by AJ Adams
“I thought that stuff made you lose your mind?” It was one of Arturo’s crew.
“Usually I’m busting through barriers, and we don’t need them to hang about after.” Kyle again. “When someone wants to cooperate, it’s different. She’s fine.”
“And she came through one hundred percent.” That was Arturo.
So I wasn’t a double-dealing snitch. Well, that was nice to know.
“Hijo de puta, saying she’s a rat! That’s low, real low. He should pay.”
Even better: they were thinking of doing Davis over. Brilliant. He deserved it.
I lay there while they talked, thinking things over. Whatever Kyle had given me had rippled through that dark pool of memories, uncovering more of the past. It was as if those flashes were islands of memory, and Kyle’s needle had made the water recede a little.
I had some memories of my childhood, of riding ponies and of gigantic birthday cakes. The rest were dark: of my family dying, of visiting my mum, of Danjuma beating me and of being with Escamilla. I remembered McClutsky giving me a going-over, too. First with punches to the belly and then with a taser. Terrific. Half of me wished Kyle and his bloody needle had stayed away from me. The other half knew it was better to know, no matter how black things were. I reckoned that ninety-nine percent of my past was still buried, but if it was all the same, I wasn’t missing it.
My future was looking pretty bleak, too. I’d liked Arturo, and I’d thought he liked me, but I’d been wrong. He’d given me up so fast that it was perfectly clear I was just another slut to him. As disposable as a condom. All those sweet words and those thoughtful little details like taking me on the Eye were just window dressing. Arturo was on holiday, and he wanted to play a game where he had a girlfriend. He just forgot to tell me I was playing a bit part.
No doubt he planned to take me to Mexico where he’d play a bit more and then pass me along to someone else. Kyle, Rafa, Chumillo or one of his other lieutenants if I was lucky or some sleaze-bag pimp if I wasn’t.
There wasn’t much I could do about it, either. Clean or not, he wouldn’t let me walk away. The Arturos of this world get to the top by never letting anything go. I’m a looker, and I’m young so I have a certain value. Not much, because there’s a million girls like me, but I’m worth keeping around.
It hurt, because I’d liked Arturo. Mind you, me liking a man doesn’t exactly mean he’s in line for the red rosette for best turnout. I mean, look at Danjuma! Christ knows why I got involved with him, the abusive bastard.
Arturo hadn’t been much better, parting company at the first fence, and now it looked like I was being forced into a situation where I’d have no choice at all about who I was doing. It wasn’t a cheerful prospect. For a moment I wished that needle had been filled with an overdose of crack. I just didn’t have the energy left to fight this.
I was feeling very low, but then I heard Arturo’s voice and I got mad. Hopping mad. He’d let me think I was going to die, some sick game no doubt, and I hated him for it.
“Look, I need some time alone with her, so let’s take a break, okay?”
So he wanted to be alone with me. I didn’t want to be with him. I opened my eyes and sat up. I half expected the room to swim, but I felt perfectly normal. Whatever Kyle had given me had no nasty side effects.
The crew were on their feet, on their way out but when I moved, they stopped and gazed at me.
Arturo was smiling at me. “You okay?”
I didn’t want to talk to him. I ignored him and smiled at Kyle. “That wasn’t vodka.”
“Nope, but on the plus side, you don’t have a hangover.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” I smiled at him again, deliberately ignoring Arturo. It made the crew uncomfortable. From their looks though, it seemed the freeze-out was off. Rafa and Chumillo gave me friendly nods before exiting.
Arturo wasn’t smiling anymore. Actually, he was looking dead serious.
“I fucked up,” he said. “I am the world’s biggest fool.” Then he made a big song and dance saying he just forgot to tell me I wasn’t being put down. I didn’t believe a word of it. “I’ll do anything to make it up to you,” he said.
“Good. I’m off then.”
“Solitaire, I know you’re mad at me –”
I interrupted him “So I can go?”
“No,” he sighed.
“Didn’t think so. Just cut the crap, okay? I don’t want to hear it.”
