Keeping the girl was an immediate success. Arturo was delighted, and when I put down the phone, Chumillo was grinning at me, all the hesitation gone. “Man, I’m glad you’re taking her in.”
“How could I not? Seeing she’s not a threat.”
I got it spot on because Chumillo was nodding. “Absolutely. I’m off to Miami in the morning, or I’d have taken her myself.”
“Glad to do it.”
We zoomed to a clinic where the medic displayed no surprise at all at the state of the girl. He simply checked her out, stitched up the various cuts, took some blood, and loaded her up with drugs. He had a brief word with Chumillo, but I didn’t understand a word of it.
“Cracked ribs, broken nose, and the rest is surface damage,” Chumillo announced. “It’ll all heal, but it will take a few weeks.”
Beatings take it out of you. I’d administered some excellent ones in my time, and the thought of the girl wailing and moaning while she healed was off-putting.
I framed it so that the Zeta would be impressed by my thoughtfulness. “She’s going to be in lots of pain. Can we sedate her?”
“Sure! Good idea!” Chumillo got onto it right away, and we were instantly handed enough opiates to send a herd of elephants into clouded bliss.
“This little cockroach says she just needs food and rest,” Chumillo translated. “I’ve told him there will be trouble if he’s wrong.”
He spoke casually, but from the look of fear in the medic’s eyes, I knew the cartel lieutenant was quite capable of doing some damage. Broken hands maybe. That would worry a quack.
“Tell him I don’t speak Spanish, but if he gets a call from me to get his arse into gear and get to the house, quick.”
“That’ll work.” Chumillo quizzed him mercilessly and then told him to make daily house calls until further notice. The man nodded, sweated, and shuffled us out as quickly as he could.
When we got home, the girl was out cold but feeling no pain.
Chumillo was gazing at the battered body and sighing, “She looks dreadful.”
“You’re sure she’s not bleeding internally?”
“The cockroach says not. His advice was to keep her warm and feed her soup.”
“That’s doable. Want a beer?”
“Hell, yes!”
We had a drink, exclaimed over events, and then I got a slap on the back and he was off, calling, “I’ll phone from Miami.”
Now the girl was cleaned up and bandaged, it was clear she was a mess. The bruises were spectacular, and the various cuts had taken dozens of stitches, but what worried me more was that the river was polluted. If she’d picked up a bug while in this weakened state, she might easily perish.
I didn’t have a lot of faith in the doctor. He had made it clear he wanted to be as far away from the Zetas as possible. As he knew that attending the girl in his clinic meant having the gang around full-time, he’d whacked her full of drugs and rushed us away as fast as possible. Hopefully the brutally basic care would be enough to pull her through.
I had a good look at her and tried to figure out who she might be. The calloused hands and muscled body suggested she had done manual labour of some kind. I ruled out farming as the unmarked patches of skin on her lower legs were too pale for that. Whatever she’d worked at, it was decent pay because she was well nourished and had good teeth and well-kept nails.
Frankly, I was stumped. Given she was out, I wrapped her in a blanket, put her on a lounger so I could keep an eye on her, and got started on the garden. The weeds around the pool were the size of triffids, so I set to pulling them up.
I was half way done when Kyle rocked up on a massive bike. I knew instantly he’d come to check on the girl, and from the second I saw the silver eyes rake me over, I knew he didn’t trust me.
“Rip.” He had a deep bass voice. “Interesting morning.”
“Isn’t it?” He was so rock-solid and disapproving of me that I was tempted to rile him up, just for the fun of it. But remembering Tricky preferring his friends over his assets, I decided to be friendly. “You’ve come to see the girl?”
He was looking her over, his big hands surprisingly gentle. Like me, he checked her palms and then paused, frowning as he thought about the implications. It was rather revealing; Kyle was a hunter himself.
I left him to it and went to get beers. By the time I returned he was done. The Zetas were Olympic-standard talkers, but Kyle sat in total silence, gazing out over the river. With the bulky muscles, all black gear, and strange silver eyes, he was unusual, unnerving almost.
Eventually he put down the empty bottle. “Is she safe here?”
Right to the point. “Absolutely. I don’t kill women.”
The silver eyes gazed at me. I couldn’t read him at all. But he nodded, saying, “I’ll tell the doc to check in twice a day.”
“Thanks.”
A minute later, the superbike roared down the road. I looked after him, wondering what to do. From his attitude, he knew what I was, and he didn’t like it. I’d have to work on that, or he’d poison Arturo against me. I’d have to find out what made him tick and manage him.
