by C. I. Lopez
The Boss Lady seemed to have lost her mind. A stronger and more demanding Yasmin ordered Belky to fetch the snakes for her in the same box Prince had kept Terciopelo, and she needed his ancient key.
Belky watched Yasmin’s almost unrecognizable demeanor as if she spoke to someone else who wasn’t in the room, muttering incoherent words. Belky stood transfixed.
Yasmin paced the room, babbling. “Because he’s got to die, he’s got to be stopped, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it except for me. I’ll kill him, strangle him? Better yet, give me the box I asked for.”
Belky’s worried expression told how she felt. She was torn between the direct orders of her Boss Lady and her brother Prince’s advice never to touch the box of the young vipers.
Yasmin spoke normally. “Belky, I didn’t tell you the end of my story and why I was covered in blood when I arrived, but I remember why, and there is something I need to do. I remember the spirit, Ursula, inside of me, too, and I know what you and Prince did to save my life. Ursula taught me something that will make me never fear death again.” All the while, Yasmin was talking, her green eyes changed to different shades.
The usually nonplused Belky was scared. She knew the girl was an innocent, but possessed.
As if she were a mind reader, Yasmin smiled, assuring Belky not to be afraid. “Get me the snakes.”
Belky stood still and stared, trying to make a decision while listening to her friend ranting.
“Grotesqueries of the afternoon. Crime and punishment inflame my mind, and vengeance makes her demands.” Yasmin paused. “I’m sorry, so sorry. I know I disappoint, but I’m begging you now, Belky.”
Belky stared at the incoherent girl. Had she gone mad?
“Will you marry me?” Yasmin whispered. “It was the night before he was shot.” Yasmin murmured as if she were in a dream or talking to a dead man. “Yes, Federico, I would have married you.”
*
The night was black as Chilo drove along the desolate dirt roads. A rogue guardsman had recognized the black sedan as one of Chacon’s vehicles, and he must have thought to follow it to the compound. Chilo steered through the jungle growth that wound along the trails in the mangroves. He had to sidetrack his follower. Trails with names like The Devil’s Gate, Death Alley, and Salsipuedes.
By night, alligators prowled the roadsides, hunting for anything that moved and fit into their mouths. By day, the reptiles might be spied sleeping in the sunlight. They’d lie with bulging bellies, drooping their lower jaws with the sullen eyes of a killer, water pouring in strings from the mouth of the oversized prehistoric reptiles.
The military armored car that followed Chilo would eventually overtake him. He knew the only chance he had was to remain in the godforsaken swamps and hope the other car would follow him through the bog of alligators on the road. If he was lucky, they would have an accident.
Having grown up hunting alligators for food in the swamps, Chilo’s eyes and ears were inured to the noises of the bog. He spotted the bridge he was looking for and turned off his lights, knowing about the sharp turn to the right after the bridge that could not be seen through the dense fog even with the lights on.
Chilo turned right, and all he could see was a white cloud. He waited in silence, listening to the motor of the approaching vehicle until he heard the screech of brakes pressed too late. He heard a splash of water as the government vehicle landed in the shallow waters of the swamp. He heard the sound of glass shattering as the vehicle hit the numerous tree stumps that grew underneath the water.
Death lurked everywhere in the swamps in those mangroves. The heat was infernal in that place, and the exertion of the tense driving covered his body with sweat. Still, Chilo waited until he heard the splash of a hundred alligators jumping into the swamp where the government car laid with two men screaming.
The sound of dead leaves rattled behind the dashboard as Chilo shivered involuntarily and cranked the AC. Slowly, he eased on the accelerator as the fog rose from the bog. Turning on the headlights to illuminate the road ahead like a wall of snow. He listened, relaxing some as the screams stopped in the swamp, and all he heard was the noise of alligator’s jaws tearing flesh apart.
