Songbird

by A. J. Adams

  I marched back to the house and found the girls waiting for me at the kitchen door. They stepped back, eyes wide with worry.

  “I’m glad you’re all here,” I told them. “We’re going to make some changes.” Ten minutes later they were smiling. The grins were a bit nervous, but I knew they’d get over that. “From now on you don’t take shit from anyone, you hear?”

  “Sí, jefa!”

  “My name’s Solitaire.”

  “Sí, jefa Solitaire!”

  “Just Solitaire.”

  “Sí, jefa!”

  From the way they looked at me, I could see it was going to be jefa. “Okay ladies, seeing we’re shorthanded, let’s get back to work.”

  Telling Arturo what I’d done was a little more difficult. I marched into his office and closed the door behind me. “I just took out the rubbish, but don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

  “You did what?”

  “I just beat up two of your men.” I told him exactly what had happened, and as I’d expected, he was absolutely fuming.

  “I’ll kill the fuckers! And what the hell were you thinking? You could have been hurt!”

  Arturo’s set face warned me he was about to blow, but as he was behind his desk and I was between him and the door, I wasn’t too worried.

  Arturo was snarling, “I’ll have their balls!”

  “Too late. There’s one wanting an icepack and another who’s less than cocky.” Arturo has a good sense of humour, so when he began laughing, I moved round the desk and sat on his lap. “That’s better, for a moment I thought you’d be unreasonable.”

  Arturo sighed and put his arms around me. “Jesus, Solitaire, what on earth were you thinking?”

  “I can’t take my authority from you, Arturo. I have to make my own reputation.”

  “Are you crazy? They could have hurt you!”

  “You know, Arturo, I don’t think like that. If I did, I’d always be too frightened to do anything.”

  “Attitude counts, but a fist still breaks bones.”

  “I seem to be pretty good at defending myself. They didn’t stand a chance. And anyway, if there’d been any danger of me being creamed, I’d show my ace and namedrop like hell.”

  Arturo sighed. “Sirena, I understand, but for God’s sake, don’t do it again. I don’t want you hurt.” He was hugging me close. The feel of that chunky warm body with the fluid muscles was a turn-on, but it was the words that made my heart sing. “Let me look after you. It’s my job, and it’s something I’m good at. I don’t want you taking risks.”

  Typical protective Arturo. He was a sweetheart. “You daft bugger! I don’t have to. By now everybody will know what happened. From now on nobody’s going to touch me.”

  Arturo blinked and then he was laughing. “Except for me!”

  “Oh yeah!” I kissed his nose. “Except for you.” I wriggled on his lap, feeling his boner. “I was thinking: Luz has made a huge lunch so maybe we should work up an appetite.”

  “Solitaire, you’re perfect.”

  Typical Arturo, he has a great line in soft soap. And a terrific rod. I was in for a good time.

  Chapter Fifteen: Arturo

  I told Solitaire she was perfect because I was nuts about her, but I didn’t know the half of it. For one thing, when she said she wanted a home, a job and a relationship, I thought she wanted a roof over her head, a job title and respect. So I gave her some money, a nice job title and the opportunity to play lady of the house. I expected her to tire of it pretty quickly and to spend her days reading magazines by the side of the pool.

  You see, I hadn’t pegged Solitaire as a career woman. I thought all those jobs she’d had were simply to make money for her mom. She’d moved from place to place and job to job, too, something that usually indicates a lack of focus. I never for a moment imagined that Solitaire enjoyed working.

  By the end of that first morning, I could see that I had completely misread the situation. Solitaire had a business mind. By the end of the afternoon, I discovered she was also fiercely loyal. By dinnertime, I discovered something even more spectacular.

  At breakfast I saw Solitaire making a bunch of notes. I sneaked a look when she was pouring me coffee, and what I read impressed the hell out of me. She was methodical and thorough. I thought she’d spend a couple of hours with Luis, so it wasn’t till later that I knew she’s given him a game plan and moved on to taking over the house.

  Luz had mentioned from time to time that some of the men pester the girls, but I hadn’t paid a lot of attention. I’ve got dozens of people coming and going, so a bit of flirting didn’t seem a big deal. Frankly, I thought Luz was moaning about nothing, but Solitaire took a different view.

