Cruz spun around at the sound of the bedroom door being unlocked. It swung open and two muscular men entered. Cruz was largely recovered from his injuries but he was in no condition to fight these two bulls, so he figured he’d wait for a better opportunity to escape. Besides, he had no idea where he was, so it would be hard to break free unless he could get his bearings.
The uglier of the two hulking men regarded him.
“Come with us.”
The trio walked into the hallway of what he now gathered was a large hacienda-style house, the floors finished in three foot square saltillo tile and the walls sponge painted with a heavy hand. The furniture in the seemingly endless hall was rustic and dark, hewn from weathered wood, many of the pieces appearing to be hundreds of years old.
The passageway opened onto a courtyard, and the men led him to a veranda overlooking lush green hills, unspoiled by any other houses. Where the hell was he? This wasn’t Mexico City, that was for sure. Maybe Guadalajara area?
A man in his sixties sat at a massive circular dining table, easily twelve feet circumference, eating soup from a lava bowl. Cruz did a double take and felt his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He stiffened automatically, causing the man on his right to grip his arm before forcing him into the seat opposite the man.
“I see you recognize me from my fan photos…” the man said.
“I’d know you anywhere,” Cruz acknowledged. “Carlos Aranas. One of the most powerful men in Mexico, and head of the Sinaloa cartel.”
“One of the most? You might want to rethink that. Try the most.” Aranas grinned, dabbing at his moustache with a multicolored cloth napkin. “Want some soup? It’s really incredible. The best tortilla soup you’ll ever taste. From a recipe that’s been in the family for generations.”
“My last meal?” Cruz spat.
“Please. If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t be sitting here. I’ve gone to considerable trouble to get you here in one piece for this discussion. So don’t insult me with idiotic assumptions. Now, do you want some of the finest tortilla soup in the world, or not?” Aranas asked equitably.
“I’m not going to dine with my family’s murderer.”
“Again with the idiocies. For the record, I didn’t have any hand in the death of your family. If I wanted to send a message to you, I wouldn’t do it that way. I’d chop your dick off and make you eat it. Much more direct. So last time, soup or no? You haven’t eaten all day so I know you must be starving. Tell you what, since you’re stubborn, I’ll just assume the answer is yes.” Aranas looked over Cruz’s shoulder at one of the men standing silently behind him. “Cacho, have Yolanda prepare our guest a bowl of soup.”
Cruz was startled by something wet pushing against his right hand. He jerked it away, looking down to see a boxer snuffling at him.
“I see you’ve met Frida. Don’t worry. She doesn’t bite. Probably wants to see if you’ve got a treat for her. It’s why she’s so fat. Always on the prowl for food…” Aranas said.
In spite of the surreal circumstances, Cruz slowly lowered his hand and stroked her head. She licked him appreciatively.
“There. You see? She likes you. Just don’t let her get up anywhere near your soup. She’s a glutton, and she’ll drain it if you drop your guard.” Aranas smiled, and slurped another large spoonful.
“What do you mean you had no hand in my family’s execution? They had your scorpions in their mouths. That’s your signature,” Cruz accused.
Aranas sighed, and then his face lit up. One of the weightlifters set a massive black lava bowl of thick brown soup in front of Cruz, then set a spoon and colorful cloth napkin next to it. Aranas scooted a plate towards him on the slick mesquite table surface. It slid almost to the edge, by Cruz’s napkin.
“It tastes better with a little lime. Try it. You’ll see. I recommend two slices to start.”
Cruz reluctantly squeezed two of the cut lime wedges into the soup, and stirred it. Aranas sat expectantly, waiting for him to sample it. He raised the steaming spoon to his lip and took a tentative taste.
“It tastes like shit.” Cruz took another sip.
Aranas laughed with genuine merriment at the comment.
“I see you have a sense of humor. They didn’t tell me that. Unexpected in an anti-drug crusader.”
“I’m full of surprises. Now, what about my family?” Cruz demanded, slurping at the delicious concoction. Frida wagged her stump tail and stared hungry holes into his profile, then sat on the tile floor, hoping for a morsel to come her way. Cruz glanced at her. She was fat, all right. But happy. Definitely happy.
“I had nothing to do with that, like I said. That was probably Santiago. He was a shithead, and he perhaps thought he was being clever. But he was an ally, so we’ll leave it at that. You know I’ve cheerfully ordered hundreds of executions. There’s no reason for me to deny this one. But it wasn’t me.”
“And I’m supposed to believe you?” Cruz waved his spoon. “You kidnapped me. Why?”
Aranas scowled at his now-empty bowl and then dropped his spoon into it.
“I needed to get your attention. I have it. So it worked.” Aranas tapped a finger on the table while watching Cruz. “I want to tell you a story, and then I’ll return you to Mexico City, unharmed. Your job in this is to listen to the story. I talk. You listen. This won’t take long, so indulge an old man, yes?” Aranas reasoned. Without waiting for a response, he continued.
“About three months ago, Santiago approached me for a conference. We did a lot of business together, so I granted his request. He came to this house with a proposal for me.” Aranas took a sip of water from the half-full glass. “A proposal that I declined.”
Cruz waited for more.
“He’d gotten it into his head to do the unthinkable — an action that would polarize the population against the traffickers, and in my opinion, would result in a catastrophic set of events for Mexico. I tried to argue for reason, but he was adamant. He wanted to assassinate our president, in an effort to sway the upcoming elections for a candidate he had clout with.” Aranas sat back. “The frontrunner had been killed recently, so he believed that if he took out the President, his man would have a very good chance.”
Cruz nodded slowly, saying nothing.
“As you know, the Secretary of the Interior had been killed in November, and then El Gallo was executed…all probably related, but I digress. Santiago was convinced he could get his pet politician elected president, and use his position to take on his rivals while turning a blind eye to his traffic. It was naive and dangerous talk. But it was intriguing, I have to admit, and I wouldn’t hesitate to back an idea if I thought it would be effective. But then he came to what I considered to be the deal killer. He said that he also intended to kill the American president at the same time,” Aranas recalled. “I asked him, why on earth he would want to brand Mexico with that, and kill a man who was, at worst, a figurehead? I could see taking out our president, but the American? It made absolutely no sense.”
Cruz put his spoon quietly into his empty bowl, not wanting to interrupt the narrative.
“He couldn’t explain his reasoning coherently. He just wanted to do it. He asked me if I would fund half the contract price. I wanted no part in it. It was lunacy, and I couldn’t see any advantage to be gained by pursuing it. I told him that if he persisted with the idea, our business together could be jeopardized, and later on, he agreed to drop it. Only I think he didn’t. And after recent information reached me, I’m sure of it.” Aranas snapped his fingers, and Frida trotted over to him, her previous resting place a puddle of drool. He broke off a bread crust from the platter beside him, and tossed her a piece. It disappeared with a swallow.
“I have my sources, even in your hallowed halls, Capitan Cruz. I know you’re pursuing El Rey, and believe he’s the hired gun to take down the presidents. This scheme originated with Santiago, or worse, Santiago was fed it. It will be a disaster if it is successful. And that’s why I had you brought to me. I needed you to hear this from my lips. I have no part in any plot to kill the President,” Aranas finished. He’d said what he wanted to say.