Page 24 of Vice
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE HOUSE OF WOLVES
I find some clothes that haven’t been completely destroyed, and I head outside. On the lawn in front of the huge mansion, a small crowd of people are gathered together, looking uncomfortable and frightened. It hits me then—at least five or six of them have red hair. How strange. They’re dressed in white robes, men and women both, clutching the material tightly closed up around their chins. Their feet are bare in the short, neatly cut grass. These are Fernando’s Servicio, as Plato called them.
Off to the right, another crowd of people hover—a mix of men, all dressed in expensive clothes from suits to leather jackets, jeans to Georgio Armani slacks. They have this lean, hungry look about them that sets them apart from the other group. These are obviously Fernando’s guests, his players¸ the men who have paid to use and abuse the other human beings a few feet away from them.
On the far stretches of the lawn, Fernando is talking to a line of guys who are all carrying rifles. He appears to be giving them orders. A moment passes, and then the men run off across the lawn, disappearing into the vegetation line, where the land turns from well-maintained country garden to overgrown, wild rainforest.
I’m scanning the scene before me, hunting for Plato, sure I’m going to find him in chains, tied up and butt naked in the dirt, when I see him standing in amongst the Servicio. Our gazes meet, and I see that his bottom lip is badly split open, and there’s a violent purple bruise under his right eye. In spite of the injuries, he smiles broadly and gives me a thumbs up, which sets my mind at ease. He wouldn’t be so happy if he thought Fernando was about to feed him to a pack of wolves, surely?
Alone, standing on her own to one side, Natalia is shivering in the cool night air, arms wrapped around herself as she stares off into the dark. I’m about to make my way over to her when I see a shadow shift close to the house, and Ocho emerges, still carrying that damn rifle of his. I’m reminded of Fernando’s warning not to speak to his daughter unless someone else is present. And I’m reminded of what happened to Ocho when he broke that rule.
I like my tongue. I like being able to speak. Most importantly, I like making girls come with it, and I can’t do that very well if it’s been cut out of my fucking head with a blunt knife. I forget about making my way over to Natalia and stay put instead.
“A wise move, my friend.” Harrison spits into the grass, grinning at me wildly like a mad man. “Live to fuck another day. It’s a good motto to have around here.”
“I’m sure you could give two shits if I live to fuck another day,” I mutter.
“Don’t be so sulky. I was just doing my job. I’m sure you can understand what that’s like.” When I don’t say anything, he continues. “You’re ex-military. You know what it’s like to take orders. You weren’t just fucking around in the desert, doing whatever the fuck you wanted there, either.”
“How do you know I’m ex-military?”
Harrison rocks back on his heels, peering into the darkness. “Come on. It’s obvious. Might as well be written all over you, asshole. You have that way of walking. Talking. Breathing. If you’re not ex-military, I’m the fucking Queen of Sheba.”
I grunt. “But not you. You just wish you were. You were probably out there as part of a private security company, right? The hired help who couldn’t make it into the Marines? Running around the hot zones, wearing night vision goggles and khakis from fucking J Crew.”
He laughs a sour laugh. “The pay was good. And J Crew khakis are really good quality.”
“I’m sure they are.” I’d normally take a few more shots at him; he’s the type of dude who’ll snap and explode if you rile him up enough, but then four guys emerge from the house, carrying a white shrouded object that can only be a body wrapped up in a sheet, and I’ve suddenly lost all interest in the man standing next to me.
“Is that…?”
“The guy you shot in the chest? Yeah.” Harrison leaves, walking off toward Fernando, and I make a decision: I follow after him, wondering what the hell is about to happen. Plato hisses my name, trying to get my attention, but I ignore him, trying to appear confident and curious as we approach Fernando. The older man wipes his forehead with a fresh, pure white handkerchief, then tucks it neatly into the breast pocket of his blazer. He nods when he sees Harrison, and then holds out his hand for me to shake. His grip is probably a little tighter than it needs to be.
