Page 50 of Vice
I shrug. “Sure. His office is a front. He needs an address for tax purposes. A place where he can have certain mail delivered. If you’d told me you wanted to call in on him, I could have arranged a meet in New York, on mutually safe ground. It wouldn’t have been a problem.” The lie comes quick and easy. I sound so nonchalant that it seems obvious that this would be the case, that Jamie would never keep an official business address where anyone could drop in and see him.
Harrison’s cheeks redden. “That is such bullshit, Fernando. Bullshit!”
Fernando shoves Harrison away, groaning in disgust. “Why would you come to me with something as insignificant as this? You are grasping at straws. Honestly, I am growing sick of this nonsense.”
Harrison looks dumbfounded. “I’m just trying to prove a point. They’re keeping secrets. This man is not who he’s pretending to be.”
“He is not a representative of this businessman?”
“Yes, but—”
“And he did he not give us fifty thousand dollars as a show of good faith?”
“He did.”
“Then I’d say he’s representing himself fairly accurately.”
“Fernando—”
Fernando spins, teeth bared, his hand gripping his croquet mallet tightly in his hand. For a moment I think he’s going to use it the way I had envisioned myself only a few minutes ago, bringing it down on Harrison’s head. He doesn’t, though. He throws it down on the ground, snarling like one of his wolves. “No! No more! I am sick and tired of this conversation. How many times have I told you I do not wish to discuss this with you?”
Harrison doesn’t answer. He glares at the ground in front of him, his chest quickly rising and falling as he pants; he’s desperate to argue, to talk back, to plead his case further, but Fernando looks like a pot about to boil over. Riling him up was surely Harrison’s intention when he came hurrying out here with that cell phone in his hand, but he definitely didn’t intend for his boss’s anger to be directed at him.
“I want no more of this,” Fernando spits. “I make a promise to you, Harrison. If you continue down this path, trying to cast aspersions against my Kechu, I will be forced to set you aside. Do you understand?”
What the fuck does “set him aside” mean? Kill him? Fire him? Have him escorted out of Ecuador? And my Kechu? Since when has he liked me well enough to claim ownership of me, like I’m his goddamn pet?
Harrison pales. “Yes, Fernando. Please…forgive me. I only want what’s best. I see now that you have everything under control, though...” He speaks slowly, as though apologizing this way is costing him dearly. “I’ll drop the matter. You have my word.”
“Good. Now leave. You’re giving me a migraine.”
Harrison bows his head, gets up, and stalks back to the house. I can tell how furious he is by the set of his shoulders. I don’t think the scolding he just received has done anything to distract him from his mission to destroy me, though. If anything, I think it’s only made him more determined.
Fernando huffs like a child. “I cannot concentrate on this now,” he says, gesturing to our croquet balls, and his mallet, flung halfway across the lawn. “It’s ruined.” He spies a gardener working close to the tree line, where the gardens end and the forest begins, and he sighs. “I swear. These men just want to die. I’m afraid I must leave you now, Kechu. You’ll excuse me. Perhaps go and find my daughter. You can start on those lessons we discussed.”
