The Devil's Orchard

by Ali Vali

  “I’m here for the rest of my stuff. It should only take a few minutes,” Muriel said, so distant she might as well have sent a flunky to do it.

  “Sure, but if you have time, I’d like to talk to you.”

  “There’s nothing we need to discuss in this lifetime. You played me for an idiot once, but twice isn’t going to happen. I’m all talked out.”

  “You can’t honestly think I completely prostituted myself for my job, can you?” It shouldn’t have mattered what Muriel’s opinion of her was, but she didn’t want to leave this hanging between them. “I’ll admit I abused the situation, but I love you.”

  “Really?” Muriel said with a smile and opened her arms to her. Shelby blamed the alcohol for making her take a step forward. “God, you must really think I’m an idiot,” Muriel said, putting her hands up to stop her.

  “Muriel, I can’t fake what I had with you.”

  “You know what, donate the clothes I left here. I don’t even want them because I can’t trust you didn’t do something to them.” Muriel turned to leave and glared at Shelby when she stepped in front of her and grabbed her by the biceps. This was no longer the woman who’d held her because she’d cared about her happiness or worried when she was hurting. “And do not come by the house or Cain’s place again. If you’re begging for me to truly humiliate you the way you did me, I’ll give it to you in spades.”

  The door slamming shook something loose in her, and her thinking suddenly cleared. Tomorrow she’d do what she needed to get her life back, like Joe had mentioned, and she realized how to do it.

  “Mom and Dad, I hope you know I’m ready to let go. You were the ones who told me sometimes it takes sacrifice to get what you want. I’m ready to make mine.”

  *

  Gustavo sat in the bar close to his hotel and nursed his fifth tequila. He’d slammed the first four back to try to erase his meeting with Jerome and what he’d said about his mother. He thought the name a curse now and said it with contempt in his thoughts. That Jerome was comfortable enough to treat him so disrespectfully, and none of his men questioned it, meant Gracelia had tossed him aside to get ahead. And she’d tossed him aside for an ex-FBI agent.

  He’d actually called her Gracelia per her request until he was about ten and she’d finally taken an interest in him. Before that, she’d left him with Rodolfo and Carlos’s mother, who’d treated him no different than her own son. As a boy he’d enjoyed school and the way people treated him because of who his uncle was. There’d never been a day of teasing, bullying, or discomfort because Carlos had been there to protect him. That’d been Rodolfo’s excuse for sending some kitchen help’s son to private school.

  At home Carlos had been free to play with him, but that’d changed when his real mother had come home that first time—for about six months instead of her usual weekend—that all ended in a screaming match with Rodolfo when he’d insisted she be a better mother to her son. His uncle had been the only person who’d confronted her about that, and the only one who’d cared what happened to Gustavo when he woke from regular nightmares as a boy.

  At ten, Gracelia came home for good and pulled Gustavo away from Carlos and his mother in the afternoons. That’s when she started sharing secrets with him about his real father, Armando Ortega, the great love of her life. His own life became a fractured pane of glass after that, and he’d never been able to put the pieces back together, especially since he’d killed Rodolfo.

  To a young boy, a secret about the mythical hero his mother had described was too good not to share with his friends. The day after he’d told the boys he and Carlos played with at school, the ridicule began. Armando, they’d said, was an illiterate yardman who liked to drink and beat on women when he wasn’t relegated to raking leaves because he wasn’t bright enough to do anything else.

  Gustavo raised his fists for the first time in his life when the other boys from wealthy families had joked that his mother was stupid enough, or desperate enough for dick, to fall for such a loser. She’d thrown herself at his feet every chance she got, no matter who was around to see it. In essence they’d said it made him a pathetic loser by default.

  Carlos had saved him again from more than the bloody nose and split lip he’d gotten, but he never talked about his family after that. The only time he’d indulged in that pleasure was when he was alone with Gracelia and she told him about their future. That Shangri-La was a place where both of them would be together after they’d stolen everything from Rodolfo for killing Armando.

  “You okay?” Chico asked after he’d shot this drink down his throat suddenly like the others and motioned for the bartender again.

  “Go back to the room and leave me the hell alone.” He wasn’t done with his reminiscing. “Are you deaf? Get out of here and leave me. Didn’t you hear the big boss? I’m being sent home.”

  “You’re my boss, so I answer to no one else. If you want me to wait in the room, I’ll wait, but I’d rather sit in the corner to make sure you’re okay.” Chico pushed his drink closer to him and sat back, as if to not get in his way. “You’re an important man. If not, Señora Ortega would have sent you here alone.”

  “Señora Ortega can fuck herself, or she can get Jerome to do it,” he said, laughing. Leave it to his mother to find a name she and everyone who worked for them couldn’t pronounce. “Do whatever you want, but get out of my sight.” He wasn’t in the mood for all those eyes on him as he retraced the steps that’d gotten him here.

  The more Gracelia had stayed with them, the more time she’d given him, and it’d made him feel special. He was her son and the anointed one because Armando’s blood pumped through his heart. She’d told him to go out with Rodolfo and learn from him, but to never forget where his loyalties were. Rodolfo had killed his father in the most humiliating way he could think of, and eventually that would have to be avenged.

