Kill for Me

by Tom Wood

  Each and every day for forty-seven months the site had been a buzz of activity. Now, with the casino built, it was dead space again. It was quieter than it had ever been. The resort had been constructed to insulate the guests from the nearby airport. Heloise wanted the casino to feel like a palace, but every day it felt a little more like a cage.

  Fortunate then he didn’t have to walk through much of it, as there was a private entrance designed for Heloise’s personal use and that of her entourage, and a private elevator to take her straight up to her suite. Heloise wanted a helicopter pad on the roof, but that had to come at a later point now that construction had paused. After the license had been granted, after the parking garage was finished, after the casino was generating profit. To Lavandier, the ride felt as if he were going not up, but down, deep into the earth. He was feeling a little light-headed when he stepped out.

  El Perro—the faithful guard dog—was waiting when the doors opened. He didn’t need to, because there were cameras in the elevator car, just as there were cameras everywhere. El Perro didn’t trust technology. He trusted only his own eyes.

  “Would you like to frisk me too?” Lavandier baited.

  El Perro shook his head—which seemed an impossibility when he had no discernible neck. “You’d enjoy it too much.”

  Lavandier smiled at him. “Pas autant que j’apprécierais une nuit avec ta fille. Elle a presque dix-sept ans, oui?”

  El Perro didn’t speak a word of French, so could only stare in response.

  Lavandier added, “Je serai sûr de lui envoyer une carte d’anniversaire.”

  Lavandier knew little of El Perro’s history, but he knew he had seen combat many times, and had even fought in proxy wars for the CIA. The Kaibiles had a fearsome reputation, and a ruthless history dating back to the seventies. He had been part of peacekeeping forces for the UN in the Congo. He had been as ferocious, resourceful, and fearless as any of his comrades, and had put those qualities to profitable use under Heloise’s leadership. He was at the forefront of any assault on her enemies, and took great delight in executing any sicarios who showed fear. Lavandier hated him because he was terrified of him. Heloise was the patron, of course, and the ultimate judge of Lavandier’s fate; so as long as he did well, there should be nothing to fear from her head of security.

  El Perro hated Lavandier as much as Lavandier hated him, because the Frenchman had Heloise’s ear. He was the one who spent the most time in her company, who sat across from her at dinner, who rode in the back of the limousine. El Perro wanted that. He wanted Heloise’s undivided attention, and saw Lavandier as a rival. He never tried to hide that aversion, and seemed to revel in it whenever chance allowed.

  Heloise waited with her back to Lavandier. She stood before a huge floor-to-ceiling window that ran almost the length of the suite, providing a panoramic view of Guatemala City. In the dying light, the city could almost be considered pretty against the backdrop of distant mountains. But only if Lavandier were in a generous mood, which was rare.

  The window was treated, of course, so it was one-way. Heloise valued her privacy. The view was partially interrupted by the unfinished parking garage built to accommodate the many guests they hoped to receive, but without the guarantee of a gaming license, creditors could not be convinced to part with any more money. So it was a shell of building, surrounded by cranes and materials. Heloise hated to look at it, to have a constant reminder of her failures, of her lack of omnipotence. She hadn’t named her home the Goddess Suite for nothing.

  It was both her abode and her base of operations. She had inherited much property from her father, and while Maria had always loved the countryside, Heloise preferred the city. Lavandier still wasn’t sure if she had moved into the casino in an attempt to justify its existence.

  The Frenchman considered gambling a questionable pursuit of one’s time and money. Drugs he could understand. There was a tangible product—or was it a service?—that market values determined the price of, and consumers determined the value of. Gambling was a different animal. Money was spent in the hope of generating more money. An investment then, but one with poor returns. Lavandier didn’t gamble and didn’t use drugs. He spent his money on a different kind of product—or was it also a service?—and he was a happy consumer. He saw many people leave other casinos in a rage or bereft, and rare was it to see anyone leaving with a smile.

  Of course, this casino would be more than a casino. It would also be a front through which to wash large amounts of cash. The funny thing was that by his estimates the casino would be more profitable than the drug trade. Many legitimate businesses were. Running a casino was a good business model with guaranteed returns—the odds never lied—and no dealers were tortured to death, no cards were confiscated in police raids, no chips hijacked on their way to the table.

  Once this casino was up and running, Heloise planned to buy up others throughout Central and South America, to slowly move her illicit monies into legitimacy. But could she be truly happy as a mere businesswoman? He understood the real draw of running a cartel. It wasn’t about wealth. It wasn’t even about power. It was about nobility. For every drug-lord billionaire there were twenty who started tech firms, owned oil companies, or mastered the stock exchange. For every cartel boss who had a private army there were generals in charge of real soldiers. Drug lords, however, ascended beyond both and became aristocrats. They ruled fiefdoms. They created their own laws. They were adored by their subjects. They harked back to an earlier time.

  On a continent without royalty, Heloise had become a queen. She may have inherited her father’s empire, but she would have taken it eventually. He had died young and unexpectedly, but better that than by his daughter’s hand.

