Reckless (14 page)

“What are you suggesting?”

“Get out while you’re ahead. You’ve made it, Diego. You have mansions and yachts and planes. People love you. You have nothing to prove to anyone.”

“I have everything to prove to everyone.”

“Then prove it to them by quitting and becoming legitimate. If you want to run for office, it’s never going to happen as long as you’re doing this. You have the money to run an effective campaign, you have the proof necessary to discredit your opponents, and the people adore you. What’s stopping you? This business of settling old scores and vendettas? It’s only going to end with you and me dead. It never ends any other way.”

“If I don’t kill Peña, we’ll never be safe.”

“I understand, but afterwards I need to know that this is it. I need to hear that you’re out of the business when this is done.”

Diego paces the room. He stops beside the window and taps his fingers against the seal. “Fine. If you want me to quit, I will. After we’re done, I’ll tell Carlos and Ivan that my routes are open. They can kill each other for the turf.”

I run over and kiss him.
 

He holds me in his arms.
 

I start to open his belt—he stops me.
 

“Afterwards,” he says. “Tonight, we will celebrate.”

I pry myself away from Diego and start to get ready. If Peña doesn’t like my look, the plan will fall apart.
 

My room is still an ocean of bags. There’s only a small trail of open space leading to the bed and the bathroom. I select a red silk robe with matching sheer lingerie to go with it. Since I don’t have any makeup, Diego has brought in a stylist from the mainland. He arrives and quickly goes to work, transforming me into a total knockout.
 

When he’s done, even I want to have sex with me.

After throwing on the robe, I walk into Diego’s bedroom to show him the final look. I stand at the threshold and twirl the belt of my robe.

“Hey, stranger,” I coo in a raspy voice.
 

I open the robe and let it slide off my shoulders.

Diego’s eyes go wide. “Don’t tempt me. That’s too much for any man to resist.”

“Good. Hopefully, Peña will feel the same.”

Diego holds a tiny bottle and uses an eyedropper to fill it up. He screws on the top and tapes the cap.
 

I draw near to him and stare at it.

“You must be very careful not to get any of this on your skin,” he says. “It’s very potent. Even if the slightest amount got into your body, it would leave you gravely ill.”

“How much does it take to kill someone?”

“Less than a drop. There’s enough in here so that the first sip should be enough to do him in. You’ll want to be near him when he drinks it because the paralysis will cause him to drop the glass. If it shatters and makes too much noise, his guards may suspect something. According to Eduardo, the guards wait outside the room, so you have to be quiet about it.”

“Are they going to believe that he’s taking a shower?”

“I think so. Eduardo’s girls told him he usually does unless he’s too drunk to get up. He should be pretty out of it when you arrive.”

“Good.”

Diego and I—along with his main bodyguard, Santos, and several other guards—take the yacht to a dock in Cartagena.
 

When we step off the boat, a Lincoln Navigator is waiting for us.

“This is the same vehicle used by the escort agency,” Diego says. “I didn’t want to risk driving up in a different one and drawing suspicions.”

The men begin attaching magazines to their rifles. I hear the clicking of metal all around me in the vehicle.

“I hope he doesn’t decide to inspect the car,” I joke.

“He won’t,” Diego says. “We’ll have to drop you off at the gate. They’ll let you in from there. Eduardo has told Peña that your name is Rachel. Remember that in case anyone asks.”

We drive for about thirty minutes.

When the driver announces that we’re getting close, I spray perfume on my neck and wrists. I take a deep breath and tell myself this isn’t different from the undercover work I’ve done my entire career, though I can’t name another time when my objective was to assassinate a suspect. It shouldn’t be too difficult. If Peña is already drunk, I’ll just excuse myself to the restroom and mix the drink there. He’ll be too out of it to know what’s happening.

The Lincoln trundles through a wealthy suburb with homes set back far from the road and gates outside every drive. Set along each side of the road, giant thujas and privet hedges obscure all of the homes except for their rooftops.

