by AJ Adams
“Joder, Quique! A woman who takes a beating to save your sorry ass deserves some attention. From a psychiatrist, if you ask me, but what the hell, right?”
“Anything she needs, get it, okay?” I was closing my suitcase. “I’m on my way.”
A couple of years ago I would’ve headed to the airport and hired a chopper or hitched a lift with a private jet, but with the bullet train whisking passengers from Paris to London in two hours, I headed for the station.
I had to wait just half an hour, and by seven, I was calling Jorge before stepping into a London taxi.
“She’s in St Thomas’ Hospital. I just got her into a private room.” Jorge was brisk. “Quique, James says there’s eyes on the front door.”
“Good. That’s where I’ll come in.”
“Careful.”
“Always.”
I got the cab to drop me half a mile away from the front door and called in. “James, I’m walking up now.”
“Gotcha in my sights.”
“Don’t shoot me, you stupid fuck! Aim at the bad guys!”
“Okay.” A split second later there was the “thwup” of a bullet passing by and the smash of a window.
“Got him!” James’s voice was rich with satisfaction.
“Another mark at five o’clock.” That was Matu. “Out of my range.”
There was a screech of tyres. A beige sedan whizzed smartly around the corner.
“And one fucker got away!” James groaned.
“Never mind. We’ll get him later.”
I sounded cool, but believe me, I was sweating cobs. Playing the tethered goat is not my idea of fun, even if it’s trusted men taking care of business.
Natalia was in a private room on the sixth floor. Jorge was by the door, holding a neat little Glock 27. When he spotted me, he looked relieved.
“Quique, a word first.”
We stood down the corridor with me trying to ignore my stomach dropping into my bowels. “Natalia? Is it bad news?”
“No, no, no! She’s fine. A bit roughed up, that’s all.” Jorge put away his gun. “Look, she doesn’t know it yet, but she killed one of her attackers.”
“Any witnesses?”
“No. There were three of them. She kicked one through a window. I just got the news that he didn’t make it. Too much blood loss.”
“The other two?”
“They ran off when the cops turned up.”
In some countries self-defence gets you off scot-free. I didn’t know about England, but it didn’t matter.
“Smith is after her,” Jorge pointed out.
Yes, of course he was.
“He’ll have her for days, longer maybe.” Jorge was looking down the corridor, at his feet, at the wall—anywhere except into my eyes. “She’s not a pro. She’ll break and tell him about the first contact with the Twittertons.”
I was willing to take the risk, and Jorge knew it.
“And she knows about our clean-up.”
Now it was out of my hands. Natalia could endanger James, Matu, Paco and Lencho, too. That was an unacceptable risk, and the Zeta code is quite clear about those.
I suddenly had an awful feeling. “Jorge, you haven’t taken care of it?”
“No, of course not!”
The air rushed back into my lungs. I had to think. Jorge stood there, waiting patiently. The others were staying away. Not because they were cowards but as a sign of support and trust. They knew I’d do what was right.
I remembered how Natalia had clung to me. “I’ve been waiting three years for the right man to come along.” And now it would be the right man’s job to kill her. The thought was unbearable.
I turned on my heel and went to her room.
“Quique!” She was lying in bed, her skin the same bleached white as the sheets. There was a graze on her neck, one of her cheekbones was turning black, and her arms were black and red with scrapes and contusions. Only her eyes were their familiar grey fiery selves.
Her voice was determinedly cheerful but roughened by pain. “Thank God! They didn’t get you then!”
At the sight of her, I knew I had to rescue her. “Natalia! What have you been doing?”
“Fighting,” she rasped ruefully, “but you should see the other guys.”
I leaned over her, kissing her carefully on the forehead, the only part of her that wasn’t bruised. “Are you badly hurt?”
“No, it’s just bruises. Can you call Millie? But be sure to tell her I’m okay.”
“Of course I will.”
“I thought it was Bobby.”
