The Perfect Stranger (LOS SANTOS Cartel Story #2) Page 3

  His attempt at sincerity only made me question his motive all the more. I turned to Jase who looked exactly how I felt. His arm was now hooked in a sling and I could see, he too, now sensed we had been duped.

  Chief Hanson and this… Delacroix, Head of Criminal Fraud, were in this together.

  “You’re dismissed.” The Chief stood from the corner of his mahogany desk and sat in his plush leather chair. Slowly Jase and I rose and made our way to the door. He exited first before I was called back.

  “And Suárez,”

  Turning, my fists clenched, I faced the man I no longer trusted.

  “Don’t breathe a word of this to anyone.”

  “This is fucking bullshit!” Jase threw his jacket to the back of his locker with frustration. When I continued hooking my shirt through a coat hanger, he turned his tantrum to me. “You’re not going to say anything?”

  “There’s nothing to say.”

  “I think there’s plenty that needs to be said… starting with a fucking explanation.”

  “Whatever they have going on is bigger than us. We’ve done our jobs. Let them handle the rest.”

  “We’ve done our jobs which never came with a ‘watch your back’ warning until after the fact.”

  Closing the locker door I faced Jase, his brows almost knitted together. “There’s a reason we do what we do, Jase. You know this. You wanna go work for S.W.A.T., then go. Special Forces is a whole different ballgame.”

  “How is it then, that our identities are being threatened? They never see our faces, they don’t know our names, so how come suddenly we’re targets? Perhaps someone a little closer to home, ain’t so much working for ‘home’ anymore if you know what I’m saying?”

  I edged closer to Jase, my jaw set. “I do know what you’re saying, and it will pay to keep your mouth shut,” I warned through bared teeth. “I don’t know exactly what’s happening, but treat everyone as the enemy from now on. Do you hear? I don’t trust them as much as you, and I really don’t think terrorists are now our major issue.”

  “‘Cause we know something they don’t want us to know?” Jase asked.

  “Correct.”

  Disgruntled by the truth, he slammed his locker closed and hooked his duffle over his shoulder.

  “Fuck this shit. I’m heading to Pete’s. You coming?” He should have been going home to pack his bags and leave town.

  “Go home to your wife and get out of here.”

  “Plenty of time for that. You coming or what?” I could hear the disdain already.

  I wanted to get out of NYC as fast as possible. I didn’t like the feeling in my gut that shit was about to go down. But looking at Jase, and seeing his need for a drink after almost dying today, who was I to say no.

  “Why you drink at the shit-hole mystifies me.”

  “There’s worse ways to spend your night.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “How you doin’, sugar?” the bar waitress asked, yelling above the noise of the music and rowdy patrons. She wasn’t talking to me. She only had eyes for Jase, and he seemingly despite a decent age gap, was lapping it up.

  “Not bad, darlin’. Loving the top.” He gestured to the low cut number.

  Chuffed by the attention, she gave him a wicked smile and quickly shot up her brows in question before moving to get our drinks.

  “What did that mean?” I was torn between confusion and wanting to knock some sense into my friend.

  Jase looked up at me while he rifled through his wallet. “What do you mean?”

  “The eyebrow thing. You got a thing going on with the bar chick?”

  “Her name is Sonia. And so what if I do?”

  “Un-fucking-believable.”

  “You never know what someone’s life is like unless you’ve been in their shoes.” I knew he was passing the buck. There was absolutely nothing wrong with his wife.

  “Thank you Aristotle, but you’re still a dick.”

  “Here you go, sweetheart.” Sonia, the waitress, returned with our drinks, beer slopping over the rims. My attention, however, was drawn to a man I could see beyond Sonia. He sat with slumped shoulders and no drink in front of him. His eyes had flicked around the room unsure of his surroundings before they settled back on me. He held my gaze and wasn’t deterred. He looked familiar. South American. But I couldn’t place him. As Sonia took a step back, she blocked the man from my vision.

  “Anything else for you, sugar?”

  “I’m good.” Jase blew her a kiss in way of thanks and held his glass up to meet mine. We cheered in silence, and I watched over the lip of my glass as Jase drained almost all of his in one eager go. Swallowing hard, he wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and then leaned against the bar top lost in thought. It had been one fucked up day with an even more fucked up few weeks ahead.

  After a few moments had passed, he said the last thing I expected.

  “Nessa cheated on me.”

  “Bullshit!” My response was one of shock, yet Jase’s unusual quiet demeanor had me questioning the revelation.

  “Not bullshit. It’s my fault, though.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Jase stood straight, nerves taking hold. This was unlike his typical cocky behavior.

  “We had a boring sex life, you know?”

  “Okay?”

  “Years of being together, and our careers taking priority, led to sex becoming virtually non-existent. One night after discussing it we made a deal.” He looked to me and I raised my eyebrows in question waiting for him to continue.

  “We tell each other our biggest fantasy and we try to make it come true.”

  I wasn’t aware I was doing it until it was too late. My heavy groan revealed just how unimpressed I was with the direction of the conversation.