I spent the rest of the day pulling weeds, reading Arturo’s files, and pouring milk and soup into the girl. She swallowed, but there was no sense of awareness. Her body was entirely focused on repairing the damage she’d suffered.
Chumillo called at suppertime. “Just checking in. Has she said anything?”
“Not yet.”
“Is she feverish? Shall I call the cockroach?”
“He’s dropping by regularly. We just have to wait and see.”
“Okay. Look, call me if there’s anything.”
“Sure.”
“Miami’s great! It’s wall-to-wall gourmet food, and the women are beautiful. I’m drinking the most perfect fresh orange juice ever, and the sizzling Philippine-style pork is to die for. Want anything from here?”
Kyle called five minutes later, and we had the same conversation but in short form and without the camaraderie.
“She talking?”
“No.”
“Fever?”
“No.”
“Call me when anything changes.”
Yes, the Zetas really were obsessed with women. I’d have to work with that and give updates they’d be interested in. The prospect of that seemed remote; she was out of it. I considered possibilities as I ate. But despite a steak the size of a dinner plate and so tender you might eat it with a spoon, I came up with nothing.
At least the girl was easy to care for. She had more soup—I didn’t want to challenge her digestive system—and after dinner, I settled her on the sofa with me, watching the news.
At bedtime I was planning to put her in one of the spare rooms. But when I checked her over, she was too cold to the touch. I was expecting warm or feverish, which would’ve been a sign of her body working. Cool was a warning of trouble to come.
In short, I took her to bed. I wrapped her in a blanket and put her next to me. Having been shy of company for as long as I could remember, having her in the room was weird. I tossed and turned, and just as I was about to kick her out to take her chances alone, I fell fast asleep. God knows why, but I woke up in the early hours knowing something was wrong.
I touched her and found her cold and stiff. I thought she was gone, but a mirror held to her mouth showed a slight mist. It was around five, the time of day the soul is weakest. Looking out at the darkness outside, I had an idea.
I picked her up and took her into the garden. We sat by the pool, looking east. The sky was just beginning to lighten; the sun was on its way up. I thought that if she could see the start to a new day, she might rally.
That’s when I realised I had no idea what to call her. I looked at the raggedy hair, the smashed button nose and the large mouth. Nothing came to me. Honey, angel, sweetheart, silly cow—nothing seemed appropriate.
It came out of nowhere. “Morgan!” I patted her face, avoiding the black eyes and the split lip. “Morgan, wake up. Look at the sun. Come on, Morgan!”
I kept patting, dipped a hand into the pool and flicked water over her face. It wasn’t working. The sky began to turn aqua and pink, but she wasn’t seeing it.
I was losing her. Time for drastic measures.
I pulled her out of the blanket and dropped her in the pool. She went under and then she convulsed. I reached in and grabbed her by an arm. As soon as she got to the surface, she began gasping and choking. I pulled her out and sat her on the grass.
“Come on, Morgan!” I patted her face again. “Open your eyes!”
I bullied and yelled at her until she was with me. Then I turned her head to the sun. “Look! Look at the sky!”
She was struggling to breathe, shivering with cold and shock, but then she got herself together. She was moving and turning her head to the light. I picked her up, wrapped her in the blanket and patted her dry. “Keep looking at the sun, Morgan. Don’t close your eyes. Stay awake.”
The sun did the trick. As it rose in the sky, Morgan warmed up. Even better, she was listening to the birdsong. Time to get some nourishment into her.
“Come on, Morgan. A spoonful of honey.”
It’s lovely stuff, honey, rich and sweet. It doesn’t do much else, but I wanted her to taste, to experience life. The sun in the sky, the warmth of the blanket, and the silken honey did the trick.
She struggled out of the blanket to wipe a stray hair from her face. It was the first natural movement I’d had from her. I quickly fed her three more spoonfuls of honey.
Ten minutes of sitting in the sun and then I took her inside, scrambled some eggs, and gave her a bowl of that. She kept it all down and the warm milk I fed her two hours later, so when Rafa and Pedro Rojo turned up at lunchtime, I was starting on the garden and feeling pretty chipper.
“We checked everywhere but we’ve had no hits,” Pedro announced.
“She’s probably a hooker,” Rafa said. “Nobody misses those.”
Pedro spat on the grass. “Disgraceful! Even hookers are human. If we catch the fucker, let’s kill him.” Then he smiled and asked me, “So what are your plans for her?”
I must say that I was fascinated. The Zetas had an interesting take on life. Cross them and you were a fiend, but as one of their own, you could do no wrong.
They knew what I was, they’d seen how I’d killed Campello and Navarro, but as long as they liked me, I was golden. “I’ve called her Morgan. At the moment, the plan is to let her heal.”
