To The Lions - 02 (12 page)

“Fine.”

“I
know it’s fine, Camilo,” Xavier said.
 
“Don’t tell me that a question is fine.”

“I’m
sorry.”

Xavier
stared through gun-slit eyes.

“Please,
señor, ask your question.”

“Have
you gone so far as to have sexual intercourse with my niece?”

Camilo’s
lips parted.
 
“Señor…”

“Answer
me.”

Eyes
down, Camilo nodded.

“How
many times?”

“A
few.”

“How
many?”

Camilo’s
narrow chest expanded as he took a great breath.
 
“Perhaps ten.”

“And
she was a virgin?”

“Another
nod.”

“You’ve
spoiled her.
 
Eres una rata
.”

Wisely,
Camilo kept his head and eyes down.

Xavier
stood, walking around the table, never taking his eyes off of Camilo.
 
“Fortunately for you, Camilo, I’m receiving
guests shortly.”
 
Camilo’s relaxation was
visible as his entire body slumped.
 

Xavier
spoke to the group.
 
“Money is
short.
 
Our friend Theo here says we’re
operationally inefficient.
 
So, heading
into prime earning season due to the tourists, do not dare come here next month
without at least a ten percent gain over today’s numbers.
 
Understood?”

Everyone
nodded.
 

Camilo
quickly pushed his chair back.

“I’m
not done with you, Camilo.”
 

Somewhere
in the distance, thunder rumbled.

Xavier
casually walked back to his seat, taking the greasy lobster cracker in his hand
and stepping into the kitchen.
 
Winking
at Fausto, Xavier washed the lobster cracker, taking his time to soap it and
scrub it with the dish brush.
 
After
rinsing it, he patted it dry with the dish towel and walked back into the
dining area, noting the keen looks from everyone but Camilo.

Camilo’s
facial expression resided somewhere in the category of sheer horror.

“Choose
two fingers,” Xavier whispered.
 
“One on
each hand.”

“S-S-Señor
Zambrano, please,” Camilo said, voice quavering.

“We’re
going to do this,” Xavier said.
 
“Now,
don’t be a little
coño
.
 
Take it like a man, stop screwing my niece,
and I will try to rectify the situation with the fiancé.
 
Okay?”
 
Xavier straightened.
 
“Now, choose
two fingers.”

“I
promise I will never touch her again.”

“You
took my money, too.”

“Never
again,” Camilo shuddered, tears running down his face.

“Choose!”
Xavier barked.

Shaking,
Camilo extended his two pinkie fingers.
 
Xavier briefly closed his eyes, massaging the bridge of his nose as he
shook his head.
 
When he opened his eyes,
he considered each lieutenant.
 
The first,
the attorney, viewed Camilo with a curled lip.
 
The second, the wizened one, chuckled knowingly.
 
The third, Mr. Steroids, gritted his teeth,
eyeing Camilo the way he might a fine cut of meat.

And
Theo Garcia, the accountant, grinned triumphantly.

After
eyeing Garcia for a moment, angry that the accountant had been right all along,
Xavier turned to his narcotics lieutenant.
 
“Well, Camilo, since you attempted to take the easy way out, I’m now
forced to choose for you.”
 

Xavier
turned to Garcia again.
 
“How many
combinations are available?”

“Twenty-five
if he’s forced to pick a finger from each hand,” Garcia said without
hesitation.

“You
had twenty-five choices, Camilo, and you chose the path of a
coño
.”
 
His voice suddenly rising, Xavier yelled, “Extend your thumbs!”

“No!”
Camilo cried.

“Do
it, or I’ll crack every finger.”
 
The
third lieutenant moved for Camilo but Xavier froze him with a shake of his
head.
 
“Do it, Camilo.
 
Be a man and not a
coño
.
 
This is your only chance
at atonement.”

Somehow,
someway, Camilo balled his fists, placing them on the polished wood of the
table.
 
Then, like shy snakes emerging
from twin holes, both thumbs crept skyward as if Camilo were giving his
approval of the situation—though he certainly wasn’t.
 

“Very
good, Camilo,” Xavier soothed, stepping to his side.
 
He gently situated the lobster cracker on the
middle knuckle of Camilo’s left thumb.
 
“Are you ready?”

All
that came from Camilo’s mouth was a croak.
 
Xavier looked at the first lieutenant, the two of them exchanging a grin
as Xavier clamped down, using both hands to pop Camilo’s thumb with a crack
equal to a small caliber gunshot.
 
He had
to use both hands to pull the lobster cracker away, as it had bitten into
Camilo’s skin and stuck there.

“One
more, Camilo,” Xavier said, moving around the chair.

Camilo
was sobbing, his body wracked by pain as he spasmed out of the chair and into
the floor, gripping his left hand.
 
Xavier slumped.
 
“I don’t have
time for this.”
 
He looked at his third
lieutenant.
 
“Get him up!”

Wasting
no time, Xavier repeated the process on the right thumb, this time allowing his
lieutenant to assist him in holding the squalling Camilo’s arm.
 
He wrenched Camilo’s thumb after it had
popped, doing more damage than the first as punishment for his womanly
crying.
 
Finished, Xavier personally
retrieved two plastic bags filled with ice, tossed them on Camilo’s lap, and
said, “Get that little girl out of here.”

