by A. J. Adams
Arturo took the drill from me. “All those gringo fuckers are weak,” he announced. “And now, sirena, back to bed.”
I carried on the comedy. “Jesus, Arturo! Are you completely obsessed with sex?”
“Beer,” he said seriously. “I also think a lot about beer.”
“I’ll have a cold one waiting for you.”
I walked off, nose in the air, but the second I got into the house, I ran for the loo. I won’t tell you about the next twenty minutes, because it wasn’t pretty. By the time I emerged, feeling awfully sick and shaky, Arturo was standing in the hall, looking worried. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I walked up to him and felt his arms curl round me. He felt like a rock, and just touching him gave me strength. “What will you do to him, Arturo?”
He was quiet a moment, and then he walked me to the den, and we settled into one of the large leather sofas there.
“It’s as you said, sirena: we’ll drop him over the border, beat the hell out of him, line his pockets with blow and arrange to have him prosecuted and convicted. We’ve decided Reeves County Detention is the place for him.”
“Hell on earth?”
“Pretty much. He’ll have enough coke on him for a five year stretch.”
I had the idea that Arturo was leaving something out. “You’ve done something nasty.”
“I thought you said jail was enough?” The question was rhetorical.
“There’s no point in trying to avoid answering me. The crew will tell me.”
“Not if I tell the fuckers not to!” Arturo growled.
It had been nasty. I thought a moment and remembered the hammer. “He lost his golf swing?”
Arturo sighed and then gave in. “I was making a point about dancing, but golf won’t be on his agenda anymore either. Knees are fragile.”
The thought made me feel queasy, but I knew it was only to be expected. Arturo had to make a show of strength. It would have been dangerous not to. “You’re worried I’ll run screaming from the reality of cartel life?”
Arturo’s eyes were looking directly into mine. “Solitaire, you’ve got a soft heart.” He saw I was about to protest and shushed me. “You made a great case out there, but we both know you didn’t want me to kill him.” He’d seen through me. “But sirena, the story will get out that this was your doing.”
“The crew will gossip.”
Arturo stared at me. “You knew?”
“Yes, of course.”
He blinked. “By tonight you’ll have cut off his balls and used them for bolas.”
“Probably. As long as nobody says you’ve gone soft, it’s okay.”
Arturo grinned at me. “You know, you just keep surprising me.”
“As long as it’s in a good way.” Something was odd though. “Where was Kyle this morning, and why was Salvatore here?”
“I sent Kyle home. He was up all night, arranging security at the hospital. I invited Salvatore round for a chat because he’s running around on Julia.”
“A chat? As in a, ‘If you don’t keep your tackle in your trousers, it will be you on the swings’ kind of chat?”
“Nah, Julia would have my balls. And he’s the father of my nieces and nephews. All I did was tell him to man up. I told him to either stick to his vows and dump the little stripper he’s seeing or to arrange to set Julia free.”
Right, and the battered body was just incidental. “You do have a way of making a point.”
Arturo shrugged. “I don’t usually interfere, but Julia was desperate. I couldn’t say no to her.” He was stroking my hair. “So, couldn’t sleep?”
“Bad dreams.”
“You were talking last night about reflections coming to life.”
“Hmmm.”
“I’m not prying, sirena, but in my experience the things you try to bury come back to haunt you at the most inconvenient times.”
“I killed someone.” It was out before I could stop myself.
Arturo hugged me. “Tell me.”
“I don’t know where this happened or when or even who he was. I can see his face in reflections sometimes, and I see him in my dreams. I’m standing in a room with red walls and mirrors all over the place. I can see him standing by the window, looking out. He has blond hair, dark eyes, and he’s running towards me, swinging a machete. I have a gun, and I shoot him.”
“Self-defence,” Arturo shrugged.
“The thing is, there is a body on the floor. A girl. She’s been hacked to pieces.” My stomach heaved at the memory. “I know he killed her.”
Arturo’s eyes were sad. “Sirena, I think you have to face the fact that there are some dark things in your past.”
