by AJ Adams
I circled the front and back door, took a look at the boat, and went back to the car. “Okay, I’m done here.”
“You’re not going in?” Chumillo asked surprised.
“No need.” It was my turn to smile. I wasn’t going to tell him about the dusty strands of spider web across the doors and the boat. Wherever Campello was, he hadn’t been home in over a week.
I could see what had happened in an instant. He’d spotted the gems at work, in his office across the border, lifted them, and made a run for it. Impulse probably. A man who makes a fortune every week doesn’t give it up for a bag of stones, not even perfectly cut sapphires. He must have been drunk, high, or both.
“Take me to the place where Campello first saw the consignment.”
On my way into Mexico I’d had my passport inspected and stamped, but Chumillo drove straight through the VIP lane and was simply saluted. The Zetas really were the power in this part of the world.
We drove to a clapped-out office a few miles up the road, and Chumillo watched as I went through everything. There wasn’t much, just a few bills and a list of gambling debts. Everything was smeared with grime from months or maybe even years of sloth.
“He gambles in Vegas every last weekend of the month, and there’s a regular poker game in Miami,” Chumillo chatted away, happily sharing. “I’ve got contacts for his buddies if you like.”
“Maybe later.”
I put myself into Campello’s space. It wasn’t easy, as I didn’t have much to go on. I was rich, spoilt with easy gain, a gambler with a liking for partying. The boat, neglected, the office, neglected, the house, neglected... I was ruled by what? Novelty? Risk? Both, I decided. Which was the bigger lure?
I wasn’t getting anywhere, so I went through his stuff again. Then I searched under the sofa and found his stash of porn mags. Campello was into big tits, and I mean massive: Boob Bonanza and Juggs and Jizz and one amazing rag called Leather, Udders and Jugs.
“Enjoying yourself?” Chumillo was looking around with disgust. “He could’ve forked out for an asistenta, the dirty pig!”
I wasn’t listening because I’d found what I was looking for. Two pages of the leather mag were stuck together. Campello had been holding it as he jacked off.
“Fuck me! Que capullo!” Chumillo was revolted. “What the hell are you doing? Put it down! You’ll catch something. Jesus, ugh! Disgusting!”
I tuned him out because I was looking at Campello’s idea of heaven: a big spread, and I mean G cup, on Punta Cana beach, Dominican Republic. “Take me to the airport?”
I was lucky. I walked straight on to the daily flight, and six hours later I was buckling up for the landing. I’d left the Glock with Chumillo but taken the cash. There was twenty thousand in there, a fucking fortune to me but loose change to the Zetas.
I booked into the best hotel, picked up supplies in the lobby shop, and went straight to the bar. I handed the bartender a hundred dollars and showed him Campello’s mug. “Let me know where he is, and you get another four of those. Oh, and give me a heads-up without fanfare.”
“Trouble?”
“No way! I’m his brother.”
He looked from the Latino in the photo to my blonde hair and baby blues. “I can see the resemblance.”
He didn’t like it, but an extra hundred did the trick. “He’ll be in later.” He nodded towards a waitress who was so stacked that she hadn’t seen her feet in years. “Your brother likes Lori.”
I handed him another bill, just to keep him on my side. “She’s a looker, all right.”
The rest was a piece of cake. Campello came strolling in, was all over Lori and then I followed them back to his place, a cabana a few miles down the road.
The place was set up luxuriously with its own pool, garden, and private beach. It wasn’t a patch on his house in Mexico, but he seemed to like it. He liked Lori too. He fucked her twice before chucking her out, so I didn’t get him alone until three in the morning.
Getting to him was a piece of piss. I just walked in, punched him in the gut, and by the time he got it together, I had him trussed up. I tied his wrists to his ankles and to get him properly attentive, I tied his elbows together behind his back. I used his vest and another stocking to gag him. He woke up just as I was tying the knot.
“Got you,” I sang out. “Now I’ve got you, you have to pay!”
