Los Zetas Cartel Collection (3 book series)

by AJ Adams

  “You think I’d hit you?”

  I was going to make a smart remark about spanking until I saw he was all tensed up. Who would have guessed Arturo cared what anyone, least of all me, thought of him? But he was hurt, so I said the first thing that came into my head and told him I’d had a nightmare.

  He didn’t buy it, but he got the message that I wasn’t frightened of him, and that was true enough. We had a smooch, and I thought I was in for some slap and tickle, but then his phone buzzed again. He disappeared, off to some secret meeting by the sound of it, and I had the day to myself.

  It didn’t start off too hot. I’d been lying when I told Arturo I had a nightmare, but when I dozed off again, I had strange dreams. Bits and pieces of my past were floating back, and it was pretty awful. Apart from the vignettes of Escamilla slapping my face and the beheading, there was one horror where I was looking down at a dead body; it was the blond bloke I’d seen before.

  Lying in bed, I could also remember people shouting at me, threatening me. They were all men. Some black, some white, some yelling in English, and some in other languages that I only vaguely understood. Some of them tried to hit me, and I knew I’d belted some of them. I couldn’t remember their names but knew they’d crossed me, and I’d hurt them back the best I knew how. I’d been filled with rage and despair, and taking it out on them had given me a savage pleasure.

  I’d also dreamed of my mother. She was lying in a hospital bed, and it was like viewing a body; there was nothing left, only a husk kept alive by machines pushing air in and out of her and dripping food into her bloodstream. In my dream, I tried to get through to her and was frustrated by being locked in a cage. It was so real that I woke up actually feeling the cold metal bars against my skin.

  After waking up with a start of the horrors three times, I gave up trying to rest. I had a shower and tried to put it all together. I decided the men weren’t important. What mattered was my mum. She really had died when daddy shot her, but I realised that I must have tortured myself by visiting her, and when Escamilla had threatened the little that was left, I’d been unable to tell him to go fuck himself.

  I could see why I’d done it, but in the cold light of day, all those weeks with him had been pointless. She’d gone, and I hadn’t known or been there for her. I sat in the shower and cried for a while. That made me feel better, and then I got out and got dressed.

  There was nothing I could do for my mum anymore; she was gone. The pain was clear enough, and I knew I’d done something to get back at Escamilla. From what Arturo had said, I’d sold Escamilla out. I must have known Arturo would kill him. So I’m a vengeful bitch. I’m not sorry. Escamilla deserved everything he had coming to him. Thinking it over, actually, maybe he went too fast.

  From what I remembered of my past, I decided that I’d not so much drifted as driven myself into shitty situations. Maybe I’d wanted to die. It certainly felt like it. Well, this was my turnabout point. No more fucking around, swamped in misery. I decided I was going to grab the best life possible and live it. To the outside eye, I was still in deep shit, but I wasn’t bothered that Arturo was cartel; he was good to me, I liked him and that’s all that mattered.

  Seeing that Arturo was going to be some time, I planned a leisurely breakfast reading every newspaper I could lay my hands on. A small thing, maybe, but to me hanging out and reading felt like sheer luxury, so I’d start my new life by smelling the roses.

  The two minders Arturo left with me were not local. They were sitting on the sofa, watching the news, and neither looked friendly when I came out.

  “Buenos días. Soy Solitaire.” My Spanish came out beautifully. It was a surprise until I realised I must have picked it up from Fuentes or Escamilla.

  “Rafa,” the tall one said.

  “Chumillo,” the other muttered.

  “Vamos a desayunar?”

  They nodded but maintained a stubborn silence as we went downstairs to breakfast. I didn’t give a fuck; I was going to enjoy myself.

  They insisted we take the stairs, flanked me the whole way and put me at a corner table away from the window. That and the way they examined everyone told me these two were serious bodyguards. They were nothing like the people from the security company; these were people who’d shoot first and ask questions later. They didn’t like me, but they made me feel very safe.