I put my head on his shoulder. “Yes, it does look that way.”
“There’s more?”
Typical Arturo. You can’t get anything past him. “I think Escamilla kept me in a cage for a while.”
“There was one in the basement. You told me that he kept you there the first few days he had you. I saw it when I went to get my coke.”
“Jesus, what a fucked up past I’ve got. I’m glad I found you, Arturo.”
“Listen, don’t feel guilty about taking out a bad guy,” Arturo said seriously. “You said it yourself: life is hard, unfair, and all you can do is protect the people you love. Whatever happened or didn’t happen, you survived. That counts as a win.”
I hugged him closely. “That’s why I came looking for you. Thanks, Arturo.”
We sat there, and I felt so close to him that it was as if we were one. I’d been right that first time in the four-poster bed: with Arturo I was home.
Sunday was supposed to be a quiet day, but what it meant was a steady stream of people coming for drinks. I quickly realised that those who came to be social brought a couple of beers or a bottle of wine and then stayed to drink it. The ones who wanted something brought presents and then casually mentioned a problem.
There was a couple who wanted their daughter to get a job in the mayor’s office, a man who said his son needed letting off a drug charge, and a factory owner who wanted Arturo to guarantee there would be no strikes that year. Nuevo Laredo was a puppet theatre, and Arturo was pulling all the strings. It was fascinating.
I was thoroughly enjoying myself when Julia pitched up. By her tearstained face, it was clear Salvatore had decided to cut her loose and go for the stripper. As Julia told it, Salvatore had come home, packed a bag and told her that he didn’t want to end his days being chopped up into a million pieces.
“It’s your fault!” Julia accused Arturo. “What did you do?”
Arturo was trying to cool her down, but Julia was furious, calling him every name under the sun. I could see Arturo was going to lie down and take it, so I stepped in. “You knew very well what Arturo would do,” I told her. “You wanted to frighten Salvatore. Put the fear of God into him you said, and Arturo did precisely what you asked. So stop bitching.”
Julia gaped at me, her mouth opening and shutting soundlessly.
“Solitaire,” Arturo was looking guilty. “Maybe I should have –”
Then Julia took his arm. “The stuck up fea is right,” she said. “I did say I wanted him frightened but –”
I didn’t much care for her description of me, but she seemed to have calmed down, so I left them to it. Sunday was Luz’s day off, so I went to raid the fridge. There was plenty of stuff left over from the barbecue, so I loaded up some plates with salad and sausage.
“I thought you might be here.” It was Mateo, the illigit who’d seen me in England with Escamilla.
“I’m putting together some supper. If you’re looking for Arturo, he’s in the garden. With Julia.” I remembered they didn’t get along, so thought I’d give him a heads-up.
“Settling in, I see.” Mateo was leaning against the wall, frowning at me. There was something about him, a watchful stillness that made me uneasy. On the other hand, maybe his wrist was hurting. The bruise had spread out beyond the cast. �
�I hear you had some trouble with the American boy last night.”
I remembered that Mateo had not been with the crew that morning, and I wasn’t sure how much he knew. “Oh, you know how it is when everyone’s been drinking.”
Mateo laughed sourly. “How discrete, Solitaire! And with us being such old friends.”
I must have looked blank, because Mateo was frowning. “Surely you remember?”
And the hell of it was that I didn’t.
Chapter Nineteen: Arturo
Julia finally finished bending my ear, and then, mercifully, she went off. I found Solitaire in the kitchen, loading up a tray with food and looking distinctly sick. Mateo was there, leaning up against the wall instead of helping, the lazy fuck.
“Sirena, leave that. I’ll carry it inside in a minute. Come, sit down a second.” I settled her at the breakfast bar. She was protesting that she was okay, but her skin was clammy.
Mateo peeled himself off the wall but had the sense not to sit down. “Arturo, hi.”
“Mateo, wasn’t expecting to see you.”
“I came to pick up some papers.”
