“So, you’re just going to send him away, knowing he has as much ability to survive out there on his own as if you sent Angel or Micah to navigate their way back from the rain forest?” Yuñior said passing his father the cup of ginger tea. “Tonda is a big hulking child Papa. Those dealers will eat him alive, take all the product, and kill him for sport.”
“I know, but he demanded his birthright, and I cannot for my own personal reasons deny his request. You bore witness,” Eduardo said, “You know the rules.”
“Tonda will die out there!”
“Or he will become the man I should have made him into all along. I was soft. I was too soft on him,” Eduardo said. “If it is any consolation, he is a trained assassin.”
“Will you at least assign him a guide?”
“No, I will not,” Eduardo answered, turning and leaving.
THE DAYS TURNED INTO a week. Tonda was no longer there, and Andres, worried for the big man, assigned a guide to watch over him as he tried to be tough. Reports came back of Tonda fighting to earn a space at the table of cutthroats. Twice he’d been beaten, cut, and nearly shot. Eduardo refused to listen to any more of the reports, holding fast in his decision.
Yuñior’s guts roiled each and every night, and still no word from Diadra. The one week turned to two and he hired a crew for Tonda. There wasn’t much he could say or do above the table, but under the table and behind the scenes, loyalty could be bought. He bought Tonda six loyal men, plus one extra whose sole job was to watch the big guy sleep.
He knew his Papa was tough and unbending, but if anything were to happen to Tonda, it would destroy Eduardo Delgado. It would also hurt him in a way he couldn’t quantify. Losing family members to other than natural causes was a lifetime of pain Eduardo had endured. For Yuñior, it felt pretty much the same. However, he was a thinker. Seldom would he admit that he thought like Micah, but had gained filters in his speech, but not in his head.
Next week he was due in Argentina at Perona de la Mar, and the past two weeks had dragged on longer than a James Joyce novel.
“I can outflank her,” he said, picking up his phone and calling Tim. He had to earn her trust in a manner that outweighed her love. Yuñior wanted her loyalty. Diadra’s loyalty couldn’t be bought, but he sure as hell could wrap it in a pretty ass bow made of silk. Tim answered on the fourth ring.
“Hey, tall, dark, and deadly, who do you need me to cut next?” Tim said into the line.
“Diadra, if your schedule permits. Tim, I need you to head to New York, please. Diadra is due in Argentina next week, and she needs two ball gowns, one in emerald green, the other in Argentine blue,” he said. “She also needs a riding set complete with boots and a black cocktail dress, preferably below the knee. The shoes purchased should be made for dancing, along with a couple of tango lessons if you can find a place to get that done in time. This is a chic affair, my friend. My grandmother is very conservative, so no deep cleavage or total bare arms.”
“Wow, you know a great deal about fashion,” Tim said. “What’s my budget?”
“I’m wiring the money to your account, and no, I don’t know about fashion. I pay attention to what the ladies wear and who gets invited back to the parties my grandmother throws,” Yuñior added. “You did receive the payment for your services at Las Tierras, no?”
“Oh hell yeah, your Daddy paid me well. I could get shitty with the folks on my job if I wanted from what he gave me,” Tim said. “Anything else I need to know?”
“No, nothing else comes to mind, and thank you,” Yuñior said.
Yuñior ended the call and stared at the ceiling. Two weeks and not a word from her. He was trying to give her the space she needed to sort through what she’d witnessed, and he prayed that she wasn’t also giving up on him. That, he wouldn’t recover from for some time, but he would recover.
Just in case, he sent a text. “Sending you a present. Missing you, Ed.”
He didn’t have anything else to say. This was his life. In less than five years, he would be Czar. His wife needed to be tough and prepared to know the ways. Knowing the ways of the cartel was the difference between life and death. The only thing in between was misery.
TONDA FELT LIKE DYING. The cut had become infected, and the mosquitos were trying to eat him alive. He’d never been so miserable in his life.
“You Tonda?” A dark woman carrying a satchel asked. Her hair was tightly pulled back from her face to accentuate high cheekbones and dark eyes.