  When she dropped by my office and told me she’d used herself as bait and taken down not one but two of my men, my heart almost stopped. But she was sitting in front of me, looking absolutely fucking gorgeous in jeans and a short-sleeved cherry tee that clung to her bell-like breasts – yeah, I know, but you should have seen her.

  The way she told it, I could see she was serious about taking charge of the house. To be honest, I was expecting some fall-out; Luz had complained about having too much responsibility, but I knew she enjoyed the status and the extra money. As it turned out, I got that wrong, too.

  After our ‘quicky’ as Solitaire called it, Luz rang the lunch bell. It sounds a bit Bonanza, but we eat lunch in the garden, and as we tend to be scattered all over the house, the bell is the best way to get everyone’s attention.

  Like breakfast, lunch is part social and part business. I’ve got twenty-five senior staff running different areas of my business, and when everyone is working hard on their own patch, it’s too easy to become estranged. Everyone visits regularly, and having lunch together keeps us all tight.

  That day it was Jesus (finance, Reynosa branch), Cesar (security, Matamoros), Oscar (purchasing, breweries and vineyards) Tonio and Juan (logistics, Mexico to North America) as well as Chumillo and Chema. Luz had made cochinita pibil, one of my favourites, with soft tortillas, refried black beans, habañero chillies, salad and cheese.

  It was when Luz set the last dish on the table and glanced at Solitaire to see if everything was fine that it really hit me: this wasn’t a fling; Solitaire was in my life. It was the strangest thing. I looked across the table, and there she was, Solitaire. Fifteen minutes before, she’d been bent over my desk, squealing without restraint as I banged her. I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly at the time, but after I blew my load and fell back in my chair, pulling Solitaire onto my lap, the devastating silence from the outer office seeped through.

  Then I heard a tiny giggle, and the voices started again. “I think we have an impressed audience out there.”

  Solitaire was curled up against me, her face pressed into my neck, soft as cream and twice as sweet. “Snuffizzit.” Half-witted doesn’t even begin to describe post-orgasm Solitaire. “Fuck ‘em,” she sighed eventually. “That was great.”

  Now she was sitting at the foot of the table, not a hair out of place, making small talk as she handed round shredded cheese and checked that everyone had wine. It was as if a light were shining on her, highlighting the blue-black hair, sapphire eyes and creamy skin. She was saying something to Chumillo about Luz forbidding her to touch another tomato, ever, when she glanced over, caught my eye and winked at me.

  It’s such a small thing, a wink. It was there and gone again in an instant. I don’t think even Chumillo noticed, and he was looking right at her. But Jesus fucking Christ did it get to me. She winked at me, and the breath caught in my throat. A single glance from her, and I couldn’t breathe. Me, the man who has it all.

  I’ve got more power than the president and a hell of a lot more money, too. It makes me laugh to see those lists they publish – you know, those “world’s wealthiest” and “most powerful” pieces. They rarely include people like me, and yet I can buy and sell most of them.

  If I make a call, the Mexican stock ma
rket trembles. Two calls, and it tumbles. Three, and the country falls apart. And yet Solitaire just had to smile at me, and I was helpless. If I were a dog, I’d be wagging my tail and rolling over at her feet. As I’m a man, I wanted to strip her and fuck her stupid.

  Solitaire, Jesus fucking Christ… She had me at her feet, and I had the feeling that she didn’t give a damn about the power or the money. It was a thought that scared me. Yeah, me.

  You see, every woman I’d ever had before had been entranced by one, the other or both. I don’t mind, it’s human nature, and there’s no sense in bitching about it. Actually, to be honest, it gets me women that are way out of my league. Soap opera stars and super models always talk about being attracted by a sense of humour or a shared love for French cuisine, but let me tell you what gets them panting for you every time: money. A ten figure bank balance is the ultimate aphrodisiac.

  So I knew that I’d been shooting fish in a barrel, and the prospect of having to actually work to win a girl and keep her was terrifying. For the first time since practically forever I had to face the possibility that I might fail, and the mere thought of Solitaire walking out on me had me sweating cobs.

