“Not lapdog. Ally. And you know when. Since Rio Alto fell. Since Rico told us what really happened there, and your reaction was to throw a hissy fit about one kid. Our capital is nothing but ashes, and you couldn’t care less. I knew then that you have no interest in the greater good, just in profit.”
“So it was you, not Rico. All along,” comes Diego’s sober response to her confession. “You tried to kill me, and then placed the blame on my brother.”
“He was an easy target. And I needed a fall guy.”
“You used him and made me believe—”
“You believed what you wanted to believe. Don’t pretend to be the good guy here, Diego. I fed the flames, but you and your brother started that fire long before I came in. You were itching to get rid of him so much that you jumped at the opportunity. You should thank me, actually.”
“But why not kill me and be done with it? Why go to all this trouble? Why this charade?”
Ortiz finally speaks. His voice is thunderous with patriotism. “This charade, as you call it, is being civilized. Ortega and I were planning a peaceful transition of power as she became more powerful and gained the loyalty of the members. There was no need for bloodshed.”
Diego snorts. “Oh, please. Like I believe that.”
“No need for unnecessary bloodshed, at least. But our plans were derailed.”
“Oh, I hate when that happens,” Diego says with dripping sarcasm.
Ana Cruz’s nostrils flare. “It was because of you! You stole the cure from me. If Guavina is to have any chance, it needs it. I didn’t spend months searching for it in the black market, so you could bargain it away for one life. This is about the future of our country, not your family.”
“Enough. We are still here to make a deal, Vargas,” Ortiz yells, spreading his legs even further apart.
“What deal?”
“Your son can still walk out of this alive, if you cooperate and give us the vial of the cure.”
Felix shoves the boy toward Ana and she yanks him by the collar, pressing her hands on his shoulders. Alex looks at me with frightened eyes. I want to do something, but I can’t fight against this many people.
“When you left us in the jungle, I rushed back, hoping to find the cure inside your safe. It wasn’t. Where did you hide it? I want what’s mine, Diego.”
Chills run all over my body. I suddenly remember the start of our journey, when Diego promised he wouldn’t let this woman have the cure … because I was the one who would get Alex back.
Now, she’s the one holding his son’s life in her hands.
Diego looks at me for a brief second with an expression I can’t decipher before facing Ana again. “I tell you where it is, and you kill me one second later. That still leaves Alex in danger. Doesn’t seem like a good deal to me. I need guarantees.”
Ana Cruz shakes her head, amused. “Only you would make demands in this situation, Diego. You’re surrounded. You have no allies. Time to wake up. All these years trying to tame the cartel only surrounded you with enemies who saw how weak you really are. You thought you could control the biggest criminal organization in this country. Thought you could control the people around you. You can’t. Just as you can’t control this. Tell us where the cure is, or Alessandro dies.”
I hold my breath, every muscle in my body pulsing with adrenaline as I wait for his decision. A decision that will determine the fate of my mother.
“I don’t have it with me. And it isn’t here.”
His vague answer doesn’t sway General Ortiz in the least. “No stalling. I want a straight answer or the boy is dead.”
At his cue, Ana takes out a handgun and points it against Alex’s temple. The boy whimpers.
Diego raises the palm of his hand. “Wait! Don’t. It’s with Juanita, back at Isabel’s shack. I told her to keep it safe and only tell where it was to me when the time came. If anyone else asks for it, she’ll destroy it.”
I squeeze my eyes shut for a second, a painful lump forming in my throat. There’s no coming back from that.
The woman sucks her lower lip in, glaring at Diego with narrow eyes. “If this is a trick—”
Diego stiffens. “No tricks. Just good business. You know I’m a businessman first and foremost, Ana. We worked together long enough for you to know that. I always choose the path of least resistance, if possible. I’m telling the truth.”
The air leaves my lungs as if someone has just punched me in the gut.
“You let Alex and Isabel go, give me your word that they are not to be harmed, and I’ll tell Juanita to hand the cure over.”
