His mother nodded and left the apartment, closing the door softly behind her.
Where’s she going? Konstantine had asked.
Francesca paused in lighting her cigarette and turned to the boy. Her lips were pursed and her eyes wide. Then she forced a tight smile. She went to my apartment to get something for me. She’ll be right back. Go watch your movie.
She was lying in that way adults lie, pulling a curtain to hide their adult world.
Konstantine returned to his movie having entirely forgotten about his thirst. And somehow, despite the rampant bloodshed and gun fighting on the screen, he’d dozed off. When he woke, the movie was off, the night was dark and quiet. Someone, his mother no doubt, had tucked him in tight. It took him several moments to realize it had been the sound of his mother crying that had woken him. Lying beside him, he could see the slender plane of her back beneath her thin nightdress. Her shoulders trembled.
Konstantine knew Francesca by reputation. Boys his age gossiped like anyone else. He understood then, with a child’s clarity, what had happened. He visited Padre Leo in the basement of his old church the very next day.
It was easy enough to find him. All the boys in the city knew of Padre Leo and his small army. If a boy agreed to take a package across town without any questions, he could have a pocketful of candy and lire by the end of the day.
And by the afternoon, Padre Leo was sitting in his mother’s apartment, drinking coffee and assuring her everything would be all right.
And it was, because Konstantine never saw Francesca again. And he never woke to the sound of his mother crying again. His mother was happy and safe. Until his father’s enemies caught up to them.
Konstantine stepped into his apartment and an arctic blast of air hit him, like entering a meat locker. It was a pleasant change from his warm walk in the afternoon.
He opened his laptop with his thumb recognition software. The screen whirled to life, loading his programs. He checked his watch again. His video conference call was in two minutes.
He arranged himself at the desk, adopting a relaxed posture purposefully. He turned on the camera to inspect himself. He made sure the lighting was right. A giant oil painting of a man with a sword raised high hung behind him. Otherwise, the stucco was bare and the room nondescript.
He could be anywhere.
Perfect.
He looked at the man framed in the video screen. His wavy black hair was neatly trimmed in the current style, short on the sides and a little long on the top. He left his mirrored shades on. He tightened his jaw to hide the fullness of his lips. He looked too much like a pouty little boy with his lips parted. He’d shaved that morning, but black stubble was already poking through. That was okay too.
Best not to look too polished, too refined. That sent a very different kind of message about the sort of man Konstantine was and how he would conduct his business.
The computer trilled with the sound of an incoming call.
Konstantine sat back in his chair and composed himself. He placed his arms on the chair, clenched his jaw again and let it ring. Best to never let people think you’re too eager. Wasn’t it his beloved Padre who had said this?
“Hello?” he said at last. He liked the sound of his English. Accented, but not unpleasantly. In the movies, he would be the love interest of a beautiful woman who would love him for this voice, going wet between her legs from the sound of it.
The chat program opened by voice recognition and Julio Vasquez appeared on the screen. A cigarette dangled from between his lips, he sat back away from the screen as if to give Konstantine some room. As if the ocean and half a country weren't enough space between Austin and Florence.
Julio’s hair was greased back, slicked against his head. He wore a black tank top, and hair protruded from everywhere. From under his arms, and from his chest, great black tufts of it. Julio was one of the men who Padre trusted. His open acceptance of Konstantine had been jarring at first, in the weeks following Padre’s death. The way he performed duties without question. But now Konstantine was starting to appreciate the man’s swift execution and efficiency.
Konstantine waited for him to speak. Men in power never spoke first. It was beneath them. It was Julio’s place to explain, Julio’s place to ask for instruction. Not his.
“We’ve got Castle here.” Julio plucked his cigarette from between his lips and exhaled blue smoke toward the ceiling. “He’s got news about that bitch you’re looking for.”
Konstantine focused on the light behind Julio’s head and the five-gallon paint bucket, orange with white splatters, overturned in the middle of the scene.
