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“What was that? You’ll open it now?”
“Yes, sir.”
“God boy, Santiago. I’m proud of you for using your words.” And to show him that I mean it, I sit back with a now-closed blade in hand. “Go on. It’s my gift to you.”
He’s trembling so hard his teeth chatter, pulling the strip of tape off and then opening it one flap at a time. His entire body goes rigid, eyes horror-stricken as he takes in the contents inside.
Two heads. His idiot accomplices.
“No...NO!”
“This is the result of stealing a shipment of poppy extract meant for the Mexican Cartel near the US border.” Standing, I tower over him and fist his hair, pushing his face closer to the proof of my appreciation. The rivulets of red dripping from his facial lesions fall over their shocked expression, mixing with the dried splashes already there. “You fucked up, Marin. You decided to play God and killed the driver—my employee—delivering my merchandise, and then tried to sell it as your own with the backing of a secret investor.” Placing the blade at his cheek, I push it in and come out on the opposite side of his face, twisting the handle. He’s skewered. He’s also pissed himself. Nasty. “You ended a good, hardworking man’s life and left a two-year-old without a father and a poor woman without her husband.”
“I didn’t—”
“Think I’d catch you, asshole.” From the corner of my eye, I see Chiquito pull out his gun and empty the magazine before replacing it with the single bullet atop the table. “It’s what you told your girlfriend, Maria…no? That I was a dumb fuck too busy playing with my dick to notice the stolen underground connections or goods? That you were protected because of who you’ve recently allied with.”
“How do you…” a sob catches in his chest, head shaking from side to side. “Is she?”
“Very much alive and enjoying the reward for turning you in.”
“She sold me out?”
“Yes.”
Marin nods, and with shaky limbs brings his hands up and closes his eyes. His lips part and hushed whispers follow as he begins to recite the Padre Nuestro prayer. And it’s as Santiago begins to say the third line that Salazar hands me his gun.
I let him finish.
I let him ask God to save his soul and forgive all offenses made while in this world.
“Will you go after my family?” he says after finishing, head bowed and posture defeated.
“They will not be harmed. You have my word.” I’m pointing the barrel at his head, finger on the trigger.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” That one bullet is all I need, and with a few quick pulls of the trigger, it lodges itself into his head, ending his life. Santiago Marin slumps forward as small fragments of skull and brain fly through the air, staining the furniture close to us and my pants. No one moves until I lower my arm and hand the gun back to its owner. “Clean it up and return him to his family along with a severance check. Tell them he died while out on delivery, a horrific robbery gone wrong.”
“Consider it done, Lucas.” Chiquito stays behind as I turn and head back into my office, already barking out orders as the men outside begin to scrub the outside terrace. He’ll take care of the mess and replace what needs exchanging; I have a more important matter to attend to.
My cell phone is right where I left it, and I press number four immediately.
It rings once.
“Patron?”
“Deliver it now.”
9
“I SHOULDN’T BE doing this.” I’ve whispered those same words to myself three times in the past hour. They’ve become my mantra. My attempt at keeping my sanity while still making idiotic decisions. To prove to myself that I’m in full use of my faculties because as of late, it’s been one unwise choice after another.
Going to the club.
Letting him corner me in the bathroom.
Accepting this invitation for dinner at his condo a week after we met.