“Are you hungry? Thirsty?”
“No.” I was starving, but I’d be damned if I admitted it.
“Bacon and eggs?”
My favourite. “No.”
He was examining me. “Well, I’m having some.” He picked up the phone and placed an order with room service. My stomach was growling at the thought of food, but I stayed quiet. It seemed, though, that Arturo had excellent hearing. “Make that bacon and eggs for two, and send up a pot of tea.”
I decided I wouldn’t eat it. I’d rather eat the bathroom soap before having supper with him.
I was half expecting Arturo to try and sweet talk me, but he poured himself a drink and sat on the sofa, sipping it. It made me hopping mad just to look at him, so I went to the loo and locked myself in.
You’d think that being drugged up to the eyeballs would leave some sort of mark, like puffy or bloodshot eyes, but I looked perfectly normal. Kyle had done a good job. I didn’t dislike him anymore. Actually, I decided he was all right. He’d been absolutely furious with Arturo. He’d called him a perverted fuck, and he hadn’t meant it in a fun way. No, Kyle was okay.
It gave me an idea. I washed my face and marched back out. I might not have much control over my fate, but I had some. “You and I are over,” I told Arturo. “And we both know what happens next, so let’s get to it.”
“What?” Arturo looked startled.
“The bit where I get passed along,” I snapped. “You’re going to toss me to one of your mates like some sort of hand-me-down sooner or later, so let’s make it sooner.”
Arturo looked gob-smacked. He sat there, mouthing at me like some outraged Victorian governess. “Solitaire, I wouldn’t do that!”
“Stop playacting! You don’t give a shit about me, and I don’t want to be near you.”
“I told you I was sorry. I really am, sirena. Please give me a chance to make up for it.”
“I’m giving you one: let me move on.”
Arturo was looking hangdog, but I wasn’t falling for it. He just wanted sex, and he’d do anything to get it. Any minute now, he’d show me his true self and threaten me. That was fine by me. If he touched me, I’d scream the place down and smash the windows. The screaming would probably do bugger-all, but smashing windows would bring the hotel staff running. With his connections, Arturo could fix it in a heartbeat, but he wouldn’t like the attention it would attract.
But Arturo surprised me. “You’ve a right to hate me,” he said quietly. “Have some supper and go to sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“You can talk. I won’t listen.”
Arturo shrugged. “I can be patient.”
I can too, but I wanted a battle. I was half thinking of smashing the windows, but I couldn’t think of what to do after that. I didn’t want anything to do with McClutsky or Davis, and it wasn’t like Arturo would let me walk out. I decided reluctantly that being destructive would be pointless, and in order to underline that I would not eat frigging bacon and eggs with him, I went to have a bath.
That didn’t work out as I’d hoped, because Arturo is a determined bugger. I soaked for an hour, decided I didn’t want him jumping me and put all my clothes back on. Just as well, really, because when I finally came out, looking like a well dressed prune, he was lying on the bed, reading some papers.
He looked up. “Nice bath?” When I didn’t answer, he sighed. “Right, you’re not talking to me. I get that. Look, I’ve got a meeting, and it’s probably going to drag on all night,” he waved towards a plate on a side table. “I
put your dinner aside. So you don’t have to eat it while I’m around, all right?”
He picked up his briefcase and disappeared into the bathroom. Ten minutes later he emerged, smelling of lemon balm and changed into clean clothes. He didn’t say anything, but I caught him glancing at me, as if hoping I’d speak. I didn’t.
Then he waltzed off, closing the bedroom door behind him. I was famished, so I ate. Even cold it was delicious. I still didn’t remember much about my time with Escamilla (a blessing considering the bits that were clear), but I was certain that he hadn’t given me bacon.
Don’t get me wrong – a plate of food didn’t change my opinion of Arturo. I knew he was a wanker, and I had no intention of falling for his Mr Nice Guy impression a second time. I was just finishing off the tea (also cold) when voices piped up next door. Arturo’s business meeting had started.
