by A. J. Adams
“Mr Vazquez, I wasn’t here, and I didn’t see this.” Solitaire spoke calmly but her hands were clenched together. She wasn’t showing it, but she was afraid. “I just want out of here.”
“You know me?”
“You’re the big boss.” She looked up at me and smiled. She was dressed in a cheap cotton shirt and jeans that should be on the burn pile, but that smile was pure gold. This girl had guts.
“I told José he was a fool to try and cheat you,” she said. “I wasn’t part of it, and I don’t work for you. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
She’d heard about our policy protecting bystanders. Of course it doesn’t apply to anyone whose eyewitness testimony can put me in a courtroom. Well, try to put me in a courtroom. In Mexico nobody would dare accuse me, and I’ve enough resources in England to guarantee a police investigation would come to nothing, but it’s not my style to take chances. Solitaire would be going into the ground along with Escamilla.
“Mr Vazquez,” Solitaire gave me her best smile. “I don’t expect something for nothing.” She dropped her voice. “You’d like me,” she whispered. “I’ve heard about you. We’re the same.”
“Are we?”
“Yes, I can make you very happy.” She brushed my hand over her cheek and then kissed my palm. “I’m a very good girl,” she said quietly. “Unless you prefer a naughty one?”
She sucked my thumb, and I was instantly rock hard. I gazed at that lovely face and decided I might take her on a joyride if there was time. Afterwards she’d have to go, but seeing as she’d been helpful, I’d simply shoot her. The message the other bodies would send would be enough to concentrate everyone’s thoughts on the evil consequences of pissing me off. I’d be generous and give her an easy out.
“Don’t worry,” I told Solitaire. “Just stay put for a while, and then you can go.”
“Really?” The hope in her voice was reflected in her eyes. “Just like that?”
“You gave me the combination, so I owe you.” I stroked her cheek. “Maybe we’ll have time to get to know each other first, though.”
She smiled, confident now that she could screw her way out of this. Good, it would keep her calm and helpful. “I’d like that.”
“You fucking idiot, Solitaire!” Escamilla had recovered enough to speak. “You think he’ll leave a witness? You’re dead, just like me!”
Solitaire twisted the chair round so she could see him. “Unlike you, José, I don’t go around fucking over people who do me favours. I’m going to watch him kill you, hopefully very, very slowly, and then I’m going to walk out of here. I’ll be smiling, because you’re going to go screaming.”
The venom in her voice struck even me. Her hatred was like a solid block of ice.
She turned to me. “I hope you have something very nasty planned for him. My mum was in hospital on a ventilator. I came back to England to check up on her and had the bad luck to come across this bastard. He said he’d have someone switch it off if I tried to leave.” She was white with fury. “She died two weeks ago, and I didn’t know about it! I didn’t even get to say goodbye!”
I could have told Escamilla that blackmailing a woman into staying with you is always a disaster. Unwilling women always sound like a lot of fun, but in practice they’re pretty lousy. You can’t turn your back on them for a second, and they’re dry as a bone when you fuck them. Escamilla had really screwed up, and it was going to work out nicely – for me.
Solitaire swallowed, and for a moment her eyes welled. Then she toughened up again. “You’ll be worried about leaving a witness, so I’ll make you a deal: if you’ll lend me your gun, I’ll kill him myself. And I’ll do it slowly. You can take a video.”
“You want me to record it?”
Solitaire shrugged. “You’re here to kill him and his crew, aren’t you? You won’t want any witnesses. I won’t tell a soul, but you don’t know me, so you won’t take my word for it. With the video, you’ll own me.”
This was a quick thinking, logical woman. I relaxed and leaned on the desk. Her hatred made Solitaire an ally. If she made a move, which was unlikely, Escamilla would be the one she’d go for.
“I’ve got my own plans for him,” I told her. “I’ll keep the letter opener with the blood and the prints. It will be enough to incriminate you. Wait till this is over, and you can go. I’m not interested in punishing bystanders. Especially beauties like you.”
