“Oh great, I can see him doing that. And just what do you think you’re going to accomplish calling that old creep.”
“He’s a creep, but he was courteous. I can play on his old-world manners.”
“What a world!”
“Right. Gangster doc is not exactly Emilio’s specialty. But he said he’d play along. See what he could find out,” Blanche said. “In the meantime, Señor Rodrigo El Patrón owes me the rest of that interview.”
“Be careful. Don’t give yourself away. He doesn’t know your connection to Emilio.”
“True.”
u
“Señor Rodrigo, thank you for taking my call. Wondering when we might finish that interview.”
“Ah, Señorita Blanche. So good to hear from you. Gracias. But now is not a good time. I’m tied up…”
u
Emilio sat tied to a chair in a remote game room of the hacienda. He’d been held overnight and treated reasonably well. A clean bed in the servants’ quarters, lock on the door, goon nearby. No hog shed this time. No gag on his mouth—who would hear him anyway? The place was deserted, except for those loyal to El Patrón. The man who had picked him up in Tepequito and brought him to the hacienda stood in the corner. Boots crossed at the ankle, a file scratching at a fingernail. He hummed a tune.
Emilio’s eyes blazed at him. “How long?”
The man shrugged. “No lo sé.” He didn’t look up.
“How long are you going to keep me here? I need to get out of here, get back to the clinic. I’ve got patients.”
The goon looked up, raised his eyebrows. “You got patients? You need patience.”
“¿Donde está El Patrón?”
“I don’t know. Now, shut up, cabrón.” He shifted in the corner, let one boot drop. He changed his tone of voice. “I apologize,” he said, pointing at the ropes on Emilio’s wrists. “Precautions. Until El Patrón comes.”
Emilio was furious, but he knew that would do little good. He took deep breaths and thought of what he’d say to his host. He’d gotten the royal treatment before, terry robe and brandy, after his detainment in the hog shed, and now this. The whole business was getting old. He’d keep his cool, get what information he could, and get the hell out of there.
He’d been glancing out the window, desperate to find a way to talk his way out of this mess. And now he couldn’t believe what he saw. Had to be an apparition, a figment of his longing. But it was definitely her. Blonde hair, the sleeve of a T-shirt, peeking from behind low shrubs not twenty feet from the window.
Por Dios. The blonde Blanche! What is wrong with that chica? He fell in love all over again, and now he was even more desperate to get away before she did something even crazier. Like getting caught.
The man in the corner was still intent on filing his nails. El Patrón walked into the room, a large wood-paneled room with windows the length of one wall. Wildly, Emilio checked the window again, at the vast expanse of cactus and mesquite, a stark green and brown against a blazing blue sky. She’d disappeared from view. Maybe he’d been seeing things, seeing Blanche out of longing. But she needed to be gone from here. And so did he.
El Patrón smiled as he flipped absently through a sheaf of papers. When he saw ropes on Emilio’s wrists, his eyebrows shot up. “¿Qué pasa?” He croaked. “Take away those ropes.” He gave the handler a mean look. As if he’d been personally affronted that his guest was tied up, and he himself hadn’t ordered it. The man in the corner slid the file in his back pocket, pushed off the wall, and untied the ropes.
“That’s better,” said El Patrón. He seated himself at a round table near Emilio and nodded for the man to go. He was as composed as a statue, and just about as unreadable. “I am truly sorry. That is no way to treat a valued employee.”
Emilio was puzzled and barely able to keep a civil tone. “Valued employee? I’m not your employee.”
“Ah, but you will be.” He stood up and walked to the window, his back to Emilio.
Emilio’s insides tightened; his mind raced. He had to get him away from that window. Desperately. “Señor, please sit and listen to me. ¿Por favor?”
El Patrón turned then. “I need you. I made the offer before, and you’ve had time to think about it. I’m sure you will agree it is an enticing offer. With many benefits.” He paced the length of the room, a hitch in his gait. He couldn’t see the look of disgust and exasperation in Emilio’s eyes.