  “Nessa didn’t have much in the way of a fantasy. She wanted to try some new toys, mess around in a few different positions. Standard shit.”

  “And yours?”

  Jase indicated to Sonia for another round of drinks. “I confessed that I got off imagining her being fucked by another man while I watched, and that someday I would like to see it come true.”

  “So she didn’t cheat, she was just following your wishes?”

  Jase shook his head. There was more to come. “At first she said she wasn’t comfortable with the idea. That she didn’t believe it would help, and that it would only hinder our relationship. I understood the issues, but I convinced her it would just be a once off and that it would be in a controlled environment. She warmed up to the idea, and no soon after the night was organized, we were both excited. It felt good. The other guy was of her choosing from a discreet swinger’s agency. She chose someone who looks the total opposite of me. Didn’t think much of it at the time, you know? I watched as they openly flirted over a couple bottles of wine. I didn’t mind. They were setting the mood.”

  “And you were doing what this whole time?”

  “I joined in the conversation, but I simply wanted to be a voyeur when it came time. It was hot. And she enjoyed it… multiple times. He was respectful and treated her well.”

  “So, you’ve had a change of heart? Jealousy finally catching up?”

  “No, I still look back and think how fucking horny I was watching it. The problem isn’t that. What was supposed to be a once off has turned into an affair. An affair where I’m not involved. An affair that has gone further than just a fantasy shared between a couple.”

  I exhaled heavily. “Bro, you fucked up.”

  “You don’t think I know that?”

  “So where do you go from here?”

  “She blames me. She says I pushed her into it, and that she couldn’t control the emotions that developed between them after being intimate. I get it, I do.”

  Sonia returned with our round of beers. “So your form of retribution is to do the same thing?”

  “It makes me feel like I’ve got some control back in my life.”

  Although
I still had some more ribbing to do in regards to Jase’s poor, yet amusing, life choices, I could once again sense that I was being watched. This time he appeared agitated. Like how a meth addict would be, knowing they weren’t getting their next fix. The bar was crowded, and he jolted from the knocks of the people passing by. He looked like he wanted to be invisible in a place where no one noticed him. No one but me.

  “So that’s it? You’ve got no advice?”

  “How can I give advice to a man who feels cheated, after he told his wife to sleep with another man just so he could get off?” Although I found my friend’s situation particularly amusing, I refrained from smiling, my eyes locked to those of the stranger still staring me down. Choosing to be the one to break away, I downed my beer and gave Jase’s shoulder a squeeze.

  “Go home to your wife and show her a good enough time that she’ll forget all about the man you involved in your fantasy.”

  I didn’t stick around for a reply. Whoever the stranger was, he was not of the same descent as the men we targeted today. The same men we were promised would seek retribution on us should they know our identities. This man was here for a very different reason. One I was hoping wouldn’t take too long to discover.

  Ten minutes after leaving the pub I made it home. But I wasn’t alone. In the shadows I could barely make out his form. The whites of his eyes glistened, and something told me he’d been waiting for my arrival. I owned the loft of a warehouse turned apartment block. There were three other owners, and this man was not one of them. I took the small flight of stairs slowly until I reached the top where I could get a better look at my visitor.

  “You after something?” I asked and was surprised by his reaction.

  “Antonio Suárez?” he questioned, his South American accent thick.

  “Who’s asking?”

  The man took a step out of the shadows, the street light softly illuminating his features. He was a man in his twenties with a baby face unusually marred from eyes that carried a dreadful story. It wasn’t the man from the pub but they looked the same.

  “Who are you?”

  “If you are Antonio, I’ve come with a message.”

  “From who?”

  “Your father.”

  The two words felt like a sucker punch.

  “Where is he?”

  He went to speak and hesitated. “Your father was injured, badly.” The stranger shook his head when he saw my face. “I’m sorry.” He continued, “He told me to find you. Please, my name is Josiah. I and my friend…” he pointed behind me, the man from the bar, “…Arturo, have been on the streets for days looking for you. Could you offer us a meal and water?”

  My day was already fucked up. I wasn’t in a hurry to fuck it up some more, but my father was a good man. If they had something I needed to know, then I had to play the game.

  “What’s my father’s name?” I tested.

  “Gonzalo Frederico Suárez and your mother is Julieta.”

  “How do you know my family?”

  “Arturo and I have worked for your father for many years.” I could see the sadness in his eyes, which in turn told me I needed to get these men fed. Looking at them both, it was evident they had indeed been living it rough for whatever reason and could do with a decent feed.

  Indicating for the men to step aside, I unlocked the foyer door, and they silently followed me up three flights of stairs until we entered my loft. Both men remained quiet, their eyes doing the talking as they scanned my environment.

  I gestured for them to sit down, and I watched with some curiosity as they sat on the edge of the sofa, cautious not to get it dirty.

  Pulling my cell free, I dialed the number for the Chinese restaurant down the road and ordered enough for the hungry mouths in front of me. Twisting the caps off three Coronas, I handed them one each and sat on the opposite sofa.

  “You say you work for my father? So why have you no place to go? Nothing to eat? Surely he wouldn’t have sent you without some money?”

