Corrupt

by Elena M. Reyes

  “Do you have somewhere in mind?” I test the weight of the piece in my hand. “Is there a range on the premises?”

  “Depends on you, Alejandro.” At my perplexed expression, he gives another signal. There’s a door on the far back wall and from that entrance, a man is dragged inside beside a movable target they put in place rather quickly. The paper has ducks on it and is humorous in a place like this. “Human or—”

  “Let me go!” Malparido hijueputa. That’s what that pathetic asshole meant right before I slit his throat.

  “Where is he?” I hiss out, shoving a hot metal rod through the bullet hole in my guest’s knee. He’s no longer drunk and belligerent—now he’s scared—puked himself when the reality that I am everything people say about me sunk in. “Tell me, and I’ll end your suffering. Where is Salazar?”

  “I don’t know.” He’s a blubbering mess, barely understandable after I kicked his teeth in. Only the first few broke, and I withheld my full force because a broken jaw doesn’t answer questions.

  As for other body parts...

  His body convulses as another blazing poker is forced into his body. This time, through his underwear and cauterizing a testicle.

  The man screams and cries; a snotty mess of regret, and yet remains quiet on my old friend’s whereabouts. Motherfucking idiotic.

  “Final chance, Kiko.” Geronimo hands me a butchering knife, and I run it down his flesh from Adam’s apple to pelvis. “Where?”

  “He’s where sunshine is more than a nickname.”

  Chiquito struggles; he’s dirty and a little beaten—the same stupid son of a bitch that impregnated my little sister and traumatized his wife. I know the full story now. I know she was spared from the worst, but I’ll never forgive his betrayal.

  My right-hand man beat and raped his wife while my sister cried to be let go from another room. While one screamed in pain, the other broke her hand fighting to help and escape.

  Nothing will ever be enough to erase their horrors, but I’ll help in whatever they may need. They’ll live their lives without fear because he’ll be rotting somewhere in Colombia where maggots will feast on whatever remains of Chiquito Salazar.

  I don’t blink. I don’t think twice.

  I’m no longer a rational man, and with every ounce of emotion—the raw rage on my face—I whistle loudly. The sound reverberates throughout the large building and his head snaps up, giving me the perfect opening. All color drains from his face and he mouths my name a second before I pull the trigger.

  One bullet and Chiquito Salazar is dead, his head thrown back as fragments of his brain and skull spread behind him.

  I’ll see you in hell one day.

  I look over at Thiago and smile. “I’ll take them all. Everything you have.”

  “You know the price.”

  At this, Geronimo’s steps forward with two briefcases in his hands. They’re placed atop a cargo box and then opened. “There’s two million dollars there and eight more if we can triple this order within the month. There’s a radical movement growing, and I sit at the helm of this war. My men will need the best to fight.”

  “Done.”

  We shake hands, but I pull him in for a man hug. “I don’t know how you knew about him or why he was here, but that son of a bitch has been avoiding my wrath for the last month. This goes way back—weeks of watching him fuck up—this was coming either way, but he decided for me when he hurt my family.”

  “An unforgivable act.”

  “Thank you for this kind gesture.” Pulling back, I clasp his shoulder and look over at the merchandise being prepped for shipping and the efficiency in which his men handle everything. “I appreciate this, De Leon. You’ve won my loyalty.”

  “You’re very welcome.”

  30

  “SO, WHERE ARE we heading to first? I’m kind of starving,” Lourdes says from the front seat of the rental SUV beside Carlos, who’s in charge of our safety. Two more armed guards are accompanying us, a man and a woman, but they’re following in a nondescript car two spots behind us as to not draw attention. “That omelet this morning left me kind of blah.”

  “What are you in the mood for, Mija? It’s almost lunchtime anyways.” Sara’s tone is gentle next to me, but beneath the surface, she’s angry and hurt—feels betrayed by her daughter—and I wouldn’t be surprised if at some point on this trip, they have it out.

  It’s been simmering since they found out she’s pregnant.

