Act 2: Loyalty

Chapter 21: Venomous Disposition

There were some sorry and less well-travelled individuals who would call an establishment like this the best place on earth, a place where people came to ogle at naked women and drink themselves into a comatose state. Abrego, on the other hand, hated this place and was only here because he knew there would be no prying eyes or inquisitive eavesdroppers. If he had his way, he would be spending his evening somewhere else. He was no stranger to strip clubs. Quite the opposite, really. It was just this one in particular that made him turn up his nose as if it gave off a bad smell. On some days, it probably did. Predictably, he and the cartel had reserved this private room at the back for themselves. The door was shut and guarded on the outside by two of his men, who would only allow entry should the correct passphrase be spoken to them. Down the middle of the room, a single walkway stood and several women would walk its length at regular intervals, stripping as they did so. Abrego lifted a small glass of rum from the side table and took a drink, watching his men toss dollar bills to the women as he did so. As he sat there and dejectedly watched the display in front of him, one of the women squatted down on high heels and blew him a kiss in an attempt to snag his attention. He rolled his eyes under his sunglasses and stuck his cigar into his mouth. The woman got the message soon after and continued dancing for the other men.

The door opened and Abrego assumed the man he was waiting for had arrived. As if sensing that the situation was becoming more tense, the cartel members that had been enjoying the show suddenly brought their revelry to a swift halt and their eyes went to their boss. He waved his hand to dismiss them.

"Leave us," he ordered. They did so with some haste while the new arrival came forward and stopped beside Abrego, hands in pockets. The door closed behind them and they were left alone. "Why don't you have a seat, Alejandro. And a drink. You're making me fucking nervous standing there not saying anything."

"You said we'd be meeting alone," Alejandro said pointedly.

"The girls? Don't worry about them. Their job is to dance and jiggle their big fucking tits in your face. They're not going to give two shits what we say to each other."

"You sure?"

"Fucking positive! Dios Mio, will you relax already? It was you who wanted to meet, remember? Be glad I didn't put a fucking bullet in your head the second you walked in here."

Alejandro reluctantly occupied the vacant seat beside his fellow countryman and poured himself a glass of rum. He took a swig, glowering as soon as he did so. It was strong, to be sure.

"I guess you're wondering why I'm here," Alejandro began carefully. It was obvious he was still not comfortable talking in front of the strippers, but he had little choice if he wanted this meeting to go ahead. He got the sense Abrego's patience was quite thin.

"'Wondering', he says!" Abrego exclaimed. "No, what I'm wondering is how you're still fucking breathing. You know how much the bosses are offering for your disgusting head back home? You wouldn't fucking believe me if I told you!"

"Alright, Abrego, I get the fucking picture," Alejandro snapped. "You still agreed to meet, didn't you? I figured you'd hear what I had to say, at least."

"I don't need to hear anything. Your slippery friends got themselves killed and now you have nowhere else to go, isn't that it? This 'New Order' you and that FARC lunatic put together ended up getting itself destroyed. What a shame."

"Hawke is dead," Alejandro conceded. "And his people are gone. But mine are still loyal to me."

"More fucking runaways," Abrego snapped. "Traitors and cowards."

"We haven't been found out yet. Balalaika and Chang haven't discovered us yet, and things will stay that way."

"Well, at least you know who the players are in Roanapur," Abrego said with some approval. "Now that you mention it, you did slip under everyone's fucking radar for a while. From what I hear, you guys have been here for a lot longer than it seems. You must have some powerful friends."

"No names," Alejandro said adamantly, but that all but confirmed that somebody had been helping the New Order operate here. "You know how this works. If you want what I offer, we work on a need to know basis."

"'Need to kno-'," he began, stopping himself mid-sentence to groan in annoyance. "Puta madre, you've got a lot of nerve walking in here in the first place. Tell me, then, what is it you can offer me?"

"You'll have my people, for a start," Alejandro said firstly. "You may think them traitors and cowards, but they will follow orders. I can lend them to your cause. Think of them as your own private kill squad."

