Fic/OOM: Life of a Salazar, Part III
Oct. 14th, 2005 07:50 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
latino_menaceRandom was at work again and Ramon has been jumpy all day. He knows what it is, he's exhausted again and trying to force himself to stay awake. It's fine when Random is here to distract him - but now he's alone and can't help it.
He gives in after a while, because there comes a point where it's just painful to be awake any more. So he goes to bed, telling himself that at least Random isn't here to witness what he knows is coming.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
32.
Another funeral. He seems to spend his life at them, although this was different than most. Normally they were almost like business affairs, a chance to catch up with people that may have been working away from him for a while. Sometimes they were funerals of rivals and he made it a point to go, mainly to make sure everyone knew who had caused the person’s death. Some of his rivals believed in honouring their enemies after death – not Ramon. He liked to go and do headcounts, see how many adversaries he had left.
But not this time. He had place of honour this time, three sons and a daughter standing next to him, Hector holding the hand of a two year old and a baby in the arms of a local woman. The complete Salazar family in one place – security is tight round the graveyard as the coffin holding Ramon’s wife is lowered into the dirt. He watches it go dispassionately, Maria was just another casualty of war in his eyes. A war that he had started, and maintained long after others would have let it drop.
The older kids are crying and he surveys them with dead eyes as the priest finishes, signifying the end of proceedings. They’re left to stand there while Hector hands the toddler off to one of his other nephews and joins his brother as he walks away. Ramon doesn’t look at him but asks, ‘Did we confirm yet where he’ll be tonight?’
‘We think so, we’re just waiting on a call. We’ll know for sure in a couple of hours.’ Hector is as hesitant as always to ask questions but really feels this is too important not to talk about. ‘Ramon, you know if we take him, we’ll be on top.’
‘I’ll be on top Hector.’ He long ago gave up the pretence of respecting his brother’s input into the cartel. His lighter snaps closed as he lights a cigarette. ‘What’s your point?’
‘You don’t have to kill him yourself. You shouldn’t be anywhere near it. You should be at home, celebrating your victory. The war is about to be over Ramon, why not wait in comfort and enjoy it?’
Ramon gives him a black look but doesn’t reply. Hector doesn’t know what’s really going on because he hasn’t told him. Or indeed, anyone. He takes a drag on his smoke, then flicks it away barely touched as he turns towards the cars. ‘Come on. We’ll go back to the house and get ready.’
Hector watches him walk on, then looks back at the children still grouped around the grave. They’re staring at their father’s retreating back, tear-streaked faces lined with confusion as they’re left behind. Hector sighs and gestures for them to come to him, then turns and watches Ramon himself. He cuts a lonely figure, walking towards his limousine through a graveyard that he’s done his best to fill over the last six years. Hector can only hope that by the end of the evening he’ll have lost the need for vengeance, once and for all.
* * * * * * * * *
He throws his cigarette case and gun down on the desk when he enters his study, immediately pulls his tie off and throws it onto a chair. It’s a warm day, but he doesn’t open the window, he just paces around for a few minutes until a knock comes on the door.
‘Well?’ he says, as soon as Hector enters. He’s impatient, because he’s been waiting for this day for a long time and the funeral had been a damn pain in the ass. In death, just as in life, Maria had tried her best to get in the way.
‘Everything is as we thought. It’s going ahead and he has no idea that we’re on to him.’
‘Will his man stay bought?’
‘Si Ramon. There is nothing to worry about. We have his sister and her children, if he fucks with us he knows what will happen. Besides, we’re paying him well.’
Ramon nods curtly and goes to sit down. He doesn’t say any more and Hector assumes that’s his cue to leave – his brother doesn’t talk a great deal these days and mostly likes to be left on his own. He never would have thought it would happen; before the death of Emanuel, Hector truly believed there was nothing that could hurt Ramon. If anyone saw the way he was with his other children, they would never have thought him capable of grief. It had taken a long time for Hector to realise just how deeply he’d been affected – but then, Ramon had never expanded on the circumstances that occurred right before the boy died. He knew that his brother had refused the terms of the deal of course – but everything else was a blank to him, up until the time they found the mutilated body on the side of a dirty road. He’d tried to keep Ramon from seeing it but a crushing blow to the jaw had put paid to that idea…and he’ll never forget the way the man had stood over that body, the longest time just looking at his face, completely motionless. And then he’d told everyone to leave them alone…when Ramon had emerged a few hours later, white as marble, he was the man Hector saw now. Colder than anyone he’d ever known, more brutal than ever, a dictator and despot in the purest sense of the words. His word was law when it came to the Salazar business and anyone who dared disagree or challenge him was killed – sometimes slowly, sometimes fast, it all depended on the mood of the boss. And he knew that he wasn’t immune himself, brother or not.
