tingle.
“She cannot be a relative,” I say simply.
Though her loveliness is something I've never encountered in my thirty years on this earth, she is not blood of my blood.
“We say that she is .”
He lies. I shift my weight, my confusion deepening.
“You are Spanish and French, eh?” Manuel asks as though explaining.
I nod absently. I'm not sure what my ancient lineage has to do with anything. Many people of Mazatlán can trace themselves back to those European areas. There is even Chinese blood here.
Though I can't think of why this obscure woman has been picked as my relative. I hate that she reminds me of the woman from the hotel. The coincidence commits me in ways I don't relish, in ways I'm helpless to deny.
“And the price of this year's protection has increased with inflation.”
I stare at him, my rage boiling. I know I'll explode.
“Thirty million, Francisco.”
My heartbeat grinds to a halt. “You are joking.” My eyes bounce between the three of them.
“What's going on, Paco?” Tallinn tenses. He understands just enough to know things have gone from bad to worse.
I need to negate violence at all costs. No matter our skill, we remain weaponless. That basic fact can't be ignored. The police are corrupt. There's no accountability.
“He's raised the amount I owe six times more than that of the year before,” I say in English. “And”—I give him my eyes for a brief second before shifting them back to Manuel—“he will torture and kill my cousin if I do not comply.”
I don't need the consequence spelled out for me. That is how the narco operates.
“She,” Tallinn says loudly, pointing at the photo Manuel holds, “is not your cousin, dude.”
“I know,” I say. It's laughable.
No one is laughing, though.
“Then who the hell is she?”
My skin pebbles with realization. Club Alpha. Is it possible to feel one's blood grow cold in their veins?
I think so.
“She might be my wife.”
“Are you crazy? Man, you don't have a wife.”
We look at each other.
The wife of my future.
I see when Tallinn hits on the same puzzle I solved. His arm flies to his chest. “Oh man, no way.”
I nod. My words are for Tallinn, but my eyes never leave Manuel.
“Yes way.”
Manuel just keeps smiling insufferably. “We can come to terms then?”
“She is not my relative!” I yell, finally losing my temper. The two other narcos drop their arms from their knotted hold and let them hang loosely at their sides.
“Then you will not mind her slow torture and execution. Your indifference will be absolute at her deliberate rape.”
I flinch. The thought of my angel being degraded is more than I can stand.
His fingertip trails seductively over the photo of her. My stomach churns in a slick roil of heat. “What do you want?”
Manuel is back to grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
“Why… the money of course.”
My heartbeat returns to normal.
I can do money . I have more than I could ever spend in ten lifetimes.
“Fine.”
Manuel leans toward me. I can smell bad breath cloaked by mints.
“There is one other thing. You must kill her. You, no one else.”
Every instinct of protection that has lain dormant inside me rises like sweat out of my pores.
I cannot kill her. I know this as surely as I stand there taking my next breath.
And why would I have to murder anyone?
Especially if my speculations hold true—if this is a Club Alpha artifice—why would I kill the woman possibly meant for me?
It makes no sense.
“You have seventy-two hours. I expect the money to be wired directly into my account, as always. Here is the number of a doctor who will validate the end of her life.”
He passes the number to me and when I don't take it, Tallinn does.
“I can't kill her,” I say.
“That is no problem. We will be happy to end her life, friend. Slowly.”
I peg my hips with my hands, pacing away. I need time to think this through, and time is not my friend. I hit on a plan and whirl
“She cannot be a relative,” I say simply.
Though her loveliness is something I've never encountered in my thirty years on this earth, she is not blood of my blood.
“We say that she is .”
He lies. I shift my weight, my confusion deepening.
“You are Spanish and French, eh?” Manuel asks as though explaining.
I nod absently. I'm not sure what my ancient lineage has to do with anything. Many people of Mazatlán can trace themselves back to those European areas. There is even Chinese blood here.
Though I can't think of why this obscure woman has been picked as my relative. I hate that she reminds me of the woman from the hotel. The coincidence commits me in ways I don't relish, in ways I'm helpless to deny.
“And the price of this year's protection has increased with inflation.”
I stare at him, my rage boiling. I know I'll explode.
“Thirty million, Francisco.”
My heartbeat grinds to a halt. “You are joking.” My eyes bounce between the three of them.
“What's going on, Paco?” Tallinn tenses. He understands just enough to know things have gone from bad to worse.
I need to negate violence at all costs. No matter our skill, we remain weaponless. That basic fact can't be ignored. The police are corrupt. There's no accountability.
“He's raised the amount I owe six times more than that of the year before,” I say in English. “And”—I give him my eyes for a brief second before shifting them back to Manuel—“he will torture and kill my cousin if I do not comply.”
I don't need the consequence spelled out for me. That is how the narco operates.
“She,” Tallinn says loudly, pointing at the photo Manuel holds, “is not your cousin, dude.”
“I know,” I say. It's laughable.
No one is laughing, though.
“Then who the hell is she?”
My skin pebbles with realization. Club Alpha. Is it possible to feel one's blood grow cold in their veins?
I think so.
“She might be my wife.”
“Are you crazy? Man, you don't have a wife.”
We look at each other.
The wife of my future.
I see when Tallinn hits on the same puzzle I solved. His arm flies to his chest. “Oh man, no way.”
I nod. My words are for Tallinn, but my eyes never leave Manuel.
“Yes way.”
Manuel just keeps smiling insufferably. “We can come to terms then?”
“She is not my relative!” I yell, finally losing my temper. The two other narcos drop their arms from their knotted hold and let them hang loosely at their sides.
“Then you will not mind her slow torture and execution. Your indifference will be absolute at her deliberate rape.”
I flinch. The thought of my angel being degraded is more than I can stand.
His fingertip trails seductively over the photo of her. My stomach churns in a slick roil of heat. “What do you want?”
Manuel is back to grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
“Why… the money of course.”
My heartbeat returns to normal.
I can do money . I have more than I could ever spend in ten lifetimes.
“Fine.”
Manuel leans toward me. I can smell bad breath cloaked by mints.
“There is one other thing. You must kill her. You, no one else.”
Every instinct of protection that has lain dormant inside me rises like sweat out of my pores.
I cannot kill her. I know this as surely as I stand there taking my next breath.
And why would I have to murder anyone?
Especially if my speculations hold true—if this is a Club Alpha artifice—why would I kill the woman possibly meant for me?
It makes no sense.
“You have seventy-two hours. I expect the money to be wired directly into my account, as always. Here is the number of a doctor who will validate the end of her life.”
He passes the number to me and when I don't take it, Tallinn does.
“I can't kill her,” I say.
“That is no problem. We will be happy to end her life, friend. Slowly.”
I peg my hips with my hands, pacing away. I need time to think this through, and time is not my friend. I hit on a plan and whirl
Similar Books
