by A. J. Adams
“Seth wants to apologise,” Alexa announced. “He’s leaving in the morning so we thought we’d swing by first.”
What can you say? Seth mumbled a half-hearted apology, and Solitaire smiled and said something about party fever.
“I left my sunglasses here,” Alexa said. “Let me just go get them.”
She peeled off, and I was distracted by Pyotr saying goodbye. “Terrific party, Arturo. Best ever.” He shook my hand, gave me the half Nelson Russians always give each other, and said quietly, “I’ll miss you, Arturo. You’ve made me a fucking fortune in the last few months. But hey, that Solitaire is quite a package. Congratulations!” Then he was off, yelling cheerful goodbyes in Russian, French and Portuguese. Pyotr speaks six languages, usually in one sentence, and I often think he’s forgotten his native tongue. Maybe he hasn’t got one.
When I turned back to Solitaire, she was picking up a drink and frowning at Seth, who was leaving. “He’s high as a kite,” she said worriedly. “I don’t want to interfere, Arturo, but that boy’s a total tosser. You should ask your sisters to find someone better for Alexa.”
“Just what I was thinking.”
“Good.” Solitaire gulped her drink. “That chorizo is delicious but salty,” she said. “A tonic is just the thing. You know, Arturo, that this tastes quite different from the stuff in England? It’s much more bitter.”
The party was winding down, and as people began gathering up kids and leaving, the late stayers hung out chatting on the terrace.
I was standing by the gate, waving goodbye to Loli when Chumillo popped up. “Boss, something’s wrong.”
My heart dropped in my shoes. “Alexa? Has that fucker –?”
“No, it’s Solitaire.”
I ran back to the house, and as I came round the corner, I heard Solitaire laugh. It wasn’t her usual giggle; this was loud, high and hysterical.
Solitaire was sitting in my chair, white-faced, shaking and talking and laughing uncontrollably. Chloe was sitting next to her, holding her hands and nodding reassuringly. When she saw me, she looked up. “Here’s Arturo,” she said gently. “Talk to Arturo, okay?”
Solitaire laughed again, a grating sound that made my hair stand up on end. “I see him in mirrors. In mirrors and in windows. Wherever there’s a reflection. Do you think that’s where hell is? In mirrors? Maybe he’s there waiting for me. If I break one, he might reach out and grab me.”
“No, I said forcefully. “He’s gone, Solitaire. Forever.” I held her hands. “Come on, sirena. Come sit with me a second.”
I was talking calmly, willing her to relax, but my heart was busy pounding its way out of my chest. I remembered her downing that drink and saying it was bitter; it had been spiked.
While I was holding Solitaire, listening to her babble about Escamilla and her mother coming at her from reflections, Kyle was on the phone. “I’ve no idea,” he was saying. “It looks like an amphetamine rather than a psychedelic. Yes, involuntary ingestion, that’s what I said.” He paused. “Thanks. We’ll be there in twenty.”
He stood up. “Arturo, she’s got to get rid of what’s left in her stomach.”
Chloe stood up, quickly stirred a heap of salt into a glass of coke and handed it to me. “I’ll go find a bucket.”
Solitaire was chatting away, totally disconnected from everything around her. “I feel him sometimes,” she said. “I can feel his ribs. Isn’t that weird? Don’t know who I am, but he sticks with me.”
“Drink this,” I told her.
Solitaire kept gabbling nervously. “I think I’m haunted.”
Kyle moved forward. “Hold her arms, Arturo.”
I’ll say one thing: I’ve no problem beating the hell out of someone, but to have to hold Solitaire still while Kyle forcibly poured that drink down her almost killed me. Luckily he’s very quick and very practiced. He pinched her nose, forced her head back, and before she could complain or struggle, he was pouring that stuff down her throat.
Poor Solitaire choked and tried to kick him, and then she was gulping and retching. Everything came up beautifully. It was so quick that Chloe was too late with the garbage can.
Kyle was holding Solitaire by the knees, preventing her from booting him in the nuts. “Car’s waiting. Hospital’s waiting too.”
