“Another week, at least. We have to get the airstrip expanded, and I want to be sure this new crew is working out before we go.”
“Then I guess I could do some shifts on guard duty.”
“Good. Get me five more volunteers, and we’ll make a schedule.”
* * *
The good thing about guard duty was that Aguilar was allowed to sleep during the hottest part of the day. And the bedroom wasn’t crowded, so he could stretch out and use as many pillows as he wanted.
The bad part was the guard duty.
The jungle at night was like a living beast, fanged and many-eyed and dripping with malevolence. Beyond the reach of his flashlights and the bulbs strung along the tin roofs of the twin labs, the darkness was complete; no moonlight penetrated the dense canopy overhead. The only noise was the perpetual buzz of insects, so whenever a creature larger than a mouse moved through the brush, it sounded enormous.
Rain fell on two of his patrol nights. The first hint was a sound like the rush of an oncoming train, as the storm moved across the jungle toward him. Then it hit the upper canopy with a roar like a waterfall, followed by an almost musical progression as it ran from leaf to branch to branch to leaf, coming ever closer. Finally, it reached the ground, soaking him in an instant.
He patrolled with his AR-15 tightly gripped, finger beside the trigger and ready to slip onto it at any instant. His flashlight was mounted to the barrel, and he kept extra flashlight batteries in a pocket. The last thing he wanted was to be out of sight of the house without a light.
There were two guards on duty at all times, walking overlapping patrols. Their instructions were to make sure nothing—animal or human—presented a danger to the workers. But equally important, if less obvious at first blush, was to make sure that no one left the premises without the proper permission. The lab was involved in the production of a highly profitable and illegal substance, and the workers couldn’t be allowed to leave. Once they were here, they were stuck. The only provision for terminating that employment was a bullet to the head and a shallow jungle grave.
Aguilar was nervous that first night, but when dawn brought a faint glow to the jungle he lost himself in its beauty. The trees, the vines and drooping branches, the underbrush with broad leaves and flowers of every shape and color, the glimpses of color as birds moved about—all of it merged into a living, breathing impressionist painting.
After his shift, he slept for a couple of hours. Then trucks bearing the heavy equipment needed for the airstrip expansion rolled in, waking him. Groggy, he went to the kitchen for some coffee and wandered outside with his mug. La Quica was watching the big vehicles roll off the trailers.
“Do those operators get killed when they’re finished?” Aguilar asked.
“They’ve been blindfolded since San Vicente del Caguán,” La Quica said. “There aren’t any landmarks here but trees, and in the middle of the jungle they all look alike. They’d never find their way back here.”
“Don Pablo doesn’t like taking chances.”
La Quica shook his head. “He takes chances every day. He just likes to improve the odds whenever he can. You’d do the same, in his position.”
“I’d never be in his position.”
“He’s unique, isn’t he? One of a kind. Not many men have the combination of vision and ruthlessness to pull off what he has.”
That was probably a good thing, Aguilar believed. Men like that were bound to clash, sooner or later. So far Colombia’s various cartel heads were able to coexist, because the markets were open enough that everybody could own different territories. That wouldn’t be the case forever, he was sure. Like feudal lords fighting for power and territory, none of the men running cartels would be satisfied with a piece. Each would want the whole, and bloodshed on a massive scale would be the necessary result.
He remembered the old men in the village plaza, playing chess. That was Escobar, the Ochoas, Gacha, and the heads of the other cartels, moving their pieces across the board, seeking the advantage, taking out the opponent’s pieces whenever possible.
Sooner or later, a war would come. And I’ll be a pawn in that war, Aguilar thought. A triggerman, a disposable soldier. Cannon fodder. If I live that long.
He sipped his coffee and watched the big machines tear at the earth.
