“You’re a big mufucka,” Stop said as Gunther clenched his fist, ready to smash in his face.
“Down Gunther, these are my friends,” Yuńior said, issuing orders in Spanish.
Mr. Mann, the last to enter the plane, backed on, turning to bump into Juliana. “Pardon me, Beautiful.”
Juliana, unfazed, sealed the plane and looked at Yuńior for direction which he provided. “Please let Tomas know we are headed to the Blakemore ranch,” he said. “Prepare a toddy for Melissa, who is headed to bed.”
“I’m not going to bed,” Melissa said, pouting.
“There’s a bed on here?” Mr. Mann asked, looking down the walkway of the plane.
“Each of these seats recline to offer you a comfortable slumber,” Juliana said. “May I get you anything?”
“I’m hungry, if there’s food,” Stop said.
“I could eat,” Mann added.
Juliana looked at Mr. Yield, who really wanted a cup of coffee and some bacon with toast. It was his go-to meal in the wee hours of the morning, but he didn’t want to make a fuss requesting anything.
“Juliana, once we are in the air, prepare my friends anything they desire,” Yuńior said. “I think there are lobster tails, crab legs, Kobe beef. You name it, it’s yours.”
“Did you say Kobe beef?” Mr. Mann asked, placing his weapons under the seat. “I’ll have that with a side salad if it’s not too much trouble.”
“No trouble,” Yuńior said, nodding to Juliana who departed to prepare a toddy for Melissa. “Please, sit. Sit. I would like to...what is the word...chit chat.”
Melissa, totally outdone with all the men, stomped her foot. “And what about me? You’re just going to send me to the bedroom with a drink, and after you finish your chit-chat with your killer buddies, you’re going to what, come in for a stress relieving fuck, Ed?”
Yuńior turned in the seat to look at her, the same expressionless look on his face as he answered, “I’m far too tired for that tonight, Baby, unless it’s what you need.”
“Fuck you, Ed,” Melissa said. “Fuck all of you...killers! I saw what you did, Ed. Three men cut down, and you stepped over them like they were bags of garbage. Who are you? Who are all of you people?”
Yuńior looked at Mann, Stop, and Yield, exhaling loudly as he stood up. He placed a soft smile on his face, understanding better than most that she was shaken. However, she would not be allowed to speak to him in such a manner in front of other men.
“Baby, you’re distraught,” Yuńior told her. “I know you have a lot of questions, but right now, I think it would be best if you rested.”
Juliana handed him a teacup covered in pink and blue rose petals, almost translucent on the delicate porcelain. The plane began its taxi down the short runway as Yuńior took her by the arm to the master bedroom suite. He pushed her down on the bed, giving her the cup of tea.
“Drink; it will make you feel better,” he said, taking a seat beside her as shaking hands held the cup. Melissa didn’t want to drink the tea, but her nerves had gotten the better of her. She turned the cup of to her mouth, swallowing the contents of the cup in one gulp.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you in front of your team of hired hitmen. Don’t be angry at me, Ed. All of this is too much. I just...I’m having trouble processing all that I’ve seen tonight. Men hurting little girls. They’re going to sell those kids to creeps and pedophiles, aren’t they? There must be something you can do. Your father is the Czar. I don’t even know what that means in real life application, but it must mean something important. Oh God! I’m babbling aren’t I. You hate it when I babble, but Ed...”.
She collapsed on the bed. Grateful for the silence, Yuńior pulled her body to the center of the bed, covering her with a blanket. At another time in their lives, sweet love had been made on the same bed as they traveled back and forth across country while he did his father’s business, but she was a danger to him and his life. The ramifications of tonight’s activity would be a mess to handle not only himself but also his father. At the end of any and every night, Eduardo Delgado was more than just his Papa, he was also his Czar.
Yuńior was accountable to the Czar as well.
“DO YOU THINK HE’S IN there beating her ass for questioning him in front of us?” Mr. Mann asked, looking down the aisle towards the closed bedroom door.
