by C. J. Skuse
When I got to the Hacienda, I suppose it was around 11 a.m. My plan was to pack my bag, say my goodbyes, and be back down with him for a one o’clock lunch. That isn’t what happened.
For a start, when I got inside, the house was silent. I ran upstairs to tell Tenoch I was leaving but he wasn’t there – his bedroom was empty. All the medical equipment had gone, there was no Dr Gonzales, the bed was neatly made, and the little yarn gatita I’d bought him sat alone in the centre. I picked it up and called out to him again, louder.
‘Tenoch?’
No answer, came the reply.
He hadn’t been outside for weeks so it was odd that he was nowhere within earshot. An uneasy thought arrived – what if he’d taken a turn in the night? ‘Tenoch?’ I called again. But there was still no answer.
I went into my room and started packing my rucksack, gingerly, without much thought, still listening out for him. Maybe he was in the gym. Or maybe he and the doctor gone for a walk. I didn’t want to go without saying goodbye. But I didn’t want to miss lunch with Raf’s family either.
When my bag was packed, I got to the top of the stairs and an uneasy feeling washed over me. I looked back at Tenoch’s bedroom – just as a shadow passed below me in the hall.
‘Tenoch?’
Footsteps paced to the bottom of the stairs – it was Paco. Unshaven. Greasy. Black vest, black jeans, heavy black boots. He looked up at me, swigging a Pacifico, face peppered in sweat. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Waiting for you,’ he said, gesturing to my packed bag with the little yarn gatita poking out of the top. ‘Going somewhere?’
‘Yeah,’ I said, descending and side-stepping him into the living room. ‘Where’s Tenoch?’
‘Gone. Where are you going?’
‘What do you mean, gone? Where’s he gone? When will he be back?’
‘You tell me.’
‘What?’
‘Papi ha desaparecido, chica. He’s gone. Vanished. In a puff of smoke. And if he’s taken my fucking money, I’m going to rip his fucking heart out.’
I carried on down the stairs – Paco watched as I took every one. I attempted to walk past him but he grabbed my chin in his iron grip. ‘Ow, the fuck are you doing?’
‘Where’s he gone, you little bitch? Tell me or I’m going to fuck you up.’
I dropped my bag, attempting to prise his hand from my face. ‘Get off me! I don’t know where he’s gone, I haven’t been here, have I? Last time I saw him he was bedridden!’
He dropped the bottle and drew his gun from his pocket – the pistol I’d seen in his glovebox. He held it against my temple. ‘Where. Is. My. Money?’
‘What money?’
‘I’ve seen you two talking in corners, all quiet so I won’t hear. You know where it is. It better be here.’
‘Why the hell would he tell me where his money was?’
‘You know,’ he seethed. ‘You fucking know everything. And you’re gonna tell me, one way or another.’ He pulled me into the living room by my hair – it had been trashed again, like before when the men had shot the place up except this time the windows were intact – it was everything else that wasn’t. Kitchen cupboards spewed open, drawers were pulled out, the TV was riddled with bullet holes and most of the sofa cushions lay ripped and torn. There were even some large, raggedy holes in the walls.
‘What the f—’
But before I could blink, his fist smashed into my face.
‘Todos ellos, los niños. Tráemelas. Todos ellos, los niños. Tráemelas. No me importa. Llega aquí ahora, rapido.’
I stirred slowly, my face stinging, brain throbbing. Paco’s voice – a one-way phone conversation. He was pacing the kitchen.
‘Esperamos a que la rata tome el queso.’
I lay on the rug, my vision all blurry, watching him from the floor, pacing up and down, opening the fridge, tossing stuff down on the counter, tearing packets. The click-hiss of a soda can.
‘Hey, you’re awake!’ said Paco, tossing his phone onto the kitchen island and coming back towards me. ‘I made you a sandwich.’ He settled a plate next to my head and placed the soda can beside it. ‘We’re gonna be here a while.’
There was a short wheeze of air behind me and I tilted my head to see Arturo, his cheek smushed into the floor, dead eyes staring, blood pumping from his neck into the rug.
‘He wanted to untie you,’ said Paco, crunching through an apple.
I went to stand up but my left arm was tethered – he’d cuffed it to the fender. ‘The fuck?’