He turned on the radio to the crackle of 45 AM, The Sunshine Station, for the local soccer game. Catching the tail end of the regional news, a string of break-ins into vacation homes in unknown developments followed. Local teenagers, no doubt. Young gang member-wannabes. It made him laugh to remember the days when he started his delinquent ways; the excitement of it.
Maybe he’d been twelve years old when he went to the streets to leave the miserable swamp life behind. He managed well on the streets, and one thing led to another until some years later, he was recruited by Chacon to be one of his runners. The tourist season was turning into one of the best in years for the runners on the streets. A historic number of customers were drawn to the area, which was very good for Chacon and his Disciples.
The news contained a special announcement. It was the voice of President Fausto Vargas publicly condemning the National Guard’s decision to take military action against the local Disciples of Chacon and his fortress. The politician claimed that it would cause the gangs to begin their dreaded killing walks, and the blood of innocents would flow on the streets again.
A blood bath must be avoided. He talked of how peace had returned to their town, and the attack would attract foreign powers to their small country under the veil of support. It would mean the end of independence, something he had negotiated over many years.
He urged the Colonel of the National Guard to use restraint and not to act on impulse over the tragic loss of one of his men. He repeated that the National Guard was to return immediately to headquarters and cease and desist from any unsanctioned attack. Under no circumstances was the National Guard to take action without the approval of the President.
Chilo listened to the President’s nasally voice, laced with vitriol which brought to mind a sweat-soaked preacher under a leaky canvas tent promising cures and salvation to the infirm—for a fee.
“Government-funded murder stops with me,” President Fausto Vargas whined to cheers of the people. The President spoke with calm certainty to the rogue Colonel of the National Guard, condemning his actions in a tone of arrogant elitism. Chilo was beginning to think that he just sounded presidential.
“Federal funding is audited. Government funds have long ago stopped squandering money on unnecessary wars within our population. Our country is at peace with its citizens. We are using funds for non-profit health services and to protect women and children who otherwise have no access to health and reproductive care. Also, for education and job opportunities, not for attacking our own people, even as they commit mistakes, so I ask you personally, Colonel Villalobos, to desist immediately on your aggressive actions.”
Chilo mumbled to himself, thinking of the men in the armored car sitting at the bottom of the swamp. “Too bad the driver didn’t have his radio on, or he could have just turned around instead of trying to fight alligators.”
Yawning, Chilo drove back over the bridge into town. He saw the people gathered around the public TV sets in the storefront windows, watching as the President was speaking from his pulpit. He was at the capital in front of the statue of The Liberator, Simon Bolivar. The lights of the village were as bombastic as Time Square after driving in the blackness of the swamp. The local news reporters gathered about the park to record the President’s message and report it in the local newspapers.
At the center of the sleepy village, he turned up the steep road leading back to the compound. The path was dark as a tar pit, but he used his high beam headlights freely, shadows hugging the dark shoulders as he parked in front of his favorite bar for a nightcap. The lights at the bar illuminated Chacon’s street territory. This enabled him to watch the Disciples freely at work selling drugs, and the girls in tiny mini-skirts selling their charms to strangers.
He wanted to call Tom
as to let him know if he’d heard the news, but he was in no hurry, stopping for a drink after the tension of the night. While he looked at the street, he watched a car stop, and one of the girls piled into the passenger seat, her nervous laugh cut off from the world as the car door slammed shut. He filed to memory the car’s make and license plate number, ever vigilant of the safety of the girls who worked for Chacon.
Chilo decided it was time to leave without that drink after all. On the way home, just getting off the highway on exit 10 that led to the compound, Chilo stopped. He allowed an entire convoy of military vehicles with automatic weapons rush by him on the road, heading away from Tomas’ compound.
There must have been more than twelve vehicles filled with camouflaged armed men. Chilo wondered if Villalobos would challenge the President himself. The National Guard had always disagreed with their present arrangement. Now he had good reason to defy his commander in chief, with Chacon killing a member of Villalobos’ own men.
