"You think I know what has happened," he said with a sigh and finally let go of my hand.
I rubbed at my crushed fingers which were still pinched together and bright red like a lobster's claw. The old man had some strength in him.
"You better sit down..."
Looking around, I saw nothing but a stool with a broken leg propped up against the table. I perched on the edge and hoped it would hold my weight.
"Oh, where are my manners?" said the old man and flung up his arms. "My name is Ramos."
I didn't care what his name was. I just wanted him to start talking.
"Yes, Ramos. Just like my father and his father and..."
"And you know where my Etta could be?"
He sat on the arm of his chair and pulled off his glasses to give them a wipe before sliding them back over his hairy ears.
"I don't know a thing," he said. "But I could guess."
I was getting more frustrated by the second and found myself leaning over and grabbing at the old man's arms with my nails digging into his leathery skin.
"You need to tell me everything."
"I will," he said. "But first... Wine."
He pulled a bottle of cherry wine out from under the table and my stomach lurched.
"No," I said. "I mean no thanks. No cherry wine."
"It is a favorite around here."
"I noticed."
He shrugged and poured me a glass anyway before thrusting it into my hand.
"So tell me. What is a man like you doing down here alone, no security, just you and those two beautiful women up there in that big house?"
I froze, my grip around the glass tightening until a droplet of sweat dripped down the side.
"You know a lot about me."
"Everyone does. You're quite the man of mystery. We may live in the middle of nowhere but we read the news just like your American folk back home. We've heard the stories about you. Your inventions.Your... problems with the police. Your... money."
He knocked back his wine in one go, slammed his glass down on the table and filled it back up.
"Why be alone up there in that house?" he asked.
"I... have a problem with letting strangers into my life."
He smiled. I couldn't tell if he was amused or sympathized with me.
"Stupid man," he said.
"Fucking excuse me?"
He leaned in close to me until I could smell his sweat.
"You've made a mistake. People have been watching you."
"Look, cut the shit. I need to know what happened to Etta and everyone speaks in fucking riddles around her. Tell me what you know."
He remained silent with a smirk curling up his thin lips.
"Tell me!"
I threw my wine at him, the glass smashing on the wall behind him. The whole house shook but neither he or his son moved an inch. They weren't scared of me. In this town, no one appeared to be afraid of anything.
Ramos wiped the back of his hand down his face then licked the wine from his fingers. His shirt was stained pink, his pants soaked through but he didn't flinch, didn't even raise his voice. He just kept smirking like a mad man, licking the wine from his skin like his own hand was the juiciest fruit.
"You love her, don't you?"
"Of course I do."
His smile dropped. He pulled a chair up to the table and sat a few inches from my face. I could hear the sound of the wine dripping from his clothes onto the makeshift wooden floor. It began to create its own rhythm and I closed my eyes for a moment, listening to it.
"You ever hear of the Knights Templar?" asked Ramos.
I opened my eyes.
"What?"
"The Knights Templar."
"Are you fucking serious?"
I looked up to Carlos to see if he was in on the joke but his face was stern and serious.
"I'm serious," said Ramos. "And so are they."
What had I got myself into? Had the young boy brought me to the shithole shack of a rambling lunatic? Something in Ramos' eyes told me that whatever he was about to say, he believed every single word of it.
"Okay, right. The fucking Knights Templar, like those medieval knights that got executed by the pope for witchcraft and hid all this money. Whatever, we all know the Da Vinci Code."
Ramos erupted into laughter and slapped his wet thighs.
"Fiction," he said.
"Isn't it all?"
His laughter quickly stopped.
"No."
I was starting to think I was going mad. What in the name of hell was going on? Wherever Etta was, she wasn't here and this old guy knew shit. He was probably just having fun winding up the rich American with his stories.
"Look, buddy. I gotta get outta her and find her."
I stood up, the stool falling away beneath me. Once again, I could feel just how cramped the house was with the ceiling only an inch or so above my head.
"You won't find her if you don't know. I can help you."
"No thanks."
I made for the door but as I reached out for the handle, I felt a firm hand on my wrist.
"Don't go yet," said Carlos.
His fingers wrapped themselves around me tighter.
My head was telling me to bolt out the door and get back to the house. Maybe Etta had returned home already and she was already sat in front of the TV with Norma, hot chocolate in one hand and her phone in the other. She'd probably just laugh at me as I walked in and wonder where I'd been. We'd giggle over how I thought she was missing once again and how I'd been lured into the house of a crazy old guy who talked to me about ancient European knights.
My heart, on the other hand, was telling me to stick with Carlos. Something about his voice was urging me to stay or risk losing her forever. I looked down at my arm and saw his hand still grasping me, his own arm shaking with the effort.
"Okay, the Knights Templar," I said and turned round to face Ramos.
With his back turned to me, I could only see the silhouette of his body in the candle light as he lit a cigarette. The smoke rose to the ceiling and hung there like a toxic cloud.
