The Bonus

by A. J. Adams

  I collapsed on top of her, too pooped to pull out of her. My breath was coming out in tearing gasps. She was slick with sweat, and panting for air. Her hair was all over her face, but I knew she was all right because she was kissing my hand in a leisurely way. Definitely not something she’d learned. When I thumbed her hair aside I could see by the curve of her smile that Chloe was feeling pleased with herself.

  She moved a little, kissing slowly up my arm, before examining and licking the blood group tattoo I have just above my elbow. Chloe says it’s a unique approach, that’s an English way of saying she thinks it’s weird to see those letters there instead of ‘Mom’ or ‘Semper Fi’.

  Call me paranoid but I’m not bullet proof and if someone does get lucky, as they have three times before, I like the medics to know straight off what flavour of red they should pour into me.

  When I told Chloe, she said it was very sensible but what if someone got me in the arm? Or if someone didn’t look? Or if the doc is Thai or Khmer? I was halfway through explaining that I was not having myself inked in a dozen scripts and on every limb when I saw her grin. Chloe is a tease; her words. Another reason why I love being around her.

  Anyway, after that amazing fuck, I realised from the way she was shifting that my weight was becoming uncomfortable so I levered myself up, pulled out of her carefully, and collapsed beside her.

  She rolled up in a ball and planted herself firmly against me, pulling my arm across her. That was my Chloe, making herself comfortable.

  “I never ever thought I’d come to like being buggered,” she giggled. “Get it? Come to like!”

  She’s a nut for word games, always making the most god-awful puns and giggling at them. I listened to her happy chuckle, and it was at that point that I realised I loved her.

  My Chloe. My bonus. The little package with the big punch. Sweet, tough, loving, giggling, amazing Chloe.

  I thought she knew. I really did. But how could she? She’s not a mind reader. So we lived from day to day, with me loving her more and more, and not thinking to tell her.

  The trouble started with a call from Arturo about a week after we finished the debrief. It wasn’t good news. One of our own, Julio Parra, the capo of San Luis Potosí, an area that bordered on Gulf territory, had been playing both sides. The evidence was incontrovertible, so he had to go.

  I wasn’t looking forward to the job because I liked him. Twenty years older than us, and related via a third cousin by marriage, Julio had been part of our lives forever. He’d taken Arturo and me out hunting when were we kids, and he’d been one of the first to welcome me when I’d joined the family business.

  Still, it had to be done, so the quicker I got to it, the sooner it would be over. It was pretty late, just before midnight on Saturday night. I told Chloe I’d be out for a while, and not to wait up for me. As I rode off, I could see her in my mirror, watching and waving till the Blackbird was out of sight.

  She tries not to show it, but I know she hates it when I go out. I haven’t come home to find her hiding under the bed since that first time, but I know she’s on tenterhooks if I’m away at night. Chloe has nightmares and if I’m not there when she wakes up, she gets nervous. That will fade with time, possibly—hopefully. Anyway, this time I had no choice but to go, and go immediately. But it was the worst possible timing. I didn’t realise till much later that she thought I wanted to get away from her.

  Anyway, to get back to what went down that day; Julio’s territory, San Luis Potosí lies about 500 clicks south, but the bike eats up the miles, so I got there just before dawn. It’s a fair sized city, with about a million people, so I didn’t have to be clandestine. Julio is divorced, and he gave Paloma and the kids the house, so I knew he’d be in the condo. I left the bike in the underground garage, guarded by two kids, just twelve years old if I’m any judge, but armed to the teeth, and determined nobody would get between them and the generous fee I offered them. They grow up fast in that city.

  I rang his doorbell and then took a step back. I’d stopped on the way to buy some fruit, and I made sure he’d see the gift when he checked me out on his security feed. It took just a count of ten before he opened the door. He was fully dressed, and by the look of him, he’d only just come home. He smelled of cheap perfume. Julio had been catting around. In a way that was a good thing because it increased the chances that he’d be loaded and tired. Julio is a wily old bastard, and I didn’t want him figuring out my mission and trying to take me out first.