Campello struggled a bit and then made lots of little noises.
“Want to show me something?” I always let my targets think they can buy me off, just to tease, but this time I was truly hoping he’d give everything up straight off. I wanted to impress Arturo. “Show me where it is.”
He had a big hooter, and he pointed better than a setter. I found four bricks of coke and one opened bag secreted in the air conditioning vent. It wasn’t an inspired hiding place, but it was enough to frustrate a casual search by the maid. Most annoyingly, the gems weren’t there.
I sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at Campello. He was a fat bastard, his belly flopping all over the place. His eyes were hard, though, and unafraid. “Thanks for the coke, but actually I want the stones.”
He blinked and nodded towards the coke. If he was happy to let me walk with that, the gems must be worth more than the blow. That surprised me. Up till then I thought this was just Arturo testing me. Apparently the jewels were valuable. More than five ki’s at $150,000 each.
“The stones, Bert. Where are they?”
He shrugged as best he could and made it clear he wasn’t talking. I looked around and my heart sank. There were dozens of hiding places, from hollows behind light switches to the sofa cushions. For all I knew, he’d stashed it in a bank, hotel safe, or hidden it under a coconut tree on the beach.
I had to break him fast. Luckily, I had a plan. Campello was greedy, lazy, risk taking—and he’d walked away from his home on impulse.
His home was the key to his mind. That pretty mansion had no grilles, bars, or walls. The Zetas owned their turf so completely that they offered their people the warm embrace of complete safety.
My target would now be shitting himself, thinking that if only he’d kept his fingers off Arturo’s property he’d be enjoying himself at home. But being a hard man, he was watching me, his eyes telegraphing the message that he was determined not to give in.
“Well, okay. The coke will have to do.” I shrugged as if disinterested in the jewels. “Now, let’s have some fun.”
As always, seeing my victim sit there, totally helpless and at my mercy, sent power running through me. I was completely in control. I decided what was going to happen here. I paused and savoured it.
Campello was suddenly very still. In his business, he’d probably come across my type before. From the bulging eyes and the convulsive swallowing, I guessed he suddenly realised what I was.
“Exactly.” As I leaned towards him, he levitated with fear and ended up sitting with his back against the headboard. “Just you and me. We’ve got all the time in the world.”
For once that wasn’t true. I was dying to rip him apart, but I had to remind myself that the goal was to get those jewels. If Arturo liked my work, he’d take me in. Then I’d have a home and protection.
It gave me a pleasant glow, so I was smiling at Campello as I brought out my purchases: cotton wool, a lighter and a manicure set. “I hope you enjoyed yourself these last couple of weeks,” I told him. “I’m certainly planning on having a good time.”
I took a hold of his feet, placed cotton wool balls between his toes and paused. He was twitching like a fish on a hook, but he had nowhere to go.
I held onto him, my fingers marking his ankle with big black bruises as he fought fruitlessly. The power rushed through me, putting sparkles on the night. I took out a lighter, a pink plastic monstrosity with a bikini-clad babe on the side, grinned at Campello, took another long delicious pause, and set the cotton wool on fire.
It’s a terrific place, that little spot between your toes. Th
ere’s a bunch of nerves there that connect to your whole body. I guess that’s why Chinese reflexologists treat their patients with foot rubs.
I found my treatment therapeutic, because as Campello screamed, I got a real rush. The cotton burned bright, searing the skin, and soaking deep into the tissue beneath. Campello bucked, choked, and finally fainted.
I slapped him back into the present, and then we did it again and again and again. He might have wanted to talk at that stage, but I let my feelings run away with me. This was too good to quit.
After the sixth ball went up, we took a breather. He had a nasty blue tinge around the mouth I didn’t like the look of.
“Don’t worry,” I told him. “I’ll not push you too far. And if things do escalate, I know CPR.”