I swallow dry. Either I watch Alex die in front of me or I stand by as my mother is condemned to a half-life for as long as her frail body can draw breath. There’s no way out.
Ana Cruz whispers something in Ortiz’s ear. Finally, he nods. “All right, Vargas. We’ll let your boy go, but I’m afraid that Isabel will have to stay.”
“She has nothing to do with this—”
Ana interrupts him. “She has everything to do with this. And you know it. The second we let her go, she’ll race to the shack. She stays. And—”
Ortiz raises a hand for her to stop talking. “And after we have the cure, I’ll allow her to leave unharmed. But only after the cure is safely in my hands.”
Diego glances back at me. Our eyes meet. I shake my head furiously, trying to plead with him to stop whatever he’s doing. The second he takes the deal, he’s dead. We all are.
“Diego, don’t do it. They will kill us both anyway.”
He sighs, turns around, and nods. “We have a deal. Now let him go first.”
Ortiz throws a nod at Ana Cruz.
She leans in and says in the boy’s right ear, “Go on. Run along.”
She takes her hands off the boy, who glances at her one last time before hurrying toward his father. Diego kneels and hugs him tight, whispering in his ear as he holds Alex with a hand on the back of his son’s head. He kisses his forehead and then untangles himself despite the boy’s protests.
“Be strong. Isabel will find you after all of this is done, okay? If she … If she doesn’t, I want you to find your uncle. He’ll take care of you.”
Alex shakes his head, clinging to his father like he’s about to disappear at any second.
“Alessandro, please.”
The vulnerability in his voice shatters me, the reality of our situation crashing down around me. There’s no escaping this. I’m going to lose the cure and Diego. Everything is ruined and I’m helpless to stop it.
Alex lets go of his father and stumbles between the soldiers on his way to the exit. At the door, he looks at us with red eyes. I give him a reassuring nod. He leaves.
Diego closes his eyes and lets out a relieved sigh.
“Now fulfill your end of the bargain,” Ortiz says.
His eyes linger on the door for a few seconds, then he nods. “All right. Let’s just go to the shack and get this over with, then.”
The General raises a bushy eyebrow. “Leave? Oh, there’s no need for that.” He waves at one of his men, who approaches Diego with a satellite phone in his hands. “You can talk to this Juanita of yours, right now, right here. I heard she has one herself.”
If by a miracle Diego was trying to buy himself time, his plan just went down in the drain.
The soldier offers him the phone, but it takes Diego a few seconds to react, his shoulder sinking.
Ortiz’s smirk lifts his thick moustache. “I would be pretty dumb to relinquish my current tactical advantage and step into unknown territory, wouldn’t I?”
All the vigor, all the emotion is gone from Diego’s voice. He looks straight at me and mutters, “I’m sorry.”
As tears swell in my eyes, he snatches the device from the soldier’s hands and turns it on.
Never has static sounded so horrifying. He pushes a button, then spins a dial to find the right frequency. Apart from the radio, everyone is silent, waiting with bated breath for
the response.
“Hello? Who is this?”
“It’s me, Juanita. It’s Diego.” His voice sends shivers through my spine—it’s too empty, too defeated. Nothing like the man I traveled with this far.
“Oh, Dieguito! So good to hear your voice. I’ve been worried, and—”
“Listen, Juanita.”
“Yes?”
Once again, Diego turns in my direction. I swallow hard but meet his gaze. He offers me an apologetic smile, then raises the phone to his mouth.
“Last time, I couldn’t talk to you because I was feeding the monkeys, remember? But now, the sun is setting in the jungle.”
Finally, I understand why he asked me to tell her that stupid phrase when I climbed the tree to find a signal, days ago. It was a code.
“I understand. What you want me to do?”
“I want you to cure Isabel’s mother—”
“Stop him!” Ana Cruz screams, rushing to stop him.
Stunned, I stare at Diego, my mouth agape and heart pounding in my ears.
“Do you copy, Juanita?” Diego yells louder than Ana Cruz’s protests. “Cure her mother! Do it now!”