  So I smiled, apologised for the early hour, and handed him my gift. Then, when he took the bag from me and turned his back, I took the gun out of my waistband, and quietly closed the door behind me.

  “Don’t shoot me yet, chismoso.” Julio didn’t turn and his voice was totally steady. “Give me a minute to finish something.”

  “No sudden moves.”

  “Understood.” He set the fruit on a sideboard, and turned around slowly. “I knew when I saw you that my time was up,” he shrugged.

  He was taking it well. For some reason, it made it all worse. “You’re a damn fool, Julio.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why did you do it? You’ve got respect, money, everything a man needs.”

  He shrugged. “I guess I was bored.”

  “Did fucking us over entertain you?”

  “Not really.” He didn’t seem too concerned. “Nothing’s been the same since Paloma took the kids.” He looked about the apartment. “Still, it’s been a good life.”

  I didn’t point out that it could have been a much longer one. “You have something to finish?”

  “There’s a list on the table of my bank accounts and safety deposit boxes.” Julio grinned at me. “Don’t worry. I won’t insult you by asking you to take the money and walk away. I know I’m dead. I just want you to make sure the money goes to my kids.”

  “All right.”

  “My ex isn’t to get a penny. Put it in a college fund or something. And make sure they study something useful. I want them to be able to support themselves, not to be dependent on a man.”

  “Sure.”

  Julio looked around the apartment. “This place is soundproof,” he said casually. “I hope you’re not here to send a message?”

  “Just the one,” I said. And then I shot him. I got him right between the eyes. He collapsed instantly, crumpling to the floor before he even knew he was dead.

  I pocketed the list, and was about to let myself out, when I heard a whisper of sound. For a moment I thought there might be a witness. I walked into the bedroom, thinking that Julio could have given me a heads up. It was bad enough to take him out. Now I’d have to take out some chupita, all because she was in the wrong place at the right time. The whispering sound was coming from a cupboard. Julio’s piece of tail had taken cover.

  As it turned out, it wasn’t the sort of witness I was expecting. This one had a tail, but it was a long furry one. When I opened the closet door, he looked up at me with wide blue eyes, the same colour as Chloe’s, and then he rubbed his fangs in the barrel of my gun in a welcoming way. We were old friends.

  “I’d forgotten about you,” I told him. “Raoul, I’m afraid I took out your meal ticket.”

  He came mincing out, purring loudly. He didn’t seem upset by the news. Julio once told me that Siamese cats were bred to guard temples and kings in Thailand, so maybe Raoul took a tough line on loyalty too.

  I stroked his ears as I considered what to do. Paloma hated cats. If I left him, she’d not even bother to find him a home. She’d dump him on the street, and leave him to starve. There was only one thing to do: I would take him back with me.

  I found a plastic pet carrier in a kitchen cupboard. I loaded Raoul into it, and collected the tins of cat food that were lying on a shelf for good measure. I put them in a round foam rubber bed, guessing that it was his too. It was blue, and covered in printed cat paws. I left the litter tray, but I did pick up a basket loaded with brushes and balls filled with bel
ls.

  Thankfully, the Blackbird is built on generous lines. Raoul and his stuff fitted nicely behind me. The kids watched with interest as I started the engine. When Raoul let out a howl of protest, they all jumped with fright before shrieking with glee.

  “A siren!” They yelled. “A living siren!”

  I flipped them some bills, and took off. They’d not forget me in a hurry, but it didn’t matter. If the cops bothered to investigate, it wasn’t enough to place me on the scene. I could have a dozen alibis who’d swear I was playing poker in Nuevo Laredo all night long. Only eyewitness testimony of a killing counted, and even then, we’d take the witness out before the trial, so I wasn’t worried.

  I’m not generally kind, and by the time I hit the city limits, I was already regretting taking pity on Raoul. Siamese cats have particularly piercing voices, and Raoul was giving it all he had. I thought he’d settle down once he realised that the noise and motion of the bike wouldn’t hurt him, but Raoul howled all the way home. Every goddamn fucking mile.

