs. He met Bella in the garden, where he grabbed her hand and they jogged down to the barn. The two of them shared a love for the horses. There were stables and training facilities both at the main house in Guadalajara and at the coastal home in Costa Careyes. Pedro gave Bella riding lessons as often as possible, knowing that one day she would make an excellent equestrienne.

  As they approached the stables, they could hear the mare pawing at the ground. They peered quietly into her stall. The horse sensed them, glancing up at her audience, her dark brown eyes full of anxiety. She let out a groan as she lay down on the fresh straw, which crinkled under her weight.

  Bella and Pedro watched in fascination and awe as nature took its course. Within twenty minutes, a shiny new colt was born, and his mother licked his chestnut coat dry. Within forty more minutes, the new colt was standing on his wobbly legs, nursing from his mother's teats.

  Bella looked Pedro. "When I grow up I'm going to have a whole bunch of horses."

  "You mean your daddy doesn't have enough here for you?"

  "No, I'm going to raise them and have a hundred million."

  "My, but you are ambitious. I certainly hope your husband will like horses."

  "He will, silly."

  "Oh, really."

  "You like horses."

  "Yes."

  "You'll be my husband."

  "Isabella, I’ll be an old man by the time you marry."

  "No you won't. You'll never be old."

  "We all grow old, Bella."

  "I don't care. I want you to marry me," she declared.

  "You’ll grow up, Bella, and meet the handsome young man you’ll marry."

  "No, I want to marry you," her demands grew louder.

  "Okay, Bella. You win. I'll marry you," he said laughingly, appeasing the little girl.

  However, as Pedro watched the child feed the mare a sugar cube from her pocket, something twisted in him at that moment, almost like a vision. For a second he had to wonder if Bella’s wishes weren’t a bizarre prophecy that he was truly destined to fulfill.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The morning sun soothed Antonio’s back. It had been a while since he’d simply sat outside and relaxed. Business was so hectic he'd almost forgotten what life was all about. He needed to spend more time enjoying it.

  Antonio loved his city of Calí. It was the home of his ancestors, and he vowed he would always remain here. The estate was well hidden, in the vast blue mountains above the Cauca Valley. The view from the mountaintop a radiant one. On a clear day such as this one, Antonio could easily see the Pacific Ocean to the west. Sitting in his favorite lounge chair, he didn't hear Emilio come up behind him.

  "Antonio."

  "Hey, little brother, how are you?" Antonio asked, surprised to see him. "It's been a while."

  "That's no fault of mine," Emilio replied as he sat down in the chair across from Antonio.

  "I know, things have been crazy lately."

  "A little too crazy from the sound of it. You look tired."

  "It comes with the trade."

  "I think maybe I can help you," Emilio replied.

  Antonio had never known Emilio to be so direct. There was something oddly different about him. "What do you mean?"

  "I'd like to be your right-hand man," he announced confidently.

  Antonio laughed, "You what?" Where was this coming from? In a way, it was impressive, or at the very least endearing. He leaned back in his chair, waiting for Emilio to make his pitch.

  "I am telling you that you need me. You're working all the time and you have no time for your family. I can alleviate some of the work load for you.”

  "What about Javier?"

  "What about him? He's your business partner. He makes sure the product gets to the States and the distributors get it. That's it. Finito. It's a done deal.”

  "Well, little brother, what does a right-hand man do?"

  "I'm glad you asked. I would be the one to make sure everyone's happy—you, Javier, the distributors, Levine. Everyone."

  "Screw that bastard Levine. I don't give a shit if he’s happy or not."

  "But you do have to make him happy. And so we might as well make the best of the situation."

  "That's the last thing I want to do. That pendejo Simon does nothing but steal my money. He's a no-good bastard."

  "I apologize, forget I even mentioned him. Let me finish what I came to say. I want to be the man you can count on. You may love your partner like a brother, and, yes, he does a good job for you, but when it comes down to it, he isn't your own blood. I believe that he would likely screw you the first chance he got, if a better deal came along." Emilio leaned in closer to Antonio, his white silk shirt sticking to him.

  "I very much doubt that he would."

  "You know as well as I do that business is not his number-one priority. It's still his daughter."

  "As it should be."

  "Dammit, Antonio, all I want to do is help you, and you can't even let me do that. What in hell did I ever do to you?" Emilio paced back and forth, his hands flailing wildly as he spoke.