33
LATER, AGUILAR WAS outside again, watching the new workers trying to master the craft of manufacturing cocaine. Escobar and Gaviria were there as well. Camilo was explaining the various tasks to five men who would work a shift together. One of them kept asking questions that Aguilar thought were stupid ones—demanding that Camilo go back over things he had just covered. The man was young, still in his teens or just out of them, but that didn’t excuse his inability to grasp an idea. And he was nervous, trembling.
Finally, he tripped over his own feet or someone else’s, and knocked a bottle of ammonia off a table. It hit the wooden floor and shattered, and the fumes washed over everyone present.
Escobar had seen enough. “Give me your gun, Jaguar,” he snapped.
Aguilar handed it over, assuming Escobar would use it to make a point of some kind.
He did, but not the kind Aguilar expected.
“You!” Escobar said, addressing the man, still trying to regain his footing.
The man looked at Escobar, gave him a sheepish grin. “Sorry.”
“Yes, you are,” Escobar said. He leveled the gun at the man and put a bullet between his eyes. The man collapsed like an empty sack, bleeding into the dirt.
“Get him out of here,” Escobar said. “Dump him in the jungle somewhere. And if there are any more idiots among the workers, let them know the same thing will happen to them.”
He turned and stormed toward the house. Gaviria shrugged. “He has a tooth that’s been bothering him,” he said. “He’s been in a foul mood all day.”
“There’s a dentist in the nearest village,” Aguilar said. “I saw the office yesterday.”
Gaviria’s eyes brightened. “Come with me. I’ll see what he wants to do.”
Aguilar was glad of that, because it meant he didn’t have to be the one to dispose of the body. Gaviria went into the house, Aguilar at his heels.
Inside, Escobar sat at the dining table with his chin on his palm, rubbing his jaw with two fingers. Aguilar’s pistol rested on the table before him. When Gaviria and Aguilar entered, he looked up.
“I forgot to give you back your gun, Jaguar. This fucking tooth is killing me. Here it is.”
“Thanks,” Aguilar said. He picked up the weapon and holstered it.
“That’s not why I brought him in,” Gaviria said. “He says there’s a dentist in the village.”
Escobar arched an eyebrow. “You think I need a dentist?”
“You have a toothache that’s making you miserable, Pablo. I can ask Camilo for some pliers and yank it myself, if you want.”
“I don’t want your hands anywhere near my teeth.”
“Camilo, then. He’s a chemist, maybe he can make some toothache powder or something. The marijuana didn’t help?”
“Not enough.”
“A little cocaine, maybe?”
Escobar shook his head, scowling. “I don’t use that stuff.” He pondered for a few moments. “Jaguar, do you know anything about this dentist?”
“Not a thing,” Aguilar replied. “We were in the plaza and I saw the office, that’s all. There was a light in the window. I could take you there.”
“I’m not going into town. On that road? The bumps would kill me. Take one of the other guys and bring him here, with any equipment he’ll need.”
“Blindfolded?”
“Of course, blindfolded. We might need him again; I don’t want to have to kill him.”
“Yes, Patrón. Anything else?”
“No,” Escobar said. Then, “Yes. Make it fast! This thing’s killing me.”
Gaviria walked Aguilar out, stuffing a wad of bills into his hand. �
�Hurry,” he said quietly. “I’m afraid he’s going to kill all our workers if his tooth isn’t taken care of.”
“I’m on my way,” Aguilar assured him.
He went into the bedroom and found Trigger sitting on a pillow, staring out the window. “Trigger, come with me,” he said.
Trigger blinked a couple of times, then seemed to focus on him. “Come where?”
“Into the village. We need to pick up a dentist.”
“A dentist? What dentist?”
“I’ll explain on the way. Come on, it’s an emergency.”
* * *
“Do you ever think about after?” Aguilar asked.
Trigger was chewing on his lip and looking at his fingernails. Aguilar, driving the big truck, was afraid to take his eyes off the narrow road for more than a second or two. Jungle pressed in on either side; it would be easy to run into the trees and maybe be stuck there. He didn’t know what would happen if another vehicle came along, going the other way.