"Many were persecuted, many died, but many survived. They fled as far as they could and took their secrets with them. Many went North and hid their treasure in the frozen mountains while others went south, hoarding their secrets beneath the scorching sands."
"And some came here?"
I didn't need to see his face to know he was smiling. I could hear it in his voice.
"Many came here and traded goods. They were masters of money and funded banks."
"And some brought magic," chimed in Carlos.
We all fell silent for a moment, my whole body throbbing as I waited to hear what else Ramos had to say.
"They're still here," said the old man. "They're modern knights. They battle for the streets, they fight for their money. They may not wear robes and carry swords but they are the sons of warriors and they know it."
Still, none of it was making any sense and Carlos watched my confused expression for a second before he said:
"They are gangs now and they run this town with drugs and violence."
"What the fuck?" was all I could say.
"Gangs," repeated Ramos. "They are rich and they own more than the government ever could. There isn't a house in this God forsaken town that doesn't boast relation to the great knights or the gangs they spawned centuries later."
He spun round to face me, still drenched in wine. With his cigarette tucked into his brown teeth, he raised his shirt sleeve inch by inch until I could make out a shape in black ink.
"Is that a..."
"Devil," said Ramos. "It is their emblem and-"
"You're one of them?"
The smirk returned to his face and he nodded.
Chapter Seven
ETTA
Daylight.A strong hand.The sensation that I was being torn from my seat. I opened my eyes and couldn't see for the searing sunlight that was blinding me. My head was po
unding from dehydration and my limbs were weak.
There was a grip on my wrist and I recognized the rough skin immediately. The old man was pulling me from the car with such force I couldn’t keep my balance or even catch my breath. I tumbled out onto the ground with dust flying into my mouth and the skin being ripped from my knees as he dragged me.
"Bitch! I've been looking everywhere for you. You really thought you could escape me? Me!"
He kicked me hard in the ribs and I yelped, rolling over clutching my side. More sand entered my mouth and I coughed, my chest feeling as though it was on fire. As my vision came into focus, I looked up at him. His face was hidden by the shade, the sun around him like an aura of fire. But still, I could see the worry in his eyes. He wasn't just angry with me for escaping. There was something else.
"Where is she?" he asked. "Why have you got my granddaughter’s car?"
I tried to speak but couldn't. All I could do was cough.
What time is it? I thought. How long was I asleep in the back of that car?
"Where is she?"
He kicked me again and this time I heard a crack.
"Where is she!"
"I don't know!" I cried.
In the moment, I was too confused, too thirsty to understand who he was talking about it. It wasn't until he gripped my hair and began dragging me through the dirt that I had a vision of the girl's body beneath the tree, her blood pooling around her body as her face fell open.
Something red came into view and I heard the rumble of the tractor's engine. A bark sounded and I looked up to see my old friend, that damn skinny dog that got me into all this trouble in the first place.
It looked happy to see me and jumped on my face, licking the dust from my cheeks as I fell onto the seat.
"Down boy," said the old man and the dog obeyed him. "You get down there."
I didn't realize he was talking to me until he slapped the back of my head.
"Get down there!"
He pointed to a pile of rags beneath the seat and before I could move, he was already pushing me down and covering me with sacs and cloths until I couldn’t breathe and there was nothing but stale, musty air covering my nose and mouth.
"No! Let me go!"
"Silencio!"
He kicked me again, his steel toe capped boot connecting with my hip.
The tractor was kicked into life and began traversing the rocky landscape. Up above me, I could hear the dog barking happily and the old man's voice soothing it back into silence.
I tried to cry but couldn't.
~
There was the sound of animals, the scratching of chicken feet and the distant guttural moan of a cow. We were back at the farm.
The old man jumped down from the tractor with his new friend beside him. The dog yapped with joy and the old man talked back to him. A few seconds later, the rags were being torn from my face and I could see the farmhouse once again.
"Inside, now."
I struggled to my feet, my head pounding even harder beneath the ever strengthening beams of the sun.
"Inside!"
He pulled me by the arm, his bony fingers digging hard into my flesh.
"Let me go!"
"You're not going anywhere. You're going to tell me where she is."
He dragged me down the long hall and back into the kitchen. It only seemed like moments ago that I was laying eyes on that beautiful girl for the first time and catching the glint of her engagement ring.
"Sit."
He threw me into a chair, each of my bones aching as I landed.
"Water..." I managed to croak.
He ran the faucet and returned with a pint glass of murky brown water. I gulped it down thirstily and asked for another. He laughed and sat down across from me.
"Where is she?"
"Out there in the desert."
"Why did you have her car?"
I stared into his face, trying to figure if it was a trick question. Maybe he'd found her body already and was testing me. Maybe he truly was ignorant.
"I found it," was the only reason I could muster. "I was walking and I found it."
"You found it..."
I nodded.
"And where was Lol?"