  Once, Lavandier had believed he understood his employer, but he wondered now if that had ever been the case. Maybe it had all been an illusion. This whole time he had been duped, not by any conscious deception on Heloise’s part; that would be forgivable. No, he had deceived himself. He had seen only what he had wanted to see. He had underestimated his mistress.

  She smiled at him, as she always did. “Take a seat, Luis. Tell me how things are progressing. Make me happy.”

  Lavandier smiled back, and although he was adviser to a queen, he was beginning to understand that in reality he was little more than a court jester.

  • Chapter 46 •

  Victor was used to setbacks. No job was without difficulty, and even simple jobs could spiral out of control. He had accepted there were some aspects of his work he had no power over. The shakedown with the AX50 was just one in a long list of treacherous acts of which he had been on the receiving end. He never took such incidents personally. It was problematic to have no rifle, but the foresight to order both from Georg would pay dividends now. He had to wait, which was far from ideal, but he could make use of the time it would take for the gun to cross the Atlantic.

  He still had two different methodologies in process. Though his primary plan of fulfilling the contract was to shoot Maria at long range, he was not wedded to the idea. If either of the two secondary methods proved to be better options, or could be implemented sooner, he wouldn’t wait for the AX50 from South Africa. It was always a good policy to have options in Victor’s business, as was the willingness to improvise should an unexpected opportunity present itself.

  While he was working toward such an opportunity, he had to deal with what had happened on the border with Honduras. Unlike his run-in with the private-security guys, this had the potential to upset the careful balance of Victor’s wider world. He preferred not to kill anyone he was not paid to kill, because doing so always had consequences. Such consequences might come into effect immediately or later down the line. He liked to head them off when he could.

  He waited until he was back in Guatemala City before making the call. He found a pay phone outside a sign advertising jumbo burgers, which seemed as close to a personal in
vitation as Victor as ever had. He paused at the curb to let a tuk-tuk roll by, powered by a stick-thin man sheening with perspiration. Two heavy tourists used their phones to take photographs from the back.

  A young couple were outside the fast-food outlet, smoking cigarettes. The girl was upset. She wanted comforting, but repelled any attempts from the boy to offer comfort, and he didn’t know how to handle it. Victor sympathized. He wouldn’t know what to do either.

  He used his knuckle to dial and waited until a voice answered and said, “Who’s calling?”

  “The man she told you to never keep waiting.”

  There was no response, but Victor didn’t have to wait long before the phone was passed to her. Her crew caught on fast.

  So did Georg. She knew he wouldn’t call unless something was wrong.

  She said, “What happened?”

  “It was a setup.”

  Georg was silent for a brief moment, then responded with a heavy sigh. “I’m so sorry. I . . . You must believe me when I say—”

  “Don’t waste your breath,” Victor interrupted. “You don’t need to convince me of anything. I know you didn’t have a hand in it. You wouldn’t take the risk, whatever the benefit. The sellers just wanted the money without having to give up the rifle. They had no idea who they were dealing with.”

  “Silly them. I did pass on to my contact that you were a serious player who wouldn’t stand for any nonsense.”

  “Your words fell on deaf ears it seems, else the message was lost in translation. Anyway, the why doesn’t matter to me. I’m telling you this as a courtesy. Whoever your Central American intermediary is, he is bogus.”

  “Just because the seller wasn’t playing by the rules, it doesn’t mean that my contact is similarly duplicitous.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” Victor said. “The seller had done this kind of thing before. Four times, he told me. I was supposed to be the fifth victim. That’s too many for your contact not to know the seller can’t be trusted. If you’ve made arrangements through him prior to this one, then you may have lost those customers. There may even be fallout heading your way if those customers had friends and don’t know you like I do.”

  There was silence on the line as Georg thought about this. The young couple started shouting at one another.

  “What’s that noise?” Georg asked.

  “True love in action.”

  She sighed again. “I’ll make some calls and check, because you’re not the first person who needed munitions in that part of the world. If you’re right and my contact has indeed been setting up my customers, I’ll need to take action. In fact, if he is proved traitorous, then you can have the job.”

  “You can’t afford me,” Victor said.

  Even if she could, there was too much of a connection between himself and the target to accept any such contract.

  “As you wish,” she replied, neither displeased nor offended. “I’ll find somebody else, should I need to. And thank you for letting me know about this situation. Although you’re not exactly one to share, are you? I have to say I’m intrigued as to why you’re taking the time to keep me informed at all. You’ve never struck me as a humanitarian. Even when you saved my life, it came with a price tag.”

  “Then you really shouldn’t be surprised that I’m doing you another favor now.”

  “Ah,” she breathed. “I’m in your debt once more.”

  “I’m glad you see it like that, because I want to cash in straight away. I want the name of your contact. I want a number. I want to know where he lives. I want to know everything.”

  Georg said, “I don’t understand. You said you didn’t want the job.”

