Page 88 of Jagger's Remorse
Showing strength even in submission.
The restaurant is closed to the public.
Eduardo's men wait outside, checking us for weapons.
They're thorough but respectful.
I surrender my knives without causing a scene.
Jagger gives up his guns.
We're sheep entering the lion's den.
Defenseless by choice.
Inside, Eduardo waits at his favorite table.
He hasn't aged a day.
Silver at his temples, lines around his eyes, but still powerful.
Still, the man who taught me to play chess at seven.
Who sent me to private schools.
Who had such hope for what I could become.
"Mija," he greets me in Spanish. "You look well."
"Tío," I respond, bending to kiss his cheek. "Mm.n
We take our seats across from him.
A chessboard sits between us.
Of course it does.
"You remember our games?" he asks me.
"Every one," I confirm.
"Then you remember what I taught you about sacrifice," he says, moving a pawn.
"Sometimes you have to lose pieces to win the game," I recite.
"Exactly." He looks at Jagger. "Mr. Morales, you know who I am?"
"Yes, sir," Jagger says carefully.
"Good. Then you know I could have you skinned alive for touching my goddaughter," Eduardo states calmly.
"I know," Jagger acknowledges.
"Yet here you sit. Either very brave or very stupid." Eduardo smiles. "Which is it?"
"In love," Jagger says simply.
The words hang in the air.
