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“I swear it on my daughter’s life. He lives in Hialeah.”
“Hmmm.” That’s all I give him right before swinging the large steel hammer at his right, then left knee. One blow shatters both and he vomits, the sight of it slipping out of the facial wound quite disgusting. “Give him some water.”
Ortega blanches, and the shivering increases. “Please stop.”
This time, I don’t hold my snort in. “Thought you said you weren’t afraid of me?” Flicking my eyes to Israel, I shake my head when he goes for the power washer. “A bottle for the man, por favor.”
Israel rushes over to a stack of room-temperature twenty-four packs and pulls one water out. He’s back within seconds and untwisting the cap before placing it against Ortega’s lips. And while the asshole rinses his mouth, spilling more than anything, I take my place near his opposite hand.
I’ll give him points for having somewhat of a high pain tolerance. Laying the head of the hammer over his knuckles, I clear my throat and Israel retakes the bottle and dumps what’s left on the floor. Ortega opens his mouth to say something, too, but I shake my head.
“I’ve given you every opportunity to come clean. To die with dignity and not as food for my pets, but you failed time and time again. So I’ll do what you didn’t and share with the class what I know.”
“Ivan, I—”
One hard smack to the face shuts him up; Junior’s hand is poised for a second hit. “He’s Mr. De Leon to you.” Nothing else is said, and I bite back a smirk. His father would be so proud of him right now, of how far he’s risen in my ranks since starting at the bottom. “My apologies, boss.”
“None needed.” And when the guard retakes his place a few steps back, I refocus on a pathetic Ortega who looks nothing like the man threatening me earlier. How quickly that changed; he’s a bloody, beat up, and scared man now. “From now on, all I want from you is a si or no. Do you understand?”
“Si.”
“Good boy.” Ortega doesn’t like the praise, and his eyes narrow a bit; I remedy that by breaking the middle knuckle of his hand. Once again he screams, a sob catching in his chest, and I wait for the man to find his composure before continuing. “Now, tell me if I’m wrong.” His nods are quick, as is the low yes. “Detective Jaime Uriel and his brother, Dalian, are related to President Placido Rodriguez through his current wife. They’re her nephews from a dead older sister and have been in trouble a few times in the past. The only reason Jaime is on the force, and a detective, is through a heavy donation and favor called in by your boss to the now-deceased Miami mayor.”
“Si.” There’s no hiding the surprise on his face.
Did he really think us to be so stupid? “Dalian is watching my mermaid.”
“Si.”
“They focused on her since she’s not publicly claimed yet.”
“Si.”
That burns me with guilt; I put a marker on her head due to circumstances created out of duty. This one’s on me, and I’ll right the wrong no matter what it takes. My sirenita will be safe.
“Dalian and Jaime have asked for Amberlyn and control of Miami through us, as payment.” Ortega hesitates and I break two fingers this time, my blows consecutive until the pressure of each direct hit makes the digits burst. “Did President Rodriguez offer those two singaos my girl on a silver platter to be at their service, if I was brought to my knees? If Rodriguez got control of the De Leon operations in Cuba?”
The pain is getting to him, and his eyes roll back. The blood loss from each injury is substantial.
“Bring the pigs in.”
At those words Ortega perks up, eyes wide and full of tears. “I’ll tell you everything. Just please...end this.”
“Answer the question.”
“Yes. He offered them the girl and a cut of your Miami profit while he controlled Cuba’s.”
“Why?” Below him, there’s a lever that’ll lower the bed and I kick it, bringing him closer to the floor. At just the right height, while Israel heads toward the only other exit. And when he does, the squeals become deafening. Animals are intelligent, can sense things we don’t, and know what’s coming. “Explain why a man like him would make such an ignorant move.”
“Rodriguez is afraid.” Ortega voice is low, and spit dribbles over his lips. He’s slipping, but not as fast as he’d like. “People are talking, and the citizens are beginning to organize. He blames your family for this.”
“So control the head of the beast, and the body follows.”
“Si.”
“Thank you, General Ortega. Your wife will be compensated for your brave contribution.” No sooner has the last word left my lips than the sound of hooves fills the space. They rush to where I stand but don’t touch me; instead, they focus on the bloody body atop the hospital bed with no way of getting out.
Not that he fights it. Instead, his limp body heaves in breaths while his eyes close.