  “It’s not a job,” Victor explained. “It’s precaution. If he doesn’t know already, he’s going to find out very soon that the seller is dead, that his associates are all dead too. Maybe your contact starts to wonder who killed them. Maybe he starts to ask who the buyer is, where he is, what he’s doing.”

  “I follow you. But I’m afraid I can’t pass on that information. If he knew nothing of the true nature of the deal, I can’t let you kill him. I’m in the relationship business and it’s not a good way to stay in business to give up my contacts without a fair trial.”

  “He’ll get to make his case. If he knew nothing, then I have no need to kill him. If he knew, then it will only strengthen your future bargaining power. ‘Don’t mess with Georg,’ they’ll say.”

  “They already say that.”

  “Do I need to remind you that people connected to him tried to kill me because of a weapon you arranged for me to buy? Or do you not care about the business of our relationship?”

  “I care very much,” she said after a pause. “And yes, you’re right. I understand why you need to do this. You can have his name. It’s Vinny Arturo. He’ll be easy enough to find. He works out of Panama City. He’s a lawyer.”

  “They’re always lawyers.”

  “I’ve never met him in person, but he works for a large firm that does business all over Central and South America. I’ve helped his clients in Europe. He’s done the same for me over there. It’s been a good relationship. I hope you’re wrong about him. I really do.”

  Victor said, “Don’t expect another call from me for a while, but expect it all the same.”

  • Chapter 47 •

  A trip to Panama City could wait for a few days. He didn’t want to lose the previously gained traction with Diaz. A few days on the street, a few questions, and Victor knew a little more about Diaz and his tastes. His yellow Lamborghini had a certain amount of fame. Kids on the street would rush to the curb when they heard the roar of the exhaust. They would wave as it rushed past. They loved it when Diaz revved the engine. The day he painted smoking doughnuts on the asphalt was legendary. Everyone knew he was cartel. Diaz made no effort to hide it. He reveled in his fame. People talked about him as though he were something of a Robin Hood, always trying to help the needy and downtrodden, although Victor spoke to no one who had ever been recipient of his generosity, nor anyone who knew anyone who had.

  The sky was pale blue, burned to almost white where it circled the sun. He walked casually along cobbled walkways that were narrow and winding. Power cables bowed from building to building. Old women leaned out of windows to watch those who walked below and shouted to one another across the street or on the floors above or below when something or someone caught their eye.

  Even in the shade it was almost ninety degrees. The light breeze blowing in from the lake fought to cool the sweat on Victor’s skin, but only when he walked on the main streets and through the squares and courtyards. The breeze didn’t reach down the twisting passageways between tall residential buildings that were barely wide enough for two to walk abreast. Children stopped playing soccer to beg him for sweets and money. He gave them some gum.

  Knowing Diaz played poker every Friday gave Victor plenty of room to familiarize himself with the bar and the locale without the risk of running into the man himself. He wanted to get to know Diaz, but from arm’s length. Victor already had a measure of Diaz’s personality, but he needed a lot more actionable intelligence if he was going to transform the yellow Lamborghini into a mobile bomb. Given that Diaz played poker once a week in the same private game, those other players could have useful insights that would help further that transformation. Victor had drinks in the bar several times, getting to know to the bartenders and sharing anecdotes with the regulars. The freedom to work without time pressure let him integrate himself in a slow, natural way. By the time he started steering conversations toward Diaz, he hoped to do so without arousing suspicion.

  It didn’t take long to learn that a private poker game was hosted every night of the week.

  Even when he had learned enough about Diaz to get time alone with his car, Victor was still going to need to make a bomb. He had once used
Georg to acquire explosives, but he wasn’t prepared to do so now, not when he was still waiting for the rifle that Georg had sourced to arrive. There was no point distancing himself from his recent past if he kept creating new links to it. Outside of his usual theater of operations, it would be a challenge, but then nothing about this particular contract had been simple, and he didn’t expect that to change.

  Private poker games were, of course, private, but that didn’t mean Victor wouldn’t be able to get a seat at the table, especially once he had found out who played. Most were regular players who turned up throughout the week, sometimes every night, depending on money and circumstances. The stakes were high so only individuals known to be wealthy received an invite, and the turnover was low. Most people who had a seat at the table kept hold of it, but on occasions an outsider would join when the numbers were down. Such an opening was impossible to predict, but it was more than possible to ensure one of the regulars didn’t show. Victor knew there would be a seat free at tonight’s game.

  He had plenty of experience playing cards, and although he preferred blackjack—it was easier to count cards and beat the odds—he enjoyed the skill and gamesmanship of playing against other people instead of a dealer. The dealer had no stake in the game. He or she didn’t care if they lost, and even if there was some satisfaction taking money from a casino built to take other people’s money, there was nothing like outplaying someone who wanted to win.

  Such times were rare, however. Victor didn’t socialize beyond the intermittent need for female company. The handful of poker games he had played in adult life had been almost exclusively because of work. Therefore, he always had a role to play. He couldn’t win too many hands nor take too much money. People noticed winners. They resented them. Losers were ignored.