The behaviour carried over to the work day as well. Oh, Ramon played – hardly seemed to sleep in fact. He’d wage war on anyone during the day - and it was necessary, as they were embroiled in a turf war that could have ended them all. But he was ruthless, determined to wipe out anyone that stood in his way. And after a fifteen hour or so day, he’d get wasted, completely wasted, or so high he could hardly walk – and then disappear into a room with two or three hookers and not be seen for the rest of the night. The next day, he’d be back at work, ready to do it all again.
Hector isn’t stupid. He knows that Ramon is driven by need for revenge and the desire to get to the top to prove to himself that Emanuel’s death wasn’t in vain. He just wishes that the man wasn’t so dangerous. The risks he took…if they failed, they could topple them again. And he wouldn’t let himself slow down – it was as though he was daring himself to go that bit further, to do everything he could to push the limits…and if he fell, he’d just start over again and force everyone to come with him. He’d been lucky so far, and hadn’t fallen – and today might very well be the end of it. One more big rival to go, and then the Salazar’s would hold dominion.
These thoughts run through his head in an instant as he makes for the door, so he’s surprised when he hears his name being called. And part of his insides clench, because he doesn’t really enjoy being alone with him any more.
‘Si Ramon?’
‘Come and have a drink.’
He nods, even though he’d rather not. The tequila is poured, large measures – too large really, if they want their wits about them for later. But Ramon never cares about details like that.
‘How long before we go?’
‘We’re just waiting for a phone call so we know he’s definitely there. Then we go. It’ll take us an hour or so to get there but he won’t be leaving once he’s in.’
Ramon just nods and sips at his drink, then lights a cigar. Silence falls for a while, and it’s easy enough. Not companionable, but quiet all the same. Still, after a while Hector feels he should make an effort. ‘The funeral was nice.’
Nothing.
‘The children were upset though. Maybe you want to see them before we go…?’
Ramon glares at him and points with his cigar. ‘Shut up Hector. You know very well I don’t give a fuck, so just shut up.’
And he does. Because with his brother, you do what you’re told.
* * * * *
Ramon sits outside in the Jeep, surrounded by armed guards. They’re alert and ready, weapons discreetly out of their holsters. Not enough to draw attention from random passers by, and they don’t have to worry about the police. They’re all looking the other way this evening.
His eyes are closed and the side of his head rests on the glass. He could be sleeping at a casual glance, because his face is peaceful. But he’s not sleeping, he’s listening to the screams. They emanate from the small building he’s waiting outside, muffled by the walls yes, but still audible. He’s enjoying them the way other men enjoy a symphony – and there’s a two part harmony in his head, screams matching the ones that come from Emanuel, forever, never ending, he hears them every time he closes his eyes.
I lost you, my boy, and I’m sorry. This is all for you. You didn’t die for nothing, I promise you that. And after tonight it’ll all be over – I want you to stop screaming, son, it’s time to rest. For you and me both…
There’s a discreet knock on the window and he opens his eyes but makes no other movement. ‘It’s secure Ramon.’ He’s still for a while longer, then nods once, as if to another person in the car, even though he’s alone.
He’s flanked by six guards as he makes his entrance and they close in around him as he enters the large room where there’s already evidence of blood having been spilt. Several dead guards litter the floor but no one pays them any mind. Ramon’s eyes go to his brother, who’s standing over a large man with grey hair. His name is Vicaro and Hector holds a gun on him, the barrel pressing into his skull. Five other men kneel in a line beside him, but Vicaro is in the middle because he’s the boss. Ramon looks at him, catches his eye for a second – there’s a moment of understanding between them and then he turns to address the room. About twenty other people are grouped in a corner, machine guns trained on them to keep them in place and it’s to them that Ramon speaks.
‘My apologies for breaking up your party. Especially on a happy occasion such as this.’ He looks at a young woman who is crying quietly, her eyes fixed on one of the men kneeling in the line. ‘An engagement is supposed to be a good thing. Senorita…’ He addresses the woman directly. ‘…I am sorry you won’t be getting married after all. Not to Feo, at least.’ He jerks his head to the guard standing over the young man, a gunshot rings out and he falls dead. The woman screams in grief and Ramon closes his eyes until she’s stopped by a slap from a guard.
He turns back to Vicaro. ‘You were a good adversary Senor, but your time is over. I am taking your territory and as of tonight, the war will be over.’ I’ve run out of people to fight. ‘So Senor, you know how this works. Concede and it will be quick for all. Tell your people that they belong to me now.’ He turns back to the small group. ‘If any of you wish to die rather than work for me, step forward now.’