His eyes were blackening, his brittle hands sliding across the table waiting to grab me again if I said the wrong thing.
"She wasn't anywhere," I said.
I looked down and saw his hands were shaking but he wasn't angry, he was distressed for his granddaughter, he was terrified he had lost her. For a moment, I watched the anguished look in his eye and enjoyed watching him be afraid. He deserved to know what it felt like.
"You're lying," he said through gritted teeth.
I stared deeper into his eyes. It felt like they were growing darker.
"That girl is the most precious thing in my life besides her mother," he said. "You tell me where she is or I'll kill you."
"But you won't get money for me if you do that."
His hands shook more violently, his foot tapping frantically under the table.
"Tell me where she is!"
I sat back for a moment and took a deep breath. The dog wandered over to me and lay his head on my lap. I rubbed his ears and he stretched his face into a grin.
You bastard dog. It's all your fault.
"Did you know that your granddaughter was a whore," I said.
He flinched and clenched his eyes shut, trying to block out my words.
"A whore who fucked the most precious thing in my life."
His lips turned blue and almost disappeared as he grimaced.
"No..."
"It's true. She fucked the most important person in my life and why? Because she could?Because she liked to wreck lives?"
The old man leaped across the table and grabbed my throat. My tendons pushed themselves against the bones in his fingers as I struggled to breathe but he wasn't letting go. He was squeezing me tighter until I could hear the blood rush in my ears.
"Don't speak about her," he grunted.
A stream of spit was cascading from his lips but he didn't notice. He leaned in closer until his forehead was pressing against mine and his white-knuckled hands were squeezing tighter and tighter until I was seeing stars.
"She fucked Lincoln," I whispered as the blood rushed to my head.
My vision was fast disappearing and as pure blackness invaded my eyes.
"So I killed her."
The old man dropped me in shock and reeled back. I gasped for air, sucking in lungfuls until the water in my stomach protested at my heaving and I vomited onto the table, coughing until I couldn't take the pain anymore.
"You didn't..." whispered the old man.
As the color came back to my eyes, I saw he was crying.
"It's true. I slashed her face and stabbed her. Left her dying in the dirt."
He shook so hard the chair beneath him was rattling on the tiles.
"Lies!"
"You'll find her beneath the tree. The only thing out there that lives."
"Lies!"
I found myself laughing. Laughing at seeing him in pain, chuckling to myself at the sheer absurdity of what was happening. None of it could be real. This had to be a nightmare. Any moment now I'd wake up beside the pool and mom would be sipping a mojito and moaning about something or other.
I closed my eyes and waited to wake up.
Any second now, I thought. Just another moment and I'll be dipping my toes into the pool.
"You cunt," the old man whispered through his tears. "She was an angel. The most beautiful girl that ever lived."
"No," I said, still laughing. "She was a slut."
I leaned by head against the back of the chair and kept waiting. The smile wouldn't leave my face because I knew that if I waited long enough, I would wake up and everything would be back to normal. I'd open my eyes and tell Lincoln all about the dream I had where a dog led me down a path to an old man who thought he could kidnap me for ransom money.
"Just a dream," I said to myself, my eyes still closed, still waiting to open them to the sight of the villa and the sparkling emerald glow of the swimming pool.
"Just a dream."
The old man was still shaking. I could feel his tremors beneath the table.
"You'll pay..." he said.
He jumped up and I listened as his footsteps moved out of earshot for a moment. When they returned they were faster and his breathing was labored.
"She was an angel!" he yelled.
There was a click and as I opened my eyes, I realized it was the sound of him loading his shotgun.
"An angel!"
He pulled the trigger and I saw the gunshot before I heard it, a glorious explosion of light and fire. It burst into my eyes just as the gunshot deafened me. There was nothing but ringing in my ears and pristine white light. Then the light vanished and so did the ringing. Somewhere far, far away there was the sound of the dog barking but then that disappeared too.
There was only blackness, then a voice. It was crying.
Who is that? Who's there?
Then I realized there was dozens of voices and they were all wailing for help, for safety, for forgiveness. They were the voices of all the girls from the Waters’ House.
I tried to open my eyes to wake myself from the dream but when I did there was still blackness.
And then I knew. I would never wake again.
Chapter Eight
Lincoln
"I was one of them," said Ramos. "A long time ago in another life. In a time when..."
He trailed off and covered up his tattoo before leaning back into the shadows.
“They are bad men. Very bad men and they have a leader who is the worst of all. A truly evil beast who –“
“Likes girls,” interrupted Carlos. “Almost as much as he likes money.”
“Who is this man?”
An uneasy silence fell over the two men. I grabbed Ramos by the shoulders and spun him round.
“Who is he!”
“You will not get close to him,” he said.
“I have to.”
“But you won’t. He is richer than rich. Protected by his own. There are very few men in this town who haven’t pledged their allegiance to him and the gang.”
Jewels and Panties (Book, Twelve): True Crime Page 4