by A. J. Adams
I was watching the barrel. All I could see was the top of Escamilla’s head. It’s amazing how small you can fold someone, especially when you cuff wrists to ankles. From the way he was bobbing around, he was up to his neck in water. The wood and coal stacked underneath would do a spectacular job. Escamilla was going to experience sous-vide cuisine in a very personal way.
“Now you’re here, we can start.” Kyle threw me a pack of matches. “Thought you’d like to do the honours.”
I took Solitaire’s chin and forced it up. “Watch what happens to people who try fuck me over.” I kept hold of that chin until she knew to keep watching the barrel. Then I lit a match and tossed it into the wood bunched underneath.
It was soaked in gasoline and it went up with a roar. A split second later, Escamilla’s head popped up over the rim of that barrel, and he was screaming. Solitaire’s eyes went wide, and then she was up and running. The men just sat there laughing, and it was me that ended up chasing her half a mile over a field before cornering her.
The second I put a hand on her shoulder, she twisted, punched me solidly in the chest with her right fist and broke left. I was totally taken by surprise. Training with Kyle and his people regularly meant I could steer her knee clear of my balls, and I tried to keep hold of her shoulder, but she was so fast that I lost my balance.
She slipped away, leaving me flat on my face in the field, holding her shirt. I ran her down again, and this time I got a good hold of her. This time she didn’t fight me; the second I touched her she was wailing – a high-pitched petrified cry of despair, and it took me a moment to realise she thought she was next.
“Solitaire, you’re coming with me to Mexico! Calm down!”
She was too afraid to understand me, and she’d gone weak at the knees, so I tried to pick her up. I intended to dump her in the SUV, but she thought she was going into the barrel. She put up one hell of a fight, and I ended up lying on top of her, holding her down with my weight. Big mistake. She bucked like a steer while trying to get a hold of my balls with her hands and savaging my arms with her teeth.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Solitaire! Stop it!” I yelled in her ear and held on to her wrists, pulling them straight out and pinning her until she gasped and paused for breath. “Just relax, okay?”
I got no answer, and her eyes were wild. Solitaire was with me in body (and certainly in tooth and claw), but she wasn’t tracking. I blame myself for that; I knew she’d be scared, but I didn’t expect to drive her out of her mind. I guess she wasn’t as tough as she’d appeared.
I waited until she exhausted herself and lay still. “I’m not going to kill you. I’m taking you to Mexico. Okay? Are we good?”
When she nodded, I leaned up carefully. When she didn’t go for me, I pulled her to her feet and walked her to the SUV, carefully taking an angle that didn’t take us directly towards the others.
I pushed her inside and handed her the blouse she’d shed. “Stay here,” I warned her. “Just stay, okay?”
She was nodding so hard that she was in danger of whiplash. I closed the door on her and went back to enjoy the show. Boiling is a traditional Zeta punishment, but it’s not something I’d ever done before. It was fucking noisy; Escamilla screamed the place down.
You know, I’d never really liked him. He was a whiney-ass kid, and as a grownup he wasn’t much better. He was also lazy, but I didn’t mind that. In my business people are always greedy, so I figured Escamilla’s sloth would prevent him from getting big ideas. On the plus side, he never skimmed, and he was extremely tight-lipped. Those are very rare qualities in our world.
It’s not easy to find good people in any business, but cartel people tend to focus on money with most not bothering to learn even basic management principles. They make a lot of stupid mistakes, and as they’re greedy, they’re also always trying to figure out new ways to fuck each other over. So you can see why I rated Escamilla as a decent employee.
When we got our hands on a nice new slice of business in England – courtesy of the aforementioned English rim job, by the way – I sent Escamilla to set up headquarters, evaluate what we had, scope out new prospective business ventures and report back. If he’d done the job well, he would have been the regional boss, answerable only to me. It would have been a sweet deal worth five million a year to him, but as it turned out, Kyle had been right, and I’d underestimated his greed.