At his words I picked Solitaire up, and I was running.
The trip to town was hell. Solitaire was hysterical, frightened, disoriented and retching uncontrollably. I held her tight, trying to soothe her, but by the time we got to the hospital, we were both soaked in sweat, tears and terror.
Bautista wasn’t there, but the old doc who was waiting for us was excellent. He had Solitaire checked out in minutes, and then very quickly had her sedated and on oxygen.
“I think you were right,” he said to me. “Definitely an amphetamine-like reaction, but I think it’s most likely cocaine. Good job getting her here so fast.”
“Will she be all right?”
He shrugged. “All the signs are that it was a low dose. I think she’ll come through in a few hours.” He touched the monitors. “Her heart rate is already slowing down, and her temperature is under control. Those are good signs.” He looked me over and frowned. “You said she had a spiked drink?”
“Actually, that was me,” Kyle rumbled. He’d been standing by the door, not saying a word, but I had his finger marks on my shoulders from where he’d held me back so the doc could work on Solitaire. “She was fine all night, drinking one or two gins, and then suddenly whammo. I figured someone doped her.”
“She had a glass of tonic,” I said. “She said it was bitter, but I never thought –” Suddenly the tears were pouring down my face. “Jesus. She could have died!”
Kyle patted my shoulders. It was Seth, we both knew. That fucker Seth had done it. He’d been standing next to her when she’d poured that drink. The sick bastard had spiked it, from anger, because he was high, or maybe because he was terminally stupid. It would be the last thing he’d done, because I was going to kill him.
The doc smiled at us. “Well, she has to stay tonight, just so I can be certain she’s all right.”
“I’m staying too!” I told him.
“I know that, Mr Vazquez,” he said gently. “Have your people send you some hot tea with lots of sugar. You’ve had a shock, too. Sugar’s good for that.”
“You know me?”
“Know you? The man who gave us our MRI machine?” The smile became a grin. “I’m Alvarado. Pedro Acosta Alvarado. Also, my sister’s son is one of your gardeners. You’re a generous employer, Mr Vazquez. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
He nodded and vanished, and it wasn’t till much later that it occurred to me that the one time I did meet someone who didn’t loathe me on sight, Solitaire missed it. It didn’t matter though; she was going to be all right, so I could tell her later.
While Kyle disappeared to load the place with security, I sat next to my girl and began making plans. I’m sure you can guess what was going to be first on my agenda.
Chapter Eighteen: Solitaire
When I woke up, I felt rotten. I was hot, cold and sweaty, and my stomach, throat and face were killing me. I vaguely remembered Arturo holding me like a vice while Kyle shoved something down my throat. A fist maybe. I opened my eyes, and there was Arturo.
“Sirena.” His hands, warm and firm, were holding mine. “Thank God.”
I tried to say, “Hi,” but all that came out was a gargle.
“Wait a second. Have some water.”
He produced a bottle of iced water from a cooler by the bed.
I gulped it down gratefully. “Arturo, what the hell happened?”
“That American hijo de puta spiked your drink.” His voice was calm and even, but his hand was squeezing mine tightly. “I’m so sorry, Solitaire.”
Typical Arturo. He always thinks he controls the universe or is at least responsible for any shit that happens. I knew exactly who to blame: it was that fucker Seth, and
if I could get my hands on him, I’d have his balls.
“Why’s it your fault?” I sat up and gave him a hug. “Arturo, you look like hell. Crawl in with me.”
It was the right thing to say. We cuddled up together, and he heaved a sigh of relief. “I was scared to death.”
“Me too. But I’m okay now.”
Arturo looked appalled. “You remember it all?”
I kissed him, on the cheek seeing I was sure I had dragon breath. “The bit where you and that big devil of a brother of yours manhandled me?”
“Sorry.”
He really is an ass sometimes. “Arturo, you and Kyle saved my life!”
“Oh God, sirena! I thought you were going to die!”
“Not with you around to rescue me!”
We were about to get hot and heavy when a nurse came in, took one look and ran off giggling.
“Arturo, take me home, please.”
