Page 22 of Rogue Voice

Standing behind him, so close that he could smell the man’s sweat—an old, rancid smell clinging to his shirt—was Oscar Aguilar.

Whereas the other two drug dealers had moved away, gotten themselves a bottle of whiskey and several glasses, and spent hours talking shop as though there was nobody else in the room, the older man had remained fully alert, never taking his eyes off Rogue for more than a few seconds at a time. Despite the deal he’d made, Aguilar was clearly uncomfortable giving up key locations and contacts for his business.

Rogue hit the enter key and leaned back in his chair. “It’s done,” he announced grandly. For a long instant, nothing happened on the screen.

“What’s going on? Why isn’t it working?” Aguilar asked. The threatening note in his voice brought Cruz over.

“Rogue?”

“Relax,” Rogue said, hoping he was telling the truth. “It’s just taking a second to refresh. We should be able to see the entire operation—at least the parts you’ve shared with me—shortly.”

“You’d better pray that’s true,” Aguilar hissed. Rogue waited until the screen flashed, then clicked into the map view.

“Select any one shipment, of the ones we’ve got in progress,” he explained, his tone neutral, as if he were talking about a shipment of pineapples. “And you can see its exact movement, weight, temperature. Anything you want to know, you just click and,voilà.” he continued, demonstrating what he meant.

Miguel was the first one to respond. “Joder. Me encanta.”Fuck. I love it.

“I knew you would figure this out, Rogue,” Cruz said, his words slightly slurred. Rogue wondered just how much alcohol he’d had. His breath stank to high heaven.

Only Aguilar remained still, his face frozen, like stone.

“¿Lo ves, Óscar?I told you he could do it.”

Finally, the man nodded. “You were right, Emiliano. Now you have what you wanted. If it’s alright with you, I would like to see my bride.”

Rogue kept his smile firmly in place, though the words were like a knife to his gut. There was no way he was going to let his man put his hands on Beatriz—no matter what.

“First, we eat dinner. We celebrate. You will have plenty of time with her tomorrow and the day after.”

“You’ve told her she’s coming back with me?” Aguilar insisted.

Cruz shook his head. “Paciencia, Óscar. Paciencia.Beatriz needs to be treated with care.”

“Maybe that’s the problem, Emiliano. You and Ricardo have always coddled her too much. Maybe it’s time she had a real man in her life.”

“Careful, Oscar. That sounds a lot like an insult.”

Oscar raised his hands. “An observation, is all.”

“If you’re done arguing about pussy, I’m really hungry,” Miguel said vulgarly.

Both men turned to look at the younger man, their expressions frozen for a moment. Then they started laughing, hard enough that their bellies and cheeks shook.

Bea

The oysters tightened noticeably in their shell as the first drops of spiced lime juice touched them. Sitting across the table from her, Aguilar picked up the closest mollusk shell, holding it between his thick thumb and forefinger, and proceeded to stab at it with a tiny fork before bringing it to his mouth. Slurp. Down it went. Bea shivered, struggling to hide her revulsion.

Aguilar dropped the now empty shell on the growing mountain on his plate and picked up another oyster. “You’re not eating,” he observed. His voice was soft, but there was no hiding the menace behind it.

His voice made Bea want to crawl under the table. Once, many years earlier, her father had taken her to visit Aguilar’shacienda. She’d been left out on her own for hours while the men talkedbusinessinside. At the time, she’d had no idea whather father did for a living, no idea where the money came from to buy her clothes, her expensive toys, her pony. She’d been so naïve. So foolish.

While exploring the grounds, she’d found a stray dog. She’d been lonely, and in need of a friend, and she could swear, just by looking at the dog, that he felt the same way. She’d made the mistake of feeding the dog with food she’d taken from the dining room. She’d foolishly thought she was helping the animal, but instead Aguilar had seen the animal, tied him in his courtyard, and proceeded to beat him half to death with a stick.

Bea remembered the animal’s anguished howls—remembered running as fast as her short legs would allow and placing herself between Aguilar and the dog. For an instant—an instant stretched into eternity—she’d been sure Aguilar was going to strike her, too. She’d seen, in the line of his shoulders and in the narrow slits of his eyes, how much he wanted to hit her. Then her father had arrived and whisked her away. The next morning, when they’d left, the dog had been nowhere to be found.

Bea had never forgotten the look in Aguilar’s eyes. She wanted to crawl under the table, but knew, instinctively, that showing fear was the wrong choice.And yet, does it matter how proudly and bravely a rabbit chooses to stand, when an eagle is swooping in?She squared her shoulders and looked up. It mattered to her. And she was done cowering.

“I don’t eat oysters,” she said. “I like my food dead.”

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