“You won’t regret this.” She spoke softly. “Thank you.”
Those dark blue eyes, the colour of the ocean on a hot day, were big enough to drown in. It would be a pity to see the light go out of them, but tonight was going to send a message that would be heard by the entire planet, and leaving a witness just wasn’t on. Solitaire’s offer was a good one, but there were too many people who’d let her skate on a single killing just for the pleasure of getting to me. It wasn’t worth the risk.
While I was regretting what was to come, I could see Escamilla laughing, happy in the knowledge that he’d be taking her with him. I was laughing too, because I saw Pedro Rojo lob a smoke grenade into a room, driving the four men out and into Kyle’s path. It was all over, and we’d won. As turf wars usually take out scores of people, losing just one was a miracle. Well, I say one, but I meant one on our side. Everyone on the wrong side would die, which is how it’s supposed to happen.
Now I needed one more thing to make my Happily Ever After. “José, you fucking thief, where’s my coke?”
To keep him thinking we weren’t onto him, we’d sent him the usual consignment – twenty kilos of high-grade cocaine. It had arrived the day before, and he wouldn’t have had time to re-package it. It was somewhere close, and I knew he wouldn’t tell me without persuasion, but I didn’t mind. In fact, I was looking forward to it. I have a lot of anger issues, and if finding out where Escamilla had stashed my property took a bit of torture, that would suit me fine.
“It’s probably in the wine cellar,” Solitaire said. “In the –”
“Shutupshutupshutup!” Escamilla was screaming, furious that I now had it all.
“Your coke is in the cellar,” Solitaire repeated firmly. “There’s a cage there,” she swallowed a bit. “The dick lick kept me there the first week I was here,” she said quietly.
It sounded like fun to me, but I knew better than to say so. “Why did he do that, sweetheart?”
“I fought him,” she said simply. “But then somehow he found out about my mum.”
I’ve done a lot of things, but to rape a woman by threatening her mother is despicable. “Tell me where my coke is, and I’ll make sure he suffers.”
“While I was locked up in that cage, I saw him hide some papers. There’s a false floor underneath a rack filled with brandy bottles. I think you’ll find your coke in there.”
I was tempted to go get it but Kyle had insisted that I stay in the office until his all clear, because “crossfire is a bitch”. I decided the coke could wait and began planning some downtime with Solitaire. There was bound to be a four-poster in this place, and the prospect of an hour with a naughty girl sounded good.
As I was fantasising about whipping her, Solitaire was giving Escamilla an evil look that would have withered a saguaro.
“I warned you,” she repeated. “I’ll watch him give you a Belfast six pack, and I’ll be laughing.”
That was a new one on me. “What’s a Belfast six pack?”
Solitaire glanced at me, totally surprised. “It’s when you shoot someone in the elbows, knees, and ankles. What’s it called in Mexico?”
“We just shoot the fuckers dead.”
Solitaire shrugged. “That works for me too.”
I decided I liked her; she had good taste. Solitaire sat back in the chair, crossing her legs at the ankles and looking like a model waiting for the photographer to set up.
Escamilla was laughing because he grew up with the cartel, and God knows we don’t let people walk. “You’re dead, Solitaire
!”
She looked at me, shrugged and ignored him. She was very definitely a girl with self-control. She also wasn’t a talker. I was really beginning to regret the fact that she’d have to go. Solitaire was interesting.
A movement on the CCTV caught my eye. I could see Kyle walking down a corridor, taking out his phone. I picked it up as it rang. “All secure?”
“Not quite. One’s not accounted for. Stay put, Arturo, I think –”
I saw a movement by the door, but as I brought up my gun, Solitaire bounced out of her seat, giving me a tremendous shove while screaming, “Watch out!”
Escamilla was yelling, there was a blam! as a bullet went winging past, and then Solitaire tripped over the rug. I let her go flying past me and took aim at the shadow by the door. One shot took him in the gut, and the second went in the head.
I picked up my phone again. “I found your missing man.”
