“No,” Evan said. “He doesn’t seem to.”
“He thinks I am a Greek goddess. It is the only thing we agree on.”
“How did he take you?”
“I drank the champagne. I woke up very much later out at sea. He showed me pictures of my parents in our little apartment. My younger sister at the Athens School of Fine Arts. She’s nineteen. René had her class schedule printed up. He set the pictures and documents before me but said nothing. He didn’t have to.”
He studied her liquid brown eyes for a sign that she was lying. “How long ago was that?”
“Seventeen months, two weeks, and a day.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me, too.”
“You weren’t stupid.”
“Yes. I was. That doesn’t mean it was my fault, though.” A pause. “When people think of human trafficking, they think of Thai virgins kidnapped from villages and shipped overseas. But sometimes it’s just drinking the wrong glass of champagne.” She let that one land for a moment, then said, “But I don’t know how to fragment a C2 vertebra into someone’s brain stem. So I must do this.” Her grip on his back flagged. “You’re no good at not having sex.”
“Thanks.”
She flipped them over so she was on top. “Let me be in charge.”
“Gladly.”
Her hips did something magical. “Is that you getting aroused?” she asked.
“No,” he said.
“Uh-uh,” he said.
“Nope,” he said.
She smiled. “Maybe I should be less in charge?”
“Maybe so.”
She eased off him a bit.
All of a sudden, outside lights went on, flooding the bedroom through the sliding glass door. There were shouts and sounds of commotion.
Evan got up, pulled on his jeans, and stumbled through the slider, the balcony frosted beneath his bare soles. By the barn four narcos were laid out on their backs, making tiny, listless movements. Another was curled on the wet ground beside them, clutching his stomach, vomit drooling from the side of his mouth. The skinny guard was off the tower, radioing frantically. He waved around one of the slender white remotes, clicking on more lights to illuminate the grounds. Samuel staggered out of the barn, veering unevenly toward the fire. He banged into the suspended pot, knocking it to the ground. A sludge of chili spilled out.
Samuel sat heavily on a crate, wiping sweat from his brow. He pointed to the dark glop of chili on the ground.
The skinny guard’s posture changed. His rail-thin shoulders lowered. He crouched and picked up one of the bone-china plates resting on a crate. Let it drop from his hand. It shattered. He sat on the crate, lowered his head into his hand.
Then he rose, doubled over, and ran into the barn. No doubt looking for a toilet.
“What?” Despi said, keeping a few steps back from the threshold to the balcony. “What is it?”
Before Evan could answer, he heard the resonant boom of the chalet’s front door opening. A moment later Dex lumbered off the porch into view, his massive back bowed, his shadow elongated before him. He approached the barn and spoke to Samuel.
Hard rain spit at Evan. He squinted through the haze as Samuel slid off the crate, collapsing to the ground.
Two dogs, three guards, two snipers, and Dex.
Dex turned, the lights of the eaves hitting him full in the face, his pale bald head seeming to glow. He stared directly at the balcony, at Evan. For a chilling moment, they locked eyes through the quickening rain.
Dex lifted his left hand and slapped the bloody scowl across his face. The tattoo colors were sharp in the glare, glossy red dripping from pointy incisors.
Evan backed into the room.
“What is it?” Despi asked.
The door flew open. Manny charged in, shotgun raised, firing a beanbag round that hit Evan’s center mass. It knocked him into the wall. He slid down lurchingly to sit on the floor.
Nando grabbed Despi’s bare shoulder and flung her behind him. She banged into the desk before falling to the floorboards at René’s feet.
With a polished loafer, René shooed her toward the door. She staggered a bit, pulling herself upright in time to collide with Dex’s chest, now filling the doorway. His rain-wet shirt clung to him, every muscle pronounced. He grabbed her by the wrist, wrenching her arm, and tugged her out of view. A moment later a door opened and slammed up the hall and Dex returned, pocketing a key.
Evan’s lungs were locked up. He couldn’t breathe.
With the toe of his boot, Manny tipped him over, cuffed his hands, hoisted him onto the bed. Evan leaned forward, his mouth wavering, air still out of reach.
At last his muscles relaxed, and he drew in a screeching breath and then another.
René walked over and leaned casually against the desk, examining his fingernails. “Let’s have a talk,” he said.
26
Man or Nature
Evan sat on the bed, his wrists cuffed painfully behind him. The flexible baton round had left a red mark the size of a fist in the middle of his chest. He was still having trouble finding oxygen.
And yet René wanted to talk. “My guards seem to have been stricken with an illness. Vomiting, diarrhea, crippling abdominal pain. I don’t suppose you know anything about that.”
“I don’t.”
René nodded as if Evan had confessed. “Your skills are fascinating,” he said. “I want to know more about you.”
Evan managed to get out a few words. “… not … that interesting.”
“You are to me.” René removed a kerchief, wiped his brow. His face was flushed from all the excitement. “What are you?”
“A drug kingpin. An arms dealer.”
“No. You’re more lethal than that. Something doesn’t add up about you. I’ve been thinking about your hobby, killing Contrell. Who does something like that? Who kills a human trafficker for fun?”
Evan did not respond.
“I’d imagine the same kind of person who would poison my guards,” René said. “Dr. Franklin is seeing to the men now.”
Manny and Nando glared at Evan, looking as though they’d like to beat him to death with their shotguns. Manny took a menacing step toward him, but René held up a hand and he halted.
“Those are our hermanos,” Manny snarled.
“No,” René said. “They were my employees. And they failed at their job. Make sure you don’t fail at yours.”
Dex barely had to move for the floorboards to groan beneath him. Manny looked at him, then stepped back into line.
René returned his attention to Evan. “There are two kinds of people in the world. Those who make messes and those who clean them up.”
The handcuffs forced Evan to hunch forward, but he looked up at René through a tangle of hair. “Which kind are you?”
“The third kind, who gets to make the categories.” His eyes gleamed from their burrows in his face. “You made a big mess tonight.”
Evan stared at Manny. “Or cleaned one up.”
Manny slid his tongue across his gold grill as if Evan were something he’d like to eat.
Someone tapped on the door, and then a man with long white hair came in, wearing a pair of tattered scrubs. The doctor hadn’t shaved in a few days; he had the wrecked good looks of an aging surfer who’d lived through one too many tequila sunrises.
“Hi.” Dr. Franklin looked across at Evan. “Oh. Hey.” Then at René. “Talk to you?”
René stepped out into the hall. Hushed murmurs carried back inside, though the words were unintelligible. Nando and Manny glowered at Evan.