by AJ Adams
“We checked everywhere but we’ve had no hits,” Pedro announced.
“She’s probably a hooker,” Rafa said. “Nobody misses those.”
Pedro spat on the grass. “Disgraceful! Even hookers are human. If we catch the fucker, let’s kill him.” Then he smiled and asked me, “So what are your plans for her?”
I must say that I was fascinated. The Zetas had an interesting take on life. Cross them and you were a fiend, but as one of their own, you could do no wrong.
They knew what I was, they’d seen how I’d killed Campello and Navarro, but as long as they liked me, I was golden. “I’ve called her Morgan. At the moment, the plan is to let her heal.”
I got it absolutely right. They were relaxed and smiling.
“Fish is easy to digest.” Pedro presented me with a cooler full of seafood. “A house-warming gift,” he grinned.
“A broth might be the thing.” Rafa agreed. He handed over a basket of fruit and protein shakes. “Garlic’s supposed to be good for you too. I’ll bring you some tomorrow.”
“There’s some wild garlic in the border. I can harvest some for her.”
“You’re a gardener?” Rafa was instantly enthusiastic. “As soon as the girl’s better, I’ll take you to a great place across town. My mother says it’s the best gardening centre in the district.”
I was totally taken aback by their generosity. I’d avoided people for a decade before being rejected in swift succession by the Rossi, the Balchunas and Tricky, and I thought I was beyond enjoying companionship. However, I actually found myself liking the Zetas. They left after a few beers, but at teatime the cockroach turned up with Quique on his tail.
“She’s not an addict of any kind,” the Zeta announced. “And she’s got no STDs either.”
“So probably not a hooker, then?” I ventured.
“My thought exactly,” Quique said. After micromanaging the doc, the Zeta turned to me, “She’s a mess, the pobrecita.”
“She almost died last night.” I told him all about it, knowing he’d spread the story and do me a lot of good.
It worked just as I hoped. “Rip, you saved her life. Ay, Dios mío! It’s fantastic!”
He went off, singing my praises, and I went back to work in the garden while Morgan slept and healed.
Arturo called on the fourth day. “We’re ready for the next move in Modesto. He’s Gerardo Azul, a dealer. I need a quick hit that looks like an accident.”
“Sure!”
It was a super easy kill. I drove across, picked up a stolen car left in a lot, waited for my victim to leave a bar and ran him over. As I was doing sixty, he was gone in an instant.
Dumping the boosted ride in a back alley, and my disguise—a long blonde feminine wig, heels, falsies, and big glasses—in various bins five and ten miles away, I returned to my own car and drove home.
The whole thing took five hours, and Arturo was delighted. “They think it was a DUI hit and run. By a woman!”
“Good.”
“Your disguise was perfect.”
I was high on success, and that night Morgan ate a little of my dinner, chicken with bell peppers in a red wine sauce. While the drugs meant she was still not tracking, she snuggled up to me while I watched a beginner Spanish course. I pushed her off a few times, but she kept moving back, and eventually I gave up and let her stay.
Putting her in the spare bedroom wasn’t an option yet, either, as she had an on-and-off fever that needed watching. To my irritation she was determined to cuddle up to me there too. On top of that, she needed escorting to the loo.
She was a pest, but thinking of the Zetas’ interest, I decided it was best to encourage her. When Rafa came the next day to deliver my cash, I was careful to take Morgan on my knee. She was so doped up that she snuggled.
“Ay, look at that!” Rafa exclaimed. “She’s feeling better.”
“I think so,” I said casually. “I think she’s turning the corner.”
“You’re taking good care of her.” Rafa was smiling.
After that, I made sure that Morgan was with me constantly. Having her gave us a conversational focal point and kept my image green. It worked extremely well as my new friends were popping by every day, just for a coffee or a beer and a quick update on her.
When Chumillo returned from Florida a week later, bringing oranges and an ‘I love Miami’ tee for Morgan, the swelling had gone down, but she still looked like a boxer who’d come out on the losing end of a match.