“Yes, I understand—”
The soldier punches Diego and he stumbles, the phone flying out of his hands and at Ana’s feet. She snatches it.
“Juanita, ignore that order! We need that cure! Guavina—”
Static. The light turns red. The call is over. Furious, Ana Cruz tries again and again to reach Juanita.
“It won’t work. Unlike you, Juanita is loyal to me. It’s over, Ana. Isabel’s mother will be cured in a few minutes and you lost.”
The rage in the woman’s eyes is terrifying. Her face becomes deformed beyond recognition. She punches him right in the face. Diego stumbles backward but doesn’t fall.
“You egotistical prick! Don’t you see what you did? You ruined everything! Why? Why condemn our country like this? And for what?”
He touches the spot where she hit him, then smiles. “I don’t like losing… and I made a promise to a lady.”
I’m shaking, rooted to this very spot, unable to move because my shock is so intense. My relief. My happiness … And my love for him.
Ana shakes her head slowly as if incapable of understanding what he just said.
Meanwhile, Ortiz strides forward while keeping his hands on his back. He stops in front of Diego. “You wasted my time, my resources, and my patience, Vargas.”
The General carefully opens the flap of his belt holster and pulls his handgun out. At the sight of the gun, I run toward them.
It’s too late. I’m too slow.
“But I’m happy to waste my bullets to end this.”
Gunshot burns my ears and I scream.
My mother always told me—take care of your brother. You’re bigger, stronger, and older than him, so keep him safe.
At first, I bought into that lie. Ten-year-old me could’ve jumped in front of a car to save Diego. Then, things got messier. Being strong, punching someone’s face, wasn’t going to cut it anymore. Diego needed clothes, school supplies, a bicycle, English lessons … and that nice diploma my mother framed, proudly displaying it on a wall.
Nobody asked me to become a criminal. I’m sure my mother believed I had better, lawful ways to provide for our family, and I just refused to be a good person.
What I refused was being humiliated. You try, and you try, but people look at your worn flip-flops, your sweat-stained, too-big shirt, smell your I-just-had-to-take-a-four-hour-trip-on-a-crowded-bus special fragrance—by Dolce Gabana—and decide that the job opening has just been filled. Like, five seconds ago. Sometimes, they didn’t even bother with the excuses. The disgusted look was enough.
So, yeah, when some street kid said I could make some money fast by working for El Loro, what else was I going to do? Money is money. And it helped that I was great at punching people in the face.
But whatever, that’s not my point.
My point is that Diego became a pain in the ass. And it got worse with the years. He had the silver tongue of the family, quickly becoming friends with El Loro and anyone else who mattered in the shantytown where we lived.
He was charming, knew how to speak English, and wore clothes that matched, even gelled his hair. Everyone either loved him or was amused by how different he was from them.
I was one of the guys, but Diego was better than most of the guys.
Not that I resented that, no matter how much he says I do.
My issue was with the way he looked down on our roots, on my way of dealing with things. He wanted to do more, be more, and El Loro was in the way of those ambitions.
I liked working for El Loro. He told you to do something, you did it, and he rewarded you with money, booze, drugs, or hookers. Simple. Easy. No fuss.
With Diego, the job got complicated. The stakes were higher. He was making deals with politicians, with the police, and then, finally, with the Army. Everyone I hated. Everyone my brothers in the cartel hated.
But Diego was my blood brother, and that nagging voice of my dead mother kept going inside my head—take care of your brother. And I did.
All the dirty jobs Diego didn’t want to get involved with, I handled. Breaking fingers, busting faces, and burying bodies. I cleaned up the traitors, the snitches, and the rats that circled Diego, whispering into his ears, hoping to get him arrested or take over the business.
Meanwhile, my brother took the family to Disney Freaking World. Sent that bitch ex-wife of his on a trip to Paris, then Miami, and then New York. She made him buy a nice mansion on Plaza Bolivar, its garage filled with Italian and German sports cars. And once or twice, he threw money at our shanty neighborhood, building soccer fields and schools.