I have the feeling that it usually takes ages to check out of a hospital, but Arturo went to work, and we were out of there twenty minutes later.
When he got me home, Arturo took me straight down to the bedroom in the dungeon. “The sun is shining, the birds are making a racket, and I want you to sleep,” he said as he tucked me in. “It’s dark and quiet here. Now curl up, close your eyes, and I’ll check on you in an hour.”
I was feeling like hell, so I rested, blissful in cottoned silence, and fell into a deep sleep. Unfortunately, I plunged straight into a nightmare world where Escamilla had me in a cage. I woke up in a sweat, went back to sleep and dreamed about that blond bloke holding the machete. Waking up again, several nasty memories richer, I decided I needed company, not enlightening solitude.
I staggered into the lift, showered and threw on a bikini. The stripes on my bum were fading, but there were lovely new imprints around my arms. I counted four fingers and a thumb on each. I must have given Arturo a hell of a time the night before, poor bugger.
When I got downstairs, there was loud music coming from the poolside, so I headed out back. The second I stepped out onto the patio, I knew something was wrong. The crew were gathered around the swing set, looking tense and menacing. Arturo stood in the middle, holding an electric drill. The sight of it tugged at something in my mind, a story I’d heard. Something about Arturo and his sister, Loli.
I stood there, trying to think what the hell it was, when Arturo said something, switched on the drill, and there was a shrill scream. It was a sound of fear personified, and it went straight through me.
For a second I was rooted to the ground, and then I was running and screaming, “Arturo, for God’s sake stop!”
Arturo dropped the drill, went white and tried to prevent me from seeing the figure behind him. It was too late.
They’d tied Seth to the crossbar of the swing set. He was missing his front teeth, his nose was smashed to a pulp, and one eye was rapidly swelling. There were no holes in him yet – Arturo had only frightened him – but from the hammer and saw on the ground, Arturo was planning on working methodically through his toolbox.
Given the way I felt, I was happy to see Seth looked like shit. But I wasn’t happy at the thought of what Arturo was going to do. I’d remembered the story now, and I knew Seth was facing a long and extremely nasty death. I’d been thinking of all the horrible things I’d do to him just a few minutes earlier, but now that I was confronted with the reality, it was quite a different proposition.
As I looked at the bleeding, battered body, I heard retching from behind me. I recognised Salvatore, Julia’s husband. He looked at Seth, at Arturo and his drill, and then nervously pressed a handkerchief to his lips. He was as white as the monogrammed cotton. I remembered he was a car salesman. This kind of business was clearly out of his sphere.
“Sirena, this isn’t the place for you.” Arturo was trying to take my arm, willing me to go inside the house. I looked at his eyes, seeing dark fury in them. This was the Arturo who had taken Danjuma by the throat. By his uncompromising face, and the angry eyes and narrowed mouths of the crew around me, I knew this was going to be a problem.
Arturo had explained his ethos, that he ruled through terror, and showing weakness would signal a free for all. If he didn’t take spectacular revenge on the man who almost killed me, it wouldn’t simply show that he didn’t value me, but Arturo’s enemies would also think he’d gone soft. They would attack his sisters, his nieces and eventually destroy his family. The crew knew this, and from their set faces I knew they were worried about their own families. If everyone were to remain safe, Arturo had to show strength, and his reaction had to be brutal.
This knowledge came to me without effort, but it took me a second or so to figure out how to stop it. Arturo’s brother-in-law, though, wasn’t on the same page.
“For God’s sake,” Salvatore cried. “What are you thinking? Arturo, you can’t do this!”
Arturo and his crew looked at him with derision.
“I want him dead, and the longer he suffers the better,” I announced. Instantly the crew switched their attention back to me. There was some nodding and a few murmurs of approval. “The thing is, Arturo,” I dropped my voice so only he and the crew nearest us could hear, “Alexa is going to get into a world of trouble over this.”
“She won’t,” Arturo rumbled. “She kicked him out this morning, and she thinks he’s gone off south by himself. He’ll just disappear.”
“And that’s the problem,” I said softly. “Boy goes off on spring break with the cartel boss’s cousin and is never seen again.”
