At an unhealthy level.
I watch her the rest of the long drive and eventually the vehicle slows just outside a gate made up of wood and barbed wire. Not exactly state-of-the-art, but I highly suspect the fence surrounding the open field in front of me is not meant to keep humans out.
There are other means of doing so that include a different type of steel…
“We’re here, señor,” Octavia says, waving a hand. “Welcome to Cielo Vista, property of El Jefe.”
The vast fields of coca plants stretch far into the horizon, barely lit by the setting sun and casting the vegetation into shadow. The workers are still milling about, transporting the leaves to the chemical plants, identified by the large, ranch-style building off to the right. Further down, on the opposite side of the rows of bushes, is another building that is nondescript and its purpose isn’t quite clear. Although, it could be to house or feed the laborers. And finally there’s a traditional mission-style church, complete with crosses on top, thick arches, and a stucco exterior.
Apparently El Jefe is a religious criminal, not unlike us Italians.
“The church, along with a feeding center, is all funded by El Jefe.”
I nod and Benito slides his gaze to mine, then gives me a nod, letting me know he’s keeping watch over Violetta while protecting my blindspots. I return the gesture. Everyone exits the jeep and because of the vehicle’s height Benito turns to assist Violetta. She takes his proffered hand with a wary expression, while his sparkles with mischief. Then he winks at her. Violetta does nothing except purse her lips, but the entire exchange causes annoyance to stir in the pit of my gut, heating with every passing moment.
“This way,” Octavia says with an outstretched hand, successfully diverting my attention. “My instructions were to bring you to the church where Father Diego will meet us.”
“Is he the informant for your boss?” I ask.
She shrugs. “I don’t believe so, but like I said before, I don’t know anything more than you do at this point. Now that we’re here, I’ll be waiting for the next set of orders to carry out.”
“El Jefe is quite secretive. I can’t fault them, but I find it rather inconvenient and irritating in this situation.”
Octavia grins at me. “I couldn’t agree more.”
Her two guards don’t follow. Instead they veer off to the other building, leaving the rest of us with Octavia. She walks with confidence, but there’s also a fluidity to her movements that’s relaxed. This place isn’t new to her. It’s made more apparent when a nun, dressed in a habit with a wicker basket on her hip, nods in Octavia’s direction.
“Buenas tardes, Maria,” she says.
“Buenas tardes, señorita.”
Octavia points to the basket full of vegetables. “Trabajando mucho, hermana?”
“Sí. Ve con Dios.”
“Ve con Dios.”
After pulling open one set of double doors, Octavia slows her steps and waits for me to enter. Benito goes before me and Octavia raises her brows in a silent inquiry. I don’t respond because she should know he’s confirming it’s safe before I enter.
Once Benito returns, he says in Italian, “It’s all clear. There’s no one in there except the priest and two other nuns. If there’s going to be a shootout, it’s going to be quicker than David killing Goliath. Just saying.”
Octavia’s lips quirk up and suspicion briefly flares. I ignore it since Benito didn’t say anything that I didn’t want her to know, but I make a mental note to tell him that we might not be free to speak in our native tongue. Considering how much Octavia resembles my mother, it wouldn’t surprise me if she spoke Italian because she’s a relative.
I need to find out exactly what kind.
Violetta
Imake the sign of the cross upon entering the small church.
Is it because I feel guilty at what transpired between Tristano and me earlier?
Or because I enjoyed it and Idon’tfeel guilty, but since I was raised to be a good Catholic woman I should?
The building has a very rustic feel with the wood raw and unrefined like that in America, and I like the authenticity of it. The pews are not fancy, and lack the traditional velvet cushions as well as kneelers. There’s a single octagonal window above the pulpit, as well as three rectangular windows on each side of the building, and nothing else. The room lacks the gaudy decoration some places of worship display and I admire that, even though it’s probably because it’d get stolen to be sold. The poverty in this country isn’t secret, but if it’s under El Jefe’s jurisdiction then it could be safe.
A sense of peace settles over me in this place and it makes me wonder if people can speak to their Maker more easily here with fewer distractions. I walk down the aisle next to Beni, and even his usual boisterous energy has lessened. But Tristano? He doesn’t appear to be affected by the serenity and sanctity of this place.
Is it because he actually carries the blood of angels in his veins?
