Vice(62)

I take my shot, and I miss the hoop. I’m glad. Jamie would have a goddamn field day if he knew I was whacking a ball around a manicured lawn like this. It’s just not right. “So you want me to make the place sound terrible?” I ask.

“No. I simply want you to tell the truth. People here have a very warped idea of what life is like in America. They think it’s all sunshine and roses. That the politicians and the police are not corrupt. That the government are all seeing, and all powerful. That there is no poverty. No crime. No homelessness. If you are honest with Natalia about the true state of affairs in your country, she might not be so eager to charge over there, expecting every city to look like Hollywood.” Fernando takes his shot. The ball speeds through the hoop again with ease; he must play a lot.

“Well, I can certainly try.”

“Thank you, Kechu. You know, despite the hiccups we’ve encountered since you arrived, I find myself considering you a friend. Does that surprise you?”

“Uh, yeah. It does a little.” How about a whole f*cking lot? I’m fairly sure he was hunting me in the forest the other day, while Natalia and I were in her hideaway. And he threatens me with death every time we meet. I guess when you’re a violent, insane dictator, you have a warped view of what friendship looks like, though.

Fernando nods. “Natalia thinks of you as a brother, and that warms me.”

I try not to react to this, but I’m crowing in my head like a madman. Yeah, she thinks of me as a brother all right. A brother she likes to f*ck. Shit, if only he knew.

I’m about to take my turn, trying to think of something to say that won’t sound suspicious whatsoever, when Harrison appears, hurrying across the lawn toward us. He has a phone in his hand, and he looks like he’s just discovered the location of the lost city of El Dorado.

“What is it?” Fernando asks.

“One of our guys in the States,” he answers.

“And what do they want?”

“He wouldn’t say. Just that he has information he thinks you might find interesting.” Harrison’s gaze flickers to me, and his meaning is clear: he thinks he might have interesting information about me. Fernando’s eyes roll. He sighs like a frustrated father being pushed to his limit by a persistent son. Taking the phone from Harrison, he walks away slowly, holding the device to his ear. He speaks, but his voice is lulled, low and soft, and I can’t make out what he’s saying.

“I’m going to sleep so well tonight, motherf*cker,” Harrison hisses out of the side of his mouth. “Like the dead. Like a baby. Like a stone. It’s going to be the most peaceful night’s sleep I’ve had in years, and it’s all thanks to you. I owe you, man.”

Damn. That sounds worrying. Harrison knows I was in the military. What if he’s gone snooping? What if he’s discovered I’m not Sam Garrett, but Cade Preston, vice president of a motorcycle club hell bent on bringing down sex trafficking rings and murdering people like his boss? Doubt that would go down well. Then there’s the matter of my sister. Julio’s men know exactly who I am, and who I’m looking for. If they know I am the one who killed Julio, then what’s the stop them from spreading the word? Someone already told Fernando a guy on a motorcycle killed the bastard. How many pieces of this puzzle need to be put together before they figure out who I really am?

“The f*ck are you talking about?” I snap.

Harrison bounces on the balls of his feet like a live wire, full of energy. “I couldn’t possibly say,” he tells me. “It’s just too f*cking good. I’ll let Fernando explain, I think.”

Fifteen feet away, still with his croquet stick in his hand, Fernando goes still, standing like a life-size statue of someone who just heard something entirely unbelievable. He turns, his eyes fixing on me. He doesn’t say anything else. He listens, and then he hangs up the phone.

He holds the cell out to Harrison, who goes to take it from him. Fernando moves quicker than lightning, snatching hold of Harrison by his neck. For such a thin, frail-looking man, Fernando’s a hell of a lot stronger than he seems. Or maybe Harrison tolerates him grabbing hold of him. Either way, Fernando maintains a grip on him as he walks in between the metal loops of our croquet game, driven into the ground.

I try not to act surprised as Fernando shoves Harrison away from him, growling under his breath. “My friend in America just told me something interesting, Kechu,” he says.

“Oh?”

“He went to pay a visit to your employer in New York. To check in with him on my behalf, to see if his personal matter is almost resolved so that he can come and meet with me. He said that the office assigned to your Louis James Aubertin was unoccupied. Can you explain why this might be, Kechu?”

I shrug. “Sure. His office is a front. He needs an address for tax purposes. A place where he can have certain mail delivered. If you’d told me you wanted to call in on him, I could have arranged a meet in New York, on mutually safe ground. It wouldn’t have been a problem.” The lie comes quick and easy. I sound so nonchalant that it seems obvious that this would be the case, that Jamie would never keep an official business address where anyone could drop in and see him.

Harrison’s cheeks redden. “That is such bullshit, Fernando. Bullshit!”

Fernando shoves Harrison away, groaning in disgust. “Why would you come to me with something as insignificant as this? You are grasping at straws. Honestly, I am growing sick of this nonsense.”