No one does and he smiles, without the smallest trace of humour. He looks at the kneeling man with a raised eyebrow and after a moment, Vicaro speaks. ‘I concede Salazar. I know you will kill me – but I beg you, spare my sons. They will work for you if I tell them to…’
Ramon cuts him off with a waved hand and nods at the men standing over each remaining son. Shots ring out again and then Vicaro is kneeling alone, tears running down his face. He walks over to him and crouches beside him, his eyes dead. ‘I couldn’t allow that. They would have avenged you. But you can spare the virtue of your wife and daughters, if you answer one question.’ He asks it. Vicaro looks him in the eye and nods, and Ramon stands, satisfied. ‘Well done Senor. It has been a pleasure.’
He holds out his hand for the gun Hector holds, it’s placed instantly in his palm. A second later and Ramon has ended the war, Vicaro lies dead at his feet, the last rival gone.
It’s silent for a long time. Not in the room, where cries from the friends and family of the dead boss can be heard, where the victors are grinning with joy and relief…but in Ramon’s head, it is silent. No roar of triumph, no exultation of delight. He’s just crowned himself, and feels nothing. There’s an embrace from Hector, which he manages to return, and then instructions are being given to take the men to a place where things will be explained to them. Ramon tells his people not to touch the women…and then they leave, melting back into the shadows while a runner is dispatched to the police department to inform them who is now in charge. And Ramon feels nothing, not a goddamn thing.
The party is long and raucous, Ramon checks his watch constantly. Hector is having a good time, and he himself has a woman on his lap at this very moment. She’s doing her best to distract him from what’s going on in the rest of the place but is failing miserably. He’s too distracted and tonight isn’t for fucking…not yet anyway. He hasn’t finished work yet.
Midnight comes and he rises, glad that everyone seems too wasted to really pay attention to where he is. Four guards are summoned and he slips out into the night, ostensibly to go for a walk. But he’s not much of a walker, not without reason anyway. And besides, his destination is only two blocks away – there had been nothing left to chance about the planning of this evening. Not that anyone but him knew that.
The strip club is small and seedy, an establishment for people who couldn’t afford better. The girls were cheap and dirty and in a way, it reminded him of the place his father used to own in Bogotá, the one he’d first got the courage to walk into when he was thirteen. It had seemed so glamorous then. Now it was just another whorehouse. He sends a man inside to get what he wants out of there, then walks round to the stinking alley that runs behind, Used to fight in alleys like this, where did life go? You took it all and now it’s time for payback…Men are positioned at either end – Ramon just leans against the wall and waits. He’s dressed all in black and melts into the background, just a darker, fuller patch of shadow that won’t be noticed until it’s too late.
The back door opens and a figure is thrown through, landing heavily on its side. He watches impassively as it tries to get up again and his guard kicks it back down. When the figure seems to realise and accept that its place is in the dirt and doesn’t try to get up again…that’s when Ramon steps out. The guard is dismissed to the other end of the alley and then they’re alone.
He walks around the man, eyeing it with venom – he’s calm no longer. Pure hatred runs through his veins, he feels he could almost choke on it. He knows anger that he hasn’t known in years, not since he held the telephone receiver and listened to his oldest son being raped and tortured to death. And it feels good to hate again, he finds he enjoys the feeling of fire that spreads through him, warming him for the first time that he can remember. He’s felt cold for so long now.
‘Who is it? What the fuck’s going on?’ The voice from the ground is thin and a bit reedy, word has it that the man has been sick for a few years now. Alcoholism apparently but Ramon couldn’t give a fuck. He just stares down at him, the blackness in the alley infringed upon only slightly by a streetlamp just off one end. No one will be able to see what’s going on. ‘I had a girl in there! Tell me what this is about so I can get back to her…’
The knife in Ramon’s hand has a matted black blade, it’s a combat knife used by those in covert operations. No shiny blades for them that might catch stray bits of light and give the game away. He crouches by the head of the figure and grabs a handful of greasy hair, one thumb runs up the cheek with the blade flat against it, seeking its target…its easy enough. A second later there’s a horrified scream and a squelching sound only usually heard in horror movies. And when Ramon pulls the knife back, it’s heavy with the weight of the eyeball impaled on the end.
He holds it up to his face and talks to it in a conversational tone; the screams of Benitez disappeared in the numbness that comes with shock. ‘Can you see me now Senor?’
There’s a pause. A horrible, silent, pregnant pause. And then a choked whisper, filled with the purest terror and pain.
‘Salazar?’