Konstantine considered correcting him. She’s not that bitch. But it was too soon in his reign to start showing weakness. Infatuation counted as weakness in the eyes of most men. It was natural to want something and desire it. Having something you love within arm’s length was stupid.
“Put him on,” Konstantine said. He kept his tone even, checking his image in the box at the lower right of the screen. He looked a tad eager. He leaned back in his chair and straightened his spine.
Julio slipped out of sight, and another man appeared. He had a deeply pit-marked face and a tall, white ten-gallon hat on his head with a ridiculous feather jutting from one side. His eyes were glassy in the camera, either with fear or narcotics. The two men escorting him pushed him down onto the overturned paint bucket converted into a seat. The plastic scraped along the concrete floor.
“Hello, Mr. Castle.” Konstantine laced his fingers. “How are you this evening?”
The man licked his lips and hesitated. His shoulder jostled when someone nudged him. Konstantine heard Julio say, “He’s talking to you, dude. Don’t be fucking rude.”
“I’m good,” Castle stammered and ran a hand under his nose. “How-how are you?”
“Fine,” Konstantine answered with a smile. It wasn’t a friendly smile. It was the smile he’d learned how to make from the gangsters in his American movies. His mother called it an I’m-so-hungry-I-could-eat-you-up smile. “I have heard something fascinating about you, Mr. Castle.”
“Yeah, what’s that?” Castle asked. He fidgeted, trying to get comfortable on the overturned bucket.
“Julio says you were kidnapped. By a woman.”
“Hell yeah!” the man said, indignant. Relief was palpable on his face. Whatever he’d initially thought this conversation was going to be about, it wasn’t about his woman. “She snatched me right out of the goddamn bathroom. Then we were in a fucking forest in the middle of fucking nowhere. It was cold. I don’t even think we was in America. Well, maybe Montana, some shit like that.”
“Slow down,” Konstantine said. His own voice had sped up with excitement, and he was speaking as much to himself as to the dealer. He took a breath and reasserted his self-control. “Mr. Castle, what you’re saying seems rather remarkable. You expect us to believe you were kidnapped by a woman, and then magically transported thousands of miles away?”
He heard Julio and the others laughing.
Castle’s mouth dropped open in outrage. “But it’s fucking true! I swear it.”
“Perhaps you need to sell more snow than you’re using, man,” Julio cackled like a hyena.
“Where were you when this happened?” Konstantine asked, measuring each word.
“Tito’s place.”
Julio bent down so that his face was visible in the camera. “It’s a cowboy bar off 6th street. Up in Austin.”
Konstantine flashed another one of his controlled smiles. “Mr. Castle, is it also true you only escaped because you, how did you put it, ‘gave her the best fuck of her life’?”
Julio and the others roared. Julio slapped his thigh and reached up to wipe tears from the corners of his eyes while Castle continued to defend his ridiculous story.
She would slit you, navel to nose, and leave you for dead before you even touched her.
Konstantine felt his anger rising. He let a controlled breath esc
ape his nostrils, trying not to let them flare and give away his irritation. He would kill Castle for touching her.
She’s mine, his brain whispered. She’s mine until the day she dies.
“Settle down boys,” Konstantine said once he felt he could trust himself to speak. “Castle may be a beast for all we know.”
It was a cruel jibe and Castle’s face crumpled, wounded. “I saw her. I swear I did.”
“That I believe.” Konstantine sat back in his chair. “So my next question is, why did she let you live? Every one of the mules she’s taken has never been seen again. Yet here you are. Why do you think that is?”
Castle stiffened in his chair.
His reaction was a clue to guide Konstantine’s questioning. He steepled his fingers. “Did you tell her anything?”
Castle didn’t answer. His mouth hung open, and his stained, yellow teeth gleamed in the computer’s shitty resolution.
Julio smacked Castle upside his head. “Do you have enchiladas in your ears? The man asked you a question.”
