The Bonus

by A. J. Adams

  I’m also getting a bit of respect. At first I thought it was because of Kyle, but then I heard two of the pack talking when they were having a smoke by the back door.

  “Never thought to see Mixcoatl like this.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I heard that when the big boss set her up on that ice block of his that she just laughed and gave him the finger.”

  “Yeah. I missed it but she must have been some sight.”

  “Yeah. Good rack.”

  “She’s got him by the balls.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Lucky bastard.”

  “Yeah.”

  So I’m now tough as well as beautiful. Ha!

  Listening to them, I realised that I know I’m all bark and no bite but that they don’t see me that way. So I’ve decided to make my outside my inside, if you know what I mean. No more snivelling. I’m taking charge of my life. Yeah.

  I took the plunge about a week after Kyle went back to work, when there was another party at Arturo’s. It seems he’s very much a patriarch and he likes to gather everyone around as often as possible. This time several of the pack said hello to me, in a civilised way, and some of the women were looking at me in a curious way, not in a ‘hey, look at that slut’ way.

  I sat with Kyle like last time and I went up and down, getting us drinks and food. Kyle says I don’t have to do that, and that he’s perfectly capable of getting his own drinks and dinner but I guess I’ll always fuss over him a bit. For one thing, he likes it and I like to spoil him. For another, it gives me a chance to have seconds and even thirds, all on the excuse that Kyle needs more salad. I’m not daft!

  I listened in to the conversation too. The men don’t talk shop exactly, not during family parties, but there’s a lot of chat about who’s doing what. You know, gossipy kind of stuff. As my Spanish is improving rapidly, I’m learning a lot about these people. Kyle wants me to stay out of his business but I feel a lot happier knowing what’s going on.

  It was at that party that I decided to have a go at Arturo. He was rabbiting on about the number of people who’d died recently and how he was supporting the widows and orphans. You know, doing the Lord of the Manor thing.

  “I thought you’d knock them on the head,” I said. “You know, to cut down on overheads.”

  There was a deadly hush. Then Arturo said, “They are my family.”

  “Everyone’s someone’s family.”

  Kyle knew exactly what I was going to say next. “This is not the time, pitufa.”

  Mexico’s a very macho society and I knew he was dying in case I cheeked him in front of his pals, but I had a plan for that.

  “I know,” I said looking at my feet in my best fuckbot manner. “It’s just being here again, well, you know, it makes me remember how it was before you rescued me. I got lucky, but what happens to the others?”

  Clever huh? It made Kyle look like a hero and Arturo like the shit he is while I came off all sweet and wonderful. As I said, I’d thought this out beforehand. Kyle knew it and I could see that tiny twitch by the side of his mouth that said he was laughing but he just took a sip of his beer and asked Arturo about some car he was thinking of buying.

  I was stymied but it didn’t matter. As Kyle had made it clear I was his girl, Arturo would have to make peace with me, and now he knew my price.

  I was sitting there, thinking about what might happen when Kyle nodded at Quique. “You were going to introduce Chloe to your wife? I just saw her come back from the pool.”

  So I was dragged off to the women’s side of the party. As it turns out, Quique is Kyle’s mother’s sister’s daughter’s husband. I haven’t a clue what that is. A cousin? A nephew? I don’t have a family so I’m clueless in that area.

  Quique’s wife is a Tina. That’s easy enough. But she introduced me to the women she was sitting with and I met three Marias, two Maria-Josés, and an Angelina, Annabelle, Isabella and a Bella. They’ve all got black hair and brown eyes, they all sound the same and have the same name as far as I’m concerned. And they’re all related. Somehow.

  They were nice to me but frankly it was pretty awful. I don’t know what to say to people, unless I’m conning them out of their money, getting them to mule for me or making a delivery. These women were talking about kids and clothes and I’ve got no experience of either. I got the feeling that Quique had told Tina all about me because she didn’t ask anything apart from whether I liked the food but the others wanted chapter and verse. So I made some excuse and went back to sit with Kyle. As it turned out, I got back just in time.

