The Lotus Eaters

Belalcázar, Santander, Terra Nova

Even in an organization as egalitarian and non-traditional as the unofficially named "Huánuco Processors, Shippers, and Vendors Free State" there were some members who were a little more equal than others. Jorge Joven was one among them. Indeed, his only true peer in the organization was Pedro Estevez. It was Estevez whom Belisario Endara had dealt with in preparing a team to get rid of Parilla and Carrera. All three sat now, along with Guzman, in a secure room, heavily and not too tastefully decorated, in the basement of Joven's palatial, isolated mansion, in the hills overlooking the city.

"Son of a bitch," cursed Estevez. "Offer him money . . . a decent offer you said it was, right, Guzman?"

"Si, patron," the lawyer confirmed. "A huge amount, twelve million FSD monthly."

"And he won't take that? He's a mad dog, then, and mad dogs need shooting."

Endara sighed, conscious that he'd been doing a lot of that lately. "A mad dog he may be, Pedro, but he is more of a rabid mad dog. Very dangerous, too dangerous to fuck with lightly, as I have tried to explain to my uncle."

"That was my impression, Padron," Guzman confirmed to Estevez. "If his assistant hadn't talked him out of it, I'd be in prison now."

"Oh, no," Endara said. "I assure you, you would never have made it to prison." Endara's look grew contemplative. "You know, it's odd that he let you go. It's really not his style at all."

"So I gathered," the lawyer agreed. "Indeed, I am so sure I was within inches of doom that I've paid to have a special mass said for his tall black."

"Was that Jimenez or McNamara?" Endara asked.

"I don't know. He called the man 'sergeant major.' "

"Ah. That would be Sergeant Major General McNamara. Tough old man who manages to keep a very young and very beautiful wife very happy. He's one of the four or five people who actually have any personal control over Carrera."

"Well no one is going to need to control the son of a bitch once he's dead," Estevez said.

"I was rather hoping you would talk my uncle out of this," Endara said, shaking his head, "since he won't listen to me on the subject."

Estevez nodded, seriously, even judicially. "And so I would have if this man had not insulted me and mine," Escobedo's head tilted toward Joven, "by refusing our very generous offer."

At the word, "generous," Guzman remembered something. He bent over and reached into his briefcase and withdrew from it a golden crucifix on a chain. This he handed to Escobedo with the words, "Carrera said to give this to you."

"What?" Escobedo raged. "Is he trying to tell me to make my peace with God?"

"No . . . no," said Endara, who knew a great deal about Carrera. "I think Carrera meant something rather different."

Once Estevez and Joven had heard just what Endara thought Carrera had meant by sending a crucifix, both their anger and their intentions expanded radically.