Castle set his jaw. “No. I didn’t say anything. She grabbed me from the bathroom and dropped me off in the woods. She pointed the gun at me, I talked her down. Then she brought me back.”
“You talked her down?” Konstantine grinned. How would one coax down such a creature? Whatever means necessary would be beyond a man such as this.
“Yeah, you know. I was fucking nice. I made her see she had the wrong guy.”
Castle’s cheek twitched.
“And who was the right guy?” Konstantine leaned forward and peered into the camera, seeing his face large in the small window within the chat box. “Me?”
“No, man, no.” Castle was quick to rebuke. “I didn’t say anything about you.”
“Julio?” Konstantine said, part question, part call for attention.
Julio didn’t even have to ask. The two men who’d escorted Castle in seized his shoulders, forcing him to sit still on the overturned paint bucket. Julio held a gun to his head while the others held his arms.
“Have you ever played the game twenty questions?” Konstantine asked. Sweat had begun to form on his brow, but his voice remained perfectly even.
When Castle didn’t immediately answer, Julio slid the safety off the gun and chambered a round.
“Yes, yes!” he moaned. “Yes, every fucking body has played twenty questions. What about it?”
“I love twenty questions,” Konstantine smiled. “I would play this game with my mother for hours, and she always indulged me. She was a very patient woman. Wasn’t she?”
Before Martinelli threw her to the wolves.
“A fucking saint,” he said, squirming beneath the pistol pressed against his temple.
“I want to play twenty questions with you now. But the version I play with you is going to be a little different than the version I played with my mother. With you, when I ask you a question, if you lie to me, Julio is going to blow off one of your fingers. If we run out of fingers, then we have your toes. Twenty in all.”
Without having to be told, Julio moved his gun to Castle’s left hand. He pressed the barrel to the man’s pinkie, holding it out to the side so the bullet could blast right through without hitting either Castle or the two men holding him.
Castle squirmed. “But I haven’t lied to you!”
“Be still, or I might blow off your fucking finger accidentally, you dumb fuck,” Julio warned. Sweat gleamed on the back of the Mexican’s neck in the overhead light.
“And if we run out of fingers and toes, then we must find something else to shoot off. Can you think of anything else on your body which resembles a finger or toe?” Konstantine asked. The men, who weren’t being threatened with a bullet, laughed.
Castle began to let out a high-pitched whine. “Come on, man. I haven’t done anything.”
Konstantine wet his lips. “Question one: Did you tell the woman anything about me?”
Castle hesitated. Julio pulled the trigger. The report crackled through the sound feed, and the black room momentarily lit up with light revealing exposed beams and rafters. They were in one of the unfinished condos then. Konstantine noted Julio’s smart choice. It was as important to keep track of the honorable mules as it was of the naughty ones. Sometimes more important. The video lagged for a heartbeat then skipped, catching up.
Castle screamed. Blood gushed from the partial stump of his pinkie, pumping over his hand. He kept screaming as Julio moved on to the ring finger, grabbing the man’s bloody finger as if the blood didn’t disgust him.
Konstantine’s stomach turned.
“Question two,” Konstantine said, without looking directly at the blood. “Did you tell the woman who kidnapped you about me?”
“Yes!” Castle screamed. “Fuck yes. I might’ve said your name. But I swear to god I didn’t say nothing bad about you. Not a goddamn thing.”
“Question three. What did you say about me exactly?”
When Castle didn’t answer after a few tense moments, Konstantine nodded to Julio. The gun went off again, severing the ring finger from Castle’s left hand. The finger dangled in Julio’s grip before it was dropped to the floor. Konstantine was thankful for his dark shades and the privacy they afforded him. He could close his eyes, and they would be none the wiser.
Castle’s screams intensified. “Fuck man, I was thinking! I was fucking thinking!” Tears streamed down the man’s face. It had become so red, Konstantine had to remind him to take a breath or he was going to pass out.
“At the rate we are going, I don’t think you’ll live to see the end of the game, my friend. You’re bleeding too much,” Konstantine said. He managed to add a patronizing lilt to the end of his words.