"Interesting," Abrego mused, taking a drink of his rum.

"And you could make use of my connections," Alejandro went on, attempting to sweeten the deal. "Like you said, me and my associates have slipped under the radar. If you agree to this alliance, you'll have that power at your disposal, too. Just leave the arrangements to me and I can make sure not even Jesus Christ himself will be able to find you."

Abrego was very much a loyalist when it came to the cartel and had no interest in fraternising with runaways. In fact, he had been passionate about exterminating them in the past. But clearly something had changed in recent times. Otherwise, he would never have agreed to this meeting. Or, he would have pretended to consider Alejandro's proposition before having him brutally murdered. The balance of power was shifting, the illusion of peace turning out to be just that; an illusion. After the recent business with Task Force 216, there were some who had let their guard down under the assumption that the city was safe. But they were wrong. Abrego knew that, and he also knew that there would always be unrest and conflict. Sooner or later, the powder keg that was Roanapur was sure to explode. All bets were off, now.

"What took you so fucking long to reach out to me?" Abrego asked bluntly. "Word on the street is you guys have been around for a while, now."

"What was I going to say?" Alejandro asked. "I took a gamble coming here today. Wasn't sure if you were going to shoot me or have me skinned alive, slow and painful. But I don't have much of a choice either way, now. I need help if I'm going to get what I want."

"And what is it you want from me?" Abrego asked him curiously. "You've told me what you can offer me. Now tell me what you ask in return."

"It's the Chinese bitch. The one who works for Lagoon Company. She killed a lot of my fucking guys in Venezuela. Hit me in the chest, too. I want to peel the fucking skin from her face and watch her cook alive in the desert sun." Abrego lifted the cigar to his mouth and inhaled slowly, allowing his mind a few moments to process that.

"Damn shame," he said simply. "Lagoon Company have been good to me and my people, Alejandro. Given me a lot of business over the years."

"I don't need you to do anything," Alejandro clarified. "I just need you to get me close to her. After that, all you have to do is turn away and let me see to business."

"Why can't your mysterious friend help you with this?" Abrego snapped. "If he's as well connected as it sounds, getting you to Two-Hands should be a piece of cake." Alejandro shifted in the chair and watched the dancers as he thought up a reply to that. He was probably trying to word his answer in a way that would not give too much away regarding the identity of this individual who had been helping the New Order.

"He's been generous so far," the Colombian man began slowly. "But he's reluctant to get his hands dirty when it comes to the criminals who operate here. It's one thing to help us stay in the shadows, he says, but quite another to become an accomplice in our schemes. 'Whatever it is you're here to do, you go out there and do it yourselves', that's what he said."

"Sounds like a fun guy," Abrego jested. After a few seconds of watching the women onstage, he became serious and finished the glass of rum in his hand. "You're going to start a lot of shit by doing this, Alejandro. For the city and my people. Business has been hard enough to come by without you targeting some of our best customers."

"I understand."

"But whatever you do, not a single fucking thing better come back to me. You hear me loud and fucking clear, Alejandro? Because if I hear even a whisper of what you get up to out there being connected to the cartel, you'll be the one left to cook in the sun."

"You have my word, Abrego," the cartel runaway said firmly. "I'm not going to do anything to put you at risk. If you go down, so do I. And vice versa. It would be in our best interests to put our differences aside and fucking work together for once."

"For now," Abrego said emphatically. "Once you and Two-Hands sort out whatever business you have, you give me command of your people so I can get what I want. And when I'm done, you go back to whatever hole you crawled out of and leave me to my affairs. After that, if I see you again, I'll kill you. How does that sound?"

"You always did have a friendly disposition," Alejandro said sarcastically. "But fair is fair. When our business is concluded, we go back to being enemies. But for now, we need one another." Abrego nodded before pouring himself another drink. Then, he topped up Alejandro's glass and they clinked the two glasses together.

"I suppose we do."