Becoming the Czar

by Olivia Gaines

  “Five Jefe,” Gunther said.

  “Five days ago, Diadra met me in Costa Rica at a little place I purchased for her. I’m aware she informed you of this travel,” Yuñior said. “The story begins with sunshine, shopping, and romance, and we were having fun until an archenemy of mine made trouble.”

  Yuñior opened his shirt to show off the bandage on his shoulder.

  “Would you believe that stinking bastard shot me?” Yuñior said with a snarl. “He totally ruined the getaway I planned for my Diadra by putting a bullet hole in my body. I was very upset by this and will more than likely induce a lifetime of pain on the man, but I digress. The wound, it is a through and through, but your daughter shot him in return, and it is doubtful he will have continued use of his left hand. She is good with a weapon. You taught her well, but Tito, that is my archenemy, is right-handed so that is that.”

  “What?” Arthur said, taking a seat.

  Yuñior pulled out his phone, punched in the security code and went to his photos. He slid through several, bringing up the picture of Thunder. It was with great pride he showed his horse to Arthur.

  “This is Thunder, my favorite horse. I didn’t think Diadra would get on with me and ride, but she did. Arthur the Parsons, I make not the kidding when I tell you, in the presence of my father and the head of nearly every cartel in the Americas, Diadra challenged me, questioning whether or not I should ride with a bullet hole in my shoulder.” Yuñior said, showing him the photo of Diadra in the blue dress sitting on his lap on the horse. He continued scrolling through the photos. “This beautiful woman is my Grandmother. My grandfather is the Czar of Argentina. Here he is dancing with Diadra.”

  “Say what?” Arthur’s mouth hung wide open.

  Yuñior slid his finger across the screen of the phone, “This is my stepmother, The Lady of the Lands. She has a doctorate in the math sciences and used to work for the US Government analyzing my father’s money trails. She is an amazing woman whom I have grown to love as well as respect a great deal. Her father too is retired from the US Army, but he served in Viet Nam. If you listen to the Big Sarge’s explanation of the War in Asia, he took out all the Viet Cong by himself with a gaping side wound as he marched his skinny legs up a hill in the snow in both directions. I too call him Abuelo.”

  He smiled when he mentioned Big Sarge, still sliding through more photos. “These are my brothers and my sisters,” Yuñior said, deftly moving his finger across the screen.

  “Angel is the youngest of my brothers and he has Down’s Syndrome, but he is a whiz with animals and an expert horseman,” Yuñior said, turning the phone to show the photo of Diadra on the back of the horse with his little brother.

  “These photos were taken this morning as we rode through the green fields of my ancestors, and I showed her my office and what I do for my father’s business,” Yuñior said. “Ah si, mira aqui, this family, the Condas, prepared breakfast for us as we sampled the coffee crop grown in the fields they are assigned to maintain. I love this photo of Diadra holding my sleeping baby sister. Look at this one where she kisses Isabella before passing her back to my father.”

  His face went soft as Arthur watched his expression. As a father he knew that look. It was a look that worried him more now than it had when he discovered who the young man was. The concern showed on his face.

  Yuñior didn’t seem to care, but continued.

  “Upon my grandfather’s retirement, which will be in the next few years, I shall take over as the Czar of Argentina until my eldest son is old enough to take over the reins,” he said. “My grandfather is a cattle man who raises the best beef in South America. Soon, I shall show Diadra that portion of my life in Argentina since she has seen and experienced my life in Colombia.”

  Arthur was frowning. He didn’t like the way the conversation was going. He wasn’t sure if he liked the young Czar. “I know your type. You will do your best to impregnate her so that you can stay in her life,” he said with disgust.

  “Arthur the Parsons, is there nothing, no clue, no remnant of understanding in this entire conversation that has resonated with you?”

  “What I hear is you are man who is accustomed to getting your way and what you want. What I hear is that you want my daughter. The photo you snapped for posterity’s sake is your mental way of seeing her holding that sister of yours making you want to see her holding your son,” Arthur said, clenching his fists.