Escamilla decided he was man enough to take me on and go it alone. Dropping me and my protection would have doubled his income. It sounds like a good deal, because staff always think it’s easy to run a business, but trust me: Escamilla would have been a fucking disaster. I’d drilled the skills needed for day-to-day operations into him over the years, but he would’ve crashed and burned in months without my back-up.
Anyway, he never got to learn that lesson because we’d caught up with him in time. As it turned out, he was a total fucking coward, too. Funny that, I always thought all that hypochondria would melt away, leaving true grit. Turns out all he had deep down was mush. What a loser. The second he began yelling, I lost what little respect I had for him.
After about an hour, his voice went. It was a relief, really. His screams were killing the conversation. When I went to take a look at him, the water was scalding but not boiling. Escamilla had died of sheer funk. It was disappointing but not a total disaster: nobody would be sure how long he’d lasted, and people love to imagine the worst. The message that fucking with me is fatal would go over big.
We’d emptied the cooler at that point, so while everyone else collected the cans and cigarette butts (no point in leaving all that obvious DNA evidence around), I punched a few holes in the lid and rammed it on top of the barrel. I’m seldom in the kitchen, but I understand the principles of pressure-cooking: if you don’t let the steam escape, you get an explosion. I just wished that I could be there when some unlucky bastard decided to take a look inside. It was bound to be a classic.
When we were done, Chema hit the switch and lit up the house. We made sure that the fires were ripping through the structure, took one last look at the scene, and then we headed for London. Escamilla’s nearest neighbour was ten miles away, and as it was still a couple of hours till dawn, it would be a while before anyone got close enough to check out what was going on. By then, there would be nothing left. The barrel was rusty so it held no prints, and the C-4 and gasoline would take care of the house. All anyone would find would be the bodies on the lawn, and there wouldn’t be enough DNA on those for court action.
Even if there were, I wasn’t worried, because all that CSI stuff on TV about making a case on a single hair follicle is crap. Quite apart from labs needing matching samples and then taking months to produce results, juries seldom understand the evidence, because a good lawyer screws with their minds. Just look at OJ: the man in the street just doesn’t get it.
As we made our way back to London, I was feeling pretty damn good about our night’s work. Solitaire wasn’t feeling so happy, so I took her on my lap and held her. There was no point in having her scared to death; a little fear is fun, but too much leads to total shutdown, and that’s boring.
“Solitaire, you’re perfectly safe.”
“Yes, okay.”
The words meant nothing, she was on autopilot.
“He blackmailed you, and then he raped you. Not once, not twice, but for weeks.”
She went stiff and then sighed. “I remember. The fucker. Oh God, the lousy, rotten bastard.”
“He deserved what he got.”
“Yes.” But the way she shivered, I knew she was still freaked, so I held her and stroked her hair until she stopped trembling. She’d gotten in a couple of great punches, and my arm was bruised to the bone and still bleeding, but it didn’t bother me. I’m used to getting hurt. It’s a consequence of the business I’m in. Even so, I made a note that Solitaire fought well. If I hadn’t been training with the best, she would have had me, no doubt about it. This was a strong woman.<
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We dropped off the SUV and our equipment at a safe house twenty miles outside London, transferred into two BMWs and headed for the city. Solitaire didn’t try anything. She just sat and stared into space. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking or if she was thinking. Maybe she was just exhausted. I knew I was. We’d missed a night’s sleep, and that always fucks with your head.
By the time we got to the hotel, a nice boutique place with no CCTV to track our comings and goings, it was late afternoon. I was tired, hungry and dying for a shower.
Solitaire was moving like a sleepwalker. We all trooped into my suite, and while the men broke out the tequila, I looked her over. She didn’t look as if she was going to cause trouble, but I took the phone out of the bedroom just in case.
“Have a shower, Solitaire, and then get into bed.”
“Yes. Okay.”
The words were robotic, but she went away, and I heard the shower run. While she got cleaned up, we had our own small celebration with the aid of some excellent tequila. AsomBroso is eleven years old, smooth as silk, and it puts fire in your belly. Maybe if I’d given Escamilla some, he would have lasted longer. It was too late to think of that, but I decided I’d give Solitaire a shot or two. First though, we had to wind up business for the day.