  By the time I pulled up, it was mid afternoon. Chloe was waiting at the kitchen door, moving excitedly from foot to foot, clearly delighted I was home. She came dancing over, smiling but clearly puzzled by the hellish racket coming from behind me.

  The second I switched off the engine, Raoul stopped yelling. The silence was blissful. I gave Chloe a hug. The way she threw her arms around me told he much she’d missed me. In case I didn’t get the message, she was kissing my neck, and rubbing up against me. Not from habit; from happiness. She’s a great package to come home to but I was exhausted.

  “Later,” I said to her. “Come on, Chloe, give me some space.”

  She let go immediately, and I could see she was hurt. I was about to explain that it had been a rough trip, without explaining why, when Raoul decided to make his presence felt. His bloodcurdling cry shattered the moment.

  Chloe blinked. “What’s that?”

  “It’s a fiend from the deepest, darkest hell,” I told her ruefully.

  I toted the carrier into the house, set it down in the living room, and opened it. Raoul stepped out, mincing like a supermodel, and looking around the room as if he expected a round of applause. There was a bump, and Chloe was on her knees, face to face with the Siamese. “You are beautiful,” she breathed.

  Raoul examined her carefully, decided he approved, and touched his nose to hers. For the first time since I’ve known her, Chloe forgot about my existence. She and the cat lay on the floor, nose to nose, with Chloe whispering compliments as she stroked his ears, his back, his face, and his whiskers, and Raoul purring, lapping it up as if this worship were his due.

  I left them to it and got myself a beer. Before I could open the bottle, Chloe was at my side, eyes shining.

  “He’s beautiful,” she said excitedly. “Where did you get him?”

  The one time she asks me a direct question, and it has to be when I’m dog tired and bummed out from an execution.

  “His family don’t want him,” I said diplomatically. “I thought you’d like him.”

  “I love him!”

  “His name’s Raoul.”

  Chloe hugged me again. I’d never seen her this excited, or spontaneous. She was glowing, giggling, and clearly delighted. She leaned against me, standing on tiptoe to kiss me, and then she paused and sniffed. Her eyes flickered. I’d ditched the gun in a river on the way home, but for a moment I wondered if she could smell the cordite.

  “You’re tired.” She kissed me, and rubbed my back with her hands. “Shower, bacon and eggs, massage and sleep?”

  “Swap massage for a fuck, and I’m good to go.”

  In the end I got it all. Call it a bonus for not dumping that damn yowling monster on the way home. Chloe gave me a brilliant fuck, her description, and I don’t disagree. .

  She took me into the shower, and went down on me in a spray of hot water. Fucking Chloe is always the best, but the sight of her hair, all floating around her shoulders like a mermaid while she was lapping softly at my cock, humming something from Disney, Mickey Mouse, I think. It’s a scene that will always be with me.

  Afterwards I was just so full of love for her that I wanted to gather her up in my arms and crush her. I’ve never been like that before with anyone. Never. I took her to bed, and went down on her until she came. Then I just lay with her, holding her so I could lie there and look at her. And that’s when she mentioned my wife.

  I should have told her straight off that I didn’t like to talk about that part of my past, and that I wasn’t mad at her. In fact, I should have told her exactly how I felt about her too. But I didn’t and because of that, Chloe thought her time was up. She reckoned I would put her back to work as a mule where she’d be reporting to some asshole who’d treat her like shit, and have me call her up from time to time when I was in the mood for a bit of tail.

  Yeah, OK, that was the original plan. But that had changed. She’d been the bonus but now she was Chloe, my girl. As for her other fear, that I’d pass her along to someone else, well, just knowing she thought that crucifies me still.

  Chloe didn’t have a clue that I loved her. In fact, even before I loved her, I liked her. Ever since that party at Arturo’s when she’d told Rimjob what an asshole he is I had decided that if she’d said the word, I would send her anywhere, and secure her any job she liked. Or if she’d wanted to go to school, I would have paid for it. I earn a fortune and I hardly spend any money, so it would have been a pleasure.