  Gunther got to his feet at the implied act of aggression. Yuñior held up his hand for Gunther to sit down. He was not worried about Diadra’s father.

  “Señor, had that been my sole intention, there would have been no need for me to have this conversation or take the time to arrange this meeting between us,” Yuñior said. “Had I been that sort of man, I would have implanted my seed and taken her from this country never to return her, and you would not have known where she was and assumed her to be dead. However, I am not that man. I’m standing before you as honest as I can be letting you know my intentions with your daughter.”

  “No, you have shown me a bunch of pictures, but you haven’t said anything about your intentions,” Arthur said.

  “My intentions are for her to be the bringer of my line and to be the woman who shares my life,” Yuñior replied.

  “Oh shit, that’s rich. Have you asked her that?”

  “No, I’m asking you. Would you accept me as your son-in-law, walk Diadra down the aisle, and place her hand into my own, giving her care and future unto me if she says yes to my proposal?”

  “Accept you? Man, you haven’t even given me the courtesy of shaking my hand,” Arthur added vehemently.

  “You North Americans are always touching the hands in the shake. If not, the shake, you press your bodies close for the huggy hugs. It is not my way,” Yuñior said. “I am not the, what is the word, a germ a toad, but please, keep your microbes to yourself. Yet, again, I ask of you, Arthur the Parsons, could you or would you accept me as a son-in-law?”

  “Germaphobe. Not germ a toad. If she says yes, I guess I have no choice,” Arthur said not in a fact but also not in a question.

  “We always have a choice,” Yuńior replied, looking the man in the face as the sound of the bathroom door opening brought out a freshly cleaned Diadra. “Sixteen months is my timeline to clean up the ragged edges of my life and make a smooth path for our life together. It is my intention to do just that.”

  Diadra entered the kitchen in a flourish, bringing the fresh scent of lavender with her. She sported a clean pair of jeans and her favorite house slippers, the ones which allowed her toes to peek out at the ends. Yuñior liked the shoes as they gave him peeks at the pink toenail polish.

  “I’m sorry to have left you gents alone, but that tub missed me,” Diadra said, looking at the meal on the counter. “Ed, you cooked for me. Dang, you’re trying to make a girl fall in love with you, aren’t you?”

  She picked a slice of tomato off her plate, popping it into her mouth. Diadra also spotted the poured glass of wine and picked it up with a wink at her guy. “Daddy, I have so much to tell you. Ed, how much can I share?”

  “Share as much as you like,” he said, checking his watch.

  “You have to leave, don’t you?” she said, looking at Yuñior. “It was an amazing few days. Honestly, I don’t think I will ever forget any of it.”

  “I hope not, but it is true, I must depart. I have a dinner meeting in Chicago, a breakfast meeting in Seattle, and a lunch meeting with my father’s brother tomorrow in San Francisco, and I’m due in Mazatlán by sunset tomorrow night,” he said, extending his arms for Diadra.

  She walked into the embrace hugging him tightly. A soft kiss was placed upon his lips. “Thank you, Ed for a memorable get away,” she told him blushing.

  “Thank you for always being cool and calm. I look forward to seeing you again soon,” he said, taking her hand and kissing her inner wrist. “I shall be in touch, Diadra, and will miss you. It was a pleasure speaking with you
Arthur the Parsons. Take care of my lady while I am away.”

  “You know where to find me, Ed,” she said, doing a mock curtsey. She watched him walk out of the door, and Gunther followed behind, stopping to kiss her again on the cheek. Diadra squeezed his bulging bicep. “Take care of him, Gunther.”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” Gunther said, providing a salute to her and her father, who grunted in distaste at the pomp and most of the circumstance. Diadra didn’t miss a beat. She locked the front door, and grabbed a plate, and poured more wine into the glass. She carried her plate to the table and took a seat, crossing her legs. The flowers he’d given her before were now dried out and wilted, but she would cut the buds and keep them in a separate container. Diadra poured on the salad dressing and cut into the chicken.