The vehicle pulls into a brick drive with an imposing metal gate that is solid and black.

“This is it,” the driver says.
 

“Will you wait here while I’m inside?”

“Yes,” Diego says. “We will be here as soon as you come out.”

He kisses me as I open the door.

“You’re going to do great,” he says.

I close the door and approach the gate. There’s a call button along the wall that’s next to the gate with a camera above it.
 

I press the button and wait.
 

The gate begins retracting and a voice emits from a speaker. “Follow the path to the front of the house.”

My heels click across the drive. It’s the only sound I hear. Glancing around to get my bearings, I look for any possible escape routes. A large wall encloses the entire front yard. Beyond that there’s the same giant shrubbery. I doubt the backyard is any better.

A man smoking a cigar steps out of the front of the house. The pip of his cherry grows bright. When the man walks beyond the portico, a billow of smoke follows him.

“Eduardo tells me you only speak English,” he says.

“Yes, that’s correct.”

He takes another long drag, studying me. “I didn’t know Eduardo was using traveling girls. When did that happen?”

I shrug. “I’m not really sure. My manager told me he had work for me in Colombia that paid well. I don’t know any of the details beyond that.”

“Right, right. Okay, come inside.”

I step through the front door.
 

Two guards immediately inspect me. They remove the robe and tell me to unclasp my bra.
 
Adrenaline pumps through me. I worry they may give me a cavity search.

“That’s enough,” the man with the cigar says. “We want the lady to be in good spirits when she sees Mr. Peña. I don’t think she’s carrying any bazookas up there.”

I smile. “Well, I might be in a few minutes.”

The men laugh.

“He’s gonna like you. Come. Follow me.”

I go with him through a dark hall, trailing a haze of smoke. At the last door, the man knocks and cracks open the door.
 

Spanish words are exchanged.
 

The man nods to me. “He’s ready for you.”

I thank him and enter.

The bedroom is dark except for a bathroom light and a muted television with an action movie playing. The smell of tequila is so strong that I have to resist covering my nose. On the bed lies a wrinkly man in a silk pair of boxers. Dark skin sags over bones. A thick mane of hair covers his chest. His eyes are grey; if there was ever any spirit in them, it’s long gone. So this is the great Peña: a frail, weary man in a blacked out room drinking himself to death.

He rises in the bed, pointing at me. “What’s your name? Your real name.”

“Miranda.”
 

Why not? This man is going to be dead within the hour.

“Miranda. Pretty name. I like that better than Rachel. Rachel sounds like a whore.”
 

He laughs, followed by a round of coughing.
 

“Would you like a drink before we begin?” I offer.

“Sure, I’ve been drinking all day, but what’s another? Pour one for yourself.”

I go to the desk on the other side of the room—next to the bathroom—and set out two rock glasses. Peña isn’t drunk enough for me to excuse myself to the bathroom.
 

Not yet.
 

I pour us both a glass, but I give Peña about twice as much. I need this man drunk fast.
 

With a smile, I hand him his drink.

He takes a sip and looks me over. “Aren’t you something else. Eduardo must really have his shit together.”

“Thank you.”

He tips the glass as he studies me, gulping the tequila with shocking ease. I’m relieved when he quickly kills the first drink. I want to get out of this place as fast as possible.

“Let me get you a refill,” I say.

“No, no. First you have to finish yours.”

I maintain a smile. This isn’t a contingency I had planned for. “You don’t have to get me drunk. I do it all either way.”

“Yeah, but I requested a party girl so bottoms up.”

He isn’t asking.
 

I plug my nose and drink. My eyes fill with tears, and I can’t stop coughing.

Peña claps. “That’s real tequila. None of that watered-down American crap. That’s why I got all this hair.” He pats his chest. “Fill them back up. And make sure they’re the same amount in each glass. I saw you trying to cheat with that first one.”

The tequila rushes to my head. I pour the next glasses to the brim.
 

He takes his glass and drinks it in less than five minutes.