“I will not be accepting your offer,” said Emilio. His voice was low and level, but the fear gripped him. He was afraid for himself, but worse, he was afraid for Blanche. She was out there, with Haasi, no doubt, and if they got caught, it wouldn’t be pretty. He clenched his fists. He stood up. “I think we should conclude these arrangements.”
El Patrón sat down slowly like an old machine that was creaking to a halt. “That is unfortunate. You will have much work to do here. All the medical necessities.”
“Attending to your gangsters? I have other plans.”
“I don’t think so.” He snapped his fingers. The handler goon in the dusty boots returned. Emilio kept his eyes on his host. The men looked at each other and let the tension hang between them.
Emilio couldn’t think straight, but he grasped at what he could use as a lifeline. “I understand you have Doctor Oleantha at your disposal.”
“Disposal is the appropriate word. She will not be working for us. Not in the future.” His voice was a rusty knife cutting across his thoughts.
“What do you mean? What happened?”
“That is not your business what happens to her,” he said. “What happens to you is all that need concern you. You will work for us now.”
“Since you put it like that…,” he said. He glanced out the window. He couldn’t help himself. He saw an arm come out from behind the holly. He contained his expression, looked quickly from the window. “I will have to think about it.”
What am I saying? He felt so rattled, he’d say anything to appease the man.
“Don’t think too long. Take the offer. If I knew how to fix bullet wounds, I’d do it, or have one of these idiotas do it.” He chuckled at his joke, inclined his head toward the goon who smirked behind his hand. “But that’s not going to happen. I will make it worth your trouble, even possibly allowing you to work among those peasants you seem so devoted to. ¡Basta! You’re the perfect candidate, and you’re the best of the lot. Remember, I always get what I’m after.”
“I need the toilet,” Emilio said. He stood abruptly. “We’ll resume our discussion shortly. Must be something I ate…”
“I have some work here. Take your time. Nando will show you, and then you come back here.” His dark, empty gaze was unsettling.
“I will.”
“…and we talk.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
THE SLIP
“Pssst! Emilio!” Blanche stuck her head around the archway to the patio.
“Caramba, Blanche, what are you doing here? You need to get away.”
“No, it’s fine. Trust me. Go back to him. Please.” Her voice was just above a whisper, hoarse and pleading.
He turned his head and looked down the hallway toward the game room. “What are you talking about?”
“I’ll be here. On the patio. Let’s see where we can take this. Together.” She gave him a thumb’s up and ducked back through the door while he made his way to the bathroom. A look of confusion mixed with possibility playing across his face.
u
Ana was not afraid of Rodrigo Ortiz de Avila. Her family had cared for him and his family for decades. She was a trusted servant, but more than that, she ran the household. She had no qualms about interrupting him if she saw fit. Now, she entered the game room where El Patrón waited for Emilio to return. He was marking invoices and writing notes. When she appeared, he said, “Ana, I need to meet with you. Some orders I need for the vineyard and supplies…”
She inclined her head, hands knotted over her ample mid
dle. “That will be fine. In the meantime, there is a señorita here, asking to see you. A Señorita Blanche.”
“¿Qué? I have no meeting scheduled with the señorita. Tell her to go. I’m busy at the moment.”
Ana cleared her throat. “Rodrigo, you are not busy. You can see her. She came a far distance.”
El Patrón was not surprised at Ana’s insistence, and she knew it. She’d nearly raised him though she was barely a dozen years older, and she had her place. It was high in the pantheon. The hacienda would not run without Ana.
“Tell her to wait then. I have this, er, interview with the young doctor to finish.”
Ana pursed her lips. There were things that happened on the ranch that she did not approve of, things she didn’t often see and hear. But she did not like coercion of any sort, and she believed in treating people well, especially feeding them. “Should I bring antojitos here, or to the patio?”
“No, no, gracias, Ana. I’ll be there. Please tell her to wait.”
Ana turned and started back down the hall to the patio to tell the girl he would see her. She didn’t know why she was going along with this exactly. The girl had been acting peculiar the first time she visited the ranch, poking around in the kitchen. But she was persistent, and she was good to Bella. At the fiesta, she had been gracious, especially when the awful Doctor Flórez had embarrassed Ana in front of the staff, ordering her around rudely. And now the girl had brought chocolates. For Ana.