He grins at the eyeball, then yanks it off the knife and throws it to the floor, grinding it under his foot right next to Benitez’s ear. ‘I’m taking the other one in a minute Senor, but first we need to talk.’
The begging starts almost immediately. ‘Please. Please don’t. Please. If you’re going to kill me do it quickly, please don’t, not like that, please Ramon, don’t…’
He lets him ramble, examining the point of his knife in the dark, then crouching again and wiping it off on the babbling man’s shirt. Then he just listens some more, waiting for the man to build up his fear himself, knowing that panic will set in shortly and he’ll be reduced to a screaming mess without the least bit of effort from himself.
‘Please I’ll do anything, take what you want, please please please…’
He yawns, although he’s very much enjoying this.
‘Please don’t, I didn’t mean to…I thought you would do what I wanted, I didn’t think that…I wouldn’t have harmed him but you gave me no choice, I’m sorry…’
At the sound of the apology, Ramon has his face pinned, a hand over his mouth, whispering dangerously next to his ear. ‘Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare apologise you filthy piece of shit. Take what I want? And spare you? All I want is to kill you, you miserable scum. You have nothing left I need – didn’t you hear? The war is over and I won. All thanks to you and that land I took off you, that’s where it started. But you took my son you bastard, and you did it from the end of a phone line – you didn’t even have the guts to do it yourself. Never looked at his face, did you? Never knew what he was to me, not really. So if you’re that stupid, and that fucking blind…lets make it official shall we?’
His voice is pure spitting venom, pure rage, and at the same time, it’s ice. The knife moves again, as soon as it touches the man’s cheek there’s the unmistakable sound of the man pissing himself in fear. ‘Don’t please, I’ll do anything…’
‘Anything? Fine. Give me Emanuel back and I’ll walk away right now.’ He pauses for dramatic effect, during which time Benitez does nothing but whimper in terror. ‘No? Tough luck then.’ And he wastes no more time; there’s another blood-curdling scream and once more, Ramon is grinding an eyeball under his boot.
He can feel the man trembling and is glad, hears his cries and enjoys every single fucking one of them. The hatred burns him through, it’s all he can do to resist plunging the knife into the body until there’s no blood left in it…but no, that would be too quick, too easy. Instead he just sits in the darkness, next to a body fast going into shock. You’re dying Benitez, and you can’t do it slowly enough for my liking…
There are no more words from the man on the floor, just the shaking and an occasional scream in horror. Ramon can make out his hands scrubbing at his face, unable to believe that his eyes are gone and making the wounds worse. And for his part, he just sits, feeling the sweetness of revenge burn the pain out of his body, hearing the cries of his son start to fade, finally, for the first time in six years.
That’s it boy, rest. It’s time. You’re avenged, and I’ll see you again someday. But for now, sleep easy. Te amo Emanuel…
And he’s not surprised to find that this is where the satisfaction comes from. Winning the war was just another day at work. But this – in a filthy deserted alley behind a strip club in Bogotá, completely alone and with no one to witness his triumph – this is what sets him free.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
He starts awake with a scream, sweat pouring off him. It takes a while for him to work out where he is because this apartment is not that familiar yet. But yes of course – Texorami. Random is at work and he must have lost the battle and been unable to stay awake anymore.
The dream comes back to him and the thing he remembers most is the crunching sound as he ground a mans eyeballs under his feet…it seems to get louder the more he tries to block it out, and after a minute he’s scrabbling for the bathroom, throwing up everything he’s eaten in the past day. Which isn’t a great deal, but it’s enough to make his stomach yell at him for the pressure.
What the fuck did I do? Even for Emanuel…that was brutal. I shouldn’t have done it like that, should have just shot him… But he can remember what it felt like, hear his son all over again, woken violently from his peaceful slumber after all these years…Ramon’s throwing up again, doubled over in pain, trying his best to hang on to something in case the pain makes him black out. I’m sorry son, what do you want me to do? Alright, alright…if I could have the choice again, I’d choose differently, is that want you want to hear? I wouldn’t sacrifice you for anything…please let me go. I can’t bear it, it hurts too much…
He’s dragging himself out of the bathroom, moaning in pain that’s both mental and physical. But there’s a feeling of relief because after that, things had been quieter for a long time. He collapses on the bed in their room, more tired than anything and lets his mind wander a little…revenge had fixed him to a large degree. Horrible though it had been and permanently changed as he knew he was…he wasn’t as cold after that. He was able to live again.
And things had been normal – until Jack. Until those six months when…he stops himself and shakes his head. It’s for another time. He won’t put himself through it just yet – because from Jack, he went to prison, from there to the bar, and Arithon and…this. And that’s something he’s not sure he can cope with. For now, all he wants is sleep.