  “I don’t like killing women and kids either but if we go soft, we’re dead meat,” Arturo was rumbling.

  “I’m the last man to say we should go soft,” Kyle replied calmly. “I’m just saying we need to get ground roots support. We need an image makeover.”

  “Like?”

  “Like no more ice parties.”

  Arturo sipped his beer. “I’m bored with those anyway.”

  “And no more killings in front of family. We do it the old fashioned way. Like Capone, Lucky Luciano, and Vito Genovese. They were ruthless but they had a code.”

  “Like the Corps.”

  “Exactly.”

  Arturo was thinking. I held my breath.

  “I like it,” Chema said reflectively. “We’re men. Women are weak. And only a monster kills a child.”

  Little Ricky and Pedro Rojo nodded but Quique was twitchy. “Plenty of women in our business.”

  “If they’re in the business, they’re one of us,” Kyle said quickly. “Same as in war. I’m just saying that we should be a bit careful to exclude the others.”

  “Like Julia and Loli,” Arturo mused.

  “Exactly. And women who’re in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  Arturo’s eyes flicked to me but he said nothing.

  “It will make us look good,” Kyle persisted.

  “Better than those animals, The Gulf,” Pepe Rojo muttered.

  They talked for a while, batting pros and cons back and forth, but in the end, they were all nodding and smiling.

  “We can talk about tomorrow,” Arturo said finally. “This is a party, right? No business!” Then he looked over Kyle’s shoulder at me. “Guess this is your idea,” he said.

  My stomach was doing flip-flops but I acted really cool. “Well,” I said. “Kyle’s mine now and I don’t want some other tart trying to grab him, just because she doesn’t fancy playing icebreaker with you buggers. The way I see it, I’m protecting my own.”

  There was a deadly hush and then Arturo burst out laughing. “All right,” he said finally. “You’ve got a deal. We’ll try it.”

  I still don’t like him, probably never will but I like to think I’m making a difference. God knows how much of a difference. As Kyle won’t talk about his work, not ever, I shall have to listen in as much as I can to see what happens.

  So as you might guess, I was feeling pretty chipper. Too chipper really. It was at this point that things went pear shaped, and all because I wanted to show off.

  It started like this: Kyle was telling me about this amazing fish soup he’d had once in Spain. When he described it, I knew he was talking about Zarzuela. It’s one of those mega stew things where you take seven types of seafood and cook it with white wine, saffron and garlic. I can do that. It’s one of the things Rimjob made me cook. Talk about silver lining, right? So I told Kyle I’d cook it for him.

  And that’s where it started. Up until then I had written shopping lists and someone else would buy and deliver it. As I was never allowed out when I was a fuckbot, I didn’t think anything of it. But then I got this idea that it would be terrific to do my own shopping. Kyle agreed (he’s really nice that way; he lets me do anything I want really) and told me that I needed to go to the Nuevo Laredo market. He was going to take me, so I got all excited but just as we were about to take off, he got a call from Arturo and our deal was off.

  “Sorry, pituf
a,” he said, “I’ve got a thing.”

  It’s so American. A thing. WTF, right? But I said it was ok, because I love him. But Kyle knew I was disappointed.

  “I’ve got to go and check on some stuff,” he said, “but we’ll do it soon.”

  “Can’t you drop me off on the way?”

  “No.”

  Kyle’s protectiveness is sweet but also exasperating.

  “You know I’ve been kicking around the world all by my lonesome for years, right?” I said, a bit huffily.

  “And look where it got you.”

  Huh, cheeky sod.

  “Fine. I’ll stay home.” I said all sulky. “Will you be late?”

  He hummed a bit. “I’m meeting Gina’s dad at his place at 6 for a drink. Since she got shot, she’s been under house arrest. She needs to get out again.”

  “With a proper armed escort.”

  I was being ironic but Kyle just nodded.

  “I’ll be back at 8 by the latest.” Then he smiled. “Pepe Rojo just arrived. He can take you to the market. He loves to cook. You’ll have a good time.”