Well, yes he did. He would refuse to budge, and he would gun down the other driver if he had to.
“After what?”
“After this.”
“We go back to Medellín, I guess. Or to the ranch, or someplace. Sleep in a bed again.”
“I don’t mean after this here. I mean, after being a sicario for Escobar.”
“What after is that? It’s all I’ve ever been.”
“How old are you?”
“Nineteen,” Trigger said. “Well, seventeen. Almost.”
“How many sicarios have you seen over twenty-five? Over twenty?”
“You’re over twenty.”
“Because I went to university, and became a police officer.”
“That doesn’t make you better than anyone else.”
“I didn’t say it did,” Aguilar said. “It makes me older, though. My point is, most of the guys are young. You can’t be in this life forever. There are no fifty-year-old sicarios.”
“Fifty?” Trigger laughed. “Before I started working for Don Pablo, I figured I’d be lucky to live to twenty.”
“And now?”
“Now I’ll still be lucky to live to twenty. But before I die, I’ll have taken out plenty of other motherfuckers.”
“That’s all life is to you? Killing and then dying?”
“And getting laid. Don’t forget that. You think Don Pablo’s ever going to bring up the whores he promised?”
“If we can’t get this dentist to take care of his tooth, you can forget about the whores,” Aguilar said. “While he suffers, we all suffer.”
* * *
The dentist’s office was in a small, one-story stone building with a flat roof. When Aguilar and Trigger went in the front door, a little bell tied to the handle rang. They found themselves in a small lobby with a desk on which rested a telephone and a big appointment book. Aguilar heard the sound of a drill from behind a wall.
“Be right there!” a female voice called.
“The dentist is a girl?” Trigger asked.
Aguilar shrugged. “I guess it could be.”
The drilling continued, accompanied by pained shrieks and groans. “I’m almost finished here,” a male voice said. “Just relax.”
“Relax?” another man answered. “I’m not sure how much more of this torture I can bear.”
“Maybe that’s why Don Pablo wants a dentist,” Trigger whispered. “He wants to learn new torture methods.”
“Hush,” Aguilar said. He didn’t want the dentist to be scared off before they even met him.
Finally, the drilling stopped and the male spoke in reassuring tones. While he worked, the woman came out into the lobby area.
She was gorgeous.
Her hair was like liquid butterscotch, hanging to her shoulders and curling slightly at the ends. Her eyes were large, brown but with hints of green in them. Her smile was an arrow to the heart.
“Can I help you?” she asked. Her blue scrubs didn’t show much of her figure, but Aguilar liked what he could see.
Aguilar could barely find his voice. “We need the dentist,” he managed. “It’s an emergency.”
“He’s almost finished with his patient,” she said. “What’s the problem?”
“It’s a toothache.”
“Which one of you?”
“Neither of us,” Aguilar said. “Out in the jungle, about six or seven kilometers.”
“Oh,” she said. “I’m sorry, Dr. Mesa has a full schedule today.”
“Not anymore,” Aguilar said.
“I’m sure he’d be willing to go out in a day or two.”
Aguilar took the cash Gaviria had given him from his pocket and held it out to her. “This is just a start. When Dr. Mesa helps our boss, there’ll be more.”
Trigger drew back his T-shirt, showing her the gun at his belt. “Explain to him that he can either make some money, or he might need a doctor himself. Plata o plomo.”
Aguilar waved a hand at him. He hadn’t wanted to put it that way to the dentist. Especially now that he’d seen the dentist’s helper.
“My friend exaggerates,” he said. “Still, it would be best if he comes with us. Right away. He should bring whatever he needs to take care of a toothache.”
“There could be all kinds of reasons for that,” she said.
“Then he should bring all kinds of things to fix it. Will he need help?”
“A dental assistant?”
“Sure, a dental assistant. Is that what you are?”
“That’s right,” she said. “I’m trained and certified.”
“Then you can come with him.”
“I’m not sure I want to go anywhere with gunmen.”