[OOC: Warnings for graphic graphic violence, scenes that may well disturb and language.]
He gives in after a while, because there comes a point where it's just painful to be awake any more. So he goes to bed, telling himself that at least Random isn't here to witness what he knows is coming.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
32.
Another funeral. He seems to spend his life at them, although this was different than most. Normally they were almost like business affairs, a chance to catch up with people that may have been working away from him for a while. Sometimes they were funerals of rivals and he made it a point to go, mainly to make sure everyone knew who had caused the person’s death. Some of his rivals believed in honouring their enemies after death – not Ramon. He liked to go and do headcounts, see how many adversaries he had left.
But not this time. He had place of honour this time, three sons and a daughter standing next to him, Hector holding the hand of a two year old and a baby in the arms of a local woman. The complete Salazar family in one place – security is tight round the graveyard as the coffin holding Ramon’s wife is lowered into the dirt. He watches it go dispassionately, Maria was just another casualty of war in his eyes. A war that he had started, and maintained long after others would have let it drop.
The older kids are crying and he surveys them with dead eyes as the priest finishes, signifying the end of proceedings. They’re left to stand there while Hector hands the toddler off to one of his other nephews and joins his brother as he walks away. Ramon doesn’t look at him but asks, ‘Did we confirm yet where he’ll be tonight?’
‘We think so, we’re just waiting on a call. We’ll know for sure in a couple of hours.’ Hector is as hesitant as always to ask questions but really feels this is too important not to talk about. ‘Ramon, you know if we take him, we’ll be on top.’
‘I’ll be on top Hector.’ He long ago gave up the pretence of respecting his brother’s input into the cartel. His lighter snaps closed as he lights a cigarette. ‘What’s your point?’
‘You don’t have to kill him yourself. You shouldn’t be anywhere near it. You should be at home, celebrating your victory. The war is about to be over Ramon, why not wait in comfort and enjoy it?’
Ramon gives him a black look but doesn’t reply. Hector doesn’t know what’s really going on because he hasn’t told him. Or indeed, anyone. He takes a drag on his smoke, then flicks it away barely touched as he turns towards the cars. ‘Come on. We’ll go back to the house and get ready.’
Hector watches him walk on, then looks back at the children still grouped around the grave. They’re staring at their father’s retreating back, tear-streaked faces lined with confusion as they’re left behind. Hector sighs and gestures for them to come to him, then turns and watches Ramon himself. He cuts a lonely figure, walking towards his limousine through a graveyard that he’s done his best to fill over the last six years. Hector can only hope that by the end of the evening he’ll have lost the need for vengeance, once and for all.
* * * * * * * * *
He throws his cigarette case and gun down on the desk when he enters his study, immediately pulls his tie off and throws it onto a chair. It’s a warm day, but he doesn’t open the window, he just paces around for a few minutes until a knock comes on the door.
‘Well?’ he says, as soon as Hector enters. He’s impatient, because he’s been waiting for this day for a long time and the funeral had been a damn pain in the ass. In death, just as in life, Maria had tried her best to get in the way.
‘Everything is as we thought. It’s going ahead and he has no idea that we’re on to him.’
‘Will his man stay bought?’
‘Si Ramon. There is nothing to worry about. We have his sister and her children, if he fucks with us he knows what will happen. Besides, we’re paying him well.’
Ramon nods curtly and goes to sit down. He doesn’t say any more and Hector assumes that’s his cue to leave – his brother doesn’t talk a great deal these days and mostly likes to be left on his own. He never would have thought it would happen; before the death of Emanuel, Hector truly believed there was nothing that could hurt Ramon. If anyone saw the way he was with his other children, they would never have thought him capable of grief. It had taken a long time for Hector to realise just how deeply he’d been affected – but then, Ramon had never expanded on the circumstances that occurred right before the boy died. He knew that his brother had refused the terms of the deal of course – but everything else was a blank to him, up until the time they found the mutilated body on the side of a dirty road. He’d tried to keep Ramon from seeing it but a crushing blow to the jaw had put paid to that idea…and he’ll never forget the way the man had stood over that body, the longest time just looking at his face, completely motionless. And then he’d told everyone to leave them alone…when Ramon had emerged a few hours later, white as marble, he was the man Hector saw now. Colder than anyone he’d ever known, more brutal than ever, a dictator and despot in the purest sense of the words. His word was law when it came to the Salazar business and anyone who dared disagree or challenge him was killed – sometimes slowly, sometimes fast, it all depended on the mood of the boss. And he knew that he wasn’t immune himself, brother or not.