  When he closed his eyes at night now, he thought back to Rodolfo’s soft melodious voice and how often he’d called him mi hijo. His son, not by birth, but they had the same blood. Rodolfo seldom screamed about anything, and he’d been so patient with him as he learned the business. After all, it’d be his one day. His responsibility was to care for the people who worked for them and uphold the name he’d given him. Luis was, in Rodolfo’s mind, a gift he’d spent a life building up to mean something. It was a name he’d given his son Carlos only hours before his death, and one he’d rejected to follow his mother.

  The bitch who’d given birth to Gustavo, saddled him with the name of a bastard who loved the bottle more than both of them, and passed him over the first chance she got. She’d been smart enough to wait until he’d killed Rodolfo, because he knew Jerome had refused any part of it. He’d killed Rodolfo for her and it’d been for nothing. Gracelia was simply the weak woman who’d spread her legs for Armando and now Jerome, and neither of them were gods. Everyone in between was enough to make her nothing but a common whore.

  He stumbled toward the bathroom and locked himself inside. It’d take the guys watching him a while to figure he’d made it out the window and to the room he’d gotten with no one else’s knowledge. It took a block to find an empty cab and a few minutes to make it to the Piquant. It was the last place he’d stayed with Rodolfo, and the place where he’d start over.

  “Hello.”

  Carlos’s voice made two tears drop down his cheeks. If only he could find a way to go back and change what he’d done. He’d grown to hate Carlos because of his loyalty to Rodolfo, and he still did, only his hate was mixed with envy now. Even with both their fathers dead, Carlos had a sense of himself and knew who he was, while Gustavo had killed the only man who could’ve pointed him in that direction.

  “Hello,” Carlos repeated.

  “Hello, cousin,” he said, and only then realized that was actually true. They were family, the only family he had other than Gracelia.

  “What do you want?” Carlos’s voice took on a hard edge.

  “I want you to kn
ow I pulled the trigger. I killed him and he cried like a woman, begging me not to.” The intake of breath meant he’d hit Carlos where it counted. “You should’ve learned a long time ago that I’ll always win, and I’ll always get what I want. You were his son, yet he was grooming me to replace him. I’m the Luis heir. That’s what Rodolfo wanted.”

  “Then come here and take it from me, because my name’s on the deed to the house and the bank accounts, and the men work for me now. If you try, though, make sure you bring that bitch that bore you so you can die together for what you’ve done to my father. Before I kill you, I’ll share with you what he left in writing about Gracelia and your father.” Carlos laughed, which made Gustavo grip the telephone tight. “Armando with the big dick your mother couldn’t keep out of her mouth, and she was so desperate for him she even spread her legs for him in front of the other yard staff. The woman had no shame then and she has none now.”

  “Rodolfo loved me, you son of a bitch. Your mother was no different when it came to my uncle.”

  “The true son of a bitch here is you, and don’t think he left you out of the letters he wrote. You were his one true regret, though he had many of those, so you should be proud to have climbed to the top of that list. Of everything he wished he could’ve done differently, he knew killing you at birth would have done himself and the world a favor. With a father like Armando, it was a foregone conclusion that you’d grow up to be an idiot with delusions of importance. My father knew that when Gracelia spat you out, but he chose his heart over what needed to be done.”

  “Shut up,” Gustavo said, his head spinning and his stomach rebelling from all the alcohol. It’d been a few days since his last real meal and bath, but he cared more about finishing with Cain and Emma than taking care of himself. “You didn’t know how Rodolfo felt about me. He loved me.”

  “What, the brat who wanted for nothing but could never be satisfied? You mean the little boy who threw tantrums and acted like the world should fall at his tiny feet because he deserved it? To my father you were nothing but a spoiled boy who grew to be a spoiled little man who’d never amount to anything because you couldn’t even get the pool boy to respect you, much less the men who worked for him.”

  “I’m more of a man than you.”

  “Then tell me the last time you had a woman you didn’t have to buy or have someone help you tie up. You’ve chased Cain Casey and her woman so long with no luck that maybe you should take their example.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” The call had been a mistake, but he couldn’t hang up now without proving Carlos right about his immaturity.

  “Find a big dick like your mother did to suck on and have it shoved up your ass. If you do that, then maybe, like the Caseys, you’ll be happy after you admit you like your own sex, and you can stop pretending to be the stud you brag to everyone about.”

  Gustavo dropped the phone into the cradle and pinched the bridge of his nose. The sweat he’d just noticed was adding to the sour odor he couldn’t get out of his nostrils. He needed a shower, a meal, and a long stretch of sleep.

  His teak box was his greatest need, but it was still back in the shithole hotel room they’d been renting. Thank God he’d thought ahead and its twin sat on the desk.

  “None of you will escape me,” he said after he’d snorted a large amount into both nostrils. He whispered the threat again and gladly welcomed sleep.

  *

  “What’s the matter?” Judice asked. Fiona had been an hour late, and her mood had been horrible since she’d opened the door to her room.

  “Nothing,” Fiona said, but to Judice she resembled the pouty five-year-old who’d been denied a cookie.