Paco pulled over footstool and sat beside me, still crunching through the apple. I tugged on the cold bracelet but it was locked solid. I wasn’t going anywhere. He ran his thumb over my top lip and showed me my own blood. ‘You start talking, I’ll unlock it. You stay silent, you bleed more, understand?’
‘Talk about what? I don’t know anything!’
‘OK, lemme explain it like the baby you are.’ He threw the apple core into the cold fireplace and gripped my chin again. ‘I come here yesterday to find the house empty and both Tenoch and the doctor gone. And I want to know where they went and where my money is. I worked with that man half my life, and half of what he has is mine. So if he’s taken it, that’s on you.’
‘He didn’t tell me he was going, let alone where to. I only came back to say goodbye to him and pack my bag.’
Paco laughed, glancing over at Arturo’s body. ‘I don’t believe you.’
‘Tenoch trusted you.’
He got up and kicked Arturo in his ribs. ‘Everyone has their price, gatita.’ He didn’t say it like Tenoch – he hissed it, like a rattlesnake. And he kicked me in my own ribs. Pain radiated and I curled into myself like a bean.
‘CALL ME A FUCKING PRICK, GATITA!’ he screeched, kicking me again. ‘COME ON, WHO ARE YOU? YOU JUST SOME LITTLE BITCH? WHERE IS MY SERIAL KILLER? WHERE THAT HOT-BLOODED CHICA NOW, HUH?’ He grabbed my hair and pulled up my head. I could barely see for the strings of pain in my skull but I would not give him what he wanted – Old Me. The Hot Head. The Killer. The Weak One. I would show him how strong I really was.
‘WHERE IS YOUR PAPI, GATITA? EH?’
Paco dropped my head and shouted a bunch of loud, sweary Spanish. Before I could see it coming, he’d kicked me in the face.
He must have knocked me out again.
Next thing I knew, the light had dimmed, the sandwich was dry and curled up and the soda can had vanished. Arturo’s body had gone too – just a bloodstain on the rug remained. Paco was sitting in Tenoch’s armchair; a bowl of nachos on the armrest, watching the blank, shot-up TV screen.
‘You ready to talk yet, bitch?’ he said, through a mouthful of chips.
My mouth was swollen and all I could taste iron in my spit. ‘I told you, I don’t know anything.’
‘He gave you cash when you two went into the town. Where was he getting it from?’
‘I don’t know, his office?’
‘I’ve checked there. I have checked this whole fucking place and guess what – nothing. He cannot have taken it all – he must have left some for me. Or you, huh? Did he leave it to you?’ He sprang out of his chair to threaten me with his boot again but this time I was ready for it and curled into a ball, shielding my head with my one free hand.
He sat on the footstool and lay one of the machetes across his knees, stroking the blade back and forth. ‘I’ve seen you down at the beach with your boyfriend. You going to him today? That where you’re going with my money?’ I didn’t like how he was stroking the blade.
‘No. I don’t have your money.’
‘You sure about that? You leaving so suddenly. You going to Tenoch—’
‘NO, I DON’T KNOW WHERE TENOCH IS AND I DON’T KNOW WHERE HIS MONEY IS. PLEASE, LET ME GO! WHY DON’T YOU LISTEN?’
‘What do you know about Celestina?’
‘Nothing. Tenoch said she got another job. That’s all I know about her.’
‘Bullshit,’ he spat.
‘Tenoch treats you two like his daughters. You’re protecting him. You both knew what he was planning.’
‘He doesn’t say shit to me! Why would he say shit to me?’
Paco shook his head. He got off the footstool and paced towards the kitchen. ‘That pendejo you’ve been fucking coming here to pick you up?’
I stayed silent.
‘Or you meeting him at your little hotel? Cos if he comes up here looking for you, I’ll be ready for him. Then you’ll fucking talk.’
‘He’s not coming here. He’s not picking me up.’
‘In that case, I will go down to that little hotel and Imma bring him up here to you, and Imma make you watch as I pull his guts out of his body.’
‘FUCK YOU!’ I shouted in his face.
‘No, no, no, Sweetpea. Fuck you. You’re in Paco’s house now. And you will lick shit from my shoes if I tell you. Eat your sandwich.’
And me, being me, hoyed it Frisbee-style towards him, missing him completely but creating a satisfying crash against the wall, sending corners of bread and shredded lettuce outwards in a mini-explosion.