  I’ve had uncountable beautiful women sitting at that table, but never one who could reduce me to a quivering wreck of want and fear with a single look. That wink lasted a split second, but for me it was a lifetime.

  Solitaire smiled at me and turned back to Chumillo, listening to him telling her about the twenty types of tortilla she had to try at the market on Saturday. You know, Chumillo’s a man’s man, yet here he was, chatting away and promising her a tour of one of our tortilla factories of all things! Jesus was interested too, telling Solitaire that she had to see the tequila plant, “It’s the best in all of Mexico”.

  I could see why they were all over her, and it wasn’t the rack, the porcelain skin or even that sweet mouth – Solitaire has charm. She wasn’t flirting or being cute, far from it. She was herself: intelligent, self sufficient and totally confident. But that and the stunning looks were packing an irresistible punch, and my men were going down like ninepins.

  “I hear my associates caused a problem,” Oscar said on cue. “I apologise. It won’t happen again.”

  “Think nothing of it,” Solitaire said sweetly. “Are you also from Reynosa, like Jesus?”

  “I’m local, but I live in Nuevo Leon. We have vineyards there, and it’s the growing season at the moment –”

  I wasn’t at all surprised to hear Oscar offering to take her on a personal tour of our best labels. From what I could see, every man in Mexico would be falling over himself to impress Solitaire. So lunch went with a swing, and when we were sitting around with brandy and cigars, Solitaire excused herself, saying she had a few things to do. The second she disappeared from sight, there was a quiet chorus of compliments.

  “That’s some girl,” Jesus sighed.

  “Clever and drop dead gorgeous,” Oscar said thoughtfully.

  “I know, and you bastards had better remember she’s mine!”

  They liked that, so it was grins all round, and then we got on with business.

  “Taking out Escamilla was a good thing,” Jesus said seriously. “All sorts of little problems have evaporated.”

  “Nothing like a bit of killing to concentrate the mind,” Oscar agreed.

  None of them had heard about Songbird yet, and I wanted to hold off on that topic for as long as possible, so we turned our minds to business. Luckily it was good news.

  It was an excellent year for corn, sugarcane, grapes and tequila agave, so we were going to rake in a tonne of money in harvests first and then in our wine, tequila and tortilla factories. It’s great to control the whole supply chain; in good times you win all the way, and in bad times you can manage your losses.

  The coca harvest wasn’t too hot, but I wasn’t worried. The year before had been superb, and we’d make a fortune. Also, I’ve been in this business for a long time, so I take the long term view. Total coke production runs at about 600 tonnes per year with half of it going to the US. Ten years ago that market was worth $47 billion, but today it’s fallen to $38 billion. A temporary fall in production was just the thing we needed to boost prices. We’d still make a profit, and I’m a producer as well as a transporter, so I get a cut from everyone who subcontracts shipment. Thanks to my new contacts in the UK, I’d pick up a slice of the European market, as well, so I was feeling good.

  Construction was doing well, too: Reynosa and Matamoros were growing like hell, and we had some juicy building contracts. We were developing a nice infrastructure of homes, shops and restaurants, so we were creating a market for our tortillas, wine and tequila – not to mention the market for blow and hookers. As most of the people in those areas are living on the margin of poverty, we were doing a roaring business in loansharking, too.

  “The banks aren’t lending, and the economy’s slow, so everyone’s desperate,” Tonio announced. “Turnover is up by forty percent.”

  “Excellent! Looks like we’re all looking at bonuses at the end of the quarter.”

  “Boss, we could do better!”

  I’m always interested in making more money, and Tonio is a smart cookie. “Tell me how.”

  “Our rules limit us to loans that are no more than 10% of total salary, right? So our top loans are payday loans. We’re lending 500 pesos at 75 pesos a month.”

  I knew where Tonio was going, and I braced myself to listen attentively. I’ll bet at this moment my lending terms seem reasonable, right? I bet you’re thinking seventy-five divided into five hundred is 15%. Not bad for an unsecured loan. Especially because you know a bank loan costs about 5%. You’re thinking I charge triple, but you don’t have a house or a car to hock. You see, that’s where you fall into the trap.