Even so, he was delighted at her progress. “She may not be tracking, but she knows you saved her.”
“I’m becoming fond of her,” I lied.
“Of course.” Chumillo was grinning, delighted that I was a proper Zeta after all. By the way he spoke, all his caution about the Navarro kill had vanished. Chumillo was back to being chummy. “She’s a sweetheart. And think how grateful she’ll be when she comes out of it.”
I petted the clean blonde hair, still sticking out here and there after my crude haircut. “She’s on some pretty powerful painkillers. I’ll keep her under a while longer, just to get her over the painful part of the healing.”
“Yeah, that’s the kind way,” Chumillo agreed. “Much better for her.”
“Yes, but I’m looking forward to seeing her come out of it.” Another lie, I’d rather have her quiet like this forever, but it went down well.
“You worked a miracle, Rip,” Chumillo said confidently. “We’re all rooting for you.”
Yes, Morgan really was an asset. The idea had been in the back of my mind, but it was at that point that I began to think of keeping her permanently.
Nobody wants to be near a man like me, and I was determined to make my home with the cartel. As I was going to be doing a lot more work for Arturo, my newfound friends would have plenty of ammunition for turning against me.
I didn’t want a repeat of what happened in London with Tricky, or the disasters with the Rossi and Balchunas. If just seeing her near me made me palatable to the Zetas, she’d be worth keeping.
As the days went by, I began to enjoy being pulled away from my garden by visitors. Pepe Rojo, Gordo, Quique and Rafa all came, separately and together. Every single one of them was loud in praise of Morgan’s affectionate presence, and I heaved a sigh of relief, seeing them all turn to me without those telltale hesitations and flickering eyes.
“She looks great, Rip.”
“You saved her life. She was definitely on her way out.”
“We’re all amazed at how you brought her back from the other side.”
It was very gratifying, and as they all stayed to gossip, I learned a dozen stories about all of the senior staff. From what I gathered, chat was lifeblood for the Zetas.
The exception was Kyle, who turned up again on his massive bike. “Thought I’d check in.” And then we sat for an hour at the back by the pool, watching the girl sleep in the sun and not saying a word.
I’d learned by then that he was Arturo’s brother and the second most important man in the Zetas. My senses also told me he was extremely dangerous. If he decided I was a problem, he would be tricky to kill. It was a concern.
It was only when I woke up Morgan for her lunch, a cherry smoothie and a small banana, that he spoke. “Are you connecting with her?”
It was an odd question. “She’s not exactly compos mentis. At least, not yet. She’s on painkillers.”
Kyle nodded, drained his beer and got to his feet. He’s a big bastard and he towered over me. “Solitaire will be asking questions.” Then he left.
Frankly, I was flabbergasted. The Zetas loved their women but from their chat, they didn’t encourage them to take part in business. Far from it: they were macho to the bone.
While I’d come across women in organised crime, they’d been rare and pretty much on the fringes. From what I’d heard, Solitaire ran a foundation and a small film business. It didn’t sound like a big deal so I was stumped as to what Arturo’s girl had to say about any
thing.
I soon found out because she pitched up two days later in a bullet-proof Merc and ten outriders.
“For you.” She opened the boot and began lifting out trays of seedlings. “I hear you like gardening.” She brought a selection of herbs, flowers and vegetables. “There’s a consignment of topsoil coming this afternoon.”
“Thank you. Tea?”
“Yes, please.” Anyone else might have equivocated but Solitaire went straight to the point. “I would’ve been round earlier, but I was in LA. I don’t approve of what’s happened. Where is she?”
“In the shade by the pool.”
I went to boil the kettle and left Solitaire to it. While the water heated, I tried to put myself in her place, but I couldn’t get a handle on her. I had no idea what made her tick. I’d have to go with the flow.
“She looks terrible.” Solitaire’s face was pinched and furious.