“Are you staying for a drink?” I let him know by my tone that he was to turn it down. Julia had gone, but Solitaire was still shaky, and I wanted some alone time with her. Normally I’d explain why, but I was irritated. He must have seen Solitaire wasn’t feeling well. That’s Mateo all over, though; he’s always had a chip on his shoulder. You’d think he would count himself lucky with a mother who adored him and a father who, although not married to his mother, provided generously for him, but all Mateo ever focuses on is that his birth certificate marks him a bastard.
Actually, Papa provided for Mateo’s mom, Mateo and all the other illigits when he was alive, and he spent time with them, too, just like he did with all of us, but he never made a will. As the only and eldest son I got the lot, so I handed out keepsakes and settlements to Kyle and the girls, and I made sure that all of papa’s illigits got their allowances, scholarships and college grants as usual. Papa’s accounts showed me who was getting what, and I knew it’s what he would have wanted, so it was easiest just to keep it going and to tell everyone it was his wish. It keeps his memory green, you see, and I value that.
Mateo never speaks about our father, good or bad, and now he was standing there, looking sulky. “I’ll go and leave you to it.”
Mateo’s flat tones revealed his hurt feelings, so I reconsidered. He can’t help being a stupid fuck, and he does work hard.
“Mateo, Solitaire got dosed with coke last night, and she’s feeling lousy.”
“I heard. That was a bad thing to happen.”
“Yeah, it was touch and go for a while and Solitaire is still shaky. Please, tell the guys on the gate to turn everyone else away, would you? We need some alone time to recover.”
Mateo suddenly smiled. “Sure. I didn’t realise. Listen, get better soon, okay, Solitaire? Anything you want from LA?”
“No thanks. Unless you can get me Hugh Jackman?”
“Solitaire,” I said firmly, “is clearly still cooked.”
“Yeah, I meant Chris Evans.”
Mateo laughed and took off.
“He says we’re old friends,” Solitaire said abruptly. “I don’t remember him.”
I could see she was a little freaked. “He saw you once at Escamilla’s. You called him a bastard.”
“That’s it?”
“It’s the worst thing you could have said.”
I told her what Mateo was like and how he’d misread the situation.
When I was done, Solitaire was shaking her head. “But he knows now, and he’s still pissed off? He’s a bit of a prick, Arturo.”
“I know, but he’s a great accountant. If he had people skills, he’d really be going places.”
“He’ll be going through the window if he gives me grief,” Solitaire muttered.
I took it as a sign that she was feeling better again and took her through to the den. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I spent an evening at home without visitors. It was fucking fantastic. We ate leftovers in front of the TV and watched the first two Predator movies. I’m a sucker for action movies, and as it turned out, Solitaire was enjoying herself, too.
“I’ve just realised something seriously cool,” she said afterwards. “I can watch all the great films as if I’m seeing them for the first time!”
It slays me when she does that, making fun of bad times. “How about a Jaws marathon?”
“Brilliant! Jaws, is that another alien film?”
“Nope, but speaking of Alien, we’ll have some of the cousins round end of this week for a horror fest. Slime, gore and popcorn.”
“Excellent!” Solitaire was leaning into me comfortably. “Cousins, huh? Does it include sisters? Has Julia forgiven me, or am I still on the shit list?”
“You’ve moved from chupita to That Woman.”
“Sounds like progress to me.”
I was braced for another earful about how bitchy my sisters are, but Solitaire didn’t say a word. “You’re not going to say anything about Julia?”
“Why would I?” Solitaire looked surprised. “She is who she is, Arturo. She’ll get over it.”
“Right.” But I wasn’t so sure.
“If I were her brother though, I’d chase that stripper out of town.”
“Kyle already took care of that.”
“Then Salvatore will probably be back soon.”
“You think?”
“Sure. He’s a weak man, but he loves your sister. I saw that last night. He probably just had a mad moment, you know, one tequila too many. A young girl with an eye for money would cut him out of the pack in seconds.”
