Becoming the Czar

by Olivia Gaines

  It turned her on.

  Dampness grew between her thighs at the thought of his mouth on her body, his hands on her breast, and the next time, his fingers actually exploring versus being on top of the swimsuit. The idea of his lean, muscled body between her legs moving against her made her mouth dry, and she inadvertently licked her lips.

  “Fine. I see your game, and I’m not scared to play,” she said as the vehicle came to a stop. “Until next time, fiancé.”

  Even though Irena thought him to be an asshole, he was still a gentleman. He exited his side of the vehicle, taking the carry-on case from Gunther. She was, until he found a means of ridding himself of her, his fiancée.

  “Be well, Irena,” he offered, gripping her shoulders and planting a light kiss on her forehead.

  “I bet you don’t kiss that bitch on her temple. Germaphobe my ass. You aren’t worried about germs when you stick your face in between her legs,” she whispered into his ear. “I want to know how much of a germaphobe you’re going to be when I sit this on your mustache.”

  She pulled away from him, waving goodbye and blowing a kiss. He was surprised at her approach. For a second, he almost respected the direct assault versus the wild eyed ingenue trying to learn her man.

  “You wouldn’t be able to handle it, Irena,” he called after her, turning his back and getting in the vehicle.

  Tim’s flight was scheduled to arrive thirty minutes ago. The delay in leaving Las Tierras over Irena’s constant tantrums had made them late. If he were lucky, Tim would be in the customs office. He hoped the stylist wasn’t having difficulties clearing the customs agents.

  His hopes were squashed the moment he spotted Tim splayed against the wall being searched by customs.

  “WHAT DO YOU MEAN DO I have anything to declare? I declare it’s so damned hot my balls are stuck to my thighs,” Tim told the customs agent.

  “Sir, did you bring any animals, produce, or alcoholic beverages into Colombia?” The agent asked.

  “No, why would I bring in party supplies to a country that manufactures party goods for the world? If anything, you should be asking me that question on my way up out this bitch!” Tim exclaimed.

  The agent’s face showed no emotion as he continued with the scan of Tim and his passport. “Sir, what is the reason for your visit to Colombia?”

  “Hopefully to have a good damned time and find me a little Papi to take home with me to the bright shiny lights of ‘Murica,” he said, sticking out his tongue.

  The agent had obviously reached his limits with Tim’s antics. He waved his hand in the air and two brutes walked over, grabbing Tim by the arms and escorting him to a wall. The agents shoved the slender form against the brick, asking for the North American to spread his legs and place his fingers in the orange circles.

  “If this is going to be a cavity search, I think we’re going to need a bit of privacy,” Tim said, doing a modified twerk, shaking his handful of ass. The largest agent raised his arm, holding what looked like a club.

  Yuñior entered just in time, clearing his throat. “He is with me,” he confessed, giving Tim a look.

  The agent turned, seeing Yuñior there, but pointing at Tim. “Him. He is with you? This man. With you?”

  “Sí, Loro, he is a famous American stylist, and he is scheduled to perform services for my family,” Yuñior said to the man.

  Loro repeated his question again, “This man. Your family sent for this man?”

  “That’s what he said. Hey Ed! How you doing?” Tim asked loudly while waving his hand. Tim wore a pink Bolero hat, the stupid pink cowboy boots, and a minty green scarf with pink flowers tied around his neck.

  Yuñior pressed his finger to his lip for Tim to stop talking. He waved for Tim to come towards him which translated in Tim’s head as Yuñior desired for him to run over and greet him as his did with cousin Brody. His attempted leap into Yuñior’s arms was met with Tim hitting the floor as Yuñior stepped aside, avoiding the personal contact.

  “We must leave. Loro, where are his suitcases?” he asked the man.

  “Señor, the cases are here,” Loro replied, pointing to the six designer travel cases which held only heaven knew what.

  “Loro, if you would be so kind as to aid Gunther in loading the vehicle, it would be greatly appreciated,” Yuñior said to the man.