Chilo drove right through the convoy and into the garage to park his sedan. The caravan was heading back at the Colonel’s command. Only one military car remained at the compound, just parked in front of the mansion, having entered through the gate, the sole occupant remaining in silence, the only sign he was in the car was the red glow of a cigarette he was smoking
Inside the compound, the men stood armed and ready for a confrontation with their considerable arsenal of weapons, watching in pleasant surprise as all but one military vehicle had left.
*
Chacon sat in his room quiet, probably in disbelief that Villalobos would risk an unpopular military coup. He had just gotten off the phone with the President, who assured him of his explicit orders to the officer outside not to attack the compound. Maybe that was why Colonel Villalobos was just sitting outside his house, waiting for one of the men inside the house to fire first, thirsty for vengeance.
Tomas ran out of his room to give the order that no one was to shoot unless shot at first. Anyone who fired first would be sacrificed. He reassured his men that the President had given the request for the soldiers not to shoot, so unless Tomas’ men fired, no one would come inside, or fire at them.
Having said that, Tomas went back to his room, thinking about how much he wanted to be with Yasmin again. This time something had changed in her. Perhaps she’d finally learned her lesson because she actually wanted him. His thoughts wandered to how good it would be to make love to her one more time before he killed the treacherous whore.
“The President has become a puppet of the drug dealers, and I can’t accept that.” Villalobos was talking to himself while he waited in the car. “If I could only talk with Chacon.” He sat chain-smoking, waiting patiently for the right moment. “You murdered one of my men, Chacon, and I have jurisdiction over that. You are mine now, and you can’t hide behind the skirts of a cowardly President. At least I need you to have the decency to tell me where you buried the man’s body.”
Chacon knew about the honor of having a body to bury. He suspected that although all of his soldiers had gone, Villalobos wanted the satisfaction of his man’s corpse to lay to rest. Chacon looked from his window down at the frustrated officer in his car.
“If you’re waiting for your soldier’s body, you’ll have to dig up the whole jungle, Villalobos.” He shrugged, then walked away, leaving the Colonel to sit smoking in his car. He was displaying his lack of respect. He did so in the knowledge that he had the backing of the President of the country.
Now, he urgently needed to see his wife.
*
Yasmin waited in her room dressed in the same outfit to entice her husband. The sheets scented with exotic oils and lit candles as the only light, exposing enough of her bare skin to tantalize Tomas. While she waited, Yasmin held Prince’s box, rubbing her hands over it, allowing her scent to penetrate the inside.
The young woman knew she had to distastefully seduce Tomas enough for him to postpone killing her. Her life depended on her plan for his execution. She set the scene with soft romantic music as she lay in bed, waiting for Tomas to arrive. Yasmin dozed, feeling the smooth movement of the inhabitants of the box.
She dreamt of a scarred night, of the terrible lightning pressed against her eyes, nearer to those bruised and bluish angels: Federico, Eva, and Santos. Remembering her cracked and crooked back given to her by Tomas, the swollen lip, the hurting scalp, the limping up the stairs with her clothes torn and her body exposed.
Why should she fear tonight? A pervasive, unshakable fear gripped her. Not insane, quite sane, and yet, without choice. The drama of free will—free choice—that’s a good one. She did not choose any of this, not her gender or class or his desire for her.
No one will hear your cry for help, Tomas, flaring out of the soundproof room, way over in left field. Your own wife will press the mute button on you. Is that thunder now on top of everything? Or perhaps bullets from the military? Miserable hook in my mind. This night, filled with twisted diction, off-rhyme, high fevers, chills. Maybe I’ll die trying to kill, and you’ll place me in an urn with hair raising to haunt you. No. It will be you, Tomas, red-blue bruises, neutralized.
‘Yasmin,’ Federico called to her in her sleep. ‘Take my hand.’