It didn’t seem to cheer him up. I gave him a nasty grin and decided I’d play ten more minutes before giving him a chance to talk. I got hold of his foot and paused, just to enjoy the moment. He held his breath, I held my breath, and when he began to gulp like a bullfrog, I went for it. His shriek tore through the gag. It was a sound that made me dizzy with the pleasure of true domination. I felt like a god.
Getting ready for the final ball, I took a firm grip and looked at him. I’m not sure about souls, but the eyes are the window to the mind, and I wanted to see what was in there. “One more. And then we move on to a manicure.”
He groaned, a feeble effort after all the yelling. I smiled again and flicked on the lighter. That’s when Campello peed himself. I looked again and saw him start to vanish. They do that, you see. When the pain and fear are too much to take, the mind protects itself by shutting down. Luckily, there was still enough of him left to connect with.
“What a shame,” I said. “If only you hadn’t taken those stones.”
Campello caved. Oh, he didn’t tell me. He couldn’t because he was gagged. He just looked at the lampshade on the main table. He didn’t mean to. His subconscious betrayed him. It was telling him that if only he talked, the pain would stop. It was a glance, no more, but it was enough.
I crowed, just to rile him up. Punishment for spoiling my fun. “It’s in the lamp?”
He blinked, furious with himself. Confirmation. I’d hit pay dirt.
I walked over and examined the lamp closely. It was one of those Danish designs, all mini tubes and chrome set into a large chrome base. I found the gems taped into the bottom of the stand. When I saw them, I realised why they were precious: the sapphires were blue-black, the diamonds brilliant, and every stone was the size of a quail egg.
They didn’t tempt me. I had enough money of my own, and while it had given me freedom, it had never brought me any joy. What I wanted was security and protection.
Campello was screaming into his gag. I only got a word here and there. “Carajo!” and “Coño!”
He was swearing to give himself courage. Now I had the gems in my hand, he was dead, and because he’d betrayed his boss, he knew his death would have to be spectacular. A warning to anyone thinking of screwing with the Zetas.
It was half past four, so I reckoned I should get going. It was annoying, as I would have loved to spend the day with him, but I wasn’t going to let him distract me from the big picture. The faster I reported in announcing job done, the better.
It was still pitch-black outside and perfect for privacy. I rolled Campello onto a large bath towel and dragged him outside. A quick look confirmed the beach was deserted. For a moment I thought I spotted a shadow in the trees, but when nothing moved for a count of three hundred, I decided I was imagining things; we were alone. Money buys privacy, and now Campello’s taste for luxury would kill him.
I dragged him over the sand, dug a four-foot hole in shallow water, and stuck him in it. “Game over,” I told him. “Bye-bye.”
Then I waited for the tide to come in. The gag stayed on, and the way it suppressed Campello’s struggle made everything much more vibrant. Having broken, he went completely to pieces once he saw the end I’d planned for him.
The waves came rolling in, a little nearer with every tug of the moon. They licked at his chin, slapped over his lips and finally reached his nose. He screamed, cried, and struggled before finally drowning. He took his last breath just as the sky was turning pink.
As his body stopped writhing, that glorious rush of power went with it. The hunt was complete. I paused for a moment, waiting, but the pain I had once felt lay dormant. I was gloriously empty. Peace washed through me, centring me. It was perfect.
I stood alone, looking down at the body. Usually I’m the only witness, but this time I taped the entire thing, intending it as a gift for Arturo. After checking the video and that Campello had definitely croaked, I dug him out, removed the gag and ties, and dragged him out to sea.
The sharks would probably feast on him, but if the body washed back, they’d be sure not to look too closely. Murder kills tourism, so they’d call it a drowning accident.
I waded back to shore, went back inside, parcelled up the coke and the jewels, and then began walking back. I reckoned it would do Chumillo good to get an early wake up call, so I gave him a buzz.
He answered instantly, loud music in the background. “I’m looking at the longest legs in town and an ass better than bomb shots. What about you?”
“I’m on my way back. Part of a ki’s gone, but everything else is all present and correct.”
