“El patrón, labs are dangerous places. So many chemicals known to ignite fires. All that smoke would draw attention to its location. It would be a shame if that happened because then you wouldn’t have the product or the money you owe your nephew. At least some of it has to go toel jefein New York. You’d also have to explain destroying part of the jungle. It wouldn’t take much to connect you to a cocaine lab. No one but me knows how to get to and from the site. I drove the workers and guards who were bound, gagged, and blindfolded. They can’t leave without getting lost in the Amazon. It means they can’t lead anyone there. You wouldn’t provide me guards while I scouted the area—or any of the other times I’ve been out there.”
Hearing that last part pisses me off more than anything I’ve heard so far. She could’ve already died each time she went out there. Between man and nature, she’s been far too close to death already. There are still indigenous tribes who don’t like trespassers, and there are rival syndicates with labs. We allow it because it’s the price of peace for us. The price they pay is death if they think to overreach.
I listen as Florencia continues to issue her thinly veiled threats.
“Since I take the food and supplies to the workers and the guards assigned there, they won’t work if they starve. If anything happens to my family, ka-boom. If anything happens to me, the forest will simply swallow it. Maybe the men would figure out how to navigate out of the jungle, but most likely not. If you want me to cooperate, then you agree my service is done when this shipment goes out. You can keep the recipe.”
Me
Things just got complicated here. The new pozolero just threatened to blow up the lab if forced to work beyond the end of the month. The pozolero goes out there alone. I may need to follow and take over. H is definitely more liability than ever.
Tío E
Do what you must.
I won’t name names or even use pronouns even though our texts are encrypted. There’s always the possibility someone could hack them. If I weren’t listening to this conversation, I would talk toTíoEnrique. We have jammers and scramblers, so making a call would be more secure.
I put my phone aside as I focus on the conversation between Florencia and Humberto.
“If you really want me to cooperate, then answer some questions. What was my father’s debt to you? What was so significant that I’m paying it off thirty-odd years later?”
I know he’s considering his answer. I suspect I know, but I’m curious how he explains it.
“Your father had a job to do, and he failed.”
“What was the job?”
“He didn’t marry that bitch.”
My fists clench. He’ll pay for that.
“Luciana Diaz?”
“Yes. He let thatputa de madreseduce her.” Motherfucker.
“I thought Esteban took Luciana. Forced her to marry him.”
Humberto grunts. I don’t know who told Florencia that crock of crap, but that isnothow it happened.
“I take it my father was your spy. He was supposed to marry her and bring back information from her father.”
“He was supposed to do a fuck ton more than that. He had more than one chance to kill Enrique and Luis. He even had the chance after I had Josue killed. Instead, he failed. Enrique lived and had the U.S. government extradite me here. He paid a fucking fortune to relegate me to this fucking shithole he refuses to allow me to repair. It’s falling down around my ears.”
Rage fills me.
Mamáwas pregnant with me when Humberto had his own brother murdered. She was nearly three months, so it was early enough that she andPapáhad told no one. Myabuelodied before he learned he’d be a grandfather.
Humberto had thehuevos—balls—to callTíoEnrique and deliver the news that his father was dead. He didn’t admit he ordered the hit, but it was obvious he had. He was always so fucking jealous of his older brother. Now he’s jealous of mytío,Papá, my cousins, and me.
TíoandPapáwent on a rampage afterAbuelodied. They made sure everyone in Colombia understood what it meant to defylos Diaz. Their retribution was swift and devastating. Within days of their arrival from NYC, anyone even remotely connected to Humberto died slow, excruciating deaths.Tíoimprisoned Humberto in his marble mausoleum because the sack of shit wouldn’t suffer if he was dead.
Instead, Humberto can see freedom from his bedroom window. He can hear voices on the other side of his wall but knows he’ll never walk free. He watches cars drive by but knows he’ll die where he lives rather than escape his imprisonment.
Once a month,Tíoreminds Humberto that he lives becauseTíoallows it. He comes down here to punish Humberto in person. The man permanently has at least one broken bone. When he fucks things up,TíoEnrique’s vengeance is swift andmerciless. He makes sure Humberto sees him walk out the gate simply because he can.
“So, I’m paying the price because my father didn’t kill the most powerful man in Latin America?”
If I showed emotional reactions, I’d flinch. Reminding Humberto he isn’t the man he wants to be—that mytíois—won’t win Florencia a reprieve from Humberto’s temper.