The most charming criminal in the world, they called him.
It’s easy to keep your hands clean when you are using them to block your eyes from the truth.
I won a war for him, and wars demand blood. Was he grateful? No. He was disgusted by me. Pissed off I went “too far”.
No bloodshed, he said. No civilian casualties. Let’s hide in the jungle until things calm down.
And my reward? Exile. That’s what I got from my little brother after all those years. What a load of crap.
I wanted revenge; I wanted to settle the debts he owed me. So I waited, and I watched. Once he poked his big head out of Punta Franca, I knew it was the moment I was waiting for.
But as I raised my gun and pulled the trigger, my mother’s words came back to me like a hell of a headache.
Well, actually, that was Ripley’s kick. The girl got me good.
Yet, once I woke up, pissed and sore, the image of my brother’s wide eyes full of actual fear couldn’t leave my head. He was afraid of me. His big brother. The guy who taught him how to punch, how to ride a bicycle—damn thing was expensive—and how to buy a girl a drink.
Yet even afraid of me, even knowing I meant to really kill him that time, Diego still didn’t lift a finger to hurt me. That means something too.
It means I’m getting sentimental with old age.
I let them go. I decided to stop my little revenge mission and embrace the life of a jungle hermit. But, as another great criminal once said, just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.
On a supply run, I find some coca farmers discussing the change of leadership in Punta Franca. Yep. Ana Cruz Ortega, the devil woman herself, took over the throne.
I didn’t leave Diego alive just so he could lose it all. So I headed back home. The journey to Punta Franca was slow and boring. You don’t need to know about that. What you need to know is that I set up shop on the rooftop of the building in front of City Hall and waited with my sniper rifle. For what? I don’t know exactly. A chance to shoot Ana’s mug. An opportunity to cause the most damage. A spark of hope that my brother was still alive.
For the first few days, everything is quiet and I enjoy the view and the perks of being so near fresh food and clean water.
Then Ortiz arrived. Followed a day later by Diego himself. At first I think they are all in cahoots, but guns are involved. So I take a nice drag of my cigar before putting it out against the concrete and sitting straight. Vacation time is over.
I take aim and shoot.
General Ortiz’s brains paint the walls. Chaos ensues. They take a few seconds to understand where the shot came from, and while they do, I shoot a few more soldiers in the head. The rest of them jump behind cover. It doesn’t help.
Ana shoots back, the already broken glass of the office’s window shattering into tiny pieces. But she has a handgun. I have a sniper rifle.
The bullet punctures her lungs and she likely dies while gasping blood. Yeah, I feel a little regret over it. But I wasn’t made for love. Neither was she.
Once the slaughter is over, Diego stands in the middle of the bodies and turns in my direction. He’s too far to see my face, but the way he nods tells me he knows. Somehow, he knows.
It’s a pain, but what can a big brother do?
Mother always said I had to take care of my stupid, charming little brother.
The shack is exactly like I left it. Its roof is barely holding together, water dripping from the tiles, forming small muddy ponds around the porch. I stand in front of my old home, rooted to a single spot, unable to step through the door.
Diego holds me by the waist. “Hey, it’s okay. Go on.”
His presence gives me the courage to enter the shack. The first thing I notice is the aroma of rice and beans, but not just any rice and beans. My mother’s.
Steam comes off a cooker, its cover trembling—the food is almost ready, but the cook is nowhere to be seen. Without thinking, I rush to the bedroom, my heart skipping a beat at the thought of seeing her again, but the bed is empty.
“Juanita took her for a stroll. She was stuck on a bed for a long time, so she needs physical therapy. But she’ll be back soon.”
“How … how long until she’s fully recovered?”
“She has a long way ahead of her. She’s not one-hundred-percent recovered, but Juanita is hopeful. Your mother is one tough woman. I guess it runs in the family or something.” He winks.
Deadly Hearts: A Post Apocalyptic Romance Novel Page 21