“Of course, she does. She surely spun as many lies about my family and about Domingo as you did. You knew your son’s shortcomings. But Estrella still thinks the sun shines out of your son’s dead ass, even though she knows exactly what he did that led to his death.”
I sneer at him as I walk around his naked body. I flick his ear just because he wasn’t expecting it. My knife glides diagonally between his shoulder blades. It leaves a thin trail of blood. Nothing deep enough to bleed excessively, but just enough to hurt. It matches countless other cuts my cousins and I gave him during the time he’s been with us.
“You’ve spent more than thirty years being spiteful to a ghost. You wanted what your son had, so you’ve been fucking his mistress for decades. Your son’s dead. He can never know about your pathetic habit of fucking the woman he supposedly loved. You are trying to make up for a past that never happened. You should’ve fucked her while your son was alive and made sure he knew about it. You just enjoyed being with Magdalena.”
I take what Flora’s mother confessed and toss it back in Ernesto’s face. I don’t enjoy trashing Flora’s mother, but what Flora can’t hear won’t hurt her.
“How many times did she call you Domingo? How many times did she moan his name? You settled for knowing the woman you had an affair with was always thinking about another man—your son—just to get revenge on someone who’ll never know it happened.”
I kick the back of his left knee and send him swinging as I walk back around to face him.
“I’m giving you one more opportunity to tell me what I want to know before this situation grows dire. I can’t let you live now that you’ve been here, but that doesn’t mean I can’t punish your grandson for your choices.”
“Leave him the fuck alone! He has nothing to do with this! He’s only a kid!”
Ernesto’s voice is already hoarse from not having enough to drink over the past ten days. His voice cracks throughout his plea. I laugh.
“He’s not a kid at eighteen. You’ve recruited younger men than that to try to fuck over my family. You can’t have it both ways. You can’t say other guys your grandson’s age are men and old enough to work for you, then claim he’s too young to be involved.”
“He’s only eighteen!”
“Which makes him an adult, so all’s fair.”
I close out the photo of Flora and me after flashing it toward him one more time. Then I pull up a Colombian phone number.
“One call, that’s all it takes.”
I’m growing more and more frustrated by the moment. I’d really hoped the courier might give us a clue who’s involved. Between no information from the delivery guy and no information when we inquired at the courier’s office, we’ve gotten nowhere. Not even with the heavy incentives we offered the courier and the dispatcher. Perhaps this is the negotiating card we needed.
Ernesto sees it’s a Colombian phone number, and even though it doesn’t have a name attached to the contact, he can guess what this means. He knows I don’t issue threats I won’t follow through on. He tries to spit on me, but his mouth is so dry he produces next to no spittle. I step aside in time, and Alejandro swings a baseball bat that strikes Ernesto’s kidneys. The man howls in pain and twirls on the hook. He must have forgotten mycousin was behind him. Joaquin has his own bat that he jams into Ernesto’s lower abdomen.
“It’ll be yourhuevonext time.”
He only has one nut left after whatTíaLuciana had done to him. Joaquin taps the baseball bat against his open palm. Cliché threatening move, but effective, nonetheless. I tap my phone screen and make it a video call. Immediately, it’s answered with the camera facing toward the front steps of a high school. It’s only a couple minutes before kids pour out of the front door.
I recognize Flora’s cousin since he’s a near replica of Ernesto. It also means he looks a lot like Flora. The guy’s hanging out with friends, but eventually he’s one of the last left. He’s looking around, waiting for his chauffeur to show up. He’d be waiting forever if that’s how he was leaving.
“Leave him!”
Ernesto jerks forward as though he can actually get me to obey as he yells. His fingers open and close uselessly with his arms strung up over his head.
“Then answer me.”
“I can’t.”
I tsk and shake my head. “Won’t is more like it. Take him.”
Men rush out of the van where the video is being shot. I force Ernesto to watch his grandson being kidnapped. They scoop up Pedro and toss him into the back. We hear the doors slam as the man holding the phone turns the camera toward Pedro. It only takes a few moments before my guys strip the young man down to his tighty-whities. Definitely not a good look if he ever wants to get laid.
“Tell me now, Ernesto.”
“I can’t.”
“Still the wrong answer.”
I speak to the guy on the phone and give the order. Only seconds later, we’re watching arms and hands move through theair with socks filled with bars of soap or coins. They’re wailing down on Pedro, who’s crying like a little bitch begging for my men to stop. Wouldn’t surprise me if he cries for hismamá.
“Wait, wait. Maybe I know something.”