It seemed harsh after all the care I’d taken. “Yes. If you like, you can take her with you.” It was just the right thing to say. I could see by her eyes she was surprised. “She needs feeding every six hours, and you can’t leave her in the dark.”
I’d figured that out when I’d switched off the light the day she’d turned the corner. Morgan instantly began whimpering and had stopped just as quickly when I put the light on again. Since then, I’d slept with the light on and very uncomfortable it was too.
“Also, she needs washing, her teeth brushed—”
“I get it!” Solitaire snapped. Then she sighed and grinned. She really was remarkably beautiful. Her eyes were the same colour as the sapphires Arturo had bought for her. “Arturo told me there was nothing to do,” she confessed. “It’s not like we know where she belongs or have a home to put her in.”
“So you don’t want her?”
“We’re getting hitched soon. I don’t think she’d make a great third on the honeymoon.”
“She’ll be okay with me.”
“Will she?” Those eyes were speculative. “I don’t like cruelty, and if I think you’re mistreating her—”
I got the message. Solitaire knew what I was, and she didn’t like it one little bit. She had no official role, so I thought I could safely ignore her, but seeing she was important to Arturo, I’d be safer if I worked on her too.
The list of people I had to keep on my side was getting longer and longer, but I smiled reassuringly. “She’ll be fine.”
“Why is she drugged?”
“The doc prescribed the meds. A couple more days, and she’ll come off them.”
The purple eyes were firm. “I’ll come back then and see her.”
“Any time!” Yes, this woman would need handling.
Solitaire left, escorted by her outriders in royal style, and I went back to my garden. I had big plans for it, and her gift was a lovely boost. While I dug and prepared the ground, I had a good think about the girl.
Once her body had healed, I’d have no excuse to keep her drugged. And when she woke up, she’d take one look at me and run screaming. I mean, any girl in her senses would.
If I were to make proper use of her, I would have to keep her under control. With the Zetas watching, it wasn’t going to be easy. I would have to come up with some drastic measures.
Chapter Ten: Morgan
Heaven was warm, filled with light, and the angel’s gentle presence was a constant comfort. I floated, dipping in and out of dreams, seeing glimpses of Papa, Mama, and Aleja, all smiling and serene.
Strangely, life on earth did crash through into paradise. Sometimes darkness burst in, with devils racking my body with pain. But my cries brought my guardian to me always, and he always drove out the pain and terror.
So I drifted, content to know I was protected.
Chapter Eleven: Rip
My new home was a constant delight. I revelled in the garden, the river, the feeling of safety, and waking up in the same place day after day. As I worked in the house and the garden, making myself a home, long forgotten feelings of peace and of belonging began to bud.
It dawned on me gradually that Morgan was partly responsible. Her constant need for contact irritated me at first, but her clear delight in my presence got to me. She snuggled into me at every opportunity, turning to me like a plant turning to the sun.
What I’d told the Zetas was becoming true: I found I was fond of her. I knew the tranquillisers were keeping her docile, but I began to enjoy having her in my lap as we watched TV, to talk to her and to pet her even when there was nobody to see.
She was a sweet presence, and one night, stroking the blonde head in my lap as I listened to a Spanish vocabulary class on dining in restaurants, I realised that her face had almost completely healed. She had large grey eyes, a sweet little nose, and a wide mouth. She really was rather attractive.
Chumillo came by the following day, and when I showed her off, he immediately took more photos. “Now she looks better, maybe someone will recognize her.”
“Absolutely! It would be great to place her.” I was properly enthusiastic, having anticipated this, but truth be told, I was grateful when it came to nothing. I was enjoying myself, and I didn’t want anything to change.
“Maybe if we eased up on the meds she could talk,” Chumillo suggested.
I was ahead of him on that too. “She looks good on the surface, but her ribs are still a mess. We’ll give it a few days.”
Chumillo accepted it at face value, and I was safe again, enjoying my solid status with the Zetas in return for very little effort with the gentle, drugged girl.
But nature being a healer, three weeks to the day that I found her, Morgan’s bones were fully healed, her bruises had faded to near invisible pale yellow, and the fevers were gone. We also ran out of pills.