“Who’s asking?” he growled.
“I am Katia. I watch over you. Nurse wounds, take care of your needs,” she said, opening her bag of medicine. “You smell sick.”
“I am sick.”
“Come. I take care. I make you better,” she said, pulling out a syringe and small vial of cloudy medicine.
“Oh no, you don’t! I have no idea what’s in the vial and you’re not....ouch! You stuck me. You fucking stuck me!” Tonda yelled.
“You talk too much. Sleep. Rest. Heal,” she said to him, filling the orders which had come overnight. She knew the ways. She didn’t question, but did as she was told. A man arrived at Katia’s village and brought food, supplies, and needed medicines for the old, infirmed, and children. A box of books also arrived for the kids, along with a message from The Bocaracá. Katia was to care for the man named Tonda. Her job was to watch over him as he slept. “Sleep. No harm shall come to you.”
“What if I’m not sleepy?” he asked yawning, watching another boat arrive. The man who stepped off, Tonda recognized immediately. He waited for the wily man to approach the Quonset hut walking up the dock, full of swagger. Tonda frowned, wondering what the hell he was doing in a swamp like this. “Tito Montoya as I live and breathe.”
“Tonda Diaz, I’m surprised to see you’re still breathing at all,” Tito said. “This is a huge change from your life in the large house standing to the right of the big man. How the mighty have fallen.”
“I haven’t fallen at all. I’m doing the work to earn my ink and sit at the table,” Tonda said.
“Earn your ink? You have to be a son of a leader...whoa, are you the son of the ever so self-righteous Eduardo Delgado? Him? A child out of wedlock?” Tito chuffed, laughing.
“No, I am the son of his brother,” Tonda said. “Since the brother is dead, and I’m his only recognized living male heir, I can earn my way back with enough profits, then secure my father’s ink and sit at the table.”
If light bulbs could be heard clicking in Tito’s head, he sat, staring into the dimming evening light, yanking on the small invisible silver cord to aid in his illumination. Yuñior had tried to explain the first-born son ideology of the cartel to him but he didn’t listen. This morning, Tito had received an anonymous payment and was told to find Tonda Diaz and protect him. He was here, more out of curiosity than anything.
“You said your father’s ink? Like a full body tattoo versus a tattoo on the hand like the henchmen who work for the heads?” Tito asked, grabbing at Tonda’s hands and seeing no ink from the Fer de Lance.
“Yes, the green jararaca,” Tonda replied, looking to see if the man recognized the viper which had been worn by Hugo Delgado.
Tito asked, “Okay, let me ask you this...you grew up in the house. You were the Czar’s right hand, and he let you go knowing what you know, knowing everything about him, including what time he evacuates his bowels. He is not afraid that this information you would share freely with his enemies in revenge of this treatment of you?”
“I was raised by the Czar,” he said, raising his chin. “I sat at the table and ate dinner with him and my family. What he taught me above all else was loyalty. I’m here because of my error, but it will make me grow. I shall grow and take my place again at his side, but this time as his equal, not his subordinate.”
“If you live that long,” Tito chuckled.
“You can’t kill me. Most of the men in the cartel know they can’t kill me,” Tonda said, “just as I can’t kill yo
u, but I have something you need, which is, I assume, why you’re here.”
“No, I got wired money with a note that said come find you and look after you,” Tito spat.
“Tito, you can’t be that slow on the uptake,” Tonda replied. “I’m sure Yuñior paid for you to be here.”
“Why would he do that? That ass wipe is always interfering in my shit!”
“I guess he figured I needed more brawn. Are you interested in earning your father’s ink since you are his first-born son? You have the money to buy your way in, so why haven’t you?” Tonda asked.
“Maybe I don’t want to be in a suit and sitting around with a bunch of pissy ass wine sippers talking about portfolios and trade markets. I want to be down in the pits inhaling the smell of sweat and dirty pussy as the women fuck their way to freedom,” Tito bellowed.