Ana entered the patio quietly. “Señorita, Señor Rodrigo will see you. En un ratito. He is in another interview at the moment. May I get you something?”
Blanche stood. She smiled at Ana’s offer of hospitality. She seemed happy as hell she’d gained entrance, and she had opportunity. “Oh, nothing, Señora Ana. Muchas gracias.”
“De nada.” She inclined her head and disappeared through the archway.
u
Emilio as yet had not returned from the bathroom. Nando was gone, and El Patrón decided to leave the game room. He’d finish with the doctor later. He got up, with difficulty, and impatiently, and hobbled down the corridor toward the patio. The hip and the old knees were acting up again. He wanted to take his medication and get a good rest. He would dispense with this señorita and her pesky business. He was in no mood for a chat.
She was sitting on the sofa, the notebook open on her knees. Bella was curled at her feet, and the girl scratched the dog’s neck while she flipped through her pages. At that, El Patrón softened ever so slightly. The dog was not that good a judge of character, after all, but it was a lovely domestic sight to see the girl and the dog communing on his patio.
“Señorita!”
Blanche jumped to her feet. Bella made a low whine. “All right, girl,” Blanche said, still rubbing and scratching the fur. “Oh, it’s so good of you to see me, señor. I hope I didn’t disturb you.”
“Disturb? Why no. I was actually in an interview…”
“Really!” Blanche laughed. “Must be the day for interviews!”
El Patrón did not laugh. “I am quite busy. What can I do for you? What other questions?”
“Can we sit for just a few minutes?” She seemed anxious, all of a sudden, and then she made an effort to relax. She took a deep breath.
He moved slowly to a sofa opposite her. Bella resumed her position on Blanche’s feet. “I see the dog has taken a liking to you.”
“Yes, she’s so sweet.” Blanche bent down to the dog, petting, nurturing a cozy air. The fountain trilled, the birds in their white wicker cage sang, and she averted her face that belied the fact she was nervous. She hesitated. “I used to have a dog, a long time ago. She was a mix…”
They both turned toward the archway at the sound of a light knock. “Ah, buenas,” Emilio said. “Here you are.”
El Patrón stared. Blanche gazed at the doorway her expression visibly pale. Their host’s manners did not fail him. “Please, do join us, doctor.”
Emilio sat down, one sofa cushion away from Blanche. Casually, he crossed one leg over a knee.
“This is Señorita Blanche Murninghan, of the Florida newspaper, asking me about life on the hacienda. Señorita, Doctor Emilio Sierra Del Real.”
“Encantada,” said Blanche, her face a mask of smiles and guile.
“Encantado,” said Emilio. He rose slightly and resumed his seat. The two stared at each other.
El Patrón folded his hand. “¡Qué coincidencia! Two interviews in one day. But, there are no coincidences.” Just the hint of a smirk.
“Sí.” Emilio and Blanche, in unison. Bella let out a contented sigh, but the tension could be cut with a knife. El Patrón frowned impatiently.
“Señorita, we will need to talk at another time. Doctor, Nando will show you back to our quarters so we can resume our meeting.”
“You know, Señor Rodrigo, that won’t be necessary. We can talk later. I must be going. Perhaps the señorita will give me a ride back into DF. Your hospitality has been charming, but I really need to be going.” He was on his feet.
Blanche bowed her head to El Patrón, waved gallantly. She headed toward the door, moving quickly, Bella at her heels. The dog received one more pat on the head. “Oh, that would be fine. Great idea. I’d be glad to, Doctor Emilio. I didn’t realize how late it’s getting. I’ll be in touch, Señor Rodrigo.”
Emilio and Blanche raced down the gravel path before El Patrón could get his arthritic legs to pull himself up off the sofa.
u
They ran like their feet were on fire, holding hands, down the path under the laurels, to Blanche’s car pulled off into a thicket of weeds. They didn’t talk, they just ran.
They pulled out onto Highway 57, back to the city. “He’ll come after me again. He wants me to be that doctor.”