She wasn’t making much sense, and I wondered if it was the painkillers talking. If that was so, the best thing was to humour her. I also needed time to think. “Why him?”
“We had a row.”
She told me all about Millie’s black eye, her fight with her ex father-in-law and finally about being attacked in her own stairwell.
“I thought it was Bobby, but when they started yelling ‘Where’s the dago?’ I gathered they meant you.” Incredibly, she gave me a grin. “I kicked one through the window, and with all the momentum, me and the bloke hanging onto me went tumbling down the stairs. I landed on top.”
“That was a good move.”
“I thought so. But I cracked my head along the way. By the time I was back with it, they’d taken off, with my phone.”
I couldn’t let her die. Anyone else would have fallen apart, yelled at me for bringing this to her, but this woman was taking it on the chin, laughing about it, for God’s sake, like she was a Zeta. “Natalia—”
Jorge came in, looking tense. “Quique.” He took me away from the bed and lowered his voice. “More bad news. The pendejo, her ex suegro? He’s been attacked. With a cricket bat. His skull’s fractured.”
“What the fuck?”
“The cops are looking for her. She was spotted there last night, running away. There’s a witness.”
I thought it over. “No. She said they argued. She would have told me if it were more serious.”
“He’s in a coma, and he may not make it.”
“Then there’s no evidence!”
Jorge shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Everyone knows there’s bad blood between them. The cops won’t even look for anyone else. They’ll sweat her until she confesses to everything from this to the Brussels bombing.”
“Do they know where she is?”
“Not yet. I reckon we’ve got half an hour, maybe an hour.” His eyes were sad. “I’m sorry. I know you’re fond of her.” He dropped his voice, “Look, it has to be done, but it doesn’t have to be you. I’ll do it.”
I didn’t even hesitate. “No. I’m taking her to Nuevo Laredo.”
Jorge blinked. “What?”
There was no fucking way I was letting anyone hurt my girl. “I need a car, out front in five minutes. Then a plane home.”
Jorge was on the phone straight away, and then I had to break it to Natalia.
“Quique, what’s wrong?”
“Trouble, brujita preciosa.” I stripped back the sheets and winced. The thin gown had come undone, revealing a swathe of swollen purple ribs and yellow-daubed grazes. “Coño!”
“What kind of trouble?”
Her eyes were wide and worried. If I told her, she might have hysterics. At the very least she’d want to talk or argue.
“Natalia, you have to trust me. We need to leave and fast. I’ll explain later.”
She swallowed nervously. “Okay.”
“Paco is out back,” Jorge announced. “Cops are out front.”
“Fuck.” We couldn’t afford to have Natalia hobble down to the lift. I wrapped her in the sheet, slid my arms underneath her shoulders and thighs and picked her up. She wasn’t a lightweight kid, but I’m strong, and fear was fuelling me. “Jorge, clear the emergency stairs.”
We ran down them, all six flights. Natalia didn’t make a sound, but I knew her ribs were hurting. She fainted halfway.
Paco
was waiting in a dark green BMW. We piled into the back, and he took off.
“There’s a flight from the City Airport to Morocco in half an hour,” Jorge announced. “We might make that. If not, there’s one to Warsaw in forty minutes.”
Natalia was loose in my arms, totally out of it. “Jorge, you’re sure there’s no internal bleeding?”
“No. Just bruises, cracked ribs and a possible concussion.”
Great. Concussion can be dangerous. Still, better to be in a hospital in Morocco or Poland than in jail in London.
We missed the plane to Morocco, but by running we caught the other one. The plane belonged to Micky Sadowski, a Polish meth dealer, but he wasn’t on it. It was filled with baskets from Fortnum and Mason, goodies for one of his spectacular parties. We do business with him sometimes, so he was happy to give us a ride.
The two pilots knew their business and took off without informing the tower they were taking on extra passengers. I settled us in one of the double bunks—Micky’s a fan of the mile-high club—and breathed again.