  When you’re paying me just 75 pesos for a month’s loan, you’re actually borrowing at 180% per year. Yeah, catch your breath and look again: 180%. The bank rate, the 5%, is also over a year.

  How big a difference does it make? Well, suppose you don’t pay me at the end of the month, right? Suppose you borrow for a year. You’d be paying me just over 92 pesos a month, every month, and you’d end up paying me 1,106 pesos - actually it should be 1,106.88 but I’ll be generous and round down. You borrowed 500 from me, and paid me 606 Pesos to do so.

  So why borrow from me? Because I’m your only option. Banks don’t lend money to poor people with no securities. But suppose they did, and you got the official rate of 5% per year. With a bank you’d borrow that 500 pesos and pay them back 25 pesos - over a year. All that work for 25 pesos! That’s why banks don’t do small loans.

  The only way you’ll get a loan is if you ask for 100 times the amount, and then you’ve got to borrow it for at least a year. And unlike me, the bank will hit you with fees. Banks are fucking sharks, and while the government mostly controls interest rates, fees aren’t regulated, so banks stick you with as much as they can. You’d be looking at a fee for approving your loan, and a processing fee every month you pay them back. That’s at least 13 extra payments on top of the interest you pay for every year. And they say I’m a crook!

  So when Tonio started his pitch, I knew what he’d say next. I won’t let anyone borrow more than 10% of their total income, and I knew it was chafing him.

  “Boss, if only we raised our 10% ceiling to 15%, we could earn an extra 50,000 a month in Reynosa alone! Think what it would do to the bottom line!”

  The problem with Tonio is that he’s greedy. I set a low limit because it means I almost always get paid back on time. A tiny loan means you can pay back if you buy fewer cigarettes and tequila. Maybe you also don’t buy that new coat you had your eye on. You don’t like it, but you do it because you don’t want me breaking your legs.

  In the movies they’re always making out that the bad guys set rules so you can’t pay back. I know some people who do that, but not me. I don’t want you to roll over your debt to the next month. It’s not because I’m a good m
an: you just don’t have anything I want. Even if you own a house, I don’t want it. It’s too much hassle. As for me breaking your legs, that’s something that doesn’t get me my investment back. Actually, it costs me money to have your legs broken!

  What I really want from you is for you to borrow money from me once or twice a year, every year, and to pay me back on time, in full. I’m a patient man, and over a lifetime those pickings add up. It’s easy money. For me, that is. Do the math and see for yourself why I love my work.

  Tonio isn’t the first or last to want to change the rules, so I’ve been over my reasons a million times. This time jetlag was catching up, and I wasn’t in the mood to go over old ground again, so I took my favourite shortcut. See what you think of it.

  “Tonio, it’s a great idea but I can’t bring myself to do it. As it is, we lend a fleabite, enough to cover an extravagant birthday present for a fiancée or to make up for a sudden illness. If a man can’t give up a few nights out in order to pay back a loan for that, I’ll take him out and think his family is better off without the selfish fuck.”

  I had everyone’s attention, even Chumillo and Chema, who had heard this before. “But what happens if we lend more? Let me tell you: we’d have people looking to finance a sure thing at the races or something equally stupid. The loan would be too big, too tempting. And a man who has to pay back too much would start stinting his wife and children. And God forbid that something I do takes the food out of a child’s mouth.”

  Cesar, Oscar and Juan were nodding and smiling. They have kids, and this is talk that they respect. Chumillo and Chema were agreeing too, but because it’s their job to back me up. When there’s a difference of opinion in a group, those who sit on the fence will mostly go along with the loudest voices. It’s not because they’re cowards or stupid. It’s because we’re social by nature. We like being in groups, and we like to agree.

  As I like to win, I stack the deck in my favour by having Chumillo and Chema agree with everything I say. Well, in public, that is. In private they tell me what they think and play devil’s advocate when I need it. There’s nothing more disastrous than surrounding yourself with yes-men. It’s comfortable to have everyone on your side all the time, but it means you lay yourself open to an uncomfortable truth blindsiding you one day.