Alex Kava
Breaking Creed
DEDICATION
FOR MY BOY, SCOUT
March 1998 — May 2014
Miss you like crazy, buddy.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
From the time I was able to crawl, I’ve been enamored with dogs. I even have a few scars that could have and probably should have discouraged me. My earliest memory is of the day I decided to follow our two farm dogs anywhere they went. They were my constant companions when my older brother and sister were in school and my younger brother was too little.
On this day I remember joyously trotting along with the dogs until I glanced over my shoulder and saw that our farmhouse was quite tiny in the distance. I must have been three or four years old at the time, and of course, I don’t need to tell you that my mother was frantic by the time I wandered back with my two friends.
For years now I’ve included dogs in my novels, but I’ve been itching to create a character who not only shared my love and my awe of dogs but who would be truly happy and most comfortable living in the company of dogs. And wouldn’t it be interesting to have the dogs be strong characters, as well? As much as I love research, finally I would be writing about a subject I knew quite well.
Needless to say, I’m excited about this new series, but never once did I realize nor could I predict how very difficult it would be to write about dogs while losing one of my own. And not just any dog, but my sixteen-year-old buddy, Scout, who had been at my side — literally sitting next to me — while I wrote all fourteen of my novels. He even waited until I finished this one before telling me he’d had enough of fighting kidney disease for two years.
My good friend Sharon Car said it perfectly: “Big personalities leave a big hole, and I’m sure Scout has left a crater in your heart.”
That, he has certainly done. But one of the privileges of being a writer is finding some small way to honor those we love. At the end of the book, you might notice that Jason names his puppy after Scout Finch from To Kill a Mockingbird. But in truth, Jason’s dog is named after my Scout who was actually named after my favorite literary character. In future books you’ll get a glimpse of my Scout’s quirks, like chasing his tail, giving kisses on demand, and making everyone — including the other dogs — laugh… a lot.
In addition, this book is dedicated to my boy, Scout. And although he was a West Highland terrier, something tells me he would have approved of being represented by a Labrador. His spirit is definitely big enough.
1
Sweat slid down Amanda’s back. Her stringy hair stuck to her forehead. The room was stifling and reeked of greasy fried pork. She felt nauseated, and the smell wouldn’t let her forget the slimy soup she had been given to coat her throat. A small dish of the golden liquid sat in front of her, its surface beaded with oil. The soup was for her benefit, Leandro had reminded her.
“It contains a special medicine.” His tone was always so gentle and reassuring. “It will be good for your throat and make your task much easier.”
Amanda knew he was right. Last week, when she did this for the first time, she didn’t even feel what she was swallowing. It was as if her entire mouth had gone numb, just like in the dentist’s office.
Still, she stared at the remaining balloons piled up on the scarred wooden tabletop, and she couldn’t shake the sick feeling in her stomach.
Last time she had swallowed fifty-one balloons. Leandro had been so proud of her. And every single one had come out without any problems — well, no problems meaning none had ruptured. The coming-out part had not been pain-free as Leandro had promised. But Amanda had been so relieved that she didn’t mind the pain.
This time she had downed only thirty-six before the nausea hit her.
Leandro would be disappointed. How could she disappoint him when he had given her so much? When he had been so good to her.
She watched him fill the last of the balloons. He had explained to her that he used only the strongest condoms available. He told her he did it for her benefit, because he cared so much about her and because this would eliminate the risk of a balloon rupturing while inside her stomach.
Amanda had asked what would happen if one of the balloons did break, but Leandro had waved his hand at her as if he were swatting flies. It was a gesture that was becoming familiar, and it was usually accompanied by his favorite phrase: “This is something you do not ask. This is something you leave to Leandro.”
But now, as Amanda watched his slender fingers stretch the condom over the top of a glass vial, she wondered what would happen if one of the balloons broke inside her. Is that why she was feeling sick now? The thought made her shiver, and she forced herself to sit up straight, as if that would give the balloons in her stomach more room.
She tried not to think about it. Instead, she continued to watch Leandro as he carefully spooned the cocaine into each condom. When the latex tip bulged out a half inch to an inch in diameter, Leandro tied a knot, keeping it small and tight. Then he trimmed it close and neat, so there was less to swallow. When she’d watched him last week, he had explained that this, too, was another detail he did out of concern for her.
She glanced around the room. The three swallowers and Leandro’s partner, the old woman they called Zapata, paid no attention to Leandro. They all were focused on their own tasks in front of them. But Amanda watched how his muscles bulged under his T-shirt and yet how gentle his fingers were. He was focused on making everything easier on her, and it made her love him even more. He would never let any harm come to her. And certainly she could ignore a little stomachache.
She licked her lips and realized she couldn’t feel them. Instead of panicking, she quickly reminded herself that it was only the special medicine in the soup. She must have gotten some on her lips. She tried not to think about it. She needed to calm herself. Her stomach probably wouldn’t be upset at all if it weren’t for the new girl. And now Amanda realized that her discomfort was definitely the girl’s fault.
She’d been crying since they brought her into the room, even while she ate the greasy soup. Pathetic sobs, all soft and quiet except for that irritating hitch to her breathing.
The girl was a year older than Amanda. She’d heard Zapata tell Leandro that the girl was fifteen. She sure didn’t act like it. She was probably just faking to get Leandro’s attention, because now suddenly he left his work of filling the balloons and went over to her.
“Lucía,” he said gently.
Then he put his hand on the girl’s back, almost a caress. Amanda stopped breathing, straining to listen as Leandro bent over and whispered something to the girl. His lips almost touched her ear. Amanda couldn’t make out the words. She didn’t know enough Spanish, but she couldn’t help noticing that Leandro’s tone sounded soothing, as if he were coaxing and persuading Lucía that everything would be okay. It was the same tone he used with Amanda.
Amanda grabbed another balloon from the pile. She dropped it into the small dish in front of her and rolled it around in the greasy liquid, using her fingers and not caring that they became slick, too. Then, still watching Leandro, she put it quickly into her mouth. Her throat was still numb, and she swallowed it with no problem.
She took another and followed the same process, just as Leandro had taught her. Then she did another and another, letting her anger sweep them down. Already her nausea started to leave. Before poor Lucía had cried and choked down two balloons, Amanda had added a half dozen. And her reward was Leandro looking over. He raised his eyebrows in surprise, then a smile transformed his entire face. By the time they were ready to leave for the airport, Amanda had swallowed two more than last week, while Lucía — still crying and now grasping her stomach — had managed to get down only twenty-five.