  But I was such a self-centred fucktard, that it never occurred to me to talk to her. I took it for granted that she knew I would look out for her but how could she? Chloe’s never been treated right in her life. I should have known she’d expect the worst.

  So, when she said one thing that caught me on the raw, I acted out like a whiny assed kid. She should have ripped me a new one, but she didn’t. I don’t think she could. God help me, I think she was afraid of me.

  She tried to apologise but I didn’t even listen to her. I just shushed her, acting like an asshole and making her think I was going to dump her, or maybe even take her out. I didn’t even notice because I was too busy with my own concerns.

  You see, icing Julio was a bad start to a bad week. I slept most of Sunday, and I woke up tired and bad tempered. I swam a few miles, and took Chloe to bed, but it didn’t settle me. Of course Chloe thought I was mad at her. She got uptight and went into her fuckbot act, cuddling up to me and being extra sweet. She was too afraid to talk to me directly, you see. And what did I do? I snapped at her, and told her to act like a human being.

  Poor Chloe. Instead of whacking me with a beer bottle, she cooked me a terrific dinner. I ate it and fell asleep immediately after—which Chloe took as more rejection.

  A few hours later, at 4AM on Monday morning, I got a call telling me two of our lieutenants had bought it in a car crash. I had to go out to check it really was an accident (it was) and then I had to tell their families. They were badly burned, so I took care of the identification. It wasn’t pretty. I didn’t want their sisters and mothers to see them like that, so I made the funeral arrangements too.

  On Tuesday, three of the men fought over a chupita. Apparently she was pretty slick; she convinced each one that he was the only man in her life. They only learned about each other because they each decided to drop in on her as a surprise. At the same time.

  As they were all packing, there was a shootout. One got shot in the chest, one in the thigh, and one in the stomach. I had to get down there to stop their brothers and cousins starting a blood feud. I managed it by blaming the girl, suggesting she’d put the evil eye on all parties involved. Although Mexicans can be a superstitious bunch, these weren’t. They didn’t buy it, but they pretended to because nobody wanted warfare. Thank god. The last time there was a fight over a woman, we had a dozen or more dead at the end of it all. So we agreed the woman was to blame and I had to give permission for them to take revenge. I understand they took their time kill
ing her. It was a shame, but better one dead chupita than a dozen of my men.

  On Wednesday, we were car bombed. The device was slapped to the bottom of the chassis with a magnet, and it went off when the driver door opened. The blast took out the driver, one passenger and another three who were standing on the pavement when it went off. Four civilians were hurt too but luckily they’d kept their distance so the damage to them was minor. For me it meant more crisped corpses to identify, and more families to break the bad news to.

  On Thursday I tracked down the bomb maker. I had a chat with him, during which he threw up on my shoes, and bled over my shirt. It turned out he’d not just designed and built the device; he’d planted it too. An extra service for a customer he’d only met online, and who had made a hundred dollar down payment on Paypal, for fuck’s sake!

  This is the sort of thing that Arturo wants me to stamp out. It’s bad enough dealing with the other cartels, without having every nerd in the country getting in on the act. So I sent a message that it wasn’t a good idea for self educated incendiary device experts to sell their services. Not even if the mysterious online client puts down a tiny payment and convinces said nerd that the next payment will fund an entire semester’s tuition fees.

  I left the nerd’s body on top of his PC, hacked into eight pieces, all stacked neatly in a pile. Now you know why I wear black when I’m working. At least I didn’t have to tell his family the bad news, or deal with the funeral arrangements.

  Friday was quiet so I went to see Arturo to catch him up on events. He had some great grass, so with the help of that and a case of Dos Equis, we got totally crunk. I made it home, but I didn’t say a single word to Chloe before I passed out. Again, who’s the fucktard here? Me.

  Saturday was when they shot Gina, Arturo’s second cousin’s husband’s niece. She was at the wrong place at the wrong time—an ice-cream shop opposite an ATM—and got hit by a stray bullet when a gunman tried to rob a customer. Gina was sixteen. She’ll live, but it was a close thing.