  Loro grew up on Las Tierras, and his father oversaw the venom houses. Unlike the father, Loro was deathly afraid of the snakes, he had no understanding of farming, and he was all around as useless as tits on a bull. The nickname of Loro, which was Spanish for parrot, had been given to him by Andres, for always repeating everything he heard. Eduardo thought such a talent would be useful in the customs office. Thus far, it had paid off well.

  At the curb, Yuñior slipped the man several large pesos in gratitude. Tim, trying to walk around the vehicle to enter on the side from the street, got stopped by Gunther’s rather large arm. The muscles bulged through the soft fabric, allowing the imprint of large veins to ripple under the material.

  “Damn, and you’re just all kinds of solid yumminess,” he said to Gunther whose only response was to snatch Tim to the right and shove him into the back seat of the car.

  “Ewwwww!” Tim exclaimed, falling into the backseat with his legs spread eagle and cowboy boots in the air. “Ed! He manhandled me! I won’t stand for such brutality!”

  “Tim the Johnson, you are in my country now at my request. Please, calm yourself and do not embarrass me in front of my family,” he said, pushing the wayward feet to the floor and sliding into the back seat. Yuñior reached for the hand sanitizer, spritzing his hands. Gunther walked past and closed the door.

  “Yes, I understand that, but I’m not going to be mistreated by anybody. Not you or that sexy, whatever that is with the mohawk, which by the way does nothing for him. He’d look more intimidating with a patch on his frontal lobe,” Tim said up righting himself.

  “We can discuss all of those things and more during your stay,” Yuñior told him.

  “Shit, for a moment there, I was actually happy to see your dark, dangerous, and dastardly ass, but now, I think I may want to turn my happy butt around and go home,” Tim added.

  “You can’t. I need you,” Yuñior said.

  “The Devil in Hell as well may need ice water, and I don’t see a cube in sight,” he said. A bottle of icy cold water appeared over the back of the seat. “Thank you, Hunky Doree.”

  “My name is Gunther,” the driver said. “I am the personal guard for Mr. Delgado.”

  “My name is Tim Johnson, and I am the personal fashion expert for Mr. Delgado, as if that matters two hills of black beans in this gosh awful heat. Are we sitting on top of the equator or did it run through my mid-section?”

  Yuñior found himself smiling at the freshness of the interaction. He was glad Tim was here, but he needed him to focus. The vehicle began to roll forward as the sound of the turn signal signified they were merging into traffic. The city of Medellin appeared in the background as Tim stared out of the window.

  “Ed, I’m really nervous about being here in your country. I am at your behest and what if I say or do a thing that displeases your father; I don’t know about this,” Tim said, watching the buildings come into view and disappear as the vehicle rolled towards the countryside.

  “I have a horse named Thunder,” Yuñior added out of the blue.

  “Okay, and my pet name for my junk is Peter North, so what is that supposed to mean?”

  “From my front porch, which overlooks the green fields of my ancestors, is a visual picture of verdant hills which resemble a painting, centuries in the making,” Yuñior said.

  “Yeah, and?”

  “Tim the Johnson, there is beauty in our way of life. Yes, it is deadly but there are moments of sheer joy in the simplicity of country living,” Yuñior told him. “In all things, we exhibit moderation. I ask this of you and your vivacious personality.”

  “So, I’m supposed to adj
ust who I am to spend time in your presence. That ain’t fair. Why can’t you accept me as I am, not expect me to change to suit your needs? You asked me to come here, not the other way around,” Tim said somberly.

  “This is the second time I have heard this in the past hour,” Yuñior scoffed. “Understandably, I hear you and respect your words. I ask of you, Tim the Johnson, to recognize you are entering the belly of the operations of the drug trade for the Western Hemisphere. My father is the man who controls all of it. Killing you or sticking you in a venom house with vipers of the highest potency will not cause him to lose sleep.”

  “Oh, fuck this, let me out now,” Tim said, reaching for the door and noticing it had no interior handles on his side. “Ed?”

  “I shall never allow any harm to come to you on my continent or yours,” he said softly.

  “On my continent? What, you are keeping a set of eyes on me?”

  “Sí, I do,” he said pausing, “the lady friend of yours who was blinded recently...she is safe at home with her husband and son, no?”