But Kyle was already standing by the door, his face white as a sheet. “Thank God! For a moment I thought –”
“I’m fine.” As I said, Kyle fusses.
Kyle looked at the bodies in the hall. “Great job, Arturo. Beautiful precision.”
“Best of the best.” I looked at Escamilla. I didn’t want him moving about, so I shot him again, carefully sighting his other knee. With two useless arms and legs, he wasn’t going anywhere. It wasn’t a Belfast six-pack but then again, he had a lot more coming, and I didn’t want him passing out too quickly. “I hear my coke is in the wine cellar. Let’s go take a look.”
“Sure thing.”
I looked round, expecting the girl to be on her feet but she was lying in a loose limbed sprawl on the floor. At first I thought she’d been hit, but when I rolled her over, I saw a frayed cable. Escamilla’s air purifier had done it for Solitaire. It was a shame; she’d been useful to me. The way she’d shoved me out of the way of that bullet had been sweet, too.
Kyle was standing next to me, looking down at her. “Pretty girl.”
“Yes, she was.”
Kyle frowned and touched her neck. “She’s not gone, just out.”
“Excellent. Let’s check out the coke. If there’s a problem, she’ll help.”
“And after?” Kyle asked.
“She’ll have to go.” But as I said it, I knew I was reconsidering.
Chapter Two: Solitaire
I couldn’t open my eyes, everything hurt, and I could smell smoke. Maybe there was a cigarette burning in an ashtray. I couldn’t figure out where I was. I was lying on something hard, and I could hear shouting… screaming, really.
I opened my eyes. I could see a yellow ceiling and wood panelling but not much else. There was a light on a nearby desk, but the rest of the room was in darkness.
I struggled to sit up. My head hurt, my scalp hurt, even my hair hurt. It felt like I’d been beaten, yet I wasn’t bruised. I ignored it and forced myself to sit up. Something was wrong, and I had to get to the bottom of it.
When I stood up, my head swam, and I almost fell over. I hung on to the edge of the desk and as my vision cleared, I almost screamed: there was a man lying on the floor, and he was covered in blood.
He had dark hair and sallow skin, and he was emaciated. His face looked like a skull – all jutting bones and no flesh. I knew I hated him, but I couldn’t remember his name. It bothered me, so I forced myself to take a closer look. He was wearing thin gloves; just the sight of them gave me the creeps. I remembered that rubber dragging over my skin, pinching and hurting but not in a fun way. He smelled of antiseptic, and that gave me the heaves, too.
Despite all the blood, I could see he was alive, because his chest was moving up and down. He was out cold. Maybe whoever had hurt him had hit me, too. He was so still that it was freaking me out.
As I stood there, scared stupid and feeling horribly sick but unable to move, he opened his eyes. They were dark brown, the lashes black, and they were full of hate. “Solitaire. You fucking bitch!”
At the sound of his voice, flat and lifeless, a black rage surged through me, running through my body like a flame. I wanted to kill him. No, I wanted to maim him, rip him apart, to hear him scream.
The emotion was so stark that I found myself taking a step back. I really, really hated him, so why the hell couldn’t I remember him? And then it hit me: Solitaire? My name was Solitaire? I wasn’t just failing to recognise him; I didn’t know myself! It appalled and scared me, but I hid my panic, knowing instinctively that I shouldn’t show weakness.
He was laughing now. “You stupid bitch! You told him everything he needs to know. You’re useless to him now. Except as entertainment, and you know what that means.”
I didn’t, actually, but it didn’t sound good.
“Just think, Solitaire, you get to have a last gang bang before you go.”
His voice was triggering an image, a memory of something nasty. He’d been on top of me, shoving himself inside me. I remembered the way his ribs had cut into me as his cock had torn into me. I’d wanted to scream then, and the mental image made me sick now. “You fucker! You raped me!”
“You can’t rape a whore.”
Before I knew what I was doing, I kicked him. I got him good because his whole body convulsed, and he screamed. It was a faint, weird, high sound that signalled exquisite pain. It didn’t stop me from kicking him again.