  Everyone’s genuinely happy about the baby, but you can feel the disapproval of how it came to be. As a woman, it’s something I struggle with as well because being the other woman is never acceptable. I feel for his soon-to-be widow—my heart breaks for her and the hard position this has placed Alejandro in with their family.

  A family that I’ve come to respect after they took in the Lucas family after his father’s arrest.

  Some are pissed. Daniel is torn. The wife is begging for someone to end it all.

  It’s another reason why I admire Alejandro. How he’s taken charge and promised to deliver Salazar’s body in a casket to help soften what his sister has done.

  Will it magically disappear by doing this? No. Not really, but the effort and support he’s given shows his heart.

  Looking out the window, I take in the city and all its traffic. For a weekday and in the middle of work hours, every lane is full of passing cars flying at higher speeds than the signs along the streets suggest. They zoom and cut and honk; I’ve seen four people get cursed out within thirty minutes and oddly, the craziness has some charm. It reminds me of our busy highways and the way people react to that one driver that refuses to go over thirty in a sixty-five lane.

  It also makes me think of my cousin; she’s an angry driver. Behind the wheel, she’s a menace and I’ve prayed to more than one God the few times Carlos let her drive after nagging him half to death.

  There’s a pang in my chest at thoughts of her. She’s changed. She’s not the same girl who used to come over and spend hours playing dress-up while complaining about how much she hated math. Or how unfair it was that birthdays only came once a year.

  And when this is the longest we’ve been without the other, all she cares about is Signio. Him. His body. His injuries that I have no clue about.

  I regret answering that call yesterday. I should’ve turned my phone off like Mom did the moment we stepped outside the presidential grounds.

  “…what about you, Solimar?”

  My head turns in her direction and I give her a sheepish look. “I’m sorry, Sara. What did you say?”

  “Food, kiddo? Are you hungry, too?” Mom interjects, snickering from the last row, and my cheeks heat up a bit. “Anything that you might want to try while we’re here?”

  “I’d like to try Cuban food while we’re here, but if you guys want—”

  “That sounds amazing. Can we?” Lourdes asks her mom, giving her a small smile from over her shoulder. “There’s a place I wanted to visit later tonight for dinner, but now will be even better.”

  “That’s fine with me.” Mom pulls out her phone, typing something, and a few seconds later another phone pings within the car. Carlos coughs and she looks anywhere but at me when I stare back with narrowed eyes.

  I’ll admit to enjoying it when her cheeks pink a bit, too.

  “Carlos, can you put this address into the GPS? It’s not that far from where we are now, I believe.”

  “Of course, Ms. Lucas.” A red light comes up within a few minutes and he does as she asked, putting in the address she rattles off. It doesn’t take long for the signal to turn green, and immediately after merging into the turning lane a few feet away that leads into a strip mall, my guard makes a U-turn.

  He follows the signs toward Collins Avenue and turns right three lights down. Then, it’s a straight shot and we arrive right before the lunchtime rush begins. There are a few people already waiting outside, waiting for the sign to be switched and the door unlocked, and we�
�re lucky to be the third in line to be seated.

  A place has to be good if you have a small line before opening for the day.

  There’s a small booth near the back and Sara asks for it, ensuring we’re near an emergency exit and out of the way of others. The only problem is the bathroom’s on the other side of the restaurant and between two unused dining rooms at the moment.

  “Hi, welcome to Mi Palacio. My name is Nayda, and I’ll be your server this evening.” There’s a round of holas from the group while each takes an offered menu. “Can I start you off with a drink or appetizer?”

  “A glass of water,” comes from Alejandro’s mom, and mine.

  “A Coke,” is Lourdes’s choice.

  “Jupiña,” I say after perusing their choices. There’s something so delicious about a cold pineapple soda. “And an antojito platter for us to start.”

  “Perfect. Let me start on this and I’ll be back in a few minutes to take your order.” As soon as she’s gone, I turn to Mom and give her a sheepish look.