“You know, sirena, you may not remember Jaws or who you are, but your street smarts are all present and correct.”
“Yeah, strange, huh? Let’s not talk about it, though.”
“Painful?”
“Painfully boring. Luz and Eva quiz me every ten minutes. They think it’s pure soap opera, and they’re loving it.” Solitaire grinned. “At least they like me. They’re pumped, because we’re starting self defence classes tomorrow. Kyle, Pepe Rojo, and Gordo are teaching us.”
“Jesus, Gordo is ex Guatemalan Special Forces, and Pepe was in the FES, our Fuerzas Especiales.”
“Yeah, Pepe says he can snap a neck in three different ways in under a second,” Solitaire smiled happily. “Chloe’s coming, too, and so are some of your nieces. They’re all excited about the idea.”
“Well, I guess it will lead to a sudden improvement in manners.”
“Or some painful moments of quiet self-reflection.”
Solitaire has a way with words, and I found out she’s also an efficient organiser. She had Do It Fit Gym, a local company, deliver mats and an assortment of sparring protective gear, and she’d told Eva to source cotton trousers and loose tops from small sewing shops in town.
“You don’t need fancy gear,” Solitaire pointed out, “so let’s put a bit of money into the local community.”
The next morning, an hour before breakfast, I watched Kyle and his men teach the girls to fall, and then demonstrate how to counter attackers by aiming for the balls, throat and eyes.
I say that I watched, but I only got halfway though my first coffee when I was roped in to play one of the attackers. It’s just as well I train with Kyle and his men a couple of times a month, or Eva would have gelded me for life. She’s quiet, demure and kicks with the artistry of a ballerina and the strength of a mule. What can I say? It was a blast.
“I can’t think why we haven’t done this before,” Kyle said afterwards. “I taught Chloe a few things, but really, why didn’t we do this for our girls years ago?”
“We always think we’ll be there to protect them,” Gordo said.
“Nah, it’s because I like to pinch a girl’s ass and not lose my balls,” countered Pepe.
“This from the man who knows three ways to snap a neck?”
“I was lying. I know six.”
So the men were happy, the girls went around giggling, and I was feeling pretty goddamn good – until the reports came in about Songbird.
“We’ve completed our investigation of the English operation, and we’ve not identified Songbird,” Kyle announced.
We kept the meeting small, part of security protocol, so it was just Kyle, Quique, Chumillo and Rafa and me. Checking out the UK operation had been a bitch because we’d had to check out twenty of our own who’d helped set up over there, as well as another fifty we’d inherited when we took over the operation.
As there’s no point in being half-assed, we’d also run checks on the VJs, DJs, and customs people, just in case. We’d tried casting the net wider, but there had been too many part time contractors, some of whom had worked off the books. Also, the set-up in England is not like Mexico where you pick a cartel and you’re in for life. Over there you get a lot of people moving in and out of organisations. Senior staff are loyal, but the younger men are often first generation operators. They have no roots, so they work in different outfits until they find one they see a good future with.
I was painfully aware that there were at least thirty men out there we hadn’t talked to who might have been Songbird. Everyone else was looking glum, too, so I reminded them it hadn’t been a complete waste of time. “At least we discovered one undercover agent at customs and two VJs who blabbed to the Serious Fraud Squad.”
“I get the narc,” Quique growled, “that’s just business. But those music pricks demand handouts and then rat. They’re scum.”
“Ever since they brought in that Bribery Act a couple of years ago, they’ve been itching to catch what they call ‘foreign influences’,” Chumillo grumped. “So they monitor accounts and put the squeeze on everyone who puts in a few extra bucks.”
“I guess they’re worried we overpay and raise prices beyond what the local market can bear.” Rafa is twenty-three years old but he’s a real cynic. I guess our business does that to you.
“We’ve got to face facts,” I said. “Songbird was at Escamilla’s, and he got into the safe. But we’ve no idea who it was, and it looks like we won’t be finding out any time soon.”