  Tim’s mouth dropped open. His hand went to the strand of pearls hidden under the minty green scarf as he bit down on the overly glossed bottom lip. Ed was keeping tabs on him; he didn’t know how he felt about any of that at all.

  Yuñior let the subject lie dormant as he took out his phone. He pressed a few buttons and pulled up a photo of Zeta. The device got passed over to Tim.

  “This is why I asked you to come,” he said. “Zeta Marin is to be my new assistant. A girl from the village, who recently lost her father. I have taken her under my wing and desire for you to take this lump of clay, dig deep and bring out the better parts of the materials.”

  “You want me to give this child a makeover. I can work miracles, but I ain’t no miracle worker,” Tim exclaimed.

  “Eso. If she is trained by my stepmother, who is the Lady of the Lands, she will be fashioned after the mannerism of the Señora. If she is trained by my father’s assistant Marianna, she will take on those traits,” Yuñior said. “I need Zeta to evolve into the swan who is able to command the fucking pond.”

  “Okay, I’m tracking.”

  “There is fire in this young woman, and I want a person whom I can trust at my side, but she needs to understand her power, sit down in it, float on air when she walks in the room in four-inch heels,” Yuñior said, “and those same heels will serve as murder weapons should the need arise, entiendo?”

  “I gotcha,” Tim said, taking a tablet out of his bag and firing it up to make notes. “Make over Raggedy Ann.”

  “Who is this Raggedy Ann and why is she raggedy...what is that word?”

  Tim turned the phone around and showed Yuñior the image. “This dress and those shoes are raggedy as hell. Let me think on this a minute,” he said, focusing on his tablet.

  TIM WORKED IN SILENCE as Gunther drove through the countryside headed for Las Tierras. Yuñior’s mind was loaded with doubts and for the first time, he was unsure of his decision to bring Zeta on as his assistant or bring Tim to his home. It could all go horrifically wrong and Tim the Johnson could end up disfigured and Brody the Johnson would never forgive him.

  The phone was still in his hand and without thinking he hit the button, listening to the ringing on the other end. After the second ring he was ready to disconnect the call but Diadra’s voice came over the line. Immediately, a sense of calm came over him.

  “Hey handsome, missing me already?” she asked Yuñior.

  “Every minute of every damned day,” he said softly.

  “You know my father is still asking questions about you, and thanks again for the lovely dinner. I appreciated it so much. How’s the shoulder?”

  Yuñior, crossed his legs. His body language changed from being ready to pounce and grab an interloper by the throat− to relaxed. He touched the shoulder, wincing a little from the soreness.

  “Sore. The travel last week from New York, to Chicago, Seattle, San Francisco, and Mazatlán took its toll. I am grounded until I heal,” he said softly in the line.

  “Is that why you called to say that I won’t be seeing you in the next few weeks, Ed?”

  “Oh, hell no, you are going to see me if you have to come to Bogotá for a weekend. I will have none of that,” he said, chuckling. “I wanted to hear your voice and tell you that I did a thing.”

  “A thing?”

  “I’m training a new assistant, a young woman from my village,” he said, leaving it hanging in the air.

  “Oh cool. That is going to help you a lot so you’re not on the plane working on spreadsheets and presentations like you were when you brought me home,” Diadra said. “I look forward to meeting her. Hey, should I prepare the second room at my place for her to sleep when you come for a visit?”

  “You would do that, Diadra?”

  “Of course, Ed. Since she hasn’t traveled outside of your country yet, I assume. When she arrives, I would love to show her New York,” Diadra said.

  “Diadra, she is a simple girl, but my stylist has arrived to work with the young woman,” Yuñior answered, waiting for the cattiness.

  “Lucky girl. Again, I look forward to meeting her,” she said softly, “I also look forward to seeing you as well.”

  “Likewise, my Diadra. Be well, and I shall be in touch,” Yuñior said, exchanging a pleasantry and ending the call.

  Gunther stared at him in the rear-view mirror. Tim continued to work on the laptop, but he’d taken notice. The tapping at the keys didn’t stop when he spoke.