  “Let me guess. You need to go?”

  “Yeah. It’s cold in here.”

  “All right, let’s go. I’m just as bad as you are.” She slips out of the booth first, and when I join her, we notice the other two giving us identical what are you two going on about expressions. “We’re just going to the bathroom.”

  “Okay.” Sara looks lost, while her daughter can’t stop looking toward the kitchen entrance to see if our appetizer is ready. “Are you feeling okay? I can call my son and—”

  “I’m fine. I swear.” A small snicker escapes. “We both have the bad luck of entering a cold room and needing to use the facilities. It never fails, and always when our food arrives. This is a preemptive strike against our bladders.”

  “You are adorable, Miss Quintero. No wonder my son is so taken with you.”

  “Thank you.” Mom and I turn to leave, my smile wide, and I pause just a step or two from the table. Something is compelling me to say what’s on my chest—to let her know how much I already feel for them. So, I take in a deep breath and let it out slow. My nerves have kicked in for some reason and they take notice, but I don’t shy away. “You have no idea how much it means to me that everyone has been so welcoming…loving, toward the granddaughter of the man that’s caused you so much pain. I’m so sorry for what he did to you. What my father is trying to accomplish on the back of a lie to further his political career. I’m ashamed to be related to them and I promise to help your son, a man I love with all my heart, right this wrong.”

  There are tears in their eyes and a soft smile on each face when I turn to leave again. Mom doesn’t say anything when we head toward the bathroom and enter, but I catch the look of pride on her face a second before it becomes utter horror.

  “Hello, wife…daughter.” That voice sends a shudder down my spine. He sounds neutral and calm, but when I turn my head in his direction and take in my father standing a few feet from me, I see the hatred in his eyes. The ire exuding from his body infiltrates every inch of the small alcove that holds the women’s bathroom.

  The door is but a few feet from us. The front entry is a quick run in the opposite direction, but the glint of metal at his hip and the two men that appear behind us destroy any notion of escape.

  Matias Quintero is here to force us back home.

  “No words for me?” He’s being condescending, and I know better than to speak. Instead, I send a silent prayer that somebody comes looking for us. That our guards outside stop him from whatever he has planned. “For your dear old father who’s been worried sick.”

  “Matias, leave her alone. I’m the one—”

  “Shut the fuck up before I strangle you and leave the body behind for your lover to find.”

  “Lover? What are you—”

  “Stupid is not a good color on the first lady.” Dad pulls something from his pocket, a bundle of pictures, and tosses them at her feet. Photos after photo of her laughing, smiling, touching Carlos’s arm while doing mundane things. They’re innocent, nothing sexual, but to him and his ego, they’re ridiculing him. “Look at the last one. That’s a personal favorite of mine.”

  Mom bends down and with a shaky hand, picks up the photograph he’s talking about. A gasp leaves her, her frame shaking, and a sob of no passes through her trembling lips.

  There’s no doubt that the man in the picture is Carlos, and it’s the SUV Alejandro rented for our excursion while here. The front window is blown out and the man slumping with a bullet hole to his chest is my guard of many years.

  My tears flow and I bring a hand up to my mouth, horrified that he’d go this far. “Why?”

  “Because that hijueputa made a deal with the devil, Solimar,” he growls out, taking the few steps between us and gripping my arm so tightly I know they’ll be bruises. Dad bends his head and puts us at eye level. His smirk can only be described as evil. “He betrayed me, kid. Just like your mother. Just like you.”

  I swallow hard, my knees shaking. “Are you here to kill us?”

  “That’s up to you.” Dad lets go of my arm and brings both hands to my shoulders, digging in his fingertips to the point of pain, and turns me around to face my scared mother. She’s crying and shaking—watching on helplessly with no idea how to react. “Come with me willingly, and I’ll let this puta walk out of here without repercussions. She can keep my son and I’ll even donate a few dollars a month for his expenses, but you will serve your purpose.”

