Jo Robertson - The Traitor

ADA Torres approached him at his home, a sacrosanct habitat. At first, this seemed a violation. The persistent ringing of the doorbell interrupted his dinner, and he ignored the annoying sound for a while, but when it appeared the intruder would not leave, he wiped his hands on a kitchen towel, tucked his handgun into the back of his trousers, and looked through the peephole before opening the door.

The woman occupied the small landing to his condominium like an avenging angel, holy retribution surrounding her like a refiner's fire. ¡Ay, madre del Dios! This one was a starving dog with a scrap of bone. She would not go away.

"Assistant District Attorney Torres." He barred his teeth and looked down his nose at her. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

The strap of her purse hung over her shoulder and even in her high heels she barely reached his chest. She planted both fists on slender hips. "We need to talk."

"We have nothing to say to each other."

"I think we do, Mr. Santos."

He grinned then, amused that such a little one could be so fierce a warrior. She reminded him of little Cory when she tried to defy her father. "Why should I talk to the district attorney's office? To do so would only disadvantage me."

He moved to shut the door on her, but she inserted her foot into the doorway. He glanced down, back up to her face again, and flashed a warning. "That is a dangerous move, Ms. Torres. Perhaps you should reconsider invading my home in this bellicose manner."

"Bellicose?" The woman smiled mockingly. "You have a fancy repertoire of language, Santos." He noticed she'd dropped the courteous salutation. "Perhaps you should consider how much trouble you and your boss are in."

"And why should you concern yourself with our troubles?"

"Let me in and I'll explain."

He assaulted her with his eyes, hoping to intimidate her. "As I explained, there is no advantage to me in giving you access to my home."

"How will you know if you don't hear what I have to say?" When he hesitated, she pressed her advantage. "Five minutes. If you don't like what I say, I'll leave."

What was it about this one that caused him to open his door to her, to gesture her into the entry and then into the small kitchen where he prepared tamales and a giant salad? He could only conclude that she had piqued his curiosity. Why else would he make so incautious a gesture?

ADA Torres could only offer him a great deal of trouble. He thought of the picture stashed in his bedside drawer. Ay, this little avenger was a world of trouble.

Sí, un mundo del apuro.

"I am preparing dinner," he said with a courteous nod and a wave behind him. "Come in."

Santos possessed the old-world courtliness of Diego Vargas, but unlike his boss, carried it like a natural mantle. Vargas wore a thin veneer of civility, but beneath the fancy façade beat the heart of a thug and a barbarian. Of Santos, Bella wasn't sure.

She had no overt evidence of the difference between the two men. Both, after all, were nasty criminals, but on some gut level she believed for all his viciousness, Santos would consider it rude to renege on a promise. If she convinced him to agree to a deal, he would keep his word.

As he tied an apron around his waist, he made a paradoxical picture. He reminded her of a fully-grown Arctic male wolf she'd once seen in a documentary, a beautiful, graceful creature with small, flat ears and a thick white pelt.

But one she wouldn't turn her back on.

Bella hesitated a second before deciding she'd gain nothing unless she took a gamble. "Thank you."

She dropped her purse on a bar stool in the kitchen area and observed Santos as he finished tossing a salad. The rational part of her brain wondered what the hell she was doing entering the camp of the enemy. She knew for a fact that Santos had killed men. Still, he acted so… normal, relaxing in his own kitchen, preparing dinner for a guest.

Santos was a cold-blooded killer who dealt in drugs and death, she reminded herself, as she folded her hands on the granite countertop. "Let's talk business."

He pierced her with a strange look before answering. "¡Prisa, prisa! Hurry. Always hurry. That is not the Mexican way. Slow down. Eat."

Was he serious? Have dinner with a known criminal as if they were best friends?

He must have read the expression on her face. "¿Qué? Ms. Torres, you are not afraid of me, are you?" A hint of humor played around his mouth, a beautifully carved shape cruelly bisected by a giant scar.

She bristled. "Of course not." A moment later she sniffed the air. "What's cooking?"

"Tamales. And my tamales are muy deliciosos. The recipe was handed down from mi abuela." His grandmother.

If dinner was what it took to get Santos to make a deal with her, then dinner it was. "Sure, why not?" She glanced at her wristwatch. "I have a few minutes before I have to meet Sheriff Slater." A blatant lie, but at least Santos would think she was expected somewhere.

They ate in silence at a small bistro table and chairs arranged on the patio which looked down on Sacramento's Tower Bridge. The view of the bridge over the Sacramento River at sunset was gorgeous.

"This is very good," she said at last, dabbing her lips with the cloth napkin he'd provided.

"Gracias."

Santos poured coffee for both of them and tilted his chair back, balancing a ridiculously small cup in his large palm. He appeared relaxed and comfortable as he studied her for a few moments. "So what business deal do you offer me, Assistant District Attorney Torres?"

He flashed a shark's smile as if he knew things she couldn't understand. "What proposition is so attractive that I would forsake who I am? Compromise my honor?"

"Honor?" Bella heard the incredulity in her voice.

Santos slammed down the legs of his chair and nearly shattered the cup as he banged it on the table. "Sí, honor. Are you foolish enough to imagine that a man such as I has no código del honor?"

Code of honor, she mused. She'd have to tread carefully. "Aren't you the same kind of man as Diego Vargas?" she countered, her voice low.

"Is that what you think?"

She shrugged and spread her hands as if the answer were obvious, but remained silent this time.

"¡Madre del Dios!" Santos leapt from his chair, it teetered to the concrete flooring, and he gathered up the used plates. He marched into the kitchen and began rinsing the plates and stacking them in the dishwasher.

Bella trailed him, leaned against the counter, and for a few minutes, watched his swift, economical movements. "If I thought you were exactly like Vargas, I wouldn't be here."

Those flat, black eyes in the scarred face studied her intently, as if analyzing the sincerity of her words. "Let us sit," he said after drying his hands.

He indicated a comfortable white leather sofa in a living room off the kitchen. "What is your proposition, Ms. Torres?"

She sat and turned sideways beside him. "I'd like you to testify against Vargas."

The look on Santos' face was comic. "Surely you jest."

"I'm deadly serious, Mr. Santos." She refused to look away from him although she felt the wild pulsing of the vein at her throat.

"And for this… testimony what do I get in return?"

"Some kind of… immunity."

"Complete immunity?"

"That depends on how damaging the testimony is."

Santos crossed his legs at the knee, a gesture that would have seemed effeminate in a less commanding man. His left arm rested on the sofa back, his fingers drumming idly on the pristine leather. He jabbed her with those sharp, emotionless eyes until Bella began to feel uneasy. She considered terminating the conversation.