Terry Neale - Jo-el

“Find me a reputable company that does clean up and fix a time for me to meet them at the house.” Sally nodded.

“And Maggie?”

“Oh, yes. Tell her I’ll take her to dinner, wherever she wants.”

“All done.”

“Gosh, I could rent you out as an assistant,” I grinned.

“Thanks a lot,” she said, “is that all I’m good for?”

“Nah! You’re a keeper. Which reminds me, Adrianne. How about half an hour with her, later?”

“Doing what?”

“Jeez, Sally. An interview,” I exclaimed sternly.

“Just checking, you were mightily distracted when you last saw her.”

I was quiet while I reminisced about the island in the Pacific, that was fun, maybe I could have a little more down time. All work and no play as they say. Sally was giving me a dirty look; she couldn’t read minds but mine was transparent at that moment.

“I can’t figure out the time zone, you set it up, okay?”

Sally frowned, but nodded.

I finished my coffee, then exchanged cups with Sally and swallowed most of hers, which was cold, in one go. “Let’s go see Espinosa.”

Sally perked up. I stopped by reception to pay for the two extra nights, then we made our way back to the suite. The room was made up, the breakfast things gone. I changed back to Jo-el.

“What’s he doing?”

“Lunch with his wife, just the two of them. Bodyguards outside the door, two policemen in a room down the hall, also eating.”

I wasn’t sure I wanted Espinosa’s wife around but you can’t have everything. “Bounce me in, full shield, I’ll play it by ear.” I left my wings off, I felt they were becoming somewhat redundant.

Espinosa saw me first and was startled. He dropped his fork that he was using, American style, in his right hand and pushed back a little way from the table. He didn’t say anything. His wife had her back to me initially, she read his face and quickly swung around to see me. Fear and hatred washed over her, she gritted her teeth and spat out a piece of meat. She was a lot younger than her husband, maybe in her thirties, I assumed a trophy-wife, but I didn’t care. Espinosa pressed a button under the table and the two goons came in through the door, guns at the ready.

I spoke English, but they heard Spanish. “Don’t use your weapons, remember Manny.” Both kept their weapons trained on me and looked back and forth at Espinosa, waiting for instructions. He bowed his head and indicated with his hand to drop the weapons. As they did so, the two policemen came through the door behind them.

The air in the room filled with fear. I watched all of them, their breathing was heightened and they shook.

Espinosa spoke. “These policemen will tell you I am a good man, an honest business man.” He nodded at them. They waited for me so give them permission to speak. They were terrified. I put my hand in the air, my palm toward them, they understood. Them I pulled a disc-monitor from my breast pocket and placed it in the air, where it hung. All the eyes in the room glared at the disc in wonderment.

“Sally, show them taking money.”

The monitor sprang to life, the four men standing took a step backwards. It was a Three-D video of the taller of the two policemen. He was standing by his car on a dirt road. A man in a black hat, wearing jeans and a dirty, long-sleeved light brown shirt held an envelope at arm’s length toward the policeman. His pock-marked face split with a wide grin, his teeth were broken, yellow. The tall policeman took and envelope and examined the contents, he pulled out a wad of bank notes. Then he looked up and smiled.

“Freeze it, Sally.” The video froze.

“You take money from this man,” I said, indicating Espinosa. “Either leave now, both of you, or this video and many others will be sent to the magistrate in town.” I left it at that. The tall policeman looked at his compadre and then at Espinosa, then they both left.

I turned to Espinosa. “You can’t win,” I said, “I know everything. Even though you are an evil man, I offered you a life with a quarter of your wealth and you turned it down. Now you must pay.” Espinosa’s face crumpled in terror, he grabbed at his left wrist with his right hand and screamed.

“Do it!”

His left hand fell onto the table then bounced like an uninflated ball onto the floor. Drips of blood splashed from the falling hand. Espinosa watched his limb drop, his eyes so wide they covered half of his face. In the first few seconds he didn’t feel anything, adrenaline pumped around his body cutting off the pain that would soon burn his wrist. Blood spurted from the wound, it hit the food on the table and even splashed a little on his wife’s plate. Instinctively Espinosa gabbed the stump with his right hand, blood oozed between his fingers. He sucked in a deep breath and screwed up his face as the pain now began. The cut was professional, as good as any surgeon, he pressed hard on the stump, stemming the red tide that ran along his forearm and dripped on the floor.

I watched, incredulous to the power that I possessed, my face rigid, no pleasure emanated from my eyes, just a reality that in less than two weeks I could do something so repugnant.

“You have until tomorrow to close down your business or I will return and remove your right hand and leave you with nothing.”

I bounced back to the hotel room and went to the fridge that contained a small bottle of Black Label Scotch. I emptied almost half in a glass nearby, no ice and downed it in one gulp. Sally was seated on a chair by the sofa, her legs crossed. She said nothing, she didn’t need to, she was immensely happy. This was her way, there was not one iota of doubt that Espinosa deserved his fate.

For fifteen minutes I sat silently on the sofa, looking at nothing, but seeing Espinosa’s hand fall from his wrist. The scotch seeped gratefully into my system, drowning the tension. I rose from the sofa and left the room, I didn’t ask Sally to join me. Outside the sun was glorious, but the air cool. People rushed about in every direction carrying on as if nothing had happened. I walked for an hour, then entered a restaurant and devoured a mountain of pasta. No more drink. Slowly my actions resolved themselves in my mind and I accepted them as right. I remembered Fuentes, it was so easy, I wasn’t there, I didn’t see him die.

I returned to the hotel suite and called Sally. She appeared in the chair, with her legs crossed as if she hadn’t moved.

“What’s Yerchenkov doing?”

Sally didn’t flinch, she didn’t smile, maybe she was beginning to developed enough human feeling to understand. “He’s at his home in Nice watching the news about all the people being rounded up by the police, he’s alone, but he’s drunk, very drunk. There are two bodyguards outside the room. It’s almost eleven there.”

“Did he do anything to shut down his business?” Sally shook her head.

I changed back to Jo-el and bounced into the room with Yerchenkov. He looked at me with a blank stare. His eyes were red and glazed, he didn’t seem to care that I was there. I watched as his brain switched to the on position and he sat up ever so slightly on the couch. He spoke English to me.

“It’s you,” he gestured at the TV. “Ya bastard.” He belched and tried to lift himself up again but failed and flopped even lower on the couch. He was drinking sixteen-year-old Lagavulin, single malt scotch, a fine choice. He saw me eyeing the bottle. “Ya want one?” He belched and farted.

“You haven’t done anything to close your business,” I said.

He tried to roll over a little but didn’t make it and came back to rest as before. “Ahh… I can’t. It’s my baby…. Eh!”

I was concerned he wouldn’t understand what I was going to say to him. I walked over to the door and beckoned the two bodyguards to come in. They were shocked to see me and immediately drew their weapons and fired them at me. The rounds ricocheted around the room without harm, but the noise was piercing. They ran out of bullets and began to reload from a new clip.