  I was intending to feast on bacon and eggs, but the newspapers acted as a diet aid. The Met had put together a case and were announcing ‘significant leads’ that would soon lead to arrests. This time there were pictures of Arturo, some Russian Mafioso called Zubkov, and me. It didn’t look good. The stuff about Arturo and Zubkov hinted at all sorts of dark stuff, but I guess lawyers had stopped them from going all out on accusations. They obviously reckoned I was dead meat, because they’d gone to town on me.

  I read every word, because I couldn’t help myself. The nice writers suggested I’d become unhinged after the murder-suicide that destroyed my family; the rest simply said I was pond scum. Both were keen to tell the world about my being arrested and beaten up, and my fucking my way around Europe’s villains, so it was just a short step for them to speculate that I’d gone from bad girl to homicidal maniac. The difference between the two? The ones who said I was a lunatic had a picture of me on a pony, winning a cup for eventing.

  I wasn’t surprised to see Escamilla got a nasty obit. He’d been in England for six months and had not made any friends. He’d been involved in two rapes and a beating that had landed the victim in a wheelchair for life. I looked at that cadaverous face, and I was glad again that he was dead. Even so, I knew the plods would be knocking on my door soon, and it wasn’t likely they’d be coming to celebrate with me. If the newspapers were right, they thought I was part of the problem and best off behind bars.

  I read every paper there was and then had some more tea. Arturo had made it clear he wasn’t worried, but I wasn’t sure if he knew what he was up against. The newspapers were full of stories about cartel exploits in Mexico, and I’d no doubt he was at the top of the food chain there, but I saw nothing about his being in England before.

  My brain was still a big fat blank when it came to knowing things like where I’d been last week, but I did know it wasn’t a simple matter to bribe or coerce English police and judges. Not when it came to twenty counts of murder and one of arson.

  Thinking it through, I decided Arturo would have lawyers galore and probably a well thought out alibi, but I was on a sticky wicket. I’d been living with Escamilla, and I had a record; that made me fair game.

  If I were a copper, I’d detain me on suspicion and keep me locked up. Twenty-four hours can be a long time, and for a serious crime, they could get a judge to sign off on keeping me behind bars for four days. If they were feeling nasty, they might use those petrol bombs Chema had set off to detain me as a suspected terrorist. If that happened, they could keep me for two weeks.

  I wasn’t sure if I could keep my mouth shut for that long. There are lots of ways to hurt a girl without leaving any marks, and something told me that this could get very rough very fast.

  It should have occurred to me that spilling the beans might give me a free pass, but strangely enough, it didn’t. Arturo sitting on the edge of the bed earlier that morning had underlined how different he was from the men I remembered. I liked him, we had a deal, and I wasn’t going to let him down.

  I was so totally focused on finding a way to manage what was sure to come next that I didn’t notice the other hotel guests begin to stare. Someone had picked up a paper and spotted me. Just as the first woman picked up her phone and pointed it at me, Rafa and Chumillo drifted over and accidentally-on-purpose blocked me from view.

  “You’re attracting attention,” Rafa murmured.

  “Get room service if you’re not done yet,” Chumillo suggested.

  “I’m done. Let’s get out of here.”

  They marched me upstairs without another word, but I was glad they’d got
ten me out so efficiently.

  I tried a cheery “Muchas gracias”, but the freeze seemed to be permanent. We sat in front of the idiot box, and while they watched an old football match, my mind was turning things over and getting absolutely nowhere. Then the sweeper punched the referee on the nose, and I had a brilliant idea.

  It was just as well, really, because not five minutes later the phone rang, and then Chumillo was on his feet. “Into the bedroom, and shut up.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “The police are here. Do as you’re told!”

  He put a hand on my arm, but I shrugged him off. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not afraid of those fuckers.”

  Chumillo took my arm again, and before I knew what I was doing, I’d twisted away, grabbed him by the wrist and shoved it behind his back – well, almost. He hadn’t meant to hurt me, so I took him by surprise, but before I could get him in a decent lock, he’d put a foot behind mine, spilling me almost to the floor. I didn’t hit it, because he caught me and put me on my feet. “Listen, I’m trying to protect you!”

  “I’ll protect myself, thank you very much!”

  “Shit, pick her up and carry her!” That was Rafa.