“Don’t shoot so fast,” Castle begged. He wiped his snotty nose on his sleeve. “I got to think.”
Ah, the begging. It came whenever they tried to slow down the pain.
“I can’t think so fast with my hand hurting, man. It hurts like a bitch.”
“Is that my fault?” Konstantine asked.
“No, man, no.”
“I want you to try very hard to answer my questions as quickly as possible,” Konstantine said. “I have appointments this evening. You wouldn’t expect me to be late, would you?”
“No sir,” the man said, spit clinging to his lips as he spoke. He looked like a bawling child, but he didn’t yank his hand away from Julio as the middle finger was grasped and bent straight. Maybe Castle was not as stupid as he looked.
“So I’ll ask again. What did you say about me exactly?”
“She told me if I didn’t stop muling she was going to shoot me, and I said I couldn’t stop muling because you’d kill me.”
“And then?” Konstantine encouraged with a little wave. He noted the spray of blood across the man’s white hat.
“She said you were another roach or rat or something.”
Julio raised his gun and pressed it against the middle finger on the left hand.
Castle’s voice took off like a shot, rising fast. “God, I don’t remember. An animal, some kind of animal that scurries. I swear to god that’s what she said.”
“And then?”
“I told her no, you were the new Martinelli. And she said there’s no fucking Martinellis because she killed them all. And I said, no there was you. That’s it. I swear on my fucking mother that’s it. That’s all she said.”
His anger surfaced. His pulse throbbed in his ears. The new Martinelli. “And then she took you back to Austin.”
“Yes.”
Konstantine sat back in his chair. The new Martinelli. So that was why she’d cut Castle loose. No doubt she’d been furious at the idea of a Martinelli living. Breathing.
After a moment he said, “Did she realize you recognized her?”
“Yeah,” he said. He was looking like he might vomit. A sheen of sweat coated his face.
“Did she ask how you recognized her?”
“The pictures,” he said
without hesitation. He was going to pass out from blood loss, Konstantine realized.
“And then she brought you back,” he said again, but he was grinning now.
“Yeah, man. I told you. She dropped me off outside Tito’s place.”
Konstantine’s anger softened. Tricky, tricky girl.
“Julio?”
“Yeah, boss?”
“Please help Mr. Castle attend to his wounds. He has been very helpful. It would be unfortunate if anything were to happen to him.”
The two men who’d been holding him down moments before now helped him up, slapped him on the back and escorted him from the room as if he were nothing more than a buddy who’d had too much to drink. Meanwhile, Julio barked orders to have the concrete floor hosed down and the fingers collected off the ground.
“Stay for a moment, Julio,” Konstantine commanded before he terminated the call.
Julio pulled the overturned bucket up to the computer screen, the perfect height to frame himself in the camera. Two men discussing business. The blood-soaked bucket and fingers on the floor already forgotten.
“Make sure Castle doesn’t die. I want him sewn up and back on the street tomorrow at the latest.”
“You got it.”
“She’s going to track him. So we are going to track him too. Send a few men up from San Antonio, men Castle won’t recognize, and have him followed. Everywhere. But don’t be obvious. She will know we are onto her if she sees too many men standing around, obsessing over Castle.”
“No problem,” Julio said, slipping a new cigarette between his lips and lighting it behind a cupped palm.
“Should we give him his fingers?” Julio asked. “If we get them on ice, he can have them put back on.”
“No,” Konstantine said, his voice cold. “We are going to kill him, if she doesn’t do it first. No need to go out of our way.”
“She’s only a girl,” Julio said, scratching his hairy chest.
Konstantine grinned. “You have no idea what she’s capable of.”
She would come back for him. She would come for Konstantine and he couldn’t be more excited. Even if it meant his death, he would see her again. And truly, she deserved her revenge. What his brothers did to her family, it was unforgivable. Why shouldn’t she seek his blood in return?
Shadows in the Water Page 10