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As soon as they sat, Badde with a blonde on one side and a brunette on the other, a waitress arrived with a bottle of champagne and three crystal stems and another round of the men’s drinks.
“He really was giddy over those girls,” Garcia said. “I almost feel bad about all this.”
Santos chuckled.
He fast-forwarded the image. The girls fawned over Badde, laughing and touching his hand. After a short time, Badde glanced over his shoulder, looking around the bar area, then stood, put his drink on the table, and with the now empty hand motioned to excuse himself. The brunette grabbed his hand and playfully tugged him back. He grinned broadly, then broke free and went out of camera view.
Bobby Garcia watched himself on the video take a sip of what then was his fifth club soda and lime.
“I should have been the one going to take a piss,” he said, and laughed.
The young women emptied the champagne bottle and talked among themselves.
Garcia put his drink beside Badde’s. Both glasses looked identical with the flickering orange flames reflecting on them. Garcia then discreetly pulled from his coat pocket a glass vial the size of a cough drop. It contained a double dose—two ten-milligram tablets—of zolpidem dissolved in water. After a long moment, he reached for Badde’s drink. He popped the vial’s plastic top, emptied the clear liquid into the drink, then stirred it. He then returned the cocktail to the table, tossing the vial into the fire pit. The heat almost immediately caused it to shatter and disappear.
When Badde reappeared five minutes later, Garcia retrieved his club soda as Badde sat back down between the girls.
Badde grabbed his drink, took a healthy swallow, then leaned over and whispered in the brunette’s ear. She tilted her head back and laughed. Badde grinned broadly as she touched her champagne stem to his glass.
“He really fell all over himself. And them. Literally. Check out later.”
He clicked to another box that was on the right flat-screen. This video showed the interior of a luxuriously furnished condominium. The camera angle was from a high corner of the living room. The blondes and brunette now wore only panties. Badde was trying to get his pants off, but was having difficulty because he still had on his shoes. He was wobbling on his right leg, tugging at his left, and falling toward the brunette as she tried to help him keep his balance.
Santos clicked on the FAST FORWARD button, and the image blurred as more and more clothes came off.
Then no one wore anything.
Santo clicked FAST FORWARD again, blurring the image a bit more.
There next came some enthusiastic kissing and petting. Then Badde paired off with the brunette while the blondes turned to one another. The brunette lay on the leather couch, then reached for a wooden box on the coffee table. She pulled from the box a small packet, emptying its contents on her breast.
Shortly after snorting the cocaine, Badde lost all inhibition. The women were more than compliant to his wishes. Even with the video moving fast, the various acts left little to the imagination.
“I really would rather you not slow that down, Mike. I don’t want to see any detail.”
Santos clicked on the STOP button, and the screen became a black box.
“Thank you.”
“But here’s the coup de grâce,” Santos said.
Santos clicked a PLAY button that was in another box on the left screen.
“What the hell?” Garcia said, then sighed. “You know, Mike, some might suggest that this is borderline over the edge.”
Santos looked up at Garcia. He looked serious.
“It’s always good to have insurance, Bobby. Always. Yuri said Badde could be damn difficult, and to be careful with him. But until we met Badde in person, I didn’t know if Yuri said that because Yuri can be a pain in the ass. Now, since Yuri is connected to him with Diamond Development, we have something on both of them.” He looked back at the screen. “I got the idea for this from pictures I saw on the wall of that gayborhood bar we foreclosed on.”
“That’s a little comforting, I guess. I seriously was beginning to worry. I don’t think I could handle you coming up with this all by yourself. I mean, a piñata?”
Badde was lying on his belly on the white comforter of the bed, trussed up with his wrists and pudgy ankles tied above his buttocks with the soft fabric belt of a dressing robe. He was naked except for being wrapped in lengths of bright yellow and blue and green papier-mâché. There was a small sombrero on his head.
“Hey,” Santos said, “I bet your sorry half-gringo ass didn’t know that the Chinese had their own piñata first.”
“They didn’t call it that.”
“I forget what it was called. Probably couldn’t pronounce it if I did. Anyway, a version of whatever it was called made its way to Mexico in the 1500s, when the Catholics started making them with seven points for the seven sins. Beating one with a stick till it broke represented man’s struggle—good versus evil—and the treats inside were the reward for keeping the faith.” He glanced at Garcia, then back at the screen. “He looks pretty festive, don’t you think?”