  Arthur was fit to be tied. She sat as calmly as she had in ninth grade when she’d gotten expelled for beating up a male Japanese student who called her a not so nice name. Diadra ate the meal, enjoying the effort her man put into preparing the dish for her.

  “Diadra Anne Parsons! You are not going to simply sit there and eat as if you didn’t just waltz through the front door with the son of the baddest drug Czar on two continents! You told me you were going to Costa Rica so I’m thinking you’re with girl friends on a retreat, but no, not you! You’re horseback riding through cocaine fields on the back of a horse with a kid with Down’s Syndrome,” Arthur said as spittle flew from his mouth. “Did I hear him correctly that you shot his nemesis, and he has sixteen months to work out the rough edges before he can ask you to marry him?”

  “Ed told you he wanted to marry me?” she said, placing her hand to her chest in shock.

  “Goddddaaammmmiit, Girl!” Arthur said, getting on his feet and spinning around in a circle twice as if to chase his own butt.

  She didn’t balk, didn’t jump or flinch in the rise of the timbre in his voice. Diadra continued to eat and wash down the meal with a very good glass of a red blended wine. It wasn’t her normal brand, which made her rise from the table to collect the bottle. It must have been a wine that Ed purchased for her.

  “Well, say something damn it!”

  She sipped again.

  “Daddy, this is my house and if anyone did the waltzing in, it was you,” Diadra said. “I am twenty-four years old, a college graduate, and have been living on my own since I was eighteen and you married that woman who didn’t want me in her house.”

  “Diadra, he is the son of a drug Czar!”

  She looked up at her father. Her eyes and voice were crisp and clear when she spoke to him. She spoke with courtesy and respect to the man who had raised her.

  “Daddy, I have no doubt that it was Ed who arranged for you to come here to meet him because you didn’t know where I lived,” she said. “Tell me, honestly, in that entire exchange, was there one moment when you did not respect him?”

  “Respect him?”

  “Yes, respect. Not for who his father is, or what his title is, or what he stands to inherit, Daddy. Please tell me is there one moment that you did not respect Ed as a man talking to you honestly about his intentions and the relationship with your daughter?” she asked, adjusting the inflection of her voice.

  “I respected him and still do,” Arthur said.

  “The last two men I dated, I never bothered to introduce you to because they were not the caliber of men I felt needed to be in my father’s face,” she said. “Those men were learning curves in my life. I had to go there to understand what I didn’t want in order to appreciate what he is now providing me. Daddy, he bought a house in Costa Rica for us to get away and enjoy time alone without Gunther or anyone else. I have keys and can stay there anytime I feel like it, with or without Ed.”

  “So, he uses his drug money to buy you gifts and that makes him worthy?”

  “No, what makes him worthy is that he took the time to meet you. He took the time to personally escort me home, stock my wine cabinet with much better stuff than I buy, and cooked me dinner while I soaked in the tub preparing for this conversation with you,” Diadra said. “It may not be much to you, Daddy, but this is where we are, the collision of the two men in my life meeting with force.”

  “I don’t know if I like him,” Arthur said.

  “As long as you respect him and he respects you, the rest we can work out, Daddy,” she said, picking up his plate and bringing it to the table. “Come on, let’s eat.”

  Arthur joined his daughter at the table. The salad looked clean and tasty and he sampled a cucumber with the dressing. Next, he sipped at the wine, which was also good. Then he grunted his approval of the meal.

  “You rode on a horse, huh?”

  “Daddy, before it’s all over, that man is probably going to have me doing all kinds of things that are out of my comfort zone.”

  “Yeah, that’s what worries the shit out of me,” Arthur said. “As if shooting a mutherfucker and making him lose the use of his left hand is within the zones of your levels of comfort, then color me dazzled pink with rhinestones.”

  “Oh, don’t get mad at me about that. It was a knee jerk reaction based on the skills you taught me, so if anything, me shooting Tito is kind of your fault,” she said with a sarcastic smile on her face.

  “The devil is a liar and so is that drug-making boyfriend of yours. And what’s with him calling me Arthur the Parsons?”

  “Daddy, admit it, he is fine as wine and makes one helluva an impression,” she said, “I can’t wait to tell you about Costa Rica.”