  "Calm down and shut up. You're not talking to some ignorant idiot. I am your brother and you will show me some respect."

  "Respect, respect. All my life it's been about respecting you, Antonio. What about me? All I get from you is a bunch of bullshit about ‘watching over the fort while I'm gone,’ or ‘do this, do that.’ But you never give me anything really important to do."

  "Listen to me. I have done the best I could by you. I've sent you to the finest schools, given you a grand place to live, let you have your freedom, and loved you. What more could you ask for?"

  "Respect."

  "How can I respect you when you've done nothing to prove your worth? Not once have you ever thanked me. You played around when I sent you to school, and you're still playing around today."

  "Give me a chance to prove myself. Please, I won't let you down.”

  Antonio sat quietly for a very long time. He thought over the things Emilio had said, and slowly began to consider that Emilio might be sincere. Maybe it was time to give him a chance. "Okay, you want a chance, you say. One chance?"

  "That's all I'm asking for."

  "Good, then. There's something I want you to do for me, and if you can do it without messing up, then we’ll see what happens. But if you mess up, I'll see to it you'll never be more than a deckhand on my yacht."

  "I won't let you down, brother. What do you want me to do?"

  "Kill Levine." Antonio smiled.
>
  "What?"

  "You heard me. I want that old pig dead. I don't need him any longer. In fact, if you do this for me, I might just move you over to the Bahamas and put you in charge of Levine's operation."

  "Jesus Christ, Antonio. Won't we be starting a war with the Italians?"

  "No one cares about the Jew anymore. In fact, I'm surprised the wops haven't done away with him yet. Besides, no one will be able to figure out who did it. And by the time they figure out that he’s dead, we’ll already have set up shop." Antonio looked deep into his brother's eyes, wondering if he was up to such a challenge.

  "I'll do it."

  "If you breathe a word of this to anyone, then I'll have you by the balls. Understood?" Emilio nodded. "Good. For your sake, I hope that you do.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Little Rosa stood at the door of her mother’s suite, watching her sob. Her daddy had left again for America that morning, and she was certain her mommy must be missing him. Even though she was only six years old, Rosa felt the urge to comfort her.

  She padded over to the side of the Victorian bed with its yards of antique lace hanging from the canopy. It was a room like no other, and Rosa loved it. Unlike her little sister, Felicia, who enjoyed bouncing on the bed and getting into their mother's dresser drawers, Rosa would come into the suite whenever she could escape the clutches of her nanny, but was content to simply sit in the room, dreaming of stories about princes and their fair maidens. Her mother's room allowed for such dreams. Sooner or later though, Chata would always find her, and then Rosa would be reprimanded.

  One day, Lydia found out that the child enjoyed coming into her room to think and dream about other worlds. She’d found Rosa sitting in the middle of the peach-colored antique rug that was placed over the hardwood floors. She heard her singing and talking about a princess who was searching for her prince. Lydia held her breath as she quietly stood watching her child at play.

  Rosa had no idea that her mother was looking at her, until Chata stormed in. "There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you. You are a naughty little girl," she scolded her, shaking a gnarled finger at her, as her sparse eyebrows furrowed. She picked the child up with one swoop of her arms. But Chata’s face, which had fumed with anger only moments before, drastically changed when she laid eyes on Rosa’s mother.

  Lydia instantly grabbed Rosa out of Chata's arms. "She is welcome here whenever she pleases. To sing, play and dream." She winked at Rosa.

  "I thought that, well…" Chata tried to explain, her weathered face wrinkling as she attempted to hide her shame.

  "You thought wrong. She is allowed in here without your supervision, or even your permission, for that matter. Don't you have something else you could be doing?"

  "Sí, Señora," the old woman replied.

  Lydia waved her hand, dismissing the woman from her presence, and then set Rosa back down on the floor. She bent down, placing herself at eye level with her eldest daughter. Tears streamed down Rosa's flushed cheeks. "Shh, mija," she murmured as she pulled Rosa to her chest, hugging her tightly. "As I said, you can come to my room day or night to play and dream."

  "You're really not mad at me?"

  "Of course not."

  "And Chata can't yell at me?"

  "No, because if that old bruja yells at you again, I'll kick her in the behind so hard, she'll fly straight to the moon on that broom of hers." They both laughed, and Lydia straightened Rosa’s hair. "No more crying, okay?"

  "Thank you, Mama."

  "Anything for you." With that, Lydia left the room and let Rosa continue playing.