  Then I hesitated but decided ok. Pepe wasn’t my favourite person and I didn’t think he liked me much, especially after I spat in his coffee, but I knew that I’d better learn to get along with the pack. If I was to live happily with Kyle, I’d have to make my peace with the bastards.

  “Take this.” Kyle handed me a wad of cash.

  “I’ll pay you back when I get some work,” I told him.

  Kyle was already a million miles away, planning his trip and his chat with Gina’s father but he double-tracked and paused. “Work?”

  “Sure. I can mule for Arturo and pick up some cash.”

  For a few seconds I thought he’d go ballistic but then he smiled. “You’re a tease.”

  “Almost gotcha.”

  “If you want to be independent there are lots of options, we’ll talk later.”

  He kissed me and then he was off.

  So I went to the market with Pepe Rojo and a real skinny type called Gordo; it’s just so unfunny when people call skinny types ‘fatso’ but you can take it from me that they do that all over the world.

  Gordo didn’t say a word but Pepe talked all the way. Turns out he’s not just interested in cooking; he’s an absolute Food Channel addict. He talked my ear off about all the best types of fish to buy, and when we got to the place, he took me to his favourite fish stalls. He had four of them. It’s funny how people have different sides. I never would have expected this of him.

  So I was poking about at this stall, examining some prawns when there were gunshots. Instantly there was panic everywhere. Someone shoved me and I went flying. Someone else trod on my ankle and then it was like the world collapsed on me. I got a bash on the head, and I passed out.

  When I got it back together again, I couldn’t figure where the hell I was but I knew it wasn’t good. I couldn’t see a damn thing because someone had thrown something over me, it felt plasticky, like a cheap tablecloth and I couldn’t move because my hands and feet were tied. Also, we were moving. I wanted to scream but I forced myself to keep quiet and wait.

  I listened, trying to figure out if there was anyone near me. There was tonnes of noise: car horns, people yelling and traffic. But it was all a bit muffled, like hearing it all through closed windows.

  “Fuck, he’s taking a wrong turn.”

  The voice was right next to me. It was an American. He was speaking English, not Spanish. What in the hell was going on? There was a banging sound. The voice was trying to get the driver’s attention. We stopped moving.

  “We need to take the road south,” the voice commanded.

  A vague noise from the driver said he wasn’t hearing.

  “Oh for Christ’s sake, man! South!”

  There was a sliding noise and all the street sounds got louder. Someone was opening the door. This was my chance. I threw myself up in the air, snapping my body and screaming like a banshee. I felt my feet hit someone. There was a grunt and a squeal, and lots of swearing.

  “Fucking bitch!”

  I could feel hands grabbing for me. I kept screaming and snapping. The plastic sheet fell away and I could see. I was in the back of a van. The doors were open and there were people staring at me. A man was struggling to his feet, reaching to shut the doors. A second man came rushing round. He jumped in, grabbing at me.

  I screamed and kicked but it didn’t do me any good. The bastard jumped on top of me, bashed me on the neck and all I could do was lie there and gag silently. Then the doors shut, and we were off again.

  We travelled for about an hour and the whole time I was almost peeing myself with fear. I didn’t cry though; too much pride for that. But I was scared. I didn’t know who these jokers were, but I knew I was in for a rough time and I wasn’t feeling very brave at all.

  The voice was a skinny type with wiry muscles with tats all over his arms like some cheap Yakuza. The other one, the one who’d jumped in and punched me, the driver, was short and broad. A real poison dwarf type. I knew I’d never seen them before.

  When we finally stopped, tattoo boy dragged me out by my shoulders, bashing my tailbone on the step and letting me fall onto the ground. We were out in the desert. There wasn’t anything in sight, except for this little hut. It looked abandoned but there was a brand new Mercedes standing next to it.

  Tattoo boy and the poison dwarf dragged me inside and there was someone waiting for me. You probably guessed who: Rimjob. He was sitting on a packing case and looking as smug as a cat who got the cream and the canary. I didn’t like it one little bit. The only thing to be cheerful about was that his light pink shirt and white trousers were streaked with dust.

