Chapter Twenty-One
Punishment
Still numb with disappointment, El watched the ruins drop away beneath him as the helicopter lifted and banked, the chopper more heavily laden than before. As they crested the rise, heading toward the city, someone from the ground shot at them, the flash of the weapon sparking beneath the trees. The Orozcos, El guessed, were approaching over land. Too late.
He dreaded what was to come, back at the estate. Delgado could even afford to kill Lorenzo, since he had a second hostage to hold over El. Surely Lorenzo's own value as a gunman would prevent that!
They had searched him and found the two weapons he had hidden about his person. His boots they had only squeezed, feeling for irregularities. Cocaine powder must have felt regular around his ankles, for they hadn't removed his boots. So he had a kilo of cocaine and no guns.
His hands and fingertips throbbed, and his bleeding shoulder was now on fire. He hardly cared. Depression, like a familiar blanket, had settled over him. For a fleeting moment, he considered trying some of the powder in his boots, as a pick-me-up. What was he thinking? He knew cocaine could cause cravings for more almost from its first use. Had he inhaled some in the tunnel after all? No, no, no.
He set aside thoughts of cocaine, but he couldn't avoid thinking very dark thoughts about Sands. The agent had blown yet another escape plan.
It wasn't until they were circling above the estate, preparing to settle onto the helopad that El remembered. Sands hadn't heard about Lorenzo's plan. He hadn't been in the room.
Delgado was in very good spirits over the recovery of his shipment. He was all smiles as he received Vasquez's report, even when he heard of Dominguez's death. El and the other men stood before him in a beautiful interior courtyard where Delgado was seated in comfortable lawn furniture. On the table before him was a bottle of port and many crystal glasses.
"We must celebrate, Gentlemen!" he declared, pouring the port. "And we will drink to Dominguez, who gave his life so that we may all be rich."
Vasquez and the other men, still tired and hot from the day's labors, relaxed and accepted their glasses. Delgado held out the last glass to El, still smiling.
"You must drink too, Mariachi. Vasquez gives other men only one word of praise for every three they deserve. So I know how much I owe to you today."
El was parched, weary, and depressed. He wanted the glass.
"I only drink with friends," he said.
"Ah," replied Delgado, with a glint of the dangerous in his eye. He poured El's glass of what was surely expensive liquor onto the ground, ritually, then raised his toast. The others all toasted and drank.
El waited.
"You may all go," Delgado said, staring at El. "You did well and will all receive bonuses."
El did not move; he knew it wasn't meant for him.
Some smirking, the other men put down their glasses and left for wherever they were housed. Vasquez stayed.
"You disobeyed," Delgado said, less pleasantly, "and you tried to betray me."
"Are you surprised?" El asked.
Delgado smiled at that, and El thought it was a genuine smile.
"No. But, as Agent Sands tells me, punishment and reward requires consistency. Follow me."
His heart sinking, accompanied by Vasquez and the ever-present guards, El followed Delgado into the hidden courtyard. Lorenzo was already strung up, and the punishment had already been administered. Lorenzo was conscious, gasping. His back was torn and bleeding.
"You fucking bastard," El said, rushing to Lorenzo's side.
"What? You mention my mother?" Delgado asked genially. "Have a care, 'El.'"
El climbed the scaffolding and began working feverishly to loosen the ropes holding his friend's wrists. Lorenzo's hands were blue, and sweat covered his face. How long had he been here?
"He received one stripe for your refusal to wait for my men," Delgado continued calmly, "and six for your attempt to betray me. Vasquez wants you punished for Dominguez's death, but I don't agree with him that you are responsible for another man's misstep. You see, I can be quite reasonable."
"Here, Lorrie," El said, supporting the other man as his arms came down painfully, and he sank to his knees.
"Don't . . . worry . . . about me," Lorenzo said between gritted teeth. He opened his eyes and looked right at El. "Kick their ass."
El tightened his lips together. He was grateful for the sacrifice Lorenzo was willing to make, but he couldn't bear to accept it.
"They say Our Lord took 39 lashes and still lived," Delgado mused. "But after seeing my cousin's handiwork with only nine, I wonder if scripture might have exaggerated."
Indeed, Lorenzo's back looked like ground hamburger.
"He needs treatment," El said.
"Then I expect you to be very well behaved from now on."
El clenched his jaw at hearing Delgado speak to him as he did to Sands, but he nodded.
"Fetch the medicos," Delgado ordered a man, regarding El with satisfaction.
"Sands did not do this?" El asked, not sure whether he asked Delgado or Lorenzo.
"He would have if I had asked him to," Delgado replied. "But thank you for reminding me of our little laboratory rat. Come with me."
"I'm staying with Romero," El said.
Delgado shook his head in bemusement. "You see, already you defy me. Do I really have to flog him some more?"
The white-coated men entered just then, carrying medical supplies. Reluctantly El relinquished Lorenzo to them and stood.
"Follow me," Delgado ordered, his eyes glittering.
El followed.