“We’ve got a day before this hits the press and anyone finds out we’re in town,” I told the men. “Jorge took over operations this morning. Seeing as it’s business as usual again, take forty-eight hours off and have some fun.”
“What about security?” Quique asked.
“We’ve outsourced it to an agency for the next three days,” Kyle said. “They’ll be here in fifteen minutes.”
It reminded me of something. “Kyle, did the gifts arrive?”
Kyle looked blank for a moment and then grinned. “They’re on their way, too.”
As if on cue there was a knock on the door, and six girls walked in. I’d picked a blue-eyed blonde for myself and told the agency to send me five more of their best, and they had. These girls were fucking gorgeous.
“A small bonus,” I told the men, “and I’ve put an extra payment in your accounts.” Money is always a motivator, but nothing says the boss appreciates you more than hookers. By the wood all round, I could see my gesture was going over big.
Pedro, Quique and Chema were grinning, busily exploring their girls, but Kyle shook off the one trying to sit on his knee. Like I said, my brother’s whipped. Seeing I had Solitaire, and poor Fucho hadn’t made it, Chema, Pedro and Quique all got to play doubles. Pedro took the girl I’d selected. She was cute but nothing on Solitaire. I didn’t regret passing her up.
So the men went off to party, but Kyle waited for the security detail to arrive. I could have looked after myself for ten minutes, but I knew there was no point in trying to send him off. It’s easier to wear down a rock than get Kyle to do something he doesn’t want to.
I knew he was dying to call Chloe, so I updated him quickly on my plans. “I’m going to check out my girl, have a nap, and then I’m out for a walk.” When I’m not at home, I always let Kyle know my plans. You never know what might happen, and if something goes down, I want to know that my brother has all the intel he needs. “I’ll stay in this area, check out the Real Ale pub at the end of this block and then take a walk in the park.”
“Sure thing.”
“See you at breakfast.”
“All right.” Kyle was already dialling, and as I closed the bedroom door I heard him say, “Sweet pitufa, everything’s a-okay.”
Solitaire was under the covers, looking paler than the white pillows behind her. I handed her a large tequila. “Drink this while I have a shower.”
Her clothes were folded neatly and stacked on a shelf. I threw them in the garbage. They weren’t worth saving. By the time I joined her in bed, she’d downed the AsomBroso and stopped shivering. It was time for a chat.
I put my arm around her and pulled her close to me. She was a little stiff but her eyes were normal again. She was getting over the shock. “Listen, Solitaire. What you saw was business.”
“I won’t tell.” She was desperate to assure me.
“That’s good. You should know I can get to anyone, anywhere.”
“I won’t say anything. Ever.”
“Good. You’re my girl now. You keep your mouth shut, about this, and about anything you see or hear.”
“Yes, Arturo.”
“We’ll have fun.”
“Yes, Arturo.”
She was still on automatic pilot, but I knew she’d get over it. She’d lived with Escamilla, and that was no picnic. Still, I knew how to help her settle quickly. What she needed was some security.
“Solitaire, don’t forget that I owe you. You helped me take down the E-field and get my coke back. I also won’t forget that you saved my life.” Solitaire gasped, her eyes wide with surprise. I ruffled her hair. “You pushed me out of the path of that bullet. You didn’t think I’d forget that, did you? I owe you a big one.”
“I can still hear him s-s-screaming.”
“He raped you, remember? You said you wanted revenge.”
She blinked and nodded. “Yes. I remember.”
“You wanted to give him a Belfast six pack. You wanted him to go out screaming.”
She took my hand. “I hated him,” she said. “I wanted him dead.”
“Listen to me, Solitaire.” I ruffled her hair again to show her I wasn’t judging. “I understand why you helped me, but I value loyalty.”
“I didn’t owe that sick fuck any!”
This was the tough girl talking. The ice princess. “I agree, but total loyalty no matter what is a condition of your staying with me.” I knew I didn’t have to point out the alternative.
Solitaire was nodding. “I get it. I really, really get it.”
“Don’t forget.”