The behaviour carried over to the work day as well. Oh, Ramon played – hardly seemed to sleep in fact. He’d wage war on anyone during the day - and it was necessary, as they were embroiled in a turf war that could have ended them all. But he was ruthless, determined to wipe out anyone that stood in his way. And after a fifteen hour or so day, he’d get wasted, completely wasted, or so high he could hardly walk – and then disappear into a room with two or three hookers and not be seen for the rest of the night. The next day, he’d be back at work, ready to do it all again.
Hector isn’t stupid. He knows that Ramon is driven by need for revenge and the desire to get to the top to prove to himself that Emanuel’s death wasn’t in vain. He just wishes that the man wasn’t so dangerous. The risks he took…if they failed, they could topple them again. And he wouldn’t let himself slow down – it was as though he was daring himself to go that bit further, to do everything he could to push the limits…and if he fell, he’d just start over again and force everyone to come with him. He’d been lucky so far, and hadn’t fallen – and today might very well be the end of it. One more big rival to go, and then the Salazar’s would hold dominion.
These thoughts run through his head in an instant as he makes for the door, so he’s surprised when he hears his name being called. And part of his insides clench, because he doesn’t really enjoy being alone with him any more.
‘Si Ramon?’
‘Come and have a drink.’
He nods, even though he’d rather not. The tequila is poured, large measures – too large really, if they want their wits about them for later. But Ramon never cares about details like that.
‘How long before we go?’
‘We’re just waiting for a phone call so we know he’s definitely there. Then we go. It’ll take us an hour or so to get there but he won’t be leaving once he’s in.’
Ramon just nods and sips at his drink, then lights a cigar. Silence falls for a while, and it’s easy enough. Not companionable, but quiet all the same. Still, after a while Hector feels he should make an effort. ‘The funeral was nice.’
Nothing.
‘The children were upset though. Maybe you want to see them before we go…?’
Ramon glares at him and points with his cigar. ‘Shut up Hector. You know very well I don’t give a fuck, so just shut up.’
And he does. Because with his brother, you do what you’re told.
* * * * *
Ramon sits outside in the Jeep, surrounded by armed guards. They’re alert and ready, weapons discreetly out of their holsters. Not enough to draw attention from random passers by, and they don’t have to worry about the police. They’re all looking the other way this evening.
His eyes are closed and the side of his head rests on the glass. He could be sleeping at a casual glance, because his face is peaceful. But he’s not sleeping, he’s listening to the screams. They emanate from the small building he’s waiting outside, muffled by the walls yes, but still audible. He’s enjoying them the way other men enjoy a symphony – and there’s a two part harmony in his head, screams matching the ones that come from Emanuel, forever, never ending, he hears them every time he closes his eyes.
I lost you, my boy, and I’m sorry. This is all for you. You didn’t die for nothing, I promise you that. And after tonight it’ll all be over – I want you to stop screaming, son, it’s time to rest. For you and me both…
There’s a discreet knock on the window and he opens his eyes but makes no other movement. ‘It’s secure Ramon.’ He’s still for a while longer, then nods once, as if to another person in the car, even though he’s alone.
He’s flanked by six guards as he makes his entrance and they close in around him as he enters the large room where there’s already evidence of blood having been spilt. Several dead guards litter the floor but no one pays them any mind. Ramon’s eyes go to his brother, who’s standing over a large man with grey hair. His name is Vicaro and Hector holds a gun on him, the barrel pressing into his skull. Five other men kneel in a line beside him, but Vicaro is in the middle because he’s the boss. Ramon looks at him, catches his eye for a second – there’s a moment of understanding between them and then he turns to address the room. About twenty other people are grouped in a corner, machine guns trained on them to keep them in place and it’s to them that Ramon speaks.
‘My apologies for breaking up your party. Especially on a happy occasion such as this.’ He looks at a young woman who is crying quietly, her eyes fixed on one of the men kneeling in the line. ‘An engagement is supposed to be a good thing. Senorita…’ He addresses the woman directly. ‘…I am sorry you won’t be getting married after all. Not to Feo, at least.’ He jerks his head to the guard standing over the young man, a gunshot rings out and he falls dead. The woman screams in grief and Ramon closes his eyes until she’s stopped by a slap from a guard.
He turns back to Vicaro. ‘You were a good adversary Senor, but your time is over. I am taking your territory and as of tonight, the war will be over.’ I’ve run out of people to fight. ‘So Senor, you know how this works. Concede and it will be quick for all. Tell your people that they belong to me now.’ He turns back to the small group. ‘If any of you wish to die rather than work for me, step forward now.’