The medicine was kicking in and Tonda looked at him sleepily. “That’s fucked up, but if you don’t want the ink, maybe your sister wants to sit at the table,” Tonda added, yawning and walking inside the hut.
The space he now called home smelled of dirty socks and unwashed assholes, but for the past two weeks, it had become his refuge. Tomorrow he would head inland to find himself a small home. The new crew he had obtained, along with his own personal medical aid, would be enough to get him started on becoming the Czar his father never was or could be.
He flopped on the cot and within seconds was out like a light. Katia stood watch as he slept, not allowing anyone near the man she been sent to watch over.
“Yes. You sleep.” She muttered. Touching his forehead to check for fever.
DIADRA COULDN’T SLEEP. For the past two weeks she’d walked past her phone, looking at it and wanting him to call but he didn’t. The first few days she refused to answer any of his calls, hoping he’d take the hint and leave her be, but then the invitation to Perona de la Mar had arrived at her job, sending all the people in the office into a frantic tizzy.
“That’s the former home of Juan Peron, Eva Peron’s husband,” one of her co-workers pointed out. “How in the world did you score an invite to that?”
“My father’s military background introduces me to all sorts of people. I know the hostess’ grandson,” Diadra said, offering no more.
Two days later, a text arrived and told her Yuñior Delgado was not ready to leave her life. He said to expect a package. When the doorbell rang the next day, she found herself giddy with excitement, hoping it was him. Diadra flung open the door to find Tim on her doorstep.
“Oh, it’s you,” she said, waving her hand.
“Well, whoop de doo to you too, bitch,” Tim said, sashaying past her in the living space Diadra called home. “Oh, New York and this apartment living. Girl. Girl.”
“Tim, what are you doing here?” she asked, bored by his presence and annoyed that it wasn’t her man coming through the door to take ownership of her body.
“I was sent by Señor Junior Bad Ass to preen and primp you, while I prep and step you up for this visit to the land of excess,” he said, pulling out a list. “This is just the start. Tomorrow, we have to go shopping, and next week, you’re on a plane. And you need some real luggage; that shit you own embarrassed me, and I wasn’t even carrying it.”
Diadra couldn’t help it. She started to cry. She wasn’t a crier. Crying wasn’t her thing. She stood in the middle of the floor bawling like a disappointed six-year- old once she found out she couldn’t have a pony. This was difficult, more difficult than anything she’d ever experienced in her life. Ed should have been here. When she didn’t answer his calls, he was supposed to show up and fling himself at her feet. He was supposed to love her enough to do that, but he didn’t. Instead, he had sent Tim. She opened her mouth and howled louder.
“Oh come here, little dick whipped girl, come on to Uncle Auntie Tim,” he said, encircling her in his arms. “Did I happen to tell you about this one time I met this gorgeous couple from Santa Barbara when I was traveling through the California wine country? Chile, that man fucked so good I trimmed his toenails with my teeth from the 69 position. And his wife? Lawd, that woman could suck the chrome off a ball hitch. The two of them tag-teamed me and my penis. I truly didn’t know if I was cumming or going because when I did, this bitch thought he was gone die! That is what I call being dick whipped and hell I have a dick.”
The tears stopped flowing, and she found herself stifling the laugh. “Tim, can I buy you dinner?”
“Of course you can. I may be thin, but I’m not turning down a free meal,” Tim said, passing her the list. “Oh, did I mention that Junior Psycho Lover Boy needs for you to know how to Tango? So, add that to the list as well, and can I stay with you? New York is scary for a sexy thang like me.”
“Tim, I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Diadra added with a smile.
Chapter Fourteen- Juice
The duration of the flight to Buenos Aires was nearly fourteen hours with a layover in Miami to switch planes. Yuñior only had a year left before he had to say I do, and Diadra wasn’t sure anymore what she wanted. In her gut, she wanted Ed, but she didn’t want his life.
On the plane, she used the time to study up on Argentinian customs and Perona de la Mar, which by all accounts, looked like a castle.