  “Nothing doesn’t usually make you rude toward your mother.” She finished putting on her lipstick and went to sit next to Fiona so she could take her hand. No matter how Fiona acted, she’d always brought her an abundance of joy. Having Fiona had filled the emptiness in her heart that no man had come close to accomplishing. “Let it out. It’ll make you feel better.”

  “I rode out with Sept Savoie this afternoon, and it started out okay since someone like her can teach me the rules here. Her dad is the chief of detectives, so she has to be twice as good as everyone else. That’s something I’m familiar with.” Fiona seemed relaxed, and if she’d been talking to anyone but Judice they’d have missed the small signs, like the fast words that meant she was enraged about something.

  “Did she say something you didn’t like?”

  “We ended our day at Cain Casey’s home, and Sept insisted on staying to eat. Don’t worry. I still want to go out with you because being there killed my appetite.” Fiona rubbed the ring she’d given her years before with her thumb. “The way Sept treated that idiot was enough to make me sick.”

  “You think Sept is dirty?” Maybe this was a way in, and she could use it to get Fiona out of here.

  “They went to school together and became friends even though Casey’s an animal. They have this give-and-take relationship, and Sept tries to get information out of her. I’m sure she’s got to give up something, and I bet it’s a lot more than she’s getting out of that deal.”

  “If it’s not Sept, then was Casey rude to you?”

  “No, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to start hanging out with the type of people I’ve sworn to try to bring down.”

  Fiona sighed, and Judice figured whatever the problem was now simmered at the surface. “If you’re this upset, either Sept is turning a blind eye to what Casey’s doing because she knows what Casey’s doing, or Casey wasn’t happy she brought you there and treated you accordingly,” Judice said.

  “It’s not that at all,” Fiona said, the harshness gone. “She did seem so normal, and I didn’t expect that. She has a partner and a family that loves her. I could see that in how they interacted with her. I’ve wanted that all my life, but I’ve never had time. Besides, no man has ever been interested after a first date when I tell them a little about myself. Who knew a badge could be so emasculating?”

  “I’m sorry,” Judice said, since Fiona’s childhood had been missing so much she hadn’t been able to provide. She’d actually been terrified to try.

  “Is this the daddy lecture again?”

  It hadn’t been as hard as she’d thought to explain how it’d always be only the two of them. No man was in the wings waiting to swoop in and take her dead father’s place. “It was a discussion, not a lecture, but I wasn’t the best example when it came to relationships.”

  “Stop apologizing. You’ve been doing it since I turned eighteen, and it’s not necessary. I know my sperm donor’s dead, but eventually I’d like you to trust me enough and get comfortable enough to tell me something about him.” Fiona stood and took her hand again, ready to leave. “Nothing you say is going to upset me. I’m too curious to get mad.”

  “Sometimes the truth about something is better than picking it to death. This isn’t one of your cases, so let it lie.”

  “What choice do I have?”

  “Would you rather skip this?” she asked, and Fiona squeezed her fingers. “I can appreciate you had a bad day, so don’t feel like you have to entertain me.”

  “The day did suck, but I want to have dinner with you. I promise that we’ll take a trip to the past, but only when you’re ready. I won’t ask about it again.”

  “Thank you.” Judice had enough money to retire to a comfortable life, but she was on the brink of losing her greatest treasure—Fiona. “I love you.”

  She hoped it was enough.

  *

  “We lose him,” Chico said into his phone as he pulled the hair on the top of his head. The heat had a lot to do with the amount of sweat pouring off him, but he was sure it had more to do with the fear of what would happen to him for this screwup.

  “Where?”

  “He go to the bathroom and go to window. He gone before we know to look.” The silence from the other end unnerved him, and a tingle started from
the small of his back to his neck. “We look for him, and I call you back when we find him.”

  “Don’t take too long. Do we understand each other?”

  “Sí, I mean, yes, I understand.” He hung up and pressed the phone to his forehead. He’d been allowed to come from Mexico with strict instructions to watch Gustavo and keep him from doing anything stupid.

  That’s a job he understood since this wasn’t the first crew he’d worked for. Before this he’d kept the son of one of drug lord Caesar Kalina’s enforcers in line. The kid had thought since his father killed people for Kalina, he could do anything he wanted. From what Chico had seen, the first and perhaps second generation of each family knew what it took to stay on top. Once they became successful, though, they indulged their children to the point of raising whiners who had a fit if they didn’t get their way.

  Gustavo was there for something, but sitting outside film shoots and sulking near the same locations were typical of an overindulged heir who’d get everyone killed the moment he took over. The problem was, he didn’t know anyone named Katsura.

  The American Gracelia had brought in was doing his best to pull the organization together, but the men hadn’t been quick to warm to him. It’d been only after Jerome had made the tough calls on more than one occasion that they understood the danger of going against him. No crew was successful unless its men had a real fear of failure. If they didn’t realize their actions had consequences, there’d be total chaos.

  Chico tapped his phone against his head a few more times and thought of the chaos getting ready to rain down on him because he’d fucking lost some loser who was important to Gracelia Ortega and her enforcer.

  “He’s not back at the room,” one of his men said.