When
the lieutenants had gone, Xavier turned the music up, retrieving an icy Rosita
lager and easing himself, nude, into the hot tub on the porch.

Camilo’s
sacrifice had left Xavier temporarily sated.

* * *

Gage’s
arrival at the meeting with Navarro was traditional this time.
 
As requested, Valentin picked him up in a
small town near the coast.
 
They drove
several kilometers before ascending a steep driveway with numerous switchbacks.
 
Cresting the hill, Gage took in the residence
that Navarro termed a “casita.”

Gage
had expected a lavish, modern residence with infinity pools and massive
windows.
 
Instead, what he found was a
rustic Spanish home, surrounded by lush vegetation in a manner that looked
natural but well-ordered.
 
The home was squat
and weathered, built with numerous arches and accented in black iron and natural
wood.
 
The upper driveway as well as the
walkway were covered in crushed shells.
 
To the right of the home, Gage spied the Mediterranean between the
numerous cade junipers.
 
While certainly
the price of such a seaside retreat would be staggering, its appearance managed
to avoid pretention.

The
inside of the home could have been photographed and used as an example of a Spanish
mansion from the 1930’s.
 
The tiled
kitchen, while handsome, claimed no modern appliances that Gage noticed.
 
It was illuminated by skylights and, though inactive
at the moment, held the pleasant smell of a well-used culinary kitchen.
 
The second room they passed through, a dark sitting
room with a sunken floor, contained only books, newspapers and leather
furniture.
 
There were no televisions, no
digital clocks, no mobile phone docking stations.
 
Two large dogs, gray and resembling wolves,
slumbered in the sunken area of the room, just in front of the dormant
fireplace.
 
One dog opened his eyes,
viewed Gage with mild interest, and resumed his sleep.
 

Valentin
stepped through the rear door.
 
Gage followed
him, ending on an elevated porch with ocean views.
 
He turned, able to get a better view of the
home from this angle since the front had been greatly obscured by
vegetation.
 
As Valentin had mentioned,
there was at least a hundred feet of jagged cliff above them.
 
The house was nestled on a broad ledge, with
another fifty-foot drop to the sea below it.
 
Hands behind his back, Gage slowly walked the perimeter of the large
porch.
 

There
were four bulky chairs in Danish modern style situated between massive planters
of flowers and, on the matching table in the center, a pitcher of a red, fruity
drink with empty glasses nearby.
 
Peering
over the railing, Gage found Navarro, one level down.
 
He’d just stood and was donning a terry robe
over his deeply tanned body.
 

“Good
day, Mister Harris.
 
I’m coming up.”
 

An
attractive woman was busy packing up a massage table.
 
She glanced up and smiled.

Hearing
another voice, Gage turned and looked inside through the open door from which
he had come, seeing Valentin leading another man outside.
 
He was small and well-dressed in casual
attire, coolly eyeing Gage while Navarro noisily clanged his way up a set of
spiral black iron stairs.
 

“I
apologize for my appearance,” Navarro said.
 
“I should have taken my massage earlier.”
 

Navarro
shook Gage’s hand.
 
“Might we use your
actual name since we’re in a private setting?”

“That’s
fine.”

“Excellent.”
 
Navarro gestured to the diminutive man.
 
“Mister Hartline, please meet Señor Cortez Redon.
 
Señor Redon is the senior
acusador
for this area, similar to a state
attorney in the U.S.”
 

Gage
viewed Redon more closely.
 
His head was
ringed by a salt-and-pepper Caesar crown and he had a thin, aristocratic face
with a sharp nose.
 
Redon’s eyes were
dark blue and he seemed to be measuring Gage’s soul with his deep gaze.
 
Without a trace of warmth, Redon offered his
hand and Gage reluctantly took it.
 

“Redon’s
presence here is private, of course.”

Gage
said nothing.

“A
wizard with the law, he has deftly crafted a method to legally place you in
Berga that should give you an excellent sense of security.”

Gage
held up a protesting hand.
 
“Señor
Navarro, as you know, I have not yet—”

“Don’t
say it,” Navarro said severely but without venom.
 
He softened his face.
 
“Don’t decline me just yet, Mister Hartline.
 
Hear us out.
 
Once you know the specifics, you might change your mind.”
 
Navarro gestured to a grouping of
chairs.
 
A pitcher of Sangria sweated on
the center table.
 
When offered a drink,
no one accepted.

“Mister
Hartline, what we’re going to speak of today is of the highest
confidentiality,” Redon said, his English perfect though heavily accented.

Gage
leaned forward and made his voice stern.
 
“There is no need for a preamble about
confidentiality.
 
I’m here because I’m
trusted by Señor Navarro.
 
Anything
that’s said here is between us.
 
Period.
 
Now, at the risk of being rude but in the
interest of wasting no one’s time, please get on with it.”

Redon,
like most hardened career attorneys, seemed unoffended by the mild rebuke.
 
He turned to Navarro, who nodded.

“Very
well,” Redon said.
 
“Some time ago, when Señor
Navarro approached me about inserting a man into the infamous Berga Prisión as
a prisoner, with the directive of protecting his son, I initially felt there
was no good way possible to do such a thing.
 
After doing research, I learned that there were few guards or employees
of the
privately
-run prison that I
could trust enough to confide in.”
 
He
inclined his head to Navarro.
 
“Despite
this, and after considerable resolve and persistence on the part of Señor
Navarro…”