We’d gotten away with it. By the time the cops got to the CCTV, we’d be in Nuevo Laredo, and Jorge would do his innocence act. There was no risk to him, as the arrest warrant hadn’t been publicized.
The co-pilot came out after we reached cruising altitude and shared a flask of tea. Natalia came to about twenty minutes later. I thought she’d been pale before, but now she looked like death. She was in too much pain to speak, poor girl. Seeing it crunched my balls. They’d been after me, the cowardly fucks, and she’d suffered.
“Sore, Natalia?” She just nodded. “I have something for that.”
Luckily I carry emergency kit. I took out a Palladone cap. It’s like taking triple morphine, an amazing drug that can help you fight a serious gunshot wound.
Her body was rigid with pain, but she didn’t cry or even talk about it. The bruja was out in full force. Thank God I had my case with me. “Natalia, take this.”
She took the cap with some lukewarm tea. It kicked in five minutes later, thank God, and we both breathed again.
Of course, Natalia’s mind was on her family. “Is Millie okay?”
I’d already checked with Jorge. “Yes, and so’s Delicia.”
“Good. Bobby was incandescent.”
This wasn’t the time. “Close your eyes, corazon.”
Thanks to the drugs, she went straight to sleep. At this point I decided Jorge would have called ahead, but in all the excitement, I’d forgotten that I didn’t have a home to take her to.
I did have a miracle up my sleeve; I called the jefa.
“Quique!” Her voice was relieved. “You made it! We were so worried.”
“Yeah, we’re on our way home.”
“Yes, Jorge called. Do you want me to have your country place aired and cleaned?”
That’s typical of the jefa. She’s always three steps ahead.
“Yes, please.”
“I’ll see to it. Arturo says he’ll send his chopper to Houston for you.”
Five-star treatment. I’d been planning to hire a car.
“That property deal was impressive,” the jefa continued. “We’re looking forward to hearing all about it. And to meeting your new girl.”
I’d been focused on saving Natalia’s life, so much so that I’d not really considered the big picture. For the first time, I realised what I’d done. I’d left on the brink of disgrace, and now I was coming back from a successful mission and with a girl. Tina would do her nut. That cheered me up. Yes, it was small of me, but I’m being honest. After having her putting horns on me, a little payback would be nice.
In the meantime, I was relieved to see Natalia was out, healing without suffering. It was the best thing for her. I’d missed a night’s sleep, so I stretched out on a bunk next to her.
We slept all the way to Warsaw, and when we arrived, Jorge had arranged for us to be taken straight onto another plane that bounced through Reykjavik and went on to Houston.
Natalia slept through the transfer, thankfully, but the drugs started wearing off about an hour after leaving Iceland. As our new ride was carrying eight other passengers, all of them strangers, and she was still in pain, I doped her up again straight away.
“Natalia, best not talk too much, all right, corazon?”
She had some soup and drifted off, holding my hand.
“I know it’s bad, Quique. Tell me later, okay?”
She’s a remarkable woman.
“I know those ribs hurt, but you have to breathe deep when you can.”
“Yeah, to keep everything going,” she was taking deep breaths, wincing as she spoke. “I know the drill.”
“What do you mean, you know the drill?” I found myself seeing red. “Was it that hijo puta you married? I’ll fucking kill him!”
She took my hand. “It’s in the past. Forget it.”
A very remarkable woman. Natalia was solid gold.
The jefe’s chopper was waiting for us in Houston. Luckily we have plenty of enchufe there, so immigration carefully looked the other way as we loaded Natalia onto a gurney and moved her across the airport.
“I can walk,” she protested.
I refrained from pointing out she couldn’t even sit up without help. “Let me take care of this.”
“Okay.”
She was reasonable, thank God, but it worried me, too. She must have been in more pain than she let on, my brave girl.
We flew straight home, landing in the driveway. It was heaven to step out in the balmy air again. London’s cold dampness seemed a lifetime away.