‘There she is,’ he grinned. ‘There’s my Sweetpea.’
‘FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKING CUNT!’ I shouted again, flinging my shoe at him. And then another shoe. And then a sofa cushion, which was a really shit thing to throw but there was nothing else within reach.
‘You ever hear that expression “We have ways to make men talk”?’
I tugged at the cuff with all my might, yanked at the fender to loosen it but I was stuck there good.
‘Well, I have ways to make you talk.’
I prayed earnestly to a god I didn’t believe in that Raf didn’t show up at the gates, looking for me. He had no idea what I was up to my neck in.
‘YOU TOUCH HIM, I WILL—’
‘You won’t do anything, chica, because I have a gun and a machete and you are a girl chained to a fucking pole,’ he said, high on his own hysterics. ‘But if you tell me where Tenoch has gone, I will think about letting you go. All I want is my money. You tell me where that is, you go free.’
‘I DON’T KNOW WHERE HE IS!’ I screamed finally. ‘I DON’T KNOW WHERE HIS MONEY IS. I DON’T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT ANYTHING! HE DIDN’T TELL ME JACKSHIT!’
Paco checked the time, sighing dramatically. ‘You’ll talk. Soon enough.’
My head was in a tailspin – how long would I have to sit there, protesting my innocence, trying to wriggle out of the cuff before he believed me? What else could I do? Every time he left the room, I was practically breaking my own wrist to get free but it was just getting sorer. All hope was lost.
Hours I sat there – he kept coming back in, checking his watch, checking I was still there. Like, where the fuck else would I be? He’d tucked the machete into the back of his pants but clutched his pistol tightly, pointing it straight at me at regular intervals.
‘Need a piss yet?’
‘Yes.’
‘Piss your pants.’
He’d never have shot me – he needed me too much and he knew it. The worst he could do was torture me – shoot my legs, maybe rape me. Get the remaining Chipmunks, Ming and Stuzzy, in to rape me too until I confessed. But I couldn’t confess. I truly didn’t have anything to confess. I kicked out at the fender whenever I’d summoned some more strength but as hard as I tried, I couldn’t get the cuff over my hand.
I watched the clock on the oven display tick down – one, two, three thirty. At four fifteen, Paco sat on the armchair nearest me but not so close that I could touch him. I was waiting for another threat or at the least for him to start cutting off my fingers one by one. And I’ll be honest, I felt sick to my bones. I had no plan in place to stop him. No cunning plan, or even a snarky retort. I was at whatever mercy he was about to throw down.
‘Last chance. Where has Tenoch gone and where is my money?’
‘I. Don’t. Know.’
‘Yes. You. Do.’
‘Go. Fuck. Yourself,’ I spat. ‘Hard.’
My mouth betrayed me where my body was paralysed with fear. This was me as I hadn’t seen myself for a long time – a victim. Helpless. Trapped. I was the six-year-old sitting on the rug again at Number 12 Priory Gardens, watching Fireman Sam, drinking milk and munching a custard cream. Seeing the man in the garden. Hearing Alison scream. Him running at the window. The smashing glass. Kimmy’s high chair falling over. The screaming in the crib. Ashlea calling for her mummy.
‘You think I can’t break you?’ he hissed in my ear. ‘You’re wrong, Sweetpea. You are so wrong. Conoce a tu enemigo. That is what we say in the cartel. It’s time.’ And he licked me all the way up the side of my face.
I think that was the moment I realised I was broken – my wrist certainly felt like it from all the wrenching. But Paco strode out of the room without a second look. I heard voices, distantly. I couldn’t make out words or tones but the next thing I knew, a sweaty-looking Ming strode in, heading towards the refrigerator. He clicked open a soda, gulping it right down and belching unapologetically. Then he saw me on the rug. He knew I’d be there.
‘You’re not gonna let me out either, are you?’ I said.
He shrugged, like it was more than his job was worth and I wrenched and pulled at the fender again to at least try and get one of the legs loose, kicking out and screaming and wailing like the mad woman I was always pretending not to be. It still didn’t budge. And my wrist ached purple.
‘Fuck—’ said Ming, placing his soda can on the counter. At first I thought he’d meant me, then I saw what he was looking at.
Paco and Stuzzy had entered from the hall, holding two wriggling sacks.