“If he doesn’t, I feel like I should,” Yield said. “I get the feeling she’s why he was on that boat. She has no idea the shitstorm she’s started, and we don’t know what the fallout is going to be for us either. I stood at his side, and you two killed Tito’s men.”
“Anyone who traffics kids needed a bullet in the nuts,” Stop said. “Hey, do you really think she’s going to make us Kobe steaks with lobster tails?”
“Would you quit thinking about your stomach!” Yield said. “We may have unleashed the wrath of whoever was buying them kids. Plus, you two killed Tito’s men.”
“Yeah, we heard that part,” Stop said. “I hope she has drawn butter to go with that lobster. Shit, I live in Missouri. I sure would love a fresh lobster that’s not in a tank at the Seafood Shanty, you know what I mean?”
“Man, we may die before the week is out, and you’re talking about food!” Yield said, completely at his wits end.
“The way I figure it,” Stop added, “if we have to go, we will have pockets full of money for our families and this moment to remember, on a private jet with a junior psycho who will inherit the drug market for the Americas and having lobster and Kobe beef steaks for dinner. You can’t make this shit up.”
“Besides, no one will believe you,” Mann added.
The plane reached a cruising altitude and the captain turned off the “Fasten seatbelt” lights. Juliana came down the aisle pushing a cart. Stopping, she affixed it to the floor, raising the leaves on all four corners. A white tablecloth materialized over the top of the table, and she bent and set out plates and dinner service for four.
“What would you like to drink? We carry Coke products and have the finest selection of tequilas and rums,” Julian said.
“A pop is fine for me,” Yield said, realizing too late she didn’t understand. “A cola is fine.”
“A cola for me too but add the rum, the dark kind,” Stop said.
“A cola for me as well, but allow me to open the can,” Mr. Mann said, looking at the team and shrugging his shoulders. “We are still on the clock. I’m not showing up at Blakemore’s smelling like booze. A little something you may want to consider Stop.”
“The job is done,” Stop said.
“The job is done when Blakemore sees the kid’s face and we’re paid and on our way home,” Yield said. “Other than that, we’re on duty.”
His eyes went to Gunther, who nodded in approval.
YUŃIOR RETURNED TO join the men, having listened to much of the conversation between them. He admired the comradery, respecting that even out of ear shot, they still used the code names. This aspect of the male bonding he wanted to understand.
Taking a seat, Juliana brought out food, serving him first, then his guests. The steaks, cooked to perfection, plated with lobster tails, small roasted potatoes, and a green salad, seemed perfect. Yuńior wasn’t hungry, but he needed to eat the meal with the team as a show of faith.
“Hmm, Mr. Yield, Mr. Stop, and The Mann,” Yuńior said. “These are not your given names.”
Mr. Yield spoke up, cutting into the steak, “It is the names we use. The names we prefer.”
“Ah si, but this is not what tu Mama calls you,” Yuńior said. “I can’t see her calling, ‘Yield, it is time for supper.’ You are not a traffic sign. Tell me, what is the name your wife and Mama call you?”
“Brody,” he said, forking the steak in his mouth. It damned near melted on his tongue. “Holy shit, this is delicious.”
“Sí, nothing but the best for mis amigos,” Yuńior replied, looking at the other two men. “And you. Como te lla
mas?”
“Nathaniel or Nate, my surname is my code name,” Mann said, slicing into the lobster.
“Cotter Wihlborg,” Stop said, cutting a huge chunk of the steak. “I see the girl calls you Ed. Tito called you Yuńior. The self-reference was as The Bocaracá. Who are you?”
“Until tonight, I was uncertain myself,” Yuńior said forking a small potato. “See, I have been groomed from a wee boy to step in should anything happen to my father.”
“The tattoo on your chest?” Mann asked. “May I ask what it means?”
“It means that on my 21st birthday, which is a year from now, I shall marry Irena Villareal, of Paraguay and take over a couple of countries to oversee the marketing, distribution, and sale of products grown in those nations.”
“So, cocaine and coffee,” Stop said, masticating a hunk of a cow.