  “Try it, and you get a knee in the balls!”

  At that point there was a bang on the door, and two rozzers came barging in.

  “Police! Everyone just keep calm!” one yelled.

  “And keep your hands where we can see them!” the other added.

  Rafa and Chumillo were instantly standing in front of me.

  “Fuck off,” Rafa snarled.

  “You’re in the wrong room,” Chumillo snapped. “Get out!”

  Chumillo was moving backwards, trying to shove me into the bedroom, but I wasn’t having it. I had a plan, and it wasn’t going to work if they kept a closed door between me and them. In fact, I had to be up close and personal. What’s more, I also knew I had to be quick as Arturo would be on his way.

  So I nipped round my minders and went for it. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, pushing your way in here? Get out!”

  There were two plods, one beefy, one skinny, and both tall. The beefy one was hot, sweaty and bothered-looking, so I got right in his face.

  He didn’t like it one bit, but he didn’t shift an inch. “Hello, Solitaire.”

  I hadn’t planned to face someone who knew me, but there was nothing I could do about it. I had to go ahead and hope for the best.

  Rafa was on the phone and Chumillo was standing next to me, hovering watchfully and looking ready to take out anyone who put a hand on me. Beefy stared at them and stepped towards the window, away from them.

  I motioned Chumillo back. “Give me a sec, okay?”

  “Arturo is on his way,” he murmured.

  “I know. I only need a second. Let me do this.”

  Chumillo blinked and then shrugged. “Okay.”

  Beefy was grinning nastily. I decided I didn’t like him at all. “Now girlie, this can go two ways. Either you give it all up right now, or it’s bracelets.”

  Girlie. Yuk. Worse than Solly. I stuck my nose in the air and looked bored, certain it would annoy him. “I’ve got nothing to say to you.”

  I thought he’d say something about me being at Escamilla’s but he didn’t even mention it.

  He leaned in close. “Listen to me, Solitaire. You can act the ice-cold bitch all you like, but believe me when I say I’ll take you in for questioning, just like last time. I’ll keep you overnight, just like last time. I’ll put the word round saying you talked, just like last time. Then I put you back on the street. Think you’ll get away with a beating this time?”

  So that’s why Danjuma had beaten me up. “You fucker! You set me up?”

  He was grinning. “You hadn’t figured it out? You stupid stuck-up bitch! You wouldn’t cooperate. What did you think I’d do?”

  I was fuming. I saw that fist coming towards my face again, and here was the shit who’d set it up.

  “Danjuma beat the fuck out of you, but Vazquez will kill you,” he whispered. “I’ll make sure of it.”

  I saw the skinny one twitch. He didn’t like what he was hearing, but he wouldn’t interfere. Good. I didn’t want him messing this up. I was thinking about beefy. The way he was talking came across as personal. Way too personal. For a second it made no sense and then a light bulb went off in my head.

  “Still sore that I turned you down?” I whispered. I could see by the way his eyes shifted that I was spot on. I put a hand on his arm. “Would it help if I changed my mind?”

  Beefy began to smile. “Maybe.”

  I leaned in really close and gave it to him straight. “I don’t fuck losers.”

  Beefy reared back, white with rage.

  “Arrest me if you like!” I screamed. “You can go fuck yourself! I’m not saying a bloody word!”

  My being totally in his face pushed him over the edge. I saw Chumillo surge forward, but beefy swung and popped me in the face. I saw it coming and did nothing to stop it. It hurt like hell and sent me spinning into skinny’s arms.

  The second that slap landed, all hell broke loose. Rafa jumped forward and pulled out a gun while Chumillo dashed in, plucked me away and pushed me behind him, shielding me with his body. I peeked over his shoulder. Beefy was white, looking at the gun in his face, and skinny was wailing for everyone to calm down.

  “Stop!” Arturo came piling into the room, followed by Lucifer and his crew. They looked menacing, but Arturo was smiling, completely relaxed. “Put it away, Rafa.”

  Rafa lowered the gun reluctantly. “He hit her.”