I was sitting on the edge of the bed, so I only heard a few words here and there. I thought for a minute and decided I’d better learn everything I could about Arturo bloody Vazquez. Maybe I’d hear something I could blackmail him with. Then I could say sayonara and bugger off.
Arturo had left his briefcase by the cupboard so I tried opening that first. It was locked, so I sat on the floor by the bedroom door, earwigging like mad. I could catch bits and pieces but not enough to get a sense of what was going on or even how many were in the room.
That’s the problem with good hotels: they’ve got solid doors. Now if we’d been in some shit hole, I would have heard everything, including Arturo saying he had to fetch his briefcase. But I didn’t, and so when he opened the door, he bashed me in the head with it before almost breaking his neck from tripping over my legs.
“What the hell are you doing, Solitaire?”
“Spying on you.” I didn’t give a shit anymore. “I’m turning informer.”
Arturo gave me a snarky look. “Keep your voice down!”
“Why? Going to stage another mock execution?”
“I told you –” he shut his mouth with a snap, picked up his briefcase and was in the process of stepping over me again when he stopped. I thought for a second he’d whack me, so I ducked.
That made him really mad, because he was swearing under his breath. “Vete a la mierda! Te cagaste!” Then he stepped back. “Get up!”
“Why? Isn’t it easier to kick me while I’m down?”
He leaned down, took me by the wrist and hauled me to my feet. “If you’re going to listen in, you may as well come and sit with me.”
Kyle was there, along with Jorge and half a dozen blokes I’d never seen before. They all looked rather surprised to see me and even more so when Arturo ordered Jorge to give me the wing chair he was sitting in.
“Now sit down and shut up!” Arturo muttered as he pushed me into it. “Bruja mala leche!”
That one I knew, because I’d heard it before. He was saying I was an evil witch. By the looks of it, the visitors got the drift too, because they were grinning and trying to hide it from Arturo. Of course he didn’t give a shit.
“Women!” he growled. And that was that.
The visitors were Irish. There was a Liam and a Connor, but I didn’t get the others, because they hardly spoke. They were arguing about territory, which should have been exciting, but actually it was dull as hell. Instead of yelling and threatening each other, they sat around looking at maps and playing a version of Cartel Monopoly, “I’ll give you my tarts corner on Park Lane if you give me your smack outlet on Bond Street.”
It went on forever, but eventually they packed up, and the Irish mob left. The crew stood about for a few minutes, talking in low voices, and then they pissed off, too. My eyes were gritty and sore, but I didn’t want to go to bed with Arturo. As it happened, bed wasn’t even on the cards.
“For you.” Arturo handed me a velvet box. Jewellery. I didn’t want it, so I pushed it back at him. “Come on, Solitaire.” He opened it up, showing me a sapphire and diamond necklace. “The stones go with your eyes.”
“Give it to someone who cares, Arturo. I don’t.”
He shut the box with a snap and sighed. “All right, sirena. Go pack your things. We’ve got to go.”
It was five in the morning, and it was still pitch black outside. I stumbled about, unhappy at going anywhere, but I didn’t see much alternative. Someone had bought me a suitcase. A big black leather one that comfortably took in all my new clobber. I didn’t want it anymore, but I had nothing of my own left. After a minute, I decided it wasn’t worth trying to leave it behind so I packed.
While I was busy, Arturo put the velvet case into my suitcase. When he went off, I took it out and threw it in the bin. After that, I got a severe case of the cold sweats. Tiredness maybe, or a delayed effect of the drugs Kyle had given me.
I trotted into the loo, thinking I’d be sick. I wasn’t, but it was a close run thing. My whole body was shaking and shivering. I was hanging over the sink, splashing cold water over my face and dry heaving, when Arturo began banging in the door.
“Bugger off!” I growled.
“Solitaire, let me in!”
He sounded surprisingly urgent, and I found myself opening the door. Arturo burst in, looking frantic. He glanced at the tap and my face and breathed again. “You okay?”
“Peachy.” I willed myself to stop quivering and glared at him. “What do you want?”
