John’s chin fell in defeat.
“You talked, didn’t you.” ABCs stated in his now familiar growling tone.
“What?” John nearly broke out in tears. “No!”
“I talked to the lawyer. He told me Detective Mullens said you agreed to be interviewed. What did you say!”
“Nothin’. Literally, I said nothin’!” John cried.
“You cut a deal, didn’t you!”
Mustering every ounce of energy he could, John stood bolt-upright pushing the stuck chair off his hips and sending it clattering to the floor. “What deal? I kept my mouth shut just like I was told!” He twisted around and set the chair back on all fours, then straightened himself, standing to face ABCs once again.
“That’s your second lie in as many minutes! LIAR!” The Alphabet King roared as he walked around from behind the desk. As he did so, ABCs delivered a backhand slap with his left hand that landed in nearly the same spot Jackie’s smack had earlier that day. John stepped back and stumbled into the chair. Amazingly, the legs held.
“You lied about this morning and you’re lying now!” ABCs roared.
John sat holding his face. Damn, slapped twice in one day.
Out of the side of his vision, Dewey noticed that the men in camo had worked their way up the stairs and stood at the door. ABCs looked up at them, motioning the mirror sun-glassed men inside. “We’re going to find out what you said, gordo. We are going to take a trip to Little Guantanamo.”
A mask of dismay descended over John’s face. “But why? I did what I was told. I... I—”
The men in camo waiting behind John gagged him, pushed him out of the monobloc chair, and bound his wrists behind his back with a zip tie. They walked him away from ABCs and stood him in a corner.
John the driver started sobbing. His spindly legs resembled the monobloc chair legs—weak and inadequate, shaking nervously under his weight.
ABCs motioned to Dewey. “Him too.”
The guards grabbed Dewey. His horror turned to panic as he squirmed in their grip. “Why me, boss? Why me? I did what I was told.”
ABCs walked over to him and got in his face. “You brought this filthy mongrel to me. I told you that I would hold you responsible for him.”
“That’s not fair!” Dewey cried.
ABCs shrugged. Eyes sad, he turned a frown. “Welcome to my world,” he said with mock sympathy.
Dewey’s head fell forward in defeat.
“Now get them down through the passage and into the Excursion,” ABCs said as he picked up the phone and called the lawyer. “Find out everything about these meddling landscapers, the mother, and that little girl.” He ended the call without waiting for a reply.
“Someone has to pay,” ABCs muttered to himself as his guards dragged the wide-eyed captives down the hidden hatch and out to the dark-tinted Excursion SUV waiting just outside, their pleas muffled by the gags.
𓂓
A couple of years had passed since Pico and the chicken. Armando had seen the dog wandering the streets with the collar he’d made for him and a length of rope that still held a portion of chicken neck bone. He tried to approach him, but the animal had lost all trust in humans. He found him weeks later, dead in a ditch just outside of their little village. With his bare hands, Armando dug him a shallow grave and said his goodbyes. Hardened by the experience, Armando vowed to himself that he would escape his father’s tyranny.
That day, covered in dirt from his morbid task, Armando returned to the tiendita. He paused in the shadows across the street and watched as the same man conducted his business. He waited until the man finished and leaned on the fender of his shiny-white-car-with-the-soft-roof folded back, then stepped out into the open. The man saw him and waved him over.
Armando walked up and stood before him, looking the man directly in the eye. “No flour today, little man?”
Armando shook his head. “When you gave me meat, you told me nothing is free.”
The man nodded in agreement. “That’s right, little man.”
“Then I owe you?” Armando asked.
The man hardened his expression and simply nodded again.
“Then I am here to pay my debt,” Armando said.
The man smiled down at him and squinted his eyes as he considered how he might use this feisty boy. “Good. I think you can help me with this.” With that, he turned and reached into the car and pulled a small package from the front seat. He held it up and asked Armando, “Do you know the place-where-the-pretty-girls-stand-out-front?”
Armando had passed it many times on the way to the market and always wondered why so many pretty girls lived in one house. “Si.”
“Take this package there and we are even.” With that, he handed Armando the package.
Armando studied the plain brown wrapping tied off with a simple string, the same way the meat had been wrapped. But this package did not feel like it had meat in it. He looked up at the man, who watched his reaction closely. After a brief hesitation, he said, “Okay.”
The man nodded and said, “Good.” Then added, “If you do a good job and go straight there, I may have more for you to do.”
“Work,” Armando stated. “For money.”
The man laughed. “Yes, little man, work for money. Now go.”
Armando scampered off. The man motioned his head and an older boy materialized from the shadows between the buildings. “Follow him, but do not make yourself seen unless he tries to run. If he does, you know what to do.”
𓂓