“I told you,” Aguilar said. “My associate gets carried away. You’re in no danger.”
“Unless you don’t cooperate,” Trigger said.
“Trigger, enough.”
“His name’s Trigger?”
“Nickname,” Aguilar said. He realized that probably didn’t help.
“What’s yours? Coffin?”
“He’s Jaguar,” Trigger said. “Show her your claw, Jaguar.”
“You have claws?”
“His knife.”
“Trigger, that’s enough,” Aguilar said again. “You’re scaring the lady. There’s no need for that.”
“I think I should call the police,” she said.
“In this little village?” Aguilar asked. “There are police here?”
“Of course.”
“How many?”
“Fifteen,” she said. “They’re very well armed, too.”
“Fifteen, in a village this size?”
“All right, one. And he’s probably drunk. He starts drinking between breakfast and lunch, but by the time lunch is over, he’s usually out until well after dinner.”
“That sounds more like it,” Aguilar said. “Come on, tell your boss to hurry up.”
She went back into the other room. Aguilar listened from the doorway and heard her explain the situation. He was afraid she would try to persuade him not to go, or perhaps to call the village’s drunk policeman, but she didn’t.
A minute later, he came into the lobby. “Maribel tells me there’s an emergency that can’t wait.”
“Yes,” Aguilar said. “Our boss is a very important man, and he’s in a lot of pain. That makes him grouchy, and when he’s grouchy, people suffer.”
“I have patients here who are suffering, too.”
“They can’t pay you what this one can.”
“Maribel showed me the money you gave her. Your boss, he’s wealthy? An oligarch?”
“Wealthy, yes. But no oligarch. He earned his money the hard way.”
“Good,” Mesa said. “I hate oligarchs.”
“Then you and he will have a lot in common,” Aguilar said. “Are you finished in there? We need to hurry.”
“Two minutes,” the dentist said.
“Two minutes,” Aguilar agreed. “After that, we’re
tossing your patient out of here.”
Five minutes later, having gathered the supplies Mesa said he would need, they walked out to the truck. “We’re riding in that?” Maribel asked. “Don’t you have something a little more modern? Like a horse and buggy?”
“Tell me, Dr. Mesa,” Aguilar said, “has she always had a smart mouth, or is it just around me?”
“Always,” the dentist said. “As long as I’ve known her.”
“And you haven’t fired her?”
“You’ve seen this village. It’s very small. Where would I find another trained dental assistant?”
Aguilar took the man’s medical bag and the small box of supplies Maribel carried and set them on the cab floor. “Don’t be afraid,” he said. “But we’re going to blindfold you now.”
“Blindfold?” Mesa repeated. “Why?”
“You can’t know where you’re going,” Aguilar said. “You’ll be blindfolded on the way back, too.”
“Will I have to work blindfolded, as well?”
“Of course not.” Another moment passed before Aguilar realized it was a joke. “Now I see why you keep her on. You’re just as bad.”
“When you live and work in a village like this,” Maribel said, “you have to take your amusements where you can find them.”
Aguilar pulled the rags he would use for blindfolds from the seat. “I’ll put these on now.”
“And if we refuse?” Mesa asked.
“Where would this village find another trained dentist?”
“Go ahead, then.” Mesa clamped his lips together and raised his chin proudly. He was short but sturdy, with wiry black hair and a distinguished mien. He still had on his white lab coat over a suit and tie. Aguilar thought he might like the man, under other circumstances. Then he thought about how long it had been since he’d seen a dentist—two or three years, at least. Maybe he should correct that.
Maybe he would see this dentist, if only to have an excuse to see Maribel again.
He put the blindfold on the dentist, then one on Maribel. She was trembling slightly, but trying not to show fear. She smelled like citrus and flowers and something smoky, and Aguilar thought he could breathe her in all day long.
“You’ll sit beside me,” he told her. “Then Dr. Mesa, then Trigger. So nobody has any ideas about jumping out the door.”
Narcos Page 23