“Don’t be crass,” Yuńior replied. “South America grows a great deal of crops that are sold throughout the world. Our farm, Las Tierras, has the largest repository of antivenin in the world, rivaling your Centers for Disease Control. We also grow the best green coffee in the Americas that can be found on grocery shelves, plus your local Target. I have been in one of those with Melissa, but it confused me as to its purpose. It is a grocer or clothing store?”
Mann, chewing slowly had a couple of questions as well. “So, I have to ask, why, you stepped from behind those boxes in the line of fire. Did you automatically know we would back you up? I mean, you stood up, with your shirt all open, without any fear as you faced him.”
“What I fear, is not death,” Yuńior said, “most people experience fear because of mortality. My father taught me to face death as a moment of transition and to welcome it when the time came. It was not my time; therefore, I had no fear.”
“Yeah, but I’m sure you’re pretty scared to know what your father is going to do when he finds out what happened here tonight,” Mr. Stop said, sucking down the rum and coke.
“No, I am not,” Yuńior added. “if I were a burden to him or become a constant source of disappointment, then he may put a bullet between my eyes, but this, we shall discuss.”
“You knowing that disappointing him would mean your death. There must be some serious Daddy issues going on there,” Mr. Mann mumbled.
“Señor Nathaniel the Mann, I have resolved the issues with my father with three years of therapy,” Yuńior said, slicing a sliver of the meat. “One year he paid for after I killed a man at the age of 17. The other two I paid for myself, because honestly, my life is kind of, how do you say, ah sí, fucked up.”
Yield who had lost himself in the meal, looked up finally, after having listened to the better part of the conversation. He picked up on the one thing the young Delgado grazed past that the others didn’t hear. None of the others seem to notice that the Texas accent was gone. The Central American accent was gone and he was speaking in his normal voice. The kid was a chameleon.
“May I ask, Senor, since you don’t fear death, what, if you don’t mind sharing do you fear?” Mr. Yield said.
“Asian women,” Yuńior said.
“What?” They all asked in unison.
“Sí, it is true,” Yuńior replied.
“Asian women?” Stop said, almost ready to laugh until Yuńior gave him a stern look. “Sorry. Explain it to us.”
“There is nothing to explain. They are beautiful, exotic and masters of sex,” he said, “or so I’ve been told. But, I was also told they stick little beads on a string up your culo and tug on it when you hit the climax. I want to try this. My fear is that I may like it too much and become a gay.”
The men roared in laughter. Yuńior went on to speak of Irena and imagining asking her to stick balls up his butt. “The marriage would be over and she would be all confused, holding little balls covered in the poop and I would be on the bed with a happy smile,” Yuńior said, chuckling.
Mr. Yield had other burning questions, mainly about the girl in the back of the plane. He cleared his throat. “Señor, I have questions about Melissa, is that her name? What about her?”
“What about her?” Yuńior asked, setting down his knife and fork, his gaze intense, but Yield didn’t blink or balk under the stare.
“You were in that situation, I assume because of her,” Yield said. “Now you’re taking her home. Is this the end of the...romance? I mean, not to be too personal, but you said your wedding is coming up in a year, and...sorry.”
“No need to apologize,” Yuńior said. “You have earned my trust. I shall call you friend.”
“Lucky me,” Yield replied. “You said you’re to marry Irena, and with everything that’s going on, I’m sure at some point the girl will be told. Unless you plan to keep her...sorry, getting too personal again.”
“I understand the question,” Yuńior said, checking for the right way to answer the inquiry. “Mi Mama, or rather, my father’s wife is, what is that term, ah si, a Black American woman. Is that correct in my phrasing?”
“Yeah,” they all said in unison.
“Eso,” Yuńior said, toying with the napkin. “Mi hermano, Andres, is fixated upon Black American culture, practicing the lingo, or vernacular of the streets, as if he is going to roll down Crenshaw in his six-four, sipping the gin and juice. He comes home from school with all of these new terms and prancing about like a peacock, strutting, throwing slang here and there as if he is about to unload of a kilo of our finest to the homies in the red bandanas. He is the Jon Snow of the family- he knows nothing.”