“This man right here,” she said, shaking her head and making notes. During the past week, she had also touched up on her Spanish, learning to speak the standard phrases without sounding like one of those tourists using Google translate to find the biblioteca. The dance lessons, she hoped, had paid off, and she was very nervous to try it out in the dresses she had purchased. For good measure she wore one to the dance lesson and immediately knew it had to be returned. She wanted to return the other items Tim purchased, especially the under garments which seem to steal all the breath from her guts. The panties were sexy, so she packed them anyway.
Worn and somewhat weary from such a long flight, she exited the airport doors to find Gunther waiting for her at the curb. He held open the back door as she dragged her luggage behind her, stopping a few feet short in front of him.
“Gunther.”
“Ms. Parsons,” he replied, securing her luggage. “Jefe said you need to hydrate after the long flight. I put electrolyte waters in the cooler. Help yourself.”
“Thanks, Gunther,” she said, sliding into the back seat and reaching in to secure a bottle of water. The sound of the top cracking open made Gunther look up into the rearview mirror. She looked different. The curly hair he’d always seen had been straightened and pulled away from her face. The light brown eyes with the flecks of gold were accentuated with makeup that didn’t look like she was wearing makeup. A pop of color adored her lips.
Gunther said, “Forgive my impertinence, but you look very lovely.”
“Coming from you, Gunther, I shall take it as the compliment you intended,” Diadra replied, staring out the window.
The city unfolded before her as they drove through the heart of town, skirting around much of the traffic, exiting the far side of the density of people, and climbing a steep hill to Perona de la Mar. Footmen waited at the door as Gunther pulled up.
“Your invitation please,” the footman said.
Diadra opened her purse, retrieving the document she’d almost forgotten to bring and passing it to him. He nodded, reading through the invitation and seeing directions which were invisible to her eye. In rapid Spanish, he barked out instructions and a young man arrived, offering her escort.
Tim had suggested she wear a dark skirt and a Chanel two-piece cardigan with pearls and sensible black shoe with a matching bag for traveling. She was glad she had heeded his advice. The large wooden front doors opened to a shiny world of marbled floors, crystal chandeliers, and staff in black garb with stark white aprons. A second door to the left was opened and the young man announced her arrival.
“Diadra Parsons of Brooklyn, New York, United States,” the boy shouted to the throng of people in the room.
“Gracias,” she whi
spered, taking a shaky step forward.
Yuñior materialized, wearing what could only be described as the garb of a crowned prince, including a sash and large jewel piece of the colors of the Argentina flag. She swallowed hard, thinking she’d never seen the man look sexier than he did right now, and if the room were empty, she’d strip bare butt naked and scream for him to take her.
“I hope your flight went well,” he said, taking her hand.
“It did, thank you,” she replied, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm. He escorted her first to his Grandfather for a greeting and next to his grandmother.
“Ah, Daydra. So good of you to make it,” Anya said.
“Thank you for having me, and its Diadra,” she corrected, enunciating the syllables as she spoke her own name.
“Of course. Of course. Dinner shall commence within the hour. Yuñior, please show Dee-ay-dra where her quarters are so that she may freshen up before the final meal.”
“Sí, Abuelita,” he said, walking Diadra out of the door. He said nothing as he guided her through the corridor that was laden with white wainscoting on the walls. Golden framed paintings of dignitaries and noted Argentinians adorned the walls, looking down on them as they walked past. Diadra stopped under the painting of Eva Peron. She pointed at it, then looked at him. Yuñior nodded.
“As in?” she asked.
“As in,” he replied and continued walking.
The wide staircase, majestic as any antebellum staircases that she’d seen in movies, was draped in rich thick red carpet held in place with brass holders covering the stairwell. His back was straight as he guided her up the stairs were a sentry stood guard at the landing. Yuñior went to the left and down a long corridor of doors, which were all closed to prying eyes, namely her own.
“This feels like one of those horror movies where the young black girl shows up and later you see her butt naked, sprawled out on the table where the residents of the manor are eating her organs,” Diadra mused.
Becoming the Czar Page 16
