“Are you crazy? They’re going to kill us!”
“Maybe.” The sweet sensation of risk, that drug more potent and delicious than anything the cartel ever sold on the streets, flooded Osvaldo’s chest. “But something tells me they won’t.”
The Colombian led his hostage out in front of the barricade. He forced Tristán to kneel. Noisily cocking his gun, he pointed it at his head, while Luis cursed loudly from the barricade.
“Helena!” cried Osvaldo. “Helena Freire! There’s someone here who wants to talk to you!”
He was met with a resounding silence.
“I’m going to put a bullet in this guy’s head”—he looked at his wristwatch—“in exactly one minute if you don’t come out here. Clock’s ticking, Helena.”
There came the sound of startled, angry voices from inside, followed by a muffled female scream.
Osvaldo felt his pulse quicken. If she didn’t come out, Ramón Docampo was right: He had no way of forcibly removing the Freires from the house, other than by setting fire to it. But if he did that, he risked the money burning too.
Just as he was preparing to pull the trigger, there was the sound of bolts sliding open and locks turning. Osvaldo watched with satisfaction as the girl ran out, despite someone’s apparent efforts to restrain her.
She dashed over to them, breathless and disheveled. Osvaldo noticed that one of the sleeves of her dress was torn, presumably from her struggle to get out of the house. Helena dropped to her knees beside Tristán, and the two of them embraced tearfully.
Osvaldo let out the breath he had been holding in and allowed himself another of his rare smiles. Once again, the coin had landed just as he’d called it.
Osvaldo let the lovers enjoy their reunion, wanting to be sure that all present saw and understood what was going on between them.
“Nothing sweeter than two young people in love,” he said at the top of his voice, to no one in particular. “Right?”
He looked around, radiating calm, completely in control.
“Two young lovers, their whole future ahead of them, a house on the hill, maybe even the pitter-patter of tiny feet ...” He strokedHelena’s hair absently and clicked his tongue again. “It’d be a shame if that were all cut short. A real shame.”
Helena and Tristán looked up at him, roused from their embrace by the threatening edge to his voice.
“Everyone in the house, you’ve got thirty seconds to lay down your weapons and come out!” He hauled Helena to her feet, and she let out a screech as she felt the cold metal of his gun thrust against her chin. “My name is Osvaldo Salazar, and I’ve come for what’s mine!”
Five interminable seconds of silence ensued.
“If you do anything to my daughter, you’re a dead man!” Rosalía Freire’s voice rang out from one of the windows. “You’ve got four guns on you right now!”
“Maybe,” Osvaldo said, feeling another burst of adrenaline, every last pore of his skin electrified. “Everybody dies, sooner or later. But if I go down, I promise you, my men’ll leave this little bitch so full of holes, you’ll be able to use her as a sieve. Twenty seconds!”
His heart was pounding, and he felt more alive than ever.
He could almost feel the sights of the rifles on him. He lifted Helena’s chin with the barrel of his gun until she cried out in pain.
“Ten seconds!”
“Don’t shoot!” Another voice, this time Antía Freire’s, came from one of the windows. “We’ll come.”
Just as the count was about to reach zero, a dozen Freires emerged, unarmed and dejected. Python went over and frisked them one by one, before herding them together with the Docampos. The rival family members, all prisoners now, looked at each other in dismay.
“See?” Osvaldo said, letting go of Helena, who took refuge in Tristán’s arms. “If everyone’s reasonable, no one has to get hurt. But hold on, where’s the journalist, that Roberto?”
“We don’t know,” said Antía firmly. She seemed the calmest of everyone. “He was here, but he left hours ago. I’m certain he’s already notified the police and they’re on their way. Get out of here and leave us alone, while you still can.”
“Ooh.” Osvaldo whistled. “You’re a wild one. Don’t you worry, we’ll be long gone before anyone gets here. So, once again: Where’s our money?”
“We don’t have it,” Antía replied. “Search the house if you want.”
Just at that moment, Python was coming out of the house, with the old MP 40 slung over his shoulder as booty.