  “Fuck me!” I said cheerfully. “You look quite the bean queen!”

  I got belted for that but I knew it didn’t matter. I was already dead. The only thing that mattered now was making sure it was fast. And I was hoping I wouldn’t blub, beg or otherwise disgrace myself.

  They hung me by the wrists by chaining me to this big hook in the ceiling and then they all sat about, gloating and drinking beers from a cooler. I was trying to look unconcerned - not easy when you’re standing on tiptoe and your shoulders are screaming with the stress of taking most of your bodyweight.

  Eventually tattoo boy stood up. “Let’s get on with this,” he said. “Where’s the other half of the money?”

  Rimjob shrugged. “I only see her. The contract was for two.”

  Kyle. He was after Kyle. My heart almost stopped beating at that point.

  “We never know where he is,” the dwarf whined. “We’ve been watching for ten days and we’ve hardly even seen him. I want to renegotiate. Give me half for this one and then I’m walking.”

  “I was told you were the best,” Rimjob snarled. “I said I wanted both!”

  “Look,” tattoo boy said peaceably. “The job isn’t exactly as you described it. We’ve been staking out half a dozen places you swore he visits regularly, and we’ve caught just one glimpse of him before he was off on that bike of his. Also, you never told us that he’s an ex Marine, or that he’s got better security than Langley. It was pure luck that we saw the girl at the market. You’ve got one. Be happy.”

  “Happy? That fucking bitch gave him my whole network! I’ve lost everything!”

  That was awesome news. Kyle must have just pushed Rimjob out of the way, and taken over. Brilliant.

  “I paid for both! I want both!”

  Tattoo boy shrugged. “We’ve given value for money. We’ll keep the half you paid us and this is as far as we go.”

  “Right,” poison dwarf said. “After we have some fun with the girl.”

  “You’d better let me down then,” I said. “Otherwise you’ll never reach.”

  Me and my big mouth. He belted me in the belly and it hurt like fuck.

  Rimjob came dancing up. “I can make her talk,” he hissed. “I bet she knows where he is.”

  Oh blo
ody hell, I thought in horror. Kyle never says a word about where he’s going or where he’s been and today of all days I know where he is: at 6PM he’ll be at Gina’s. And 6PM is hours away. Oh utterly buggery fuck.

  “Where is he?” Rimjob slapped me across the face. A backhander. His favourite. I could taste blood in my mouth. “Where.” Slap. “Is.” Slap. “He?” Slap.

  My head rocked with each blow and I was seeing stars but I didn’t say anything. I knew that if I said one word, I’d be blabbing and begging and Kyle would be dead. So I said nothing.

  “Here, you’re doing it wrong.”

  Terrific, the poison dwarf was offering expert advice.

  “I’m not!” Rimjob was spitting mad. He never could take criticism.

  “If you break her jaw, she’ll never talk.”

  “Take off your belt and whack her,” tattoo boy advised. “She can take hours of that without killing her.”

  Abso-fucking-lutely brilliant. Two experts!

  First they had fun stripping me. They cut off my clothes with their flick-knives, not caring if they cut into me every now and again. Tattoo man didn’t seem too interested in nude me but the poisoned dwarf had a bulging crotch.

  “Hey, Happy, are you just pleased to see me, or is that a poisoned toadstool in your pants?”

  He didn’t hit me, he just looked at me in a way that said I’d pay for it later.

  Actually, it was more like sooner because Rimjob stepped back and tried the belt. I remembered this bit from our association years ago. Whack. Wait for the pain. Whack. Wait for the pain. He started low and worked his way up, starting on my thighs and ending up with my shoulders. I rocked on my feet, awash with excruciating white hot lava invading my bones. I was so determined not to scream that I bit my tongue. With that and my broken nose and teeth from the preceding slap fest, the blood was now dripping down my face. I couldn’t keep my head up anymore. I could see the red streaked drool running down to the ground, puddling on the cement floor.