No one does and he smiles, without the smallest trace of humour. He looks at the kneeling man with a raised eyebrow and after a moment, Vicaro speaks. ‘I concede Salazar. I know you will kill me – but I beg you, spare my sons. They will work for you if I tell them to…’
Ramon cuts him off with a waved hand and nods at the men standing over each remaining son. Shots ring out again and then Vicaro is kneeling alone, tears running down his face. He walks over to him and crouches beside him, his eyes dead. ‘I couldn’t allow that. They would have avenged you. But you can spare the virtue of your wife and daughters, if you answer one question.’ He asks it. Vicaro looks him in the eye and nods, and Ramon stands, satisfied. ‘Well done Senor. It has been a pleasure.’
He holds out his hand for the gun Hector holds, it’s placed instantly in his palm. A second later and Ramon has ended the war, Vicaro lies dead at his feet, the last rival gone.
It’s silent for a long time. Not in the room, where cries from the friends and family of the dead boss can be heard, where the victors are grinning with joy and relief…but in Ramon’s head, it is silent. No roar of triumph, no exultation of delight. He’s just crowned himself, and feels nothing. There’s an embrace from Hector, which he manages to return, and then instructions are being given to take the men to a place where things will be explained to them. Ramon tells his people not to touch the women…and then they leave, melting back into the shadows while a runner is dispatched to the police department to inform them who is now in charge. And Ramon feels nothing, not a goddamn thing.
The party is long and raucous, Ramon checks his watch constantly. Hector is having a good time, and he himself has a woman on his lap at this very moment. She’s doing her best to distract him from what’s going on in the rest of the place but is failing miserably. He’s too distracted and tonight isn’t for fucking…not yet anyway. He hasn’t finished work yet.
Midnight comes and he rises, glad that everyone seems too wasted to really pay attention to where he is. Four guards are summoned and he slips out into the night, ostensibly to go for a walk. But he’s not much of a walker, not without reason anyway. And besides, his destination is only two blocks away – there had been nothing left to chance about the planning of this evening. Not that anyone but him knew that.
The strip club is small and seedy, an establishment for people who couldn’t afford better. The girls were cheap and dirty and in a way, it reminded him of the place his father used to own in Bogotá, the one he’d first got the courage to walk into when he was thirteen. It had seemed so glamorous then. Now it was just another whorehouse. He sends a man inside to get what he wants out of there, then walks round to the stinking alley that runs behind, Used to fight in alleys like this, where did life go? You took it all and now it’s time for payback…Men are positioned at either end – Ramon just leans against the wall and waits. He’s dressed all in black and melts into the background, just a darker, fuller patch of shadow that won’t be noticed until it’s too late.
The back door opens and a figure is thrown through, landing heavily on its side. He watches impassively as it tries to get up again and his guard kicks it back down. When the figure seems to realise and accept that its place is in the dirt and doesn’t try to get up again…that’s when Ramon steps out. The guard is dismissed to the other end of the alley and then they’re alone.
He walks around the man, eyeing it with venom – he’s calm no longer. Pure hatred runs through his veins, he feels he could almost choke on it. He knows anger that he hasn’t known in years, not since he held the telephone receiver and listened to his oldest son being raped and tortured to death. And it feels good to hate again, he finds he enjoys the feeling of fire that spreads through him, warming him for the first time that he can remember. He’s felt cold for so long now.
‘Who is it? What the fuck’s going on?’ The voice from the ground is thin and a bit reedy, word has it that the man has been sick for a few years now. Alcoholism apparently but Ramon couldn’t give a fuck. He just stares down at him, the blackness in the alley infringed upon only slightly by a streetlamp just off one end. No one will be able to see what’s going on. ‘I had a girl in there! Tell me what this is about so I can get back to her…’
The knife in Ramon’s hand has a matted black blade, it’s a combat knife used by those in covert operations. No shiny blades for them that might catch stray bits of light and give the game away. He crouches by the head of the figure and grabs a handful of greasy hair, one thumb runs up the cheek with the blade flat against it, seeking its target…its easy enough. A second later there’s a horrified scream and a squelching sound only usually heard in horror movies. And when Ramon pulls the knife back, it’s heavy with the weight of the eyeball impaled on the end.
He holds it up to his face and talks to it in a conversational tone; the screams of Benitez disappeared in the numbness that comes with shock. ‘Can you see me now Senor?’
There’s a pause. A horrible, silent, pregnant pause. And then a choked whisper, filled with the purest terror and pain.
‘Salazar?’
He grins at the eyeball, then yanks it off the knife and throws it to the floor, grinding it under his foot right next to Benitez’s ear. ‘I’m taking the other one in a minute Senor, but first we need to talk.’