  They looked to each, silently determining who would be the one to talk.

  “There was no choice in the matter,” Arturo, the man from the bar said. “It wasn’t his fault. That’s why we’re here.”

  “I’m sorry, but today goes on my list for being my least favorite, so if you could just start at the beginning and explain why you were sent, I’d be most appreciative.”

  In broken English, he asked, “When was the last time you visited La Balsa?”

  “A long time ago, but I remember it well.”

  “Then you would remember just how beautiful it was. A place where we could call home. A place where we could live safe with our families.”

  “And now?”

  For the next half an hour I listened while Arturo and Josiah, in Spanish, told me about the atrocity that took place. It was just one week ago that things had changed. They explained that it was no longer a place I would recognize.

  They had been working in the fields just like every other normal day. Fifty workers tended to the Southern end farms when they heard the unusual noise. In the distance, they watched as the crop duster planes rounded the mountains and flew in a parallel line toward them. The people of the hidden Colombian region of La Balsa were too poor for aerial fertilization. Then, in perfect timing, the planes released their poison. A green mist descended coating everything in the vicinity. Arturo, Josiah, and five others ran, taking cover under the equipment shelter. It had no walls, only a roof, but offered enough protection to save them. The others? They weren’t so lucky. They were too far away from any form of shelter in the coca fields. They fell, one by one, as the chemical invaded their airways and burned their insides. The humming of the planes faded only to return moments later, circling for another assault.

  When the chemical drop finally came to an end, Arturo and Josiah wrapped their shirts around their faces and raced back to the main house. It was only when they arrived to safety did they see the damage done to their bare chests and back. The poison had caused their skin to bleed and burn.

  Less than an hour later a river worker stumbled to the door, covered in blood. His hand clutched his throat which had been slit. Not enough that he would die instantly, but for a slow, painful death. He too wore no shirt, his stomach now carrying a message engraved deep into his flesh.

  Arturo handed me a balled up piece of paper that had seen better days.

  CESAR O PAGA

  Cease or pay.

  “Who did this?” I asked. With fearful eyes, Arturo swallowed hard before continuing.

  The finger could be pointed in numerous directions. In a way, it was a long time coming. It was violent and full of malice, but this was Colombia. My family for generations had been involved with the farming of coca. As a boy, I grew up in La Balsa, a small town neighboring Ecuador. To some, it was considered poor. Below the poverty line. But it was a self-sufficient community who had coca in their blood, well before it was used for both legal and illegal drugs. With its ever increasing popularity, crime sprees became the regular. Legal medicinal companies took a step back, no longer wanting to sell medicines that used a coca base. With a sudden loss of income, my father continued his production, satisfying the needs of an eager new buyer who saw the benefits of a secluded community with plots of land hidden within the shadows of mountains. With main access being by river, it had quickly become an ideal transportation zone. From there it was handed over to drug manufacturers who would turn the traditional plant into a paste and then finally, cocaine.

  But who had my father’s business as a target?

  “There’s more,” Josiah spoke as if acid burning fifty people with a crop duster wasn’t the worst part. He took another sip of his beer, preparing himself to delve deeper into the next phase of this fucked up story.

  My father had been notably distraught. He took pride in his business and considered all the peasant workers as his family. Such a violent act resulting in a mass death of employees had hit him hard. Yet, he had
no idea who would do such a thing. Being so far removed from the actual drug production, he was none the wiser of the political war mounting around him. As far as he knew, the buyer still considered his crop the best in South America due to the quality of soil and had raised no issues about their business relationship.

  Apparently, there was also no further warning of the impending threat. No evidence to point in any direction for who was responsible. When the town went up in flames and women and children were amongst the casualties, the finger needed to be pointed at someone. But who? Exactly one week after the acid attacks on the peasant workers, the people of La Balsa had said goodnight on another day of grieving. The population was small, and if you could close your eyes at night and not be mourning the recent deaths, you were considered lucky.

  As Josiah recalled the information, my mind, already in a dark place after the day’s raid, was transported back to my hometown. Back where I could feel the heat from the flames burning my skin just as it had the one hundred and fifty people who had suffered.

  The attackers had circled, framing the town. No one saw them. No one suspected them of being there. They watched and waited until they saw no movement and then they struck. The fire took hold with the aid of an accelerant and trapped the people who were sound asleep in their homes. When the smell of smoke and fuel woke some, their screams and cries of warning roused the rest. This had no doubt been exactly what the terrorists wanted. Mass chaos.

  Josiah, who had been among the carnage, recalled seeing his neighbor scramble from his home that was already being licked with flames. The man was yelling, fear in his eyes, as he watched a part of his town burn. The sadness when he realized there was nowhere left to run. He became frantic, the primal need to see his family to safety taking hold of his logic. With a crying baby and two-year-old boy, the man and his wife began to flee. Face to face with a wall of flame, and shielding their faces from flying embers, they finally saw an opening. Holding each other’s hands they made a run for the clearing. Before they were beyond the flames, their bodies shook and jolted violently. The man fell to his knees, blood running from his mouth. He held tight to his boy who was lying face down in the dirt.