  “What purpose?” I ask brokenly, knowing I’ll do whatever is needed to keep my family safe.

  “That’s something we’ll discuss at home.” He steps around me and holds a hand out. “Now, are you coming?”

  “You’ll never come for them again?”

  “You have my word.”

  “And you’ll leave the Lucas family alone?”

  “That’ll cost you a little extra, daughter of mine, but consider it done if you agree.”

  A sob rips itself from my chest and I nod my head, placing my hand in his, and silently let him lead me out. I keep my head down and refuse to make eye contact with the whispering patrons all around us as we cross the front dining room and then exit the restaurant.

  No words are said.

  Not so much as a look, but when the door of the vehicle closes behind me and I turn to sit forward, there’s a prick in my arm and the world around me becomes hazy fast.

  Everything blurs and voices meld together as a hand pushes my hair back and whispers their hello.

  31

  “ABOUT TIME YOU grace us with your presence, Solimar. It’s been a long time since I’ve had the pleasure of spending time with my granddaughter, the national whore from what I hear.” My grandfather Jose is sitting in the corner of my room back in Colombia, and I don’t remember getting here nor falling asleep. I’m still wearing the same clothes, and the pin I used to give my ponytail more height scratches at my scalp.

  It's uncomfortable and I grimace, in part due to the tenderness, and the other the horrible taste that lingers in my suddenly dry mouth.

  What did they do to me?

  “Hola, Abuelo. It has been a long time.” I’m not going to give him the pleasure of seeing how much his words hurt or the fear that grows because if he knows, so does my father. His beady eyes look at me with amusement, and when he stands to come closer, I can’t stop myself from moving over to the opposite edge. “What brings you here? Are you on vacation?”

  “Something like that.” He ignores my obvious distrust and takes a seat at the edge of the bed, his older frame slightly hunching forward, but that doesn’t make him any less intimidating. If anything, my distrust grows. This man has never sought me out or cared past the photo-op staged by his people. “Now, tell me. How did you meet Alejandro Lucas?” His tone is harsh, and the clench of his fist over the handle of his cane worries me.”

  “How do you—”

  “Answer the fucking question, Sol.”

  “Leave my room,” I s
ay. My voice is low but the sardonic laugh that escapes him is proof that he heard. “I came back to keep my mother and brother away from this darkness, and while it was of my own volition, answering questions wasn’t part of the deal.”

  “At least you’ve grown a little backbone in the last few months.” His eyes travel around the room and settle on an old photograph of Laura and me. “I always thought you were a mousy thing that wouldn’t bring anything to a marriage table. No sass. No smart mouth.” When his harsh stare meets mine again, I see amusement in it. As if he’s privy to something I’m not. “A docile woman is nice, but killing her spirit and will make for a pleasurable experience.”

  “Why are you here? Really?” I’m not close to the room’s door, but if I need to flee, the bathroom is a few steps away and has a window big enough for me to climb out of. “This is the most time we’ve ever spent together without it being an obligation. Just say what you need to and leave. I don’t care about the rest.”

  “As you wish.” The last word hasn’t passed through his lips when the cane in his hand is swung up and comes down across my knee faster than I can move. It hurts. God, it hurts, but I bite my lip to keep the cry behind my teeth. “Where is my money, granddaughter? Where did that fucking hijueputa put the fortune I spent my entire life accumulating?”

  “What are you…fuck!” I cry out, holding my shin where the second blow lands before jumping off the bed. I’m a bit unstable and my legs buckle a bit when I put my full weight on them, but I get out of the way and across the room before he could strike again. “Get out. Get out, and don’t come back.”

  “Where is my money, kid? I’m not going to ask—” The door is swung open and in walks my father and Signio; I refuse to call him my fiancé. “Ah! And here comes my good-for-nothing son who let the perfect presidency go to waste.”

  “I told you to let me handle everything, Papa. What did you do?” Dad’s talking to him but looking at me. More accurately, at the two red spots on my leg and the small welts there.