She put her hand on my thigh, took a deep breath and visibly calmed herself. “Arturo, I have a brain. Next time you want to tell me something, drop the show and go for tell, okay?”
She was still looking a bit sick, but she was getting her ‘tude back. Good. Now she’d be fun again. I was all set to play when the phone rang.
It was Jorge. “Arturo! Welcome to England. How are you?”
I could tell by his tone that Jorge was still excited by his promotion. Jorge is young, just twenty-six, but I picked him to replace Escamilla for two reasons: Jorge majored in business management at Cornell, and he’s my cousin. The first means that he’s got a good grasp on the theoretical principles of business. The second means he’s blood so less likely to try and fuck me over.
In the cartel we tend to hire family because it’s safer. Also, we tend to have large families. My father had two brothers and three sisters, my mother had four sisters and a brother, and they all had tonnes of kids, so I’ve got thirty-eight cousins. I won’t tell you about the second cousins, the illigits and the in-laws, because that number runs into scores.
Although I’ve known Jorge all my life, he’s not close to me the way Kyle is, but I knew him well enough to hear he was desperate to do this right. He was anxious to sound cool, but the rapid way he spoke gave away that he was tense. “What’s up, Jorge?”
“Everything’s fine,” he assured me. “I’ve worked out a ninety day plan but I’m a bit out of my depth, and I’d rather make a fool out myself in front of you than fuck up.”
I liked the honest way he outlined his limits and dealt with his needs. He’s young, but he’s got talent. Also, it wouldn’t hurt to give Solitaire a little more time. “Come right over.” I gave him the address. “And bring something to eat. This hotel is French gourmet, and I’m in the mood for English food.”
Jorge turned up thirty minutes later, armed with a laptop, a folder and three giant wicker baskets from Fortnum and Mason. I gave Solitaire a plate loaded with pie, cheese, and farmhouse pickle and told her I’d be an hour or two, but with one thing and another, the meeting went on till after eleven. By t
hat time, jetlag and missing a night’s sleep was catching up. I fell into bed, put an arm around Solitaire, and the next thing I knew, it was eight in the morning.
She was lying next to me, nervous and smelling of toothpaste but looking much better. There were three missed calls on my phone, and there was no time for more than a quick fuck. I spooned her, got her wet and had her. Not what I’d planned, but it was probably better, because my games can be off-putting. The straightforward fuck seemed to settle her, because she was smiling and more confident.
“Get dressed. I’ll take you for a good English breakfast.”
“As long as there are no boiled eggs.”
She was definitely bouncing back. I stood over her while she looked in her backpack. Although Chema had checked for weapons, I wanted to learn more about my new girl. What I learned was that she had a shitty wardrobe. She had a spare pair of panties and a tee, and that was it. Escamilla had plenty of money, yet he’d let his girl go about in rags. I don’t get that. I like people to envy me when they see the woman I’m with.
I put a hand on her shoulder and smiled at her. “Rescue your other stuff from the trash for now. After breakfast, I’ll take you shopping.”
Usually those are words that melt a woman’s heart, but Solitaire just nodded. I really had overdone it. I’m like that because I don’t scare easily. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I was afraid. Because of that I sometimes underestimate how sensitive people are. I looked at those tight little lines by Solitaire’s mouth and knew that if I wanted that slutty siren back, I’d have to play nice for a while. It wouldn’t be much effort: Solitaire was easy on the eye, and she had style.
Thankfully our tussle the night before hadn’t left major marks. Solitaire had a few bruises around her wrists while I had some terrific marks on my ribs, and my arms looked like they’d been chewed by a Doberman. As England’s always miserably cold, long-sleeved shirts would hide the damage. In company, we’d pass.
We’d go out shopping, but first I wanted food. I was starving, and as it turned out, breakfast was just what Solitaire needed to get her groove back again. We met the others in the hotel dining room, and we feasted on a classic English breakfast of sausages and bacon. Solitaire packed it in, but she ate beautifully – definitely an educated girl. She also waited on me, making me buttered toast and pouring tea, putting in the milk first and handling the silver strainer like a duchess.