“Hurry up,” he says. “You’re slowing me down.”

I force another sip and stare at the glass. I still have another half to finish. As I nurse my tequila, Peña pulls out a large bag of coke from a drawer of his nightstand. He scoops out a small pile onto a mirror, draws out a couple of lines, and snorts them using a metal object that has similar dimensions to a rolled-up bill.

He draws out another line.

He gestures with the metal piece. “Your turn.”

I stare at the cocaine and then at Peña. “Oh, no. That’s not really my thing.”

“I don’t give a damn what your thing is. Come over here and do a line. It will help you drink faster.”

Fuck me. I sit down on the bed as Peña holds the mirror to my face. He tells me to plug one of my nostrils and to inhale through my nose as quickly as I can.

The powder rushes in. My nose, along with the upper-bridge of my jaw, goes numb.

“That’s pure,” Peña says. “None of that stamped-on shit.”

My heart begins revving and my mind races with thoughts and the desire to speak. The back of my throat goes numb, as well. I throw back the rest of the tequila without any resistance.

Peña was right. My head is cleared of the alcohol except for its relaxing qualities. This concerns me. If Peña continues doing coke, the alcohol isn’t going to put him into the inebriated state I need him to be. I pour us more drinks and urge him on by finishing mine first. This leads to another round and then another, followed by more coke.

My brain’s pleasure centers light up with activity. I’m more awake and alert than ever and I sense Peña feels the same. I’m running out of time and options.
 

If I’m going to do this, it has to be done now.

I excuse myself to the restroom.
 

I retrieve the bottle from inside me and take a piss. The rancid odor coming out of my body alerts me to the poison I’ve consumed. I flush the toilet and open the bottle, keeping it in the palm of my hand.

Outside, I pour us another drink. As I return the cap to the bottle of tequila, I tip my hand with the poison into his glass. The solution disappears into the drink. It’s dark enough in the room for me to leave the small bottle on the table.

“Time for another one!” I say.

Peña shakes his head. “No more for me. If I drink or take in any more coke, my dick’s never gonna work. Set those glasses down and come earn your pay.”

The rock glasses shake in my hands. I don’t know what else I can do. The plan was contingent on him drinking the poison. If I force it down his throat, the guards will hear.

I set the drinks against the nightstand. “First, let me give you a back rub.”

I crawl behind him.
 

“If I wanted a massage, I would have called a masseuse. I want my dick su—”

My arm strangles his neck, pressing as hard as I can. Peña gags and tries to scream, but my tight grip prevents any sounds from escaping.
 

Peña pushes back.
 

His strength surprises me. He flings himself off the bed, sending me with him. My shoulder smashes into the nightstand, knocking over the lamp and the rock glasses. They shatter as we hit the floor.

I squeeze Peña with everything I have in me. He continues to thrash his feet as he tries to pull my arm away from his neck. He throws back his head, slamming his skull into my lip.
 

Warm blood fills my mouth.

A guard knocks. “
Está todo bien ahí, Mr. Peña.”

I don’t need to speak Spanish to know what they’re asking. The
door
knob starts to turn. They’re coming inside, and in a few seconds, they’ll see me on the floor strangling Peña.

A vertical beam of light streams through the cracked door.

I begin to moan, feigning the best orgasm of my life. “Ohhh! Ohhh! Yes, Peña! Yes!”

The door closes

The knob turns
back
.

I squeeze Peña’s neck with everything I have left in me until my arm crushes the cartilage of his larynx.
 

He stops fighting.
 

His breath fades.
 

I release his body and collapse to the floor.
 

I pant and try to catch my breath, but I can’t relax. I have to get his body into the bathroom.
 

So that I don’t make too much noise when moving his body, I go to the shower stall and turn on the water.
 

I pause in front of the mirror. My lip’s busted and I have a bruise forming below my eye and chin. I hope Peña is a fan of rough sex or my beauty marks are going to appear rather extreme.

Peña’s frail body is easy to move. I get him into the bathroom far enough to close the door.