There was a pause and then the music quieted. Chumillo was stepping outside. “Seriously, mission accomplished already?”
“Yes.” I said it ultra-casually as if bored, but I was laughing inside. “But I don’t fancy muling a suitcase of product.”
“Let me call you back.”
The phone went dead, and two seconds later I heard footsteps. I turned to see a giant devil in black looming behind me. I almost jumped. He was inches away from me, and I hadn’t heard a fucking thing. Worse, I hadn’t felt his presence either.
“Good job,” he said quietly. “Come on, Arturo’s waiting.”
“Who the fuck are you?” Honestly, I was almost rattled.
“Kyle Suarez.” He had silver eyes, cool and clinically observant. “You did very well.”
He’d been there all the time, watching. This was the spot of dark I’d sensed. “You knew he was here?”
“Picked him up the second he got on the plane. The stupid bastard used his credit card. Now, how did you know where to find him?”
“I guessed.”
He gave me a sideways look. “You always this lucky when you guess?”
“Yes.” I was curious and still pumped from my triumph. “What do you do?”
“I’m in charge of security.”
He was American, not Mexican, despite the name, and yet he must have Arturo’s trust. This was a man I had to make friends with. That meant answering his questions and treating him with respect. “I get into character.” All those years, and the theatre still surfaced automatically. “I mean, I put myself in his place,” I explained.
“Really? How does that work?”
By the time I finished explaining, we were back at the hotel. Suarez whistled, and a car came rocketing up. “Pick up your gear, but don’t bother with checking out. It’s taken care of.”
There was a private plane waiting, complete with a very pretty stewardess who plied me with champagne, caviar, and smoked salmon. I must say, I enjoyed it. The champagne was perfectly chilled and the caviar fresh, not tinned. Even better, all the pampering was a sign the Zetas valued me.
When we got back to Arturo’s place, I was given a hero’s welcome.
“Rip, great job! Terrific!” Arturo came out from behind his desk, personally settling me in a chair. Then he sat down and grinned at me. “I was wondering, would you like more work like this?”
“Yes.”
“In that case, I’m going to make you an offer you’ll find impossible to refuse.”
Chapter Six: Morgan
Having been dumped in the shit publicly by the people
my family had served and died for, I went home, raging. But looking at the photo of Papa and Aleja that stood on my bedside table, I got my courage back. I’d survived disaster before. By morning I was convincing myself that I could overcome the problem with Don Valentine.
But when I showed up at the shop, Roberto pulled me aside. “Why don’t you take a vacation?”
“What?” Every time I took a holiday, Roberto had whined about workload. Now he suddenly couldn’t get rid of me fast enough.
“Am I fired?”
Roberto hesitated. “We need a break. A cooling-off period.”
“We don’t date. I work here.”
“Mitch feels disrespected,” Roberto was wringing his hands. “He’s seriously pissed because you dumped him and then chewed him out too. “
I just stared at him.
“He’ll cool down if he doesn’t see you for a while.”
“Worried he’ll cut off your supply?”
From the suddenly shaky hands, I deduced that was exactly the problem. Tim and Jake were working on a Ford, very carefully not glancing in my direction. I guessed they had also decided it was too dangerous to stick with me.
“Fuck all of you.” I walked, chin up but my heart was breaking.
I don’t remember where I went. I walked for hours, but I when I got it together again, I was in Barnyard. Al, one of the bartenders, was cleaning glasses and preparing for the lunchtime crowd. He pushed a tequila shot my way without saying a word.
I downed it. “Hit me again.”
“Better watch your back,” Al said quietly. “Mitch really has it in for you. He says you’re too big for your britches. There’s a lot of talk about teaching you a lesson.”
I was beyond caring. “Yeah, I know.”
“And that Los Osos creep Neto is out for blood, seeing you kneed him in the balls.”
“Thanks. Make it a double.”
Three shots later, Tim shuffled in. “I’m sorry about what happened.”
“Oh yeah?” For a moment I thought he was going to back me up. Idiot that I am.