Blanche stole a look at him, hands ten and two on the wheel, speeding along the busy highway. She was still wearing the blonde wig and the cat-eye glasses. “Maybe not, maybe if El Patrón’s out of the picture, things will simmer down. Besides, he has that bruja, Oleantha, to do his dirty work.”
Emilio frowned. “That is another problem. I think she’s gone. He spoke cryptically, but there wasn’t anything puzzling about what he said. He spoke of ‘disposal’ like she was gone, or soon would be.”
“Oh, great. He going to kill her?”
“I don’t know. But it doesn’t sound good for Doctor Flórez. I should warn her. Even after what she did, especially what she did to you.” Emilio reached over and squeezed Blanche’s arm. “Unforgivable. But murder? She might even offer help, or cooperate, if we tell her.”
“You are kidding, of course.”
He still had his hand on her arm, staring at her. “You know, I begin to like the blonde look, but the glasses? Mi gatita.”
“Now you’re calling me a cat. I was pretty sneaky out there, wasn’t I? Little cat’s feet and all that?”
“You worry me. You shouldn’t have done that, B. You don’t know what those people will do.”
Blanche stared straight ahead at the road. It was a smooth ride, for now. “Couldn’t let you sit out there, either in the hog shed or in your terry robe. Enough’s enough with all this.”
Emilio sighed. “Eso espero. I am going to have to maneuver to get out of this gangster doc business. How you say, do fancy steps. Now I am locked into social service, so unless El Patrón knows the president of Mexico, that is where I am going to be.”
“Unless he can pay someone off. We need to talk to Cardenal. The law’s on our side. It’s creaky, but what else do we have here?”
“We need to warn Doctor Flórez.”
“You’re right. I can’t help thinking if El Patrón doesn’t get to her, the law’s going to get her. She’s going to slip up sooner or later.”
“I think she already has. Do you know where to find her?”
“I think so. It’s still early. We should go. Take that roundabout at the plaza ahead….”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
RED
POOL
Oleantha was sitting at her desk. It had been a slow day, and she’d decided to close up early. She’d found a few gray hairs and chipped a nail, and so she made an appointment at La Mariposa Amarilla to get herself back in line with perfection. She looked around the clinic: It shined with a pastel light, the liquids in glass bottles, the baskets with pink and blue and yellow ribbons woven into the hemp, white marble floor and glass shelving…and that fabulous Veronica Ruiz de Velasco painting of ballerinas. Oleantha sighed. She had added such marvelous touches to the place. This brilliant shining cover for a pot of boiling evils. Well, she wouldn’t think about that now.
There were certain things she had to do. Like getting rid of this customer. A slight person, dressed in black, with a hat pulled low. The doctor would have to answer one more heap of questions, maybe make a sale, and then she was out of there.
The customer stepped along the wall of shelves touching this and that and did not speak.
“Buenas,” said Oleantha.
Nada, nothing.
She tried again. “I was just about to close up, but perhaps I can help you with something? An herb, or two? Oils? I have a new tincture of plumeria for skin conditions.” It wasn’t new at all; the Nahua used it a thousand years ago, and it was still a popular plant-based treatment.
Nothing.
The customer stopped touching the products, and, in fact, did not move. Oleantha frowned, and in a heartbeat, her radar zinged like she’d been stung. She’d learned early in life to be alert; an eye off the ball could prove to have drastic results. She sat up at her desk. Her phone was at the ready, but it might prove too late to use it. She was alone there. El Jefe wasn’t nearby sitting in his truck, waiting at her beck and call—not since the little chica had stabbed him with a pen. What a pesky business this was getting to be.
Her hand went to the secret drawer, the place where she’d tucked her priceless dagger. She fingered its smooth blade, the stones on the hilt. It was small, but sharp. She knew a thing or two about a knife; well, she’d had a surgery rotation in med school. She knew where to cut. It was important to know where to cut, and it was important to be decisive. This was her strength, something she took pride in. She kicked off the high heels and waited and watched. Maybe this person would leave; she could lock up and go. And maybe she was just being paranoid. It wouldn’t be the first time.
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