Page 15 of Vice
“You’re not like most men who come here,” she tells me.
I frown. I need to be like most men who come here. If Fernando’s going to be tricked into thinking that Sam Garrett is a real person, right along with Louis James Aubertin the third, and that we want to start selling his narcotics north of the border, I need these guys to think I’m driven by addiction, desire for power, or a desire for money. Anything else is going to look suspicious. And a man with unclear motives is a dangerous man. “How so?” I ask.
Natalia sits back in Fernando’s chair. She looks like she wants to kick her feet up on the desk, but then thinks better of it. “You’re thinking all the time. Think, think, think.” She taps her temple with her index finger. “Every word you say is measured. Like it’s passed a rigorous vetting program before it is allowed out of your mouth. It makes me think you are trying to hide things.”
I press my fingertips against the sides of the cold glass in front of me, trying not to appear surprised by her very accurate assessment of me. “I promise I’m not doing it on purpose. And of course I’m hiding things. Every single guy you meet is trying to hide something, I can pretty much guarantee it.”
“If you’re referring to your erection, Mr. America, you really need to try harder.”
I bark out laughter—I can’t help it. She does not look like she has any business saying the word erection let alone actually noticing mine, and yet she doesn’t seem embarrassed. Not even slightly pink in the cheeks.
I shift in my chair, angling my hips up for a moment so the bulge in my pants is even more prominent. “That is entirely your fault,” I inform her. “Coke turns me on.”
“Evidently.”
“And so do exotic, half Ecuadorian women with sexy accents.”
“How do you know I’m only half Ecuadorian?”
“Because your skin is almost white. And your eyes are green.”
She harrumphs. “Skin and eye color don’t seem to be a very reliable way of assessing someone’s heritage, Sam.”
“So you are one hundred percent Ecuadorian?”
She smiles a small, weighted smile. After a drawn out second, she says, “No, actually. You are right. My mother was born in Philadelphia. She moved to Ecuador when she was only eleven.”
“And she still lives here?”
“No.”
“She went back to Philadelphia?”
“No. She died, of course.”
She says “of course,” as though it was the natural progression for her mother, like it was fated. Could be she was fated to die, the second she met Fernando Villalobos. “I probably shouldn’t ask how she died, should I?”
Natalia gives me an accommodating smile, sighing. “Probably not.”
“Then I will keep my mouth shut.” I hold up my water glass, and Natalia reaches across the desk and toasts me. I’m about to say something else when the door behind me opens, and Fernando returns with a very thick, chunky-looking cell phone in his hands. No, not a cell phone. A sat phone. We used ones very similar in the military. Fernando gives me a jagged edged smile as he crosses the room toward us.
“Are you quite relaxed, Mr. Garrett? It’s a very mellow high, no? We are always complimented on the soothing qualities of our coca. You feel more alive than you ever have, but also more in love, too. No hostilities here. No arguments or fights because of our product.”
I am feeling pretty damn mellow; not even the drugs are enough to slow down the thunder of my heart, or dampen the buzzing in my head, though. I tap my fingertips against the side of Fernando’s desk. “Did you figure everything out on your phone call, Mr Villalobos? You weren’t gone for very long.”
Fernando nods. “Not particularly. I called to confirm your credentials, Sam. My contact in New York is unreachable at the moment, however. I was only able to verify that your employer is very well known in certain circles. If there is anything you wish to tell me, now is the time to do it, my friend, when you cannot be caught out in a lie.”
I shrug, but underneath his desk, where he can’t see, I’m digging my fingernail into the grain of the wood, pressing hard, until I can feel splinters biting into my skin. The pain helps keep me focused. Helps keep my face straight. “I’m not lying. We want to buy from you, and I want to make a huge, fat profit back in the States.” I look at Fernando and then at his daughter, hoping they don’t see anything in my expression that might make me look suspicious. “Why is that so hard to believe?” I ask.
No one speaks for a moment. After a long, nerve-racking pause, Fernando inhales sharply. Taking his tortoiseshell glasses from his face and sliding them into the breast pocket of his neatly pressed button-down shirt, he clasps his hands together in front of him. “You’re right, of course. I’m sure you understand, though. Like your employer, we are very private people, Mr. Garrett. We don’t like to be disturbed, or have strangers show up announced. It makes us...what is it you say in America? Antsy?”
“Yeah. Antsy.”
“We shall know if you’re a legitimate customer in good time,” Fernando continues. “Until then, you will be a guest. Eat, sleep and relax in my home.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary. I’m sure I can find somewhere comfortable enough in Orellana that—”
Fernando’s cold, sharp look cuts me off. “But really, Mr. Garrett. I insist.”
