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“For Mr. Escobar’s eyes only,” spoken in my authoritative ‘you’re under arrest’ voice as I hand it over.
The henchman takes the envelope and returns. The walk seems interminable with the Uzi, loaded and pointing, wielded by someone with the empathy of a reptile.
Escobar opens the envelope, turns and hands something to the nurse, presumably the key. Then he reads...
‘www.esco1345681345. I too know the secret. And it will remain most closely kept as long as both Renee and I are unharmed.’
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I watch as the face of Pablo Escobar reddens. It is not within his plans to have knowledge of the website spread about. But it is what it is. I know the secret behind the intense quest for Robert Renee Warren.
He turns to the Uzi henchman. Unheard words of Spanish are uttered. The barrel of the weapon is lowered. He cannot afford to suffer the ramifications of having it accidentally discharge.
More words to the henchman delivering the note and key. He picks up the satchel and steps forth to return. I accept the comfortingly bloated bag and toss it into the rowboat.
“Renee will live a long and happy life here. I have a nurse to tend to all her needs... keep her healthy and eager to offer pleasure. And I have so much planned for her... so many interesting men for her to... entertain,” pausing to sneer with emphasis.
Time to leave. I turn to my pretty little bucket of cash and kneel. Tears are coming to Renee’s eyes. In recognizing Escobar, she is apoplectic in fear and concern. She cannot talk... instead just sobbing. And I suppose the realization of my duplicity is also somewhat painful.
“Do be a good girl,” I admonish in reaching to the expensive diamond pendants.
Next comes my final message to Escobar. Removing the expensive ‘gifts’, I replace them with the lumps of Lucite... Renee’s plastinated balls. Escobar will know what they are. Perhaps some of his more astute cohorts will as well. It is appropriate that the person owning and controlling Renee should also own and control what at one time defined his/her gender.
But I suspect such will be removed quite quickly and locked away out of sight.
Yes, the secret of Renee’s birth gender will be well guarded on Islas Rosario.
***
Islas Rosario
Robert Renee Warren
Nurse Rita takes my hand. It is impossible to walk on sandy soil in pointy heels and in constantly stumbling, I need to rely on her for assistance. She is strong, her grip oddly comforting as I tremble in fear.
“I want to show you something, my little Coca flower,” Senor Escobar announces as we approach a sprawling structure.
Low in height, not overwhelming the skyline, the white stucco walls spread to the right and left, seeming to visually blend with the pearl white sandy soil.
We enter. Senor Escobar leads, his guards disperse, I suppose to preassigned stations. I am surprised when we descend a set of stairs and enter a subterranean room cut out of the coral... lots of digging and blasting.
“Leave us,” Senor Escobar commands the nurse as I visually examine.
The contents of the room are both industrial and medical. In the center is a hospital bed with sturdy metal rails and dozens of straps to firmly hold in place a patient in need. But in the corner are large canisters, rugged with paint chipped and scratched. Gauges offer the level of content within. Tubes emanate ending at a nozzle obviously tempered by intense heat.
“Men who cross me come here to die,” Senor Escobar lectures.
“To rule over what I rule over, many dozens of devious, deceitful, lying, greedy cutthroat thieves, I must do so by fear.”
As he speaks he steps to the nozzle hanging atop one of the canisters. He turns a valve. There comes a hiss. Then he grasps a metal object and squeezes. There comes a spark and a blue flame erupts. There is a low roar and the heat is instantaneous.
“An acetylene torch. Hot enough to cut through metal. It does wonders for those who betray me. If one is patient and knows how to properly apply the flame... not too close... for not too long... a man can be tortured for lengthy intervals before life ends. Killing is easy... doing so in a manner which imbues fear in all who find temptation in betraying me... that requires some skill. The first ‘lesson’ I taught was too brief. Yet with so many traitors needing a visit, I can now slowly sear almost every inch of flesh before death overcomes. It requires hours, much patience and smelling salts.”
I shudder, quaking in feeling the intensity of the heat, the insouciance of the voice, envisioning the burnt flesh, hearing the screams for mercy. Senor Escobar laughs in noting my reaction.
“So word gets out. Pablo Escobar is to be respected... to be obeyed... to be feared. If not, one is invited here for a barbecue. I do all the grilling.”
He turns off the torch.