Arturo looked shifty. “We can make up a story of a traffic accident.”
“Come on, Arturo. You’re not exactly unknown to the authorities. The US cops are going to use his disappearance as an excuse to hassle Alexa, just so they can annoy you.”
Chumillo and Pedro Rojo were standing close to us, and I could see both were beginning to worry.
“Solitaire, I can’t let this go.” Arturo’s dark fury was subsiding, but he remained adamant.
“I don’t want you to let it go. I’m just saying that you have to find another way. One that doesn’t end up with Alexa taking any heat.”
Chumillo swore. “I could take the body back to San Diego.”
“Dump it in a car crusher maybe,” Pedro was thinking out loud.
“As long as it’s messy, it won’t matter too much how,” Chumillo agreed. “A wood chipper would do, too.”
“Too many bits,” Pedro argued. “We need them to have enough to identify.”
Listening to them, Salvatore looked sicker and sicker.
I decided to jump in. “Frankly, I want the fucker to suffer. What’s the sentence in the US for beating up a woman? Or carrying a nice big baggy of coke?”
They all stared at me.
“Look,” I said patiently. “If anything happens to him here, Alexa gets it. But if he’s in an American jail, she can say she kicked him out for being an arsehole, and he got into trouble later.”
“It’s too mild a punishment,” Pedro said decisively.
“I hear American jails are bloody awful,” I said. “Male rape is a daily event there. Beat the fuck out of him and dump him in jail. You must have contacts who can arrange that. A nice long stretch will get him thrown out of school and prevent him from ever getting a decent job. For a lazy-arsed golf scholarship boy who thinks he’s got it made, it will be a living hell.”
You might think I should have taken Salvatore’s side, but I was furious, you see. Seth could have killed me and for the sole reason that I didn’t want him to kiss me. If he walked, he’d do it again. What’s more, I wouldn’t put it past the bugger to have already revenge raped, beaten up and otherwise abused women who’d turned him down. Men like Seth consider themselves fully justified for all the pain and horror they cause. Part of me whispered the world would be a better place without him altogether, but I didn’t want to be the one to take him out. And I didn’t want the burden to land on Arturo either.
&
nbsp; Arturo was nodding. “Ruin instead of take his life,” he repeated. “I know what will work,” he said. “Don’t worry, sirena. It’ll go down across the border, it won’t come home to Alexa, and it will send a message.”
“No drills, Arturo.”
“No, no, Solitaire! Nothing like that.” Arturo gave me a kiss. “Now, please, go inside.”
“Just one thing.” I knew not killing Seth would seem a lucky break to some, so I’d make sure people would put any sign of weakness down at my door. Also, I wanted my revenge. “Lend me your drill for a minute, Arturo.”
He hesitated and then handed it to me. “Press the green button to start it.”
“Thanks.” I confronted Seth. He looked like shit, but he’d live. I loathed that sick son of a bitch, and I was going to make sure that every time he thought of hurting a girl, he’d remember this moment and back the hell off.
“We’ve had a chat, and Arturo has agreed that I can make the first cut,” I said cheerfully.
I must have been convincing because the crew were whistling, clapping and egging me on while Seth struggled and began wailing. “Wait, I didn’t mean it! I didn’t think!”
“Too late, chum. You almost killed me, and I’m paying you back in full.”
I turned to Arturo. “Did you say to go straight through the balls or to take them off?”
“Either way works, but avoid the thigh,” Arturo replied loudly. “There’s a big vein there, and you don’t want him bleeding out.”
I started the drill and put it close to Seth’s groin. “Here?”
At my words, the crew were laughing and making bets on whether Seth would pass out. Salvatore turned and retched into Arturo’s flower border. Seth screamed, shat himself and fainted, even though I hadn’t touched him. I switched off the drill. His terror made me feel sick, but I didn’t let it show. This story would go round, and instead of me being a victim, I’d be a player, a powerful adjunct to Arturo. Not just a slut living under his protection, but a person in my own right.
“I thought he’d be tougher,” I pouted.