*
Miss Belky paced her apartment, wondering if she had made the right decision, giving her Boss Lady the box of untrained, young vipers. Prince had warned her to keep them in their tightly closed box until they became old enough to be trained. She jumped when the door opened, and Prince entered the room covered in sweat from being in the yard, preparing for the National Guard invasion. He was on edge, and Belky decided not to tell him what she’d done.
“Colonel Villalobos is standing at the front door waiting for the Boss Man who refuses to open it,” Prince said as he paced the room nervously. “He’s unarmed, but we fear when we open the door for him to come in, there might be soldiers hiding in the surrounding jungle who will storm the compound and kill every one of us. Although we are ready to fight, I have an awful feeling about this.”
“Prince, we listened to the news, and the President asked the Colonel to stand down and desist from any aggression on the compound. Do you think the Colonel will go against his President?”
“I don’t know, Belky. As soon as I saw the uniform on the dead body of that National Guardsman and a woman with a baby, I knew our situation would change for the worse. I don’t think the Colonel will back down. Do you know what happened? What made them kill a military man and his family? Tomas never interfered with Villalobos, knowing how much he hated him, and now this. I can’t get it through my head.”
While Belky struggled with telling her brother everything Yasmin told her about the incident, he was quiet, watching his sister’s obvious discomfort.
“What’s the matter, Belky? Are you afraid? I can get you out of here through the tunnel right now if you like. There’s nothing to worry about there, we’ve checked it several times, and it’s clean. It’ll take you to Tomas’ safe house, but you’ll have to walk seven kilometers, or you can wait until the rest of us come through, and you can chance it with us.”
“I am not afraid of the Colonel’s troops, Prince. It’s something else that has me worried. Yasmin had a migraine today, and when she came out of it, she was talking to herself about seeing ghosts and blood and about getting revenge for the dead ones, she didn’t sound like herself.”
“Belky, don’t worry about Yasmin. She’s been through a trauma that almost killed her, and she was healed by a spirit. She’s likely to sound different for a while. It’ll pass. Hallucinations and bad dreams should be expected. What I am worried about is that I think Tomas plans to kill her tonight.”
“She took the box with the young vipers, Prince,” Belky finally blurted out. “I think she knows about Tomas’ plan to kill her, and she plans to do something to save herself.”
“But, how can she? Those snakes aren’t trained yet.” Prince was concerned about Yasmin. “We must
also remember, she’s been with Ursula, so Yasmin might know something we don’t. At any rate, she might not get a chance if Villalobos storms the compound.”
*
Tomas watched Villalobos waiting for a long time, but he was so filled with lust to be with his wife that he couldn’t wait. Leaving the man in his car was not good, but nothing else mattered to Tomas. He was ruled by his insane passion for the beautiful girl waiting and wanting him in her bedroom. She planned the seduction earlier, and he couldn’t resist returning.
Without knocking, Tomas entered his wife’s room, his eyes large, the mixed desires he felt written on his face.
Yasmin was sitting on her bed, but she knew he was coming and instinctively hid the box she’d been holding and pulled the plug to the lamp. There was only candlelight to celebrate this auspicious encounter between deadly husband and wife.
He, the demi-god, and she, the sweet abused wife, compliant, dutiful, waiting for him.
Desperate, on the eve of a possible war, Tomas entered, panting, scratching, wild, reciting words, lost in delirium. Tentatively reaching for the hem of her gown, it sent an electric shock through his arm. He ran his hands over the entire length of her well-formed legs to reach for her delicate feet and grabbed at them with both hands. He held them, covering them with kisses. He reached for her hands, caressed her arms, and pulled her to him. He pressed the whole of his body against the length of hers. His hands touching her, moving across her shoulders through the fabric of her gown.
She was trembling as he kissed her, his mouth on her mouth, his hands slipping underneath the gown she wore, feeling the warmth of her smooth skin and aware of the fire inside him.
Yasmin knew there would be no turning back. She had to remember she wanted this, she had to say it, and she had to physically want it. Tomas declared his desire for her over and over, and any thought of killing her was lost.