  “Shiiiit, I can’t wait to meet whoever she is. Everything about you changed in that one conversation. Is that the one...the meal....the peach...?”

  “How do you say in your country...ah sí...mind your business, Tim,” Yuñior said, suddenly hit with another wonderful idea. The smirk on his lips made Tim shimmy his shoulders.

  “This is going to be so exciting, Ed! Squeeee!” Tim said, as they entered the lands of Las Tierras. The centuries old adobe house appeared in the background as Yuñior tapped Tim on the shoulder and pointed out the window.

  Workers were leaving the fields to escape the midday heat. Flowers bowed in the dusty wind as the vehicle drove by. Children playing nearby waved at the vehicle as it entered the manor lands and drove to the house. Gunther stopped the car at the front steps. Yuñior opened his door, using his fingers to encourage Tim to exit on his side of the vehicle.

  He walked up the front stairs followed by Tim, and at the rise Yuñior stopped and turned to face the lands. Tim, pushing his sunglasses up on his face, dreading how his makeup looked in this heat, turned to look as well and gasped. It was truly a living painting.

  “Tim, welcome to my home, Las Tierras Verdes de mis Antecendents.”

  Chapter Eight- Oomph

  The men stood on the front porch as a figure on a chestnut stallion rode hard to the front steps, holding up his hand. Yuñior asked for Tim to wait a moment as the horse came to a stop. Under the brim of the hat, dark eyes looked up the stairs, staring at the man next to Yuñior Delgado.

  “Tim the Johnson, my brother Andres,” Yuñior said, introducing the young man to his stylist.

  “Why are you always calling me Tim the Johnson? In America, or rather North America, a Johnson is another name for a penis so calling me Tim the Johnson would be like saying, I’m Tim, a man known for a rather large...oh wait, go ahead, I like that idea after all,” Tim said, dabbing at his forehead with a pink handkerchief.

  Andres burst into laughter. In Spanish he told Yuñior, “Oh yeah, I bet you my horse that Papa kills him before dinner is over.”

  Tim blinked several times, clutched at his pearls, and started running down the stairs towards the car which was still there. He was panicked, which only made Andres laugh harder.

  “Yuñior, I think your friend speaks fluent Spanish,” Andres said, laughing louder. “Oh, this is going to be, how does Papa say...ah sí, hella fun! I shall shower now. No wait. I’ll wait until after the introductions.�
��

  “You ain’t got to wait for shit I’m not going to die in the gosh awful heat or be fed to the snakes or have my gorgeous throat cut over dinner. Get me out of here, Gunther,” Tim said, holding onto the back seat.

  Andres was slumped over on his horse. “Por favor, nada mas. I have to pee. I’m going to piss my pants! I’m going to piss my pants!”

  “Shut up, Andres,” Yuñior said as he came down the stairs. He slid into the back seat of the car, his hand on his knee, looking at a very frightened Tim. “Trust is such a hard ideal to master.”

  “It sure as hell is!” Tim said.

  “I trusted you, allowing you to see me in a very vulnerable state and to do to me what I more than likely will never have done again. In my mind, no man should ever have his balls and arsehole waxed, but you were allowed to care for my grooming,” Yuñior said in a reassuring tone. “I trust you Tim, and I hope that you will trust me. Together, we have a great deal to do as well as my upcoming wedding.”

  “Your wedding?”

  “Yes, there is a certain amount of tradition which may occur, but in my head, I have this vision, the image of how I want it to be,” he said. “Also, I have a great deal of traveling to do this year and my life will be split in a little while between here and Argentina. I need you, Tim. Tell me I can count on you and you shall be there for me. You shall be paid handsomely, and in the end, will only need to work if you wish, but if you’re uncomfortable, I shall have Gunther prepare to return you home safely. I shall give you the choice.”

  He sat quietly, looking forward in the seat at the back of Gunther’s head.

  “Hold up, Mr. Suave and Dangerous. I didn’t come here for the damned money. I came because I thought you, as my friend, needed me,” Tim said softly.

  “I do need you, Tim the Johnson,” he said and winked at him.