Don Winslow - The Power of the Dog

“Amistad.”

“The movie about slaves.”

“That’s right.”

Go ahead and ask me about it, she thinks. I’ve seen it. I remember it. I can talk about it. Ask me your questions. Fuck you.

“There are no network movies on a weeknight, so it must have been pay-per-view or HBO.”

“Or some other-”

“No, I checked. Your hotel has only HBO and pay-per-view.”

“Oh.”

“So which was it?”

How the hell should I know? Nora thinks.

“HBO.”

The interrogator shakes his head sadly, like a teacher whose student has disappointed him.

“Nora, that hotel does not get HBO.”

“But you just said-”

“I was testing you.”

“Then it must have been pay-per-view.”

“Was it?”

“Yes, I remember now. It was pay-per-view because I can remember looking at that little card they put on top of the television and wondering if the staff thought I was ordering porn. Yes, that’s right, and I… what?”

“Nora, I have copies of your bill. You didn’t order a movie.”

“I didn’t?”

“No. Now, why don’t you tell me what you were really doing that night, Nora?”

“I did tell you.”

“You lied to me, Nora. I’m very disappointed.”

“I’m just confused. I’m so tired. If you let me get some sleep.. .”

“The only reason to lie is to cover something up. What are you covering up, Nora? What did you really do that night?”

She puts her face in her hands and sobs. She hasn’t cried since Juan died, and it feels good. It’s a relief.

“You were somewhere else that night, weren’t you?”

She nods.

“You’ve been lying all this time.”

She nods again.

“Can I sleep now, please?”

“Give her some Tuinol,” the interrogator says. “And get Raul.”

Adan’s door opens.

Raul comes in and hands him a pistol.

“Can you do this, brother?”

She feels a hand on her shoulder.

Thinks it’s a dream at first, then opens her eyes and sees Adan standing over her.

“My love,” he says, “let’s go for a walk.”

“Now?”

He nods.

He looks so serious, she thinks. So serious.

He helps her get out of bed.

“I’m a mess,” she says.

She is. Her hair is disheveled and her face is puffy from the drugs. It occurs to him that he’s never seen her without makeup.

“You always look lovely,” he answers. “Here, put a sweater on. It’s chilly-I don’t want you to get sick.”

She walks out with him into the silver mist. She’s groggy and has a hard time getting her footing on the large pebbles of the beach. He holds her by the elbow and gently walks her away from the cottage, toward the water’s edge.

Raul watches from the window.

He saw Adan and his woman leave the stone cottage and walk into the dark. Now he’s lost sight of them in the fog.

Can he do it? Raul wonders.

Can he put the barrel to the back of that pretty blond head and pull the trigger? Does it matter? If he doesn’t, I will. And either way, I am the new patron, and the new patron will run things differently than the old one. Adan has gotten soft. Always the little accountant-good with the numbers, not so good with the blood.

A loud knock at the door interrupts his thoughts.

“What?!” he snaps.

One of his men comes in. He’s out of breath, as if he’s run up the stairs.

“The soplon,” he says. “We just got word from Rebollo. He got it straight from the DEA guy, Wallace-”

“It’s Nora.”

The man shakes his head. “No, patron. It’s Fabian.”

The messenger lays out the evidence-the sealed murder indictment, the threat of capital punishment, then the smoking gun: copies of deposit slips, deposits made by Keller in Fabian’s name in banks in Costa Rica, the Caymans and even Switzerland.

Hundreds of thousands of dollars-profits from the tombes pulled off by the Piccone brothers.

“They made him a deal,” the man says. “Plata o plomo.”

He took the silver.

“Let’s sit down,” Adan says.

He helps Nora down and sits beside her.

She says, “I’m cold.”

He puts his arm around her.

“Do you remember that night in Hong Kong?” he asks. “When you took me up to Victoria Peak? Let’s imagine we’re there.”

“I’d like that.”

“Look out there,” he says. “Can you imagine the lights?”

“Adan, are you crying?”

He slowly pulls the pistol from its place at the small of his back.

“Kiss me,” Adan says.

He turns her chin to him and kisses her softly on the lips as he eases the gun barrel behind her head.

“You were the sonrisa de mi alma,” he whispers into her lips as he pulls the hammer back.

The smile of my soul.

Brother, I’m sorry. By the time the information reached me, it was too late. Such a tragedy. But we will avenge ourselves on Fabian, you can be sure of that.

Raul rehearses his lines.

Deal with La Guera now, Fabian later, he thinks. It will destroy Adan, killing this woman. He won’t be able to resume control of the pasador.

He’s your brother.

Esta chingada, he thinks. It’s fucked.

He pushes the messenger aside and runs down the stairs and outside into the night.

Yelling, “Adan! Adan!”

Adan hears the shouts, muffled in the fog.

He hears the footsteps running on the stones, coming closer. He tightens his finger on the trigger and thinks, I can’t let it be him.

Over his shoulder, he can see Raul’s tall form loping toward them like a ghost in the mist.

I have to do it.

Do it.

Art jumps out of the boat before it reaches the beach.

He stumbles through the ankle-deep surf, trips and falls face-first onto the beach. He gets up and crouches down low as he moves up the slope and then he sees Raul Barrera.

Running toward Adan.

And Nora.

It’s a long shot, a hundred yards at least, and Art hasn’t fired an M-16 in anger since Vietnam. He raises the rifle to his shoulder, presses the nightscope to his eye, leads Raul by a few feet and squeezes the trigger.

The bullet takes Raul in mid-stride.

Square in the stomach.

Art sees him tumble, roll and then start to crawl forward.

Then the night lights up.

Raul crumples to the ground.

Rolling in agony on the rocks, shrieking in pain.

Adan runs to him. Drops to his knees and tries to hold him, but Raul is too strong; his pain is too strong and he writhes out of Adan’s grasp.

“?Dios mio!” Adan yells.

His hands are drenched in blood. The front of his shirt and his pants are soaked with blood.

It’s hot.

“Adan,” Raul groans. “It wasn’t her. It was Fabian.” Then he howls to God, “?Dios mio!?Dios mio!?Madre de Dios!”

Adan tries to clear his head.

The world’s exploding around him. Gunfire everywhere, and the sound of footsteps running toward them on the rocks. Then Raul’s bodyguards are there, some firing behind them, others trying to lift Raul off the ground.

“Get a car!” Adan yells. “Bring it here. Raul, we’re going to get you to the hospital.”

“Don’t move me!”

“We have to.”

They start to drag him up the beach, away from the attack.

Adan grabs Nora by the arms and starts to pull her up.

“Come on!”

A grenade lands a few feet away and bowls them both over.

Nora lies on the rocks, concussed, blood flowing from her nose. Adan is screaming something but she can’t hear a thing. Manuel is pulling him away. Adan’s screaming and trying to pull his way back to her, but the campesino is too strong for him.

Two sicarios try to grab her, but two short bursts of gunfire cut them down.