I got it absolutely right. They were relaxed and smiling.
“Fish is easy to digest.” Pedro presented me with a cooler full of seafood. “A house-warming gift,” he grinned.
“A broth might be the thing.” Rafa agreed. He handed over a basket of fruit and protein shakes. “Garlic’s supposed to be good for you too. I’ll bring you some tomorrow.”
“There’s some wild garlic in the border. I can harvest some for her.”
“You’re a gardener?” Rafa was instantly enthusiastic. “As soon as the girl’s better, I’ll take you to a great place across town. My mother says it’s the best gardening centre in the district.”
I was totally taken aback by their generosity. I’d avoided people for a decade before being rejected in swift succession by the Rossi, the Balchunas and Tricky, and I thought I was beyond enjoying companionship. However, I actually found myself liking the Zetas. They left after a few beers, but at teatime the cockroach turned up with Quique on his tail.
“She’s not an addict of any kind,” the Zeta announced. “And she’s got no STDs either.”
“So probably not a hooker, then?” I ventured.
“My thought exactly,” Quique said. After micromanaging the doc, the Zeta turned to me, “She’s a mess, the pobrecita.”
“She almost died last night.” I told him all about it, knowing he’d spread the story and do me a lot of good.
It worked just as I hoped. “Rip, you saved her life. Ay, Dios mío! It’s fantastic!”
He went off, singing my praises, and I went back to work in the garden while Morgan slept and healed.
Arturo called on the fourth day. “We’re ready for the next move in Modesto. He’s Gerardo Azul, a dealer. I need a quick hit that looks like an accident.”
“Sure!”
It was a super easy kill. I drove across, picked up a stolen car left in a lot, waited for my victim to leave a bar and ran him over. As I was doing sixty, he was gone in an instant.
Dumping the boosted ride in a back alley, and my disguise—a long blonde feminine wig, heels, falsies, and big glasses—in various bins five and ten miles away, I returned to my own car and drove home.
The whole thing took five hours, and Arturo was delighted. “They think it was a DUI hit and run. By a woman!”
“Good.”
“Your disguise was perfect.”
I was high on success, and that night Morgan ate a little of my dinner, chicken with bell peppers in a red wine sauce. While the drugs meant she was still not tracking, she snuggled up to me while I watched a beginner Spanish course. I pushed her off a few times, but she kept moving back, and eventually I gave up and let her stay.
Putting her in the spare bedroom wasn’t an option yet, either, as she had an on-and-off fever that needed watching. To my irritation she was determined to cuddle up to me there too. On top of that, she needed escorting to the loo.
She was a pest, but thinking of the Zetas’ interest, I decided it was best to encourage her. When Rafa came the next day to deliver my cash, I was careful to take Morgan on my knee. She was so doped up that she snuggled.
“Ay, look at that!” Rafa exclaimed. “She’s feeling better.”
“I think so,” I said casually. “I think she’s turning the corner.”
“You’re taking good care of her.” Rafa was smiling.
After that, I made sure that Morgan was with me constantly. Having her gave us a conversational focal point and kept my image green. It worked extremely well as my new friends were popping by every day, just for a coffee or a beer and a quick update on her.
When Chumillo returned from Florida a week later, bringing oranges and an ‘I love Miami’ tee for Morgan, the swelling had gone down, but she still looked like a boxer who’d come out on the losing end of a match.
Even so, he was delighted at her progress. “She may not be tracking, but she knows you saved her.”
“I’m becoming fond of her,” I lied.
“Of course.” Chumillo was grinning, delighted that I was a proper Zeta after all. By the way he spoke, all his caution about the Navarro kill had vanished. Chumillo was back to being chummy. “She’s a sweetheart. And think how grateful she’ll be when she comes out of it.”
I petted the clean blonde hair, still sticking out here and there after my crude haircut. “She’s on some pretty powerful painkillers. I’ll keep her under a while longer, just to get her over the painful part of the healing.”
“Yeah, that’s the kind way,” Chumillo agreed. “Much better for her.”
“Yes, but I’m looking forward to seeing her come out of it.” Another lie, I’d rather have her quiet like this forever, but it went down well.
“You worked a miracle, Rip,” Chumillo said confidently. “We’re all rooting for you.”
Yes, Morgan really was an asset. The idea had been in the back of my mind, but it was at that point that I began to think of keeping her permanently.
Nobody wants to be near a man like me, and I was determined to make my home with the cartel. As I was going to be doing a lot more work for Arturo, my newfound friends would have plenty of ammunition for turning against me.