It was the screams that did it – when they wrenched open the sacks, one by one, a small dishevelled child tumbled out, whimpering. Mátilda and Saúl, their mouths bound, hands and feet tied. Paco went outside and brought in another bundle without a sack – David. But although he was tied too, David wasn’t moving. I couldn’t see him breathing.
I couldn’t speak or scream, it was all backed up in my throat. Saúl and Mátilda saw me, bloody, swollen and chained to the fender. Their noses were bloodied too, their eyes full of tears.
‘You’ll talk now,’ said Paco. ‘Or I will kill them all, big to small.’
All I could do was cry. Like a child. I wanted someone to come to me, hold me. I wanted my dad. I wanted Seren. I wanted Rafael.
‘I can’t tell you anything, Paco, because I don’t know. I would tell you if I did, you know I would. Please… please don’t hurt them. I’ll do whatever you want. I… don’t… please don’t hurt them.’
Outside, a scream – distant but definite. It came again and again – the scream only a mother could produce. It tore a fire right through me—
Celestina.
Her distant screams grew louder and more desperate. She was rattling the front gates ferociously, screeching, roaring – a ravenous lioness separated from her three cubs.
‘Go and quiet that bitch,’ Paco yelled at Stuzzy, along with something else in fast Spanish. ‘If you can’t quiet her, put a fucking bullet in her.’ Stuzzy nodded shortly and left the room.
And then Paco came to me.
I was still crying, and peeing too by this point. Nothing had changed. But everything had changed.
‘This is how I get to you, huh?’ he said, carrying Mátilda and bending down to grab my chin hard. ‘This is what I have to do to get through to you? This is what makes you piss your panties?’
He placed the child on the rug next to me and grabbed her throat. A gunshot rang out somewhere and all the screaming stopped.
‘Who’s next, gatita? Come on, I give you one more chance. And for every single fucking minute more you keep me waiting, I will kill them, one by one.’ He squeezed the child’s throat, tighter. Her face bloomed red, little wet cheeks bulging with the pressure.
‘I DON’T…’ I sobbed. ‘I DON’T KNOW WHERE HE IS! HE DIDN’T TELL ME! PLEASE, PACO! I’LL DO ANYTHING BUT I SWEAR I DON’T KNOW.
I’LL HELP YOU, I’LL HELP YOU FIND HIM. AND THE MONEY.’
Quick as a flash, he pulled his pistol from his jeans and pointed it at Ming, standing in the kitchen. As Ming tipped his head back to drink his soda, Paco called out, ‘Yo, Domingo!’
The trigger clicked as Ming turned to face him and a hole blew clean through his forehead. He lurched back against the refrigerator, the soda can flying from his grasp in a shower of his own blood and he slumped to the kitchen floor in a big, fat heap.
Saúl screamed and huddled next to his brother’s body on the floor, hiding his face in his neck.
‘Big to small, Sweetpea. You ready for the next one?’
Mátilda passed out cold in Paco’s hard embrace. Saúl started screaming and Paco barked at him to be quiet, eventually dragging both him and Mátilda out into the hall. I heard the broom closet door creak open and Saúl screaming still behind his gag as Paco threw them both inside, ordering them to stay quiet. He shut the door and came back into the living room, kicking David’s lifeless body as he passed. The boy groaned. A small chink of light cut into me – David was alive. I hadn’t failed him.
Where there was life, there was hope. But Paco pointed the gun at his head and—
‘NO!’ I screamed. ‘WAIT!’
He came back towards me, tilting his head like he hadn’t quite heard. ‘Did you say wait?’
‘The arrr-artillery,’ I stammered. ‘S-s-ecret room.’
‘Secret room?’ smiled Paco. ‘There’s a secret room? I fucking KNEW you knew something. Where? Where is it?’
‘I’ll tell you if you let them all go. Please, Paco.’
‘No, no, you tell me now. I check, then I let them go.’ He aimed the gun back at David.
‘Off-office. In the office. Behind the b-b-b-bookcase. There’s a hidden p-p-panel. If you press the wall in two places, east and west, gently, it will open. It is behind there, a secret room, I swear.’
Paco glared at me, holding the pistol to my skull.
‘It’s in there. Go look. I promise you.’
He grinned, scratching his temple with the muzzle of the gun. ‘If I not find what I’m looking for in there, I will blow holes in all three of them. And then you.’ And he left the room.