Yuńior smiled a bit as he played with the way he wanted his words to come out. “Our father has taught us how to blend in, no matter where we are, and both of us have mastered the ability to imitate dialects, intonations, and the feeling of words and turns of phrases,” Yuńior said easing back into the Texas drawl. “The Bocaracá, a small viper of my country is agile, deadly and a master of camouflage.”
Yuńior pointed at himself.
“Okay,” Mr. Yield replied, not understanding how any of that played into the question he asked. He had witnessed it personally with Yuńior pretending to be a cook in the kitchen who spoke broken English. “You’re leading me for the set up.”
“Sí, sí. I am,” Yuñior said, “so to answer your question...”
He leaned back in the seat, cleared his throat, and for the first time his expression changed. His forehead furrowed and his lip hung down as his hand went to his crotch gripping his manhood. The right hand wiped across his mouth as the thumb hit the side of his nose and he sniffled.
It sounded as if the largest Black man ever to enter a room had opened his mouth and spoke as Yuńior looked at Mr. Yield head on. “Naw, I gotta kick shawty to da curb. That bitch’ll get a mufacka killed, and it ain’t my time for dat. I gots shit ta do,” Yuńior said, nodding his head.
Mr. Yield’s eyes were wide. Mr. Mann raised his hand for a high five and Mr. Stop went in for a fist bump. The laughter filled the cabin as they entered Texas airspace headed for the Blakemore ranch. Brody liked the young man, but he knew as well as the kid that his actions had a price. Coming to his rescue had a price. Everything had a fucking price.
He was scared about the cost they would all eventually have to pay for this night.
Chapter Ten – The Blakemore Files
NOON, AUGUST 8, 2019
The plane came to a stop on the landing strip at the Busy B. A still-sleeping Melissa was carried off the aircraft by Gunther and placed in the back seat of the black Suburban which then rolled through the plains of land mottled with cattle and oil wells pumping in the background against the sweltering heat of the mid-day sun. Stop gazed out the window like a happy child, imagining the new house being delivered on Friday where he would have his own bathroom, a garden tub in which to soak, and a new propane tank that he planned personally to buy to heat the water for his long Friday night soaks.
“It must be really nice to have this kind of money,” Stop said.
“Money is nothing,” Yuńior said. “
It’s what you do with it that matters.”
“So says the junior billionaire, coffee, and cocaine growing heir apparent,” Mr. Stop added.
“Sí, there is that,” Yuńior added, patting him on the shoulder.
A smooth ride commenced to the main house, and they arrived at the back of the home and entered through the patio door. Saxton Blakemore waited for them inside the kitchen, his face laced with concern as Gunther entered first, a sleeping Melissa draped over his shoulder, followed by Yield, Stop, Yuńior, and Mr. Mann bringing up the rear. Blakemore didn’t know what came over him, but he immediately rushed to Yuńior, folding the young man into his arms in a bear a hug.
“Señor, if you continue to hold me in this manner, Bobby Ray the Blakemore will think you are also the gay one,” Yuńior said, stepping back from the embrace and offering a handshake.
“Are you okay?” Saxton asked as Odessa ran into the room, suffocating him in her arms and peppering his face with kisses.
“Señora, Tía Odessa, por favor, not in front of the men,” Yuńior said, blushing.
“Oh my gheerrrdddd, what happened to your lip? Are you okay,” she asked, patting him down for bullet wounds and injuries.
“Tía, por favor; I am a man. It is not proper to touch me in such a manner,” he said, pushing her hands away.
“You’re my nephew and were in grave danger,” she said, turning to notice the group of large men. “Oh shit! Who the hell are these people?”
“Tía Odessa,” Yuńior spoke to get her attention back to the matters at hand asking, “you did not speak to your sister about my situation?”
“No, of course not,” Odessa said, grabbing his chin to look at his lip.
“Bueno, I am well- no worse for the wear,” Yuńior offered, turning to look at Gunther. “Tia, if you would please, see to the comfort of Melissa. She has undergone an ordeal.”
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