My home looked lovely, glowing pink and orange in the sunset. The second the chopper took off, the doors opened and two girls came running out. From the tiny skirts and slashed tops, I gathered they worked with the jefa. She took over Heaven, our local brothel, about a year ago, introducing the Amsterdam system, where the women run their own houses.
These two were brunettes with large green eyes, and one had a distinct baby bump. With the jefa being super-hot on safe sex and fixated on getting hos off the street, I decided these two must be new.
“Your housekeeper Beatriz can’t start until the day after tomorrow,” the one with the baby bump informed me.
“We’re to look after you till then!” the little one giggled.
“She’s Maria,” Baby-bump twittered.
“And she’s also Maria,” the other giggled.
“Welcome home!” they chorused.
They both spoke English with an American twang.
Natalia smiled, but her eyes were wide with surprise. “Your work?” she whispered as she spotted the Maria with the bump.
It sent a shaft into my gut. Everything I’d pushed out of mind in London came flooding back. As a man I was a failure, and I was a fool to think otherwise.
I thought I’d hidden it, but Natalia knew.
“Sorry, bad joke.”
“Nah, I’m just tired.”
The lie was automatic. I was really losing it, showing my feelings like that to her.
And then, all the doubts rushed into my mind. What the fuck had I been thinking to bring Natalia here? She didn’t speak Spanish, and there were few opportunities in Nuevo Laredo for chefs. She’d have to live with me for months, maybe longer. Also, I was just coming out of a marriage. This wasn’t a time to be shacking up with someone.
Then I looked into those eyes, red-rimmed with lingering pain, and I decided I was a selfish fuck. “Natalia, welcome to my home.”
I held her arm, supported her inside, and all at once calm flooded through me. Now the chopper was gone, we could hear the birds, frogs and crickets, all singing their goodnight. We walked through the hall into the living room with its huge sofas, polished wooden floors and low coffee table. The windows were wide open, showcasing the Rio Grande flowing quietly in the background. It was beautiful, peaceful and uncluttered.
I settled Natalia on the sofa and took her by the hand. It was time to talk.
“Querida, the man you kicked through the window…”
“He’s dead.” Her eyes were calm.
“Yes, he is.”
“I figured that’s what it was. Smith’s after me?”
“Yes.”
“Jorge’s worried I’ll rat on you to save my own skin?”
“More or less.”
“Thought so.”
An amazing woman. Not a tear or even a shiver.
“Nobody’s going to hurt you.”
“Oh, Quique!” She was smiling at me. “I know that!”
It was my turn to stare at her. I mean, she was a strong woman, but still! To be taken away from her home and into a strange place had to be a shock.
“If you’d wanted to bump me off, I’d be at the bottom of the Thames, not sitting here in this lovely house!”
Sensible, my girl. And clever. But she didn’t know all of it.
“I guess a good lawyer can fix it,” Natalia sighed, “but I’d better get a job here, right? This will take a while.”
“When you’re better, sure.” After all, she was a worker. Maybe I could settle her in Houston, just across the border. “But there’s more bad news.”
I told her about Bobby. At first she couldn’t take it in. “But that can’t be true,” she kept saying. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” I took her hand. “He may not make it, corazon. It’s bad.”
Her eyes were filled with tears, “Ohmigod! Why would anyone want to kill him?”
From the sound of it, there were plenty of suspects, but I didn’t say so. “It might have been a prison beef,” I said tactfully, “or a bad debt you didn’t know about.”
“Maybe, but it seems unlikely.”
“Natalia, they think you did it.”
She stared at me open-mouthed, the blood draining away, leaving the black cheek a stark indigo. “Me? Oh Christ!”
“I know you didn’t.”
“But Millie might not—I have to talk to her!”
I took out my phone. “Let me get the number.”
Jorge had been busy. He had compiled the facts of the investigation as well as a list of contacts for Natalia’s relatives. “There’s a warrant out for Natalia’s arrest. Murder and attempted murder. She’s also suspected in three other killings, and as an accessory to the clean-up.”
Just as we suspected.