I didn’t want a repeat of what happened in London with Tricky, or the disasters with the Rossi and Balchunas. If just seeing her near me made me palatable to the Zetas, she’d be worth keeping.
As the days went by, I began to enjoy being pulled away from my garden by visitors. Pepe Rojo, Gordo, Quique and Rafa all came, separately and together. Every single one of them was loud in praise of Morgan’s affectionate presence, and I heaved a sigh of relief, seeing them all turn to me without those telltale hesitations and flickering eyes.
“She looks great, Rip.”
“You saved her life. She was definitely on her way out.”
“We’re all amazed at how you brought her back from the other side.”
It was very gratifying, and as they all stayed to gossip, I learned a dozen stories about all of the senior staff. From what I gathered, chat was lifeblood for the Zetas.
The exception was Kyle, who turned up again on his massive bike. “Thought I’d check in.” And then we sat for an hour at the back by the pool, watching the girl sleep in the sun and not saying a word.
I’d learned by then that he was Arturo’s brother and the second most important man in the Zetas. My senses also told me he was extremely dangerous. If he decided I was a problem, he would be tricky to kill. It was a concern.
It was only when I woke up Morgan for her lunch, a cherry smoothie and a small banana, that he spoke. “Are you connecting with her?”
It was an odd question. “She’s not exactly compos mentis. At least, not yet. She’s on painkillers.”
Kyle nodded, drained his beer and got to his feet. He’s a big bastard and he towered over me. “Solitaire will be asking questions.” Then he left.
Frankly, I was flabbergasted. The Zetas loved their women but from their chat, they didn’t encourage them to take part in business. Far from it: they were macho to the bone.
While I’d come across women in organised crime, they’d been rare and pretty much on the fringes. From what I’d heard, Solitaire ran a foundation and a small film business. It didn’t sound like a big deal so I was stumped as to what Arturo’s girl had to say about anything.
I soon found out because she pitched up two days later in a bullet-proof Merc and ten outriders.
“For you.” She opened the boot and began lifting out trays of seedlings. “I hear you like gardening.” She brought a selection of herbs, flowers and vegetables. “There’s a consignment of topsoil coming this afternoon.”
“Thank you. Tea?”
“Yes, please.” Anyone else might have equivocated but Solitaire went straight to the point. “I would’ve been round earlier, but I was in LA. I don’t approve of what’s happened. Where is she?”
“In the shade by the pool.”
I went to boil the kettle and left Solitaire to it. While the water heated, I tried to put myself in her place, but I couldn’t get a handle on her. I had no idea what made her tick. I’d have to go with the flow.
“She looks terrible.” Solitaire’s face was pinched and furious.
It seemed harsh after all the care I’d taken. “Yes. If you like, you can take her with you.” It was just the right thing to say. I could see by her eyes she was surprised. “She needs feeding every six hours, and you can’t leave her in the dark.”
I’d figured that out when I’d switched off the light the day she’d turned the corner. Morgan instantly began whimpering and had stopped just as quickly when I put the light on again. Since then, I’d slept with the light on and very uncomfortable it was too.
“Also, she needs washing, her teeth brushed—”
“I get it!” Solitaire snapped. Then she sighed and grinned. She really was remarkably beautiful. Her eyes were the same colour as the sapphires Arturo had bought for her. “Arturo told me there was nothing to do,” she confessed. “It’s not like we know where she belongs or have a home to put her in.”
“So you don’t want her?”
“We’re getting hitched soon. I don’t think she’d make a great third on the honeymoon.”
“She’ll be okay with me.”
“Will she?” Those eyes were speculative. “I don’t like cruelty, and if I think you’re mistreating her—”
I got the message. Solitaire knew what I was, and she didn’t like it one little bit. She had no official role, so I thought I could safely ignore her, but seeing she was important to Arturo, I’d be safer if I worked on her too.
The list of people I had to keep on my side was getting longer and longer, but I smiled reassuringly. “She’ll be fine.”
“Why is she drugged?”
“The doc prescribed the meds. A couple more days, and she’ll come off them.”
The purple eyes were firm. “I’ll come back then and see her.”
“Any time!” Yes, this woman would need handling.
Solitaire left, escorted by her outriders in royal style, and I went back to my garden. I had big plans for it, and her gift was a lovely boost. While I dug and prepared the ground, I had a good think about the girl.
Once her body had healed, I’d have no excuse to keep her drugged. And when she woke up, she’d take one look at me and run screaming. I mean, any girl in her senses would.
If I were to make proper use of her, I would have to keep her under control. With the Zetas watching, it wasn’t going to be easy. I would have to come up with some drastic measures.