  Chapter Four- Vigor

  It wasn’t as if Yuñior hadn’t seen death up close. He’d seen it, inhaled the scent of escaping blood from open wounds, and had even been the cause of one or twenty odd lights being extinguished from this earth earlier than anticipated. What he had yet to experience was the death of someone he personally knew and interacted with on a regular basis.

  He never considered Ramon to be a friend, but a man who worked in the barn where the coca leaves were turned into cocaine bricks. For many years he’d counted on Ramon to ensure the men kept to the schedule, created the product required in a routine fashion, and prepared the teams when it came time for rewards. A system co-created by Yuñior and Ramon to recompense the workers who met the tighter deadlines when more product was needed or if the processors fell behind schedule, had been a crowning achievement for both men in the eyes of Eduardo Delgado.

  Yuñior respected Ramon.

  In the wee hours of the night, the father of three fell ill with fever. His wife sent word to the main house, and Yuñior rode to Ramon’s home with his father. At the time of their arrival, it was already too late. Ramon offered Yuñior a small smile, his eyes venturing to his teenage daughter and back to the young Czar as he held onto his wife’s hand, allowing the last wisps of breath to leave his lungs and take him to the next plane. Yuñior understood the unspoken message.

  “I’m very sorry for your loss, Señora,” Eduardo told the woman, pulling her away from the body to allow the doctor to examine the man. “How long has Ramon been ill?”

  “It came on suddenly, Señor. He ran a high temperature and took to the bed. Three days. Three days and my Ramon is no more,” she cried, wailing to the rafters of the small home.

  Yuñior took the two sons and Ramon’s teenage daughter outside of the house. He touched each of the foreheads checking for fever and finding none. The boys were pre-teens and too young to work in the barns, yet not trained to work the fields. It would be up to the Czar to determine their futures on the lands. Yuñior offered them words of comfort, letting the children know that they and their mother would be taken care of by Las Tierras.

  Eduardo’s face was solemn when he exited Ramon’s home. He climbed into the golf cart, waving for his son to join him, not looking back before riding a good distance from the house before stopping to wash their hands with grain alcohol. He splashed the liquid on his face, around his mouth and nose, encouraging his son to do the same.

  “Papa, what do you think i
t is?” Yuñior asked.

  “I don’t know, but the children showed no signs of illness,” Eduardo said. “The doctor will take the body and examine it so we can have answers. Then we shall prepare a homegoing service for him.”

  Yuñior said nothing more, his thoughts venturing to the children. The emotions hit him harder than he expected, and he found himself becoming tearful. It was if he were reliving the night of his mother’s death, but this time he was allowed to process the unshed tears of her demise. His attempts to hide the emotional response did not escape his father’s eyes.

  “There is no room for tears in our world,” he told his son.

  “I know this, Papa,” Yuñior replied, his voice heavy with emotion. “You have prepared me to continue in this world should you be taken from it without notice. I have mentally equipped myself for that time, but I will not like it, and I will cry like a wee babe in need of nursing if I had to wake and no longer have you in my life. You are more than my father, you are also my guide, my mentor, and in some aspects, a friend when I had no other.”

  Eduardo’s eyes teared as well, but he focused the cart on the path. It was unlike his son to exhibit emotions after having seen and experienced so much at such a young age. More death had visited the young man’s door than many would see in a lifetime, yet until this time he had never cried. The outpouring of emotion brought more tears to Eduardo’s eyes and he stopped the cart.

  “Are you crying for Ramon or for his children?” he asked.

  “The children—myself—this way of life, and my children yet to be born,” he said. “You have provided and made a way for each of your six children. We will never know hunger or poverty. Las Tierras is a home for Ramon and his family, and they will never know hunger, but who will serve as a guide and mentor to those young men? Who will serve as a gatekeeper for his daughter to keep away overzealous young studs who will try to take advantage of Zeta not having a father in her life?”

  “If these matters are striking at your heart, then you do understand what it means to be a Czar, but there is no room for tears,” Eduardo said.