Vice(17)

“So you are interested in women, too?” he says.

I shrug, doing my best to look nonchalant. “I’m a guy, aren’t I?”

Fernando looks at the ground, brows banked together, as if he’s thinking furiously. Taking a step to the right, he holds out one hand, gesturing me into his office. “Come in. I need to make a phone call. You’ll excuse me for a moment, I think.” It’s not a request. He’s merely informing me of what’s about to happen, and I honestly don’t like the sound of it. A phone call to whom? I cut a sidelong look at Natalia. She seems to be locked in some kind of intense, silent communication with her father, and I can’t decide if that is a good or a bad thing. Bad, I’m sure.

“I have something for you, Sam,” she tells me. “My father will be back in a minute. I’m sure the two of you can discuss the matter of a purchase further then. In the meantime…” She gives me a tight-lipped smile and heads past her father, into the office.

I make a point of smiling warmly at Fernando as I enter his office. Better for me to pretend I’m completely oblivious to the danger of this situation than to break out into a sweat. Fernando nods slightly, and then he hurries off down the length of the floor, making a beeline for Ocho. His shoulders seem to have inched up some, like he’s bracing for something; why Fernando Villalobos would be worried about anything here, in his home, with all his men and their weapons around, is a mystery.

Fernando’s office is unassuming. No art on the walls. No frills of any kind. Bare tile floor. Regular desk. A small lamp, which is turned on, since there doesn’t actually appear to be an overhead light.

“Have a seat.” Natalia pulls out a seat in front of her father’s desk, gesturing for me to park my ass in it. She seems to have forgotten about my gun. Either that, or she’s placing a great deal of trust in me, and she doesn’t expect me to shoot her father where he stands.

“Sorry it’s so dim in here,” she tells me. “My father has very sensitive eyes. Normal fluorescents bother him.”

“That’s okay.” I sit down, watching her as she goes and sits in the seat Fernando must have occupied a moment ago. Sliding open a drawer, she produces a small silver mirrored plate, along with a narrow metal tube. It glints in the half light—a solid gold blow pipe.

I know what’s coming next. Sure enough, she places a small wrap of paper down onto the desk in front of her and begins to unfold it. “I’m sure you’ll want to sample our current product, yes?”

“Oh, that’s not necessary.”

She looks up at me, frowning. “No? That’s normally our buyers’ motto—try before you buy. People are normally ripping this stuff out of our hands. Not cheap.”

“I’m sure that’s true. But it’s also bad business. I’m not here to enjoy myself. I’m here to make a deal. If I’m out of my head, how can I have a proper conversation with your father?”

Natalia smiles, splaying her fingers on the table in front of her. She studies her fingers, each and every one, before she speaks again. “Mr. America, you had better stick this pipe up your nose, and you had better inhale deep. If you don’t, my father is going to have your hands removed, and he’s going to mount them on the wall of our living room. Is that what you want?”

Well. When she puts it like that…

I hold my hand out, and she places the blowpipe in it, smiling. “A good choice,” she advises me. The coke is already pre-cut and fine as icing sugar. She scoops a healthy amount out of the pile with her fingernail, and then she taps it out onto the silver plate, passing it to me. I’ve done coke before. It would have been impossible to avoid, living a life like mine. I’m hardly a seasoned pro when it comes to snorting narcotics, however. I already know how hard I’m going to have to work to prevent the top of my head from blowing off once the drugs hit home.

Sliding the pipe up my nose, I hold the other end to the small silver plate, and I inhale. Fireworks light up the inside of my head. Fuuuuuck. My head automatically kicks back—it feels like my nose is bleeding—and lights flash and flare behind my closed eyelids. A crushing wave of euphoria hits me hard. My body feels like it’s been transformed, turned into silk, into the softest cashmere. My pores prickle and my head hums, my ears whistling as the cocaine gets to work. By and far the cleanest, most impressive buzz I’ve ever experienced.

“Is it good, Mr. America?” I open my eyes, and Natalia is leaning across her father’s desk, eyes narrowed, watching me intently.

I sniff, shaking my head, trying to piece myself back together enough to form a sentence. “Yeah. Fuck yeah. Damn.”

She laughs. “What does it feel like?” she asks.

“I’m sure it feels the same for me as it does for you.”

“I’ve never taken cocaine.” Her voice is calm and collected. She says this as if it should be obvious—that there’s no way she would ever do such a crazy, reckless thing.

I blink at her. My vision seems to have sharpened. Everything in the room has focused, the light growing to blinding proportions, the colors so much bolder and brighter. “That is the strangest thing I’ve ever heard. The daughter of a cocaine dealer, never having taken cocaine. Just seems so…”

“Unbelievable?”

“Yeah.”