“I see you’ve met Harrison,” he says stiffly. I hear what he really means to say in the frigid tone of his voice: I see Harrison busted down your door and had someone violate your asshole. Harrison shifts uncomfortably, looking off into the forest. He doesn’t tell his boss that I refused to spread my butt cheeks for him. I don’t feel like offering up the information either, and Fernando continues on non-the-wiser. “Your antics earlier have left us in an unfortunate position, Mr. Garrett. I have a body to dispose of, and only one way of doing that quickly and efficiently. In truth, I love feeding my dogs. But I try not to give them human flesh too often. It makes them bold. Inquisitive. They get a taste for it, and…well. They have taken people coming in and out of the house before. Unfortunate. Very unfortunate.”
I’m betting Fernando doesn’t get postal service up here, then. No mailman in his right mind would loiter on the front doorstep if he suspected he might be set upon by a pack of savage animals.
“I thought you might like to watch up here with me when the wolves arrive. Luckily they are already in the area,” Fernando says, throwing an arm around my shoulder. “Normally we must call them with an alarm, but not today. Some of my men are out in the forest, herding them in this direction as we speak.”
“I wouldn’t have thought wolves are native to an environment like this,” I say.
Fernando shakes his head from side to side. “There are many areas of Ecuador that are inhabited by wolves. Admittedly, the Inter-Andean valleys are more suited to them than here, perhaps. But understand, the wolves in my forests are not wild. I brought them here. I have trained them to survive in this place, and they have thrived. Now, there are over a hundred wild wolves living in these mountains. I like to think of myself as their guardian. Their shepherd, if you will. I’d like you to witness their beauty for yourself. You will see why I love them so much. Come.” Fernando heads off in the direction of the tree line. He doesn’t have a weapon with him. None of his riflemen follow after him, though they watch with sharp eyes. Harrison elbows me in the side.
“Careful he doesn’t slit your throat out there, man. His dogs love lapping up blood from the dirt.”
“Fuck you.”
“Whatever.” He shrugs. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
I don’t have my gun now, either. I searched for it among my scattered possessions after Harrison and his men left, but it was nowhere to be found; he obviously took it with him when he left my room, and asking for it back seemed inappropriate. So I follow after Fernando with my hands in my pockets, my fingers closing around the handle of my small balisong knife. His men clearly left it for me because of its size. It’s tiny, but they have no idea what I can do with the smallest sliver of sharpened steel. It’ll definitely be enough to protect myself from a hungry wolf. I’m hoping that’s the case, anyway.
When I reach Fernando, he puts his arm around my shoulders again, and points into the trees. “All of Ecuador used to be forest and jungle for hundreds of years. Before the conquistadors arrived, the indigenous people of this country were farmers and hunters. Excellent hunters. The wolves were a spiritual animal to us. They are still spiritual to me. If I find out that someone has harmed a wolf here, I am not a happy man. I had a favorite wolf many years ago, Kechu. He was silver, with brilliant blue eyes. Very rare. He was brave. He was so courageous that he would come up here to the house and sit on the lawn, and he and I would watch each other for hours. It felt like we were communicating in some way.
“And then, one day, I came back home after visiting family for a few days, and I saw Kechu chained to a post out here by the trees. He was struggling to get free, whining and afraid, and I was filled with rage. I stormed into the house, demanding to know why my favorite wolf was being treated that way, and my father explained what had happened. Kechu had attacked my eight-year-old sister, and ripped out her throat. He had killed her.
“I was distraught. I loved Kechu, but I had loved my sister more. It felt as though he had betrayed me. I realized after a little while that I was wrong, though. Kechu had not betrayed me. He was following his natural instincts to kill, to eat, and my little sister had been easy prey for him. I took my father’s gun, and I shot Kechu here.” Fernando taps my face with his index finger, above my right eye. “He was my favorite wolf, Mr. Garrett, but he had done something I could not forgive. Even though it was his nature, and even though his actions were not a personal attack to me, they still could not go unpunished. I did what I had to do, even though it broke my heart.”
