Page 34 of Corrupt
“Sorry to interrupt, Mr. President, but this arrived for Solimar by courier.” Could he have waited? Yes. Will my father reprimand him? It depends on the sender. “It’s from Mr. Cortez.”
“How wonderful,” Mom gushes, waving Carlos deeper into the room. They exchange a look, but it’s gone before anyone notices their exchange. “Go ahead and place it in her room. Just leave the card.”
“Of course, Madam.” He bows to the room and walks over, placing the envelope in my hand. His eyes meet mine briefly, just a quick flick, and I see the amusement in them. This is not from Signio. He doesn’t like the overgrown kid. “Enjoy your meal, and buenas noches.”
And while everyone watches him leave, I tear open the envelope and smile when I read his note. This devil with the smile of an angel is letting me know he can reach me at any time. That he’s watching.
“Well, Solimar? What does it say?” Mom asks, all smiles yet I see the confusion in her eyes.
With my head held high, I square my shoulders and turn the card around for the table to see.
You will always be my beautiful little flower.
My Preciosa.
13
THE WORLD REVOLVES around perspectives—decisions—interpretations of everyday problems where our capabilities are tested. Some good. Some bad. Some idiotic. These instances all pose a diverse set of problems, but they can’t be ignored.
Because for every action, there is an equal or harsher consequence, something that my American hackers have yet to understand. They still think and act like children. Are irresponsible and full of excuses.
“You see, Mr. Lucas...” Shawn fidgets under my stare, looking anywhere but at me “...what happened was that—”
“Silence.” I hold a hand up and Geronimo cocks his gun. “Do you, or do you not, have an update for me? Nod if you do.” They’re still, almost frozen, but I notice the subtle scowl Jason gives Shawn as the louder of the two shakes from his place on the couch.
They weren’t expecting me today.
They chose to head out last night instead of working under Shawn’s recommendations, drinking until four a.m. with a hooker each perched on their laps. They bought drinks, talked shit with the other customers—Shawn sharing confidential information about our negotiation—while Jason enjoyed the lap dance given to entice him out back for a quick fuck.
They forgot who I am.
Forget what country they’re in. Who these people are loyal to.
The apartment they’re using is mine.
The money paying for the pussy they used last night is mine.
Every motherfucking thing is mine.
“Mr. Thorn?”
“Yes, sir?” Jason’s voice is low and expression contrite.
“What’s more important? The hand or the foot?”
His leg’s bouncing, hands fidgety. “Depends on the person’s lifestyle, to be honest.”
“Fair enough.” Turning, I walk over to the dining room area and drag a chair back with me, flipping it around so the back faces them. I’m ignoring the duo for the moment as I undo the button of my suit jacket and take it off, handing it over to the guard. He takes it with the hand not pointing a Glock at the idiots, while I roll up the sleeves of my shirt and then take a seat, straddling the chair.
“Patron, if you give us—”
Shawn’s lips snap shut at my murderous glare. “My conversation is with Jason at the moment. Not another word.” Shifting my gaze away from his shaking form, I level his partner with the same expression. “Now, humor me. The average man who works in an office all day and has a somewhat normal social life. Hands or feet?”
“Hands.” Sweat beads at his brow and he wipes the droplets with his arm. “He’ll need his hands to work and to take care of himself.”
I nod. “Good answer.”
“Thank you.”