I looked around, spotted a bloodstained blade on the desk and picked it up. I was contemplating whether I should cut the fucker’s heart out or sever his prick and feed it to him when the door opened. I swear to God, I thought the devil had come for me. He was built like the side of a barn, covered in blood, and his eyes were like chips of ice. He looked at me, and I knew this was death.
This time it was me screaming. I backed up and tried to keep going, even after I hit the wood panelling. I just kept pushing, trying to go right through the wall.
Death stood still and held the door open for a second figure.
“Stop yelling, Solitaire.” He had the same dark hair and eyes as the man on the floor, but he had smooth, deeply tanned skin, good bones and a chunky body. Unlike the devil in black, he was dressed in a sky blue pullover and jeans. He was carrying a suitcase, and he looked solid and dependable. “And put that letter opener down. I don’t want him dead just yet.”
His voice was soft yet clear, and he spoke with a slight drawl that I knew was American. He’d used my name, so he knew me too. I didn’t know him, but he didn’t give me the horrors.
He walked up to me, took the blade out of my hand and tugged me towards a big leather chair by the desk. He smelled of aftershave, something lemony and fresh. It was soothing, familiar somehow. The scent settled my heaving stomach, and I began to feel better. “Sit down.”
I sat, sinking into the leather. I was angry, frightened and confused. Everything hurt, I didn’t know what the hell was going on, and to top it all, I suddenly felt terribly sick. My heart was racing like the clappers, and I had the cold sweats.
He looked into my eyes, running a finger down the side of my face. “I thought you were gone,” he said quietly. “I’m very glad you’re not.”
I looked into those brown eyes and saw he was smiling at me. It was the weirdest thing: my rage took a back seat, my hands unclenched, and I felt safe. It was like coming out of a dark dream and finding the sun was shining.
“I know Escamilla raped you,” he said quietly. “I’ll take care of him soon, okay? Just sit and be patient.”
At the words, I got more flashes. Horrible, violent memories that racked me. Escamilla slapping me, his hands running over me, his breath in my face. I wanted to heave.
“Okay, Solitaire. Just take it easy.”
The soft brown eyes were concerned. His voice flowed over me, soothing and warm. I found myself leaning up against him, breathing in that citrus scent. It felt right, and I decided that in the maelstrom of all that dark emo and horror, I would make certain I was next to the one person who was the exception.
He
smiled at me, settled me in the chair and then got busy, putting the suitcase on the desk and examining the seams. The devil was now standing on my other side, and I didn’t like it at all. He smelled of chemicals, and I could see blood on his wrists. This was one big, bad motherfucker.
I leaned towards the other one, leaning against his arm. He looked surprised, and then he smiled again and patted my shoulder. The smile lit up his face, and the way he touched me was gentle, but I wasn’t fooled into thinking everything was hunky-dory. His pullover was soft, but there was something hard underneath, and I could see a gun stuck into his waistband, too. This man acted nice, but he was just as dangerous as the devil.
I looked at that gun and wondered if he was the one who had shot Escamilla. Then I looked down and saw that my hands were bloody, too. For a moment I thought it had come from the letter opener, but then I saw dark brown streaks on my wrists. I had a flash of memory, a sensation of bony sweaty ribs against my body and then a shiver and scream. That’s when I knew I’d stabbed the skeleton on the floor.
I couldn’t see the bugger because the desk hid his body from view, but I could hear him breathe. It was a ragged sound that told me was hurting. It was a sound that satisfied the hate in me.
The fucker deserves to go screaming.
The thought popped up out of nowhere, and I had a fleeting impression of my memory being hidden in a lake of black. Part of me wanted to clear the water, to see what was underneath, but I also sensed a feeling of dread. What the fuck had been going on here? For a moment I thought of speaking up, but the certain knowledge that weakness was unsafe stopped me.
So I kept my mouth shut and watched the devil take a phone out of his pack. He fiddled about with it and ran it over the suitcase. I could see all sorts of lights flashing on and off. It wasn’t a phone but some sort of sensor.