  The memory of that day made her mother’s bedroom a sanctuary for Rosa—not to mention that her little sister wasn’t allowed the same privileges as she was.

  But now her mother was in tears, and Rosa wished to console her. She climbed up on the high bed. Her mommy didn't even glance up. She wrapped her small arms around her.

  "Oh hello, mija," sobbed her mother.

  "Mama, why are you crying?"

  "Don't worry about me."

  "But Mama . . ."

  "I am missing your daddy, that's all."

  "I know, Mama. I miss him, too. But remember, he always comes back."

  Lydia glanced up at Rosa, who took her mother's face in her tiny hands and said tenderly, "Please don't cry."

  Her mother smiled. "All right, no more tears."

  "Promise?"

  "Promise."

  "Good mama," Rosa replied, placing her hands on her hips. “No more crying. You promised.”

  Her mother smiled. "Yes I did. Now run along."

  *****

  Lydia watched as her child climbed down off the bed and scampered away. Ah, my golden one, my baby. But she is not a boy, not the son Antonio desperately longed for. Neither Rosa nor Felicia will be loved as much as Antonio would love the son he has with another woman—the son I am certain he has gone to see.

  *****

  It was all falling into place for Emilio. With some ingenuity and determination, the whole lot would be his. But now was a time for patience.

  Killing Levine would be simple, even enjoyable. What his older brother didn’t know was that Emilio had killed men before—often for as small a favor as a good screw or some fine tequila.

  Emilio had scoped out Levine's rather massive home, as well as all the guards around it, and knew how to accomplish the murder. He’d studied Levine's habits for a week through a set of binoculars.

  On one occasion, he had even disguised himself as one of Levine’s gardeners. Nobody had been any the wiser. Levine’s guards were a bunch of goons, and he knew that he would be able to get around them easily enough.

  It was a Sunday night, and all the servants were out of the house. Levine always went to bed around nine. Once asleep, his two bodyguards would invariably venture into the game room to shoot pool.

  Access to the house was fairly easy. Emilio scaled the eight-foot concrete wall, leading down to a mountain path overlooking the Caribbean. As he reached the other side of the wall, he paused, making sure he hadn’t been spotted. Dressed in black from head to toe, he went around to the side of the house, where he found a bathroom window partially opened. He quietly opened it all the way and wriggled his way through.

  He snuck up the stairs, his ears tuned to the movement of the bodyguards below. He paused when he heard one of them say, "Did you hear something?"

  "Nah, man. It's probably the old man getting up to take a piss. Come on, it's your turn.”

  "Yeah, okay."

  Thank God. The last thing he needed was to take out a couple of big Jamaicans. He wanted it to be a clean job, free of any mess.

  The master bedroom was located in the far end of the house. Its wide doors were locked. He worked the lock with experienced hands, and silently let himself in. There was the Levine, sleeping soundly in the large bed.

  Emilio walked over to the side of the bed standing inches from his face. He grabbed a pillow and stuffed it over Levine’s face. The old man coughed, choking as he squirmed like a wild animal caught in a trap. The resistance excited Emilio, and he pressed the pillow harder into Levine’s face. After a few minutes, Levine gave up and his body collapsed. Emilio smiled with satisfaction at a job well done. He pulled the pillow off Levine's face, exposing his rolled-back eyes. He then took the man’s pulse, to make sure he was dead. Yes, he was dead.

  Fifteen minutes later Emilio was back at his hotel, drinking a whiskey next to a large-busted redhead.

  "So what do you do for a living?" she asked him.

  "I kill people."

  "Oh, really?" Her southern drawl revealed that she was a tourist.

  "Really."

  "Sounds interesting," she remarked with a laugh that indicated she didn’t believe him.

  "It is. It really is," he replied. He broke out in a laugh that joined hers.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Lydia thought about Emilio constantly: his smile, his touch—the passion
they shared. At times, it seemed like a distant dream. A month had passed since they’d been together, and as much as she hated to admit it, she couldn't wait until she could be with him again. While she was filled with shame about their indiscretion, the excitement and fear of being caught made her want him all the more.

  He had been gone for a week in the Bahamas, and a part of her wanted to fly there and see him, but she had no idea what she would tell Antonio. She knew it would take all her resourcefulness to prevent her husband from finding out anything. Not that he’d notice or even care. He was always so busy with his life, and now that Lydia knew the truth about his other family, it alleviated some of her feelings of guilt.