“Forgot something,” he muttered. Then he picked up his shaving kit and vanished, banging the door closed behind him.
I stayed put in the loo, and after a few minutes, I began to feel better. By the time the shakes stopped, everything was packed and gone. I had a hazy idea of running off, but for once we took the lift straight down to the basement car park. With the crew hanging about and Arturo handing me into the waiting SUV personally, I had nowhere to go. So I sat in my seat, the softest leather and with its own little TV screen, and pretended I didn’t care. Actually, I didn’t much. What with the shit storm I’d been through, I really didn’t give a damn.
They piled a bunch of cases and boxes in the back, and then we were off. Jorge was driving, and he went at it like he was a Formula One racer. I guessed he wasn’t the sort to pay speeding fines or get points on his license. We cleared London about an hour later and headed west through the countryside.
Sitting by the window and pointedly ignoring Arturo in the seat next to me, I gazed at the view. We nipped through a couple of villages and finally came up to a church. It had exactly the same front door as the one by the hotel. I looked at it, and then it came to me that this was High Wycombe, the place that used to be home. And this was the church I used to go to when I was little. It was familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. Like walking through a dream.
Arturo put his hand on my arm. “I thought you’d want to visit your parents before we leave.”
All of a sudden there was a lump in my throat, and tears were running down my face. Arturo didn’t say another word. He just handed me out of the SUV and walked me round the cemetery, holding my hand as he looked at the gravestones. Thanks to the waterworks, I didn’t see a bloody thing. I just stumbled along like a dog on a short leash.
We found mum at the back, buried with daddy. There was a small black gravestone, engraved with their names and dates. I couldn’t remember organising this or ever having been here before, but Arturo pushed a single white rose into my hands.
“I’ll wait for you by the church, sirena.”
What can I say? There was a little holder on the grave, perfect for just one flower, so I pushed the rose into it. Then I stood there, crying my eyes out until Arturo came back for me. “It’s not goodbye, Solitaire. We’ll be back. Promise.”
The crew didn’t say a word when we got into the SUV, and it took me half an hour to realise we were retracing our steps and going all the way back into the city. As it was now morning rush hour, there was a tonne of traffic, so it took forever. I’d stopped watering by the time we got to the City Airport, but I was wiped. Crying does th
at to you, I think.
I stumbled out of the car into a lounge, posh of course, like everywhere Arturo goes, and then he was pointing me towards a skywalk. “Just go up and sit anywhere you like.”
So he had a private plane. He would do.
“What about check-in and passport control?”
“Already done, sirena.”
I wasn’t surprised.
Sitting in the Gulfstream, I thought about Arturo. High Wycombe lay more than a hundred kilometres out of London – and in the opposite direction of the City Airport. Going to the cemetery had added four hours to the trip, and it meant Arturo had made everyone get up before dawn rather than sleep in and have breakfast.
Also, he’d gone to the trouble of finding out where the graves were. If he’d asked me, I wouldn’t have had a clue. That part of my past was still locked down tight. As for the white rose, the holder suggested I’d gone before with a flower, but that was a blank, too. God knows how, but Arturo must have found someone who knew my habits, the vicar maybe.
It confused the hell out of me. I wanted to keep on hating him, but the way he’d gone all out just slayed me. How could he be so fucking fantastic one minute and so fucking awful the next? And which was the real Arturo?
I couldn’t figure it out, and I was exhausted, so I decided to ignore it. I curled up on the seat and napped. It was a minute or a week or a year later when Arturo sat me up and clipped me into a seatbelt. A brief roar and we were in the air.
The crew were trashed, so they stretched out and were out for the count. Arturo was on his laptop and then on the phone to various people, talking about stocks, shares and some kind of shopping mall investment. He was looking a little pale, and I realised he’d skipped a night’s sleep. So he was human; Arturo was tired.
Me, I was at the stage where I was too strung out to kip. I watched Arturo work and wondered where we’d go from here. Part of me wanted to talk to him, but I wasn’t finding it easy to let go of my hate. I could still feel the prick of that needle, see, and it hurt.