When I called the cockroach, he scuttled in, smiled a lot, and said, “Bueno” so often that I gathered he was delighted that he would soon be free of us.
It also meant Morgan would be surfacing. I wasn’t happy about it because I knew it would mean trouble. The sweet snuggling would stop as soon as she saw my true nature, and I had little doubt the Zetas would become testy again soon after.
To be truthful, I was having second thoughts over whether to keep her. On the one hand, I was fairly certain that threats would cow her. But I didn’t fancy having a wide-awake girl shattering my peaceful home.
So I was thinking that sending her back would make me look like a hero. I’d look terrific for taking care of her, and giving her up would elevate me to Zeta sainthood. Assuming, of course, that her home wasn’t with whomever had beaten her and chucked her in the river. But even that could be useful because taking him out would be fun—and win me kudos too.
While I worked on my vegetable patch and pondered, with Morgan sleeping in the shade, there was a crunch of gravel and the sound of a powerful engine.
I thought it was another one of Arturo’s people, so I was brushing the dirt off my clothes and making ready to be social when a bloke came charging over the grass. That didn’t bother me, but the gun he was waving about did.
Luckily for me, he couldn’t shoot worth a damn. The first bullet went into the ground, messing up my baby lettuces, and the second whizzed by my ear.
By that time I was on the move. I picked up a handful of soil, threw it in his face and punched him in the gut. As he folded, I got a good grip on his wrist. I twisted smartly and felt the bone crunch. He gasped and sagged; I took advantage by turning the wrist into his ribs. Then I pulled the trigger.
He spasmed as the bullet ripped through the nerves in his side. The warm blood spilled out, instantly fuelling the surge of power. This was freedom and joy.
“Coño!” he moaned.
I supported him as he slumped, enjoying the agonised gasps of agony. The power was running through me, throttling fast and furious, but part of me remained sensible and took the gun out of his hand. After all, you can’t have fun if you get shot too, right?
He lay on the ground, his hands clu
tching at his side as the blood gushed. I was drinking in the sight, figuring out if I should just go with the flow or help him along a little.
“Hijo de puta,” he gasped.
“You started it,” I teased him. I tapped him playfully on the nose, knowing the tiny touch would have him clench. It did, and he squealed beautifully. “Who are you?”
He was moaning, “Cabrón” which wasn’t very useful.
“I caught you. Now you pay.”
At the words, he fell silent, but his eyes widened. He was seeing the real me and he was frightened.
“Think you can last until tomorrow?” I asked him. “I bet you can.” As I teased, I heard the roar of a second car. “Oh, did you bring friends? Shall we make them watch?”
He was wriggling, so I took a hold of his neck with one hand, closing off his airflow. With the blood gushing from his side, and the nerves screaming from the gunshot, he was helpless.
I held him down easily as I picked up the gun. I was intending to shoot rather than ask questions, but this time it was Chumillo.
He took one look at me and one at the man who was now going purple. “A la puta mierda, no!” Then he was putting up his hands. “Rip! Please. Don’t kill him okay?”
The power running through me demanded more, but my head reminded me of essentials. I let go of my victim’s neck, lowered the gun, and forced myself to speak lightly. “Hello. As you can see, I’m entertaining a guest.”
Chumillo stared at the gasping, choking, groaning man and then carefully lowered his hands. “You okay?”
Macho posturing is the number one skill for building and maintaining a rep, so my response was automatic. “Of course.”
Chumillo’s eyes went to the gun. “Oh, right.”
“It’s his.”
“Joder!”
That was satisfying. “Who is he?”
“Eduardo, Campello’s cousin.”
At that, my erstwhile victim was moaning, “Chumillo! Ajude-me! For pity’s sake!”
I got up reluctantly. As soon as I was off him, the cousin launched to his feet, wailing. Chumillo stepped forward smartly and backhanded him across the face. “Imbecil! What did I tell you?”