  At Rafa’s words, Arturo’s smile vanished. He blinked, and then he was making for beefy. He had the same look as when he was choking Danjuma, and this time there would be no mercy; Arturo was going in for the kill.

  I twisted out of Chumillo’s grip and threw myself at Arturo. It was like trying to stop a bull in mid charge, but I got my arms around his neck and hung on.

  “I made him hit me!” I hissed in Arturo’s ear. Arturo stopped dead. I took advantage of his surprise and pushed him back, away from beefy. “He assaulted me in front of witnesses. He can’t arrest me now.”

  One thing about Arturo: he’s quick. He touched my cheek, smiled at me and then glared at beefy and skinny. “Names and badge numbers!”

  There was some glaring and grumbling, but they couldn’t refuse. Beefy was McClutsky, skinny was Davenport, and they were Serious Crime Squad. This was trouble, but Arturo didn’t care. He looked them over and sneered. With him in Armani and the plods in polyester, plus them being caught out, they looked pretty glum. They didn’t like the crew surrounding them, either. Me, I was enjoying myself. It’s nice to be on the winning side.

  “We can book you for possession of a deadly weapon and assaulting a police officer,” Davenport threatened Rafa. “You can get life for that.”

  “Slapping Solitaire can cost you your life,” Arturo growled.

  There was a dead silence, and after a brief staring stand-off, the plods dropped their eyes, and Arturo won.

  “We have questions!” McClutsky was trying on some last minute blustering.

  “Refer them to my lawyer.”

  Kyle loomed briefly, and spoke quietly to Arturo. Whatever it was, it was good news. Arturo grinned and looked at his watch. The crew was looking smug. Whatever it was, they were expecting to have some fun. The entertainment entered the room a minute later.

  “’Allo, ‘allo, ‘allo! What’s all this then?” He was a real comedian in a blue suit with a red tie and eyes deader than a shark’s. McClutsky and Davenport looked grim the second they spotted him. He nodded at them. “Hello, lads. I’ll take over now, if you don’t mind.”

  “Hello, Fred.” Arturo shook hands. “Have a seat.”

  Then we all sat down, with me on the sofa next to Arturo, and we acted out a little comedy.

  Fred brought out a notebook and a pen, flipped through a few pages and put on an
impressive frown. Then he switched on a little tape recorder, said the date and time and turned to Arturo. “Mr Arturo Vazquez, resident of Nuevo Laredo, Mexico?”

  “That’s me.”

  “I’m afraid I have to ask you some questions.”

  “I’m happy to help in any way.”

  “Did you know José Escamilla?”

  “Of course!” Arturo replied. “He managed my record company for me. We were supposed to meet today. I was shocked when I heard he was dead.”

  “Were you close?”

  “Not really. It was a business relationship.”

  Fred nodded. “Mr Vazquez, where were you on the evening of Friday the third?”

  “That’s the night we arrived,” Arturo replied genially. “We landed at about five, I think.”

  “We were coming in to land at about five,” Kyle corrected him. “Touchdown was about six.”

  “Yeah, but don’t forget daylight saving,” Quique added. “And we lost that bag, remember? The one hidden under one of the seats? It took us an hour just to get out of the airport.”

  “So you arrived between five and eight,” Fred was writing busily. “And then?”

  “We came here,” Arturo said. “But we got a bit lost on the way.”

  “So about an hour and a half?”

  “More like three hours, I’d say. Traffic was hell.”

  “It was my fault,” Chema said. “I was driving, and I turned north instead of south. Got stuck in a jam, and it took forever to get here.”

  “And we stopped for snacks.” Kyle was being helpful again. “It was dark when we got here, remember?”

  “So you checked in about ten or eleven?”

  “We didn’t check in at all,” Arturo said. “Someone from central office did that for us and left the key in the car at the airport. We just drove in, parked and came straight up.”

  “You know, it might have been close to midnight,” Quique was musing.

  “Maybe.” Arturo agreed. “But I can’t be certain.”

  “Check hotel CCTV,” Kyle suggested.

  “There isn’t any,” Fred answered. He waited as the crew deplored this terribly unfortunate circumstance and then continued. “Did anyone see you?”