The begging starts almost immediately. ‘Please. Please don’t. Please. If you’re going to kill me do it quickly, please don’t, not like that, please Ramon, don’t…’
He lets him ramble, examining the point of his knife in the dark, then crouching again and wiping it off on the babbling man’s shirt. Then he just listens some more, waiting for the man to build up his fear himself, knowing that panic will set in shortly and he’ll be reduced to a screaming mess without the least bit of effort from himself.
‘Please I’ll do anything, take what you want, please please please…’
He yawns, although he’s very much enjoying this.
‘Please don’t, I didn’t mean to…I thought you would do what I wanted, I didn’t think that…I wouldn’t have harmed him but you gave me no choice, I’m sorry…’
At the sound of the apology, Ramon has his face pinned, a hand over his mouth, whispering dangerously next to his ear. ‘Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare apologise you filthy piece of shit. Take what I want? And spare you? All I want is to kill you, you miserable scum. You have nothing left I need – didn’t you hear? The war is over and I won. All thanks to you and that land I took off you, that’s where it started. But you took my son you bastard, and you did it from the end of a phone line – you didn’t even have the guts to do it yourself. Never looked at his face, did you? Never knew what he was to me, not really. So if you’re that stupid, and that fucking blind…lets make it official shall we?’
His voice is pure spitting venom, pure rage, and at the same time, it’s ice. The knife moves again, as soon as it touches the man’s cheek there’s the unmistakable sound of the man pissing himself in fear. ‘Don’t please, I’ll do anything…’
‘Anything? Fine. Give me Emanuel back and I’ll walk away right now.’ He pauses for dramatic effect, during which time Benitez does nothing but whimper in terror. ‘No? Tough luck then.’ And he wastes no more time; there’s another blood-curdling scream and once more, Ramon is grinding an eyeball under his boot.
He can feel the man trembling and is glad, hears his cries and enjoys every single fucking one of them. The hatred burns him through, it’s all he can do to resist plunging the knife into the body until there’s no blood left in it…but no, that would be too quick, too easy. Instead he just sits in the darkness, next to a body fast going into shock. You’re dying Benitez, and you can’t do it slowly enough for my liking…
There are no more words from the man on the floor, just the shaking and an occasional scream in horror. Ramon can make out his hands scrubbing at his face, unable to believe that his eyes are gone and making the wounds worse. And for his part, he just sits, feeling the sweetness of revenge burn the pain out of his body, hearing the cries of his son start to fade, finally, for the first time in six years.
That’s it boy, rest. It’s time. You’re avenged, and I’ll see you again someday. But for now, sleep easy. Te amo Emanuel…
And he’s not surprised to find that this is where the satisfaction comes from. Winning the war was just another day at work. But this – in a filthy deserted alley behind a strip club in Bogotá, completely alone and with no one to witness his triumph – this is what sets him free.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
He starts awake with a scream, sweat pouring off him. It takes a while for him to work out where he is because this apartment is not that familiar yet. But yes of course – Texorami. Random is at work and he must have lost the battle and been unable to stay awake anymore.
The dream comes back to him and the thing he remembers most is the crunching sound as he ground a mans eyeballs under his feet…it seems to get louder the more he tries to block it out, and after a minute he’s scrabbling for the bathroom, throwing up everything he’s eaten in the past day. Which isn’t a great deal, but it’s enough to make his stomach yell at him for the pressure.
What the fuck did I do? Even for Emanuel…that was brutal. I shouldn’t have done it like that, should have just shot him… But he can remember what it felt like, hear his son all over again, woken violently from his peaceful slumber after all these years…Ramon’s throwing up again, doubled over in pain, trying his best to hang on to something in case the pain makes him black out. I’m sorry son, what do you want me to do? Alright, alright…if I could have the choice again, I’d choose differently, is that want you want to hear? I wouldn’t sacrifice you for anything…please let me go. I can’t bear it, it hurts too much…
He’s dragging himself out of the bathroom, moaning in pain that’s both mental and physical. But there’s a feeling of relief because after that, things had been quieter for a long time. He collapses on the bed in their room, more tired than anything and lets his mind wander a little…revenge had fixed him to a large degree. Horrible though it had been and permanently changed as he knew he was…he wasn’t as cold after that. He was able to live again.
And things had been normal – until Jack. Until those six months when…he stops himself and shakes his head. It’s for another time. He won’t put himself through it just yet – because from Jack, he went to prison, from there to the bar, and Arithon and…this. And that’s something he’s not sure he can cope with. For now, all he wants is sleep.
[OOC: Warnings for graphic graphic violence, scenes that may well disturb and language.]
