Page 7

SIX

Dante

One mission. Same Woman. On to the final destination. She gets back in the car with her lips stuck out like I owe her something. She lives another day—that’s my gift for her. The dummy takes a few tries to fasten her seatbelt, then folds her arm like she wants to argue with me. She can try, but it won’t end well for her. Right now, each breath is a luxury, so she needs to breathe deeply. She only has to live long enough for me to leak proof of life, but the tracker I implanted in her when I broke into her home can live on without her.

Reaching into the back, I grab an insulated bag and drop it in her lap. “Eat.”

She hums to herself like we’re cool and opens the bag, where she finds a turkey avocado sandwich with lettuce, tomatoes, and mayo - the way she likes it, according to my research. She bites into it and sighs without questioning or bothering to check the contents. I shrug to myself and begin to drive. Her stupidity makes some parts of my job easier, like now, when her chewing slows and her eyes droop. Now, things are moving in slow motion for her as the sedatives kick in and take command of her body. To an untrained eye, she’ll appear to be drunk, but the sedatives will keep her from saying something stupid or remembering this trip.

I pull over to the last stretch of land near a cliff. Putting the car in neutral, I pull the emergency brake, and then don my backpack. “ Vamos, Mamita! ” I say it loud in case someone is listening. “The party isn’t over, mi amor . Miami bound, mami !”

Opening her side, I help her out, grab her bag, and release the emergency break. To the outside world, I look like an intoxicated halfwit who forgot to secure my car. I fake run after it as I watch it fall over the cliff.

“ Mi carro ! Mi carro !” I protest while I wait for the satisfying crunch of metal.

Stepping back, I find the bait standing there with her eyes as big as they can get while drugged and her palms pressed against her cheeks like that Home Alone boy. Grabbing her arm, I guide her as we walk a quarter of a mile to a cantina.

It’s a little crowded. I don’t like crowds. I pick a booth in the corner with no entrances behind me and my back to the wall. And tally the people. Ten women. Eight men. Three children. One security guard. I order one large beef quesadilla and two virgin margaritas: one regular and one strawberry. Waiting until she’s halfway through with one, I snap a picture of her drinking it, then I swap them to take another picture.

The food is adequate at best and the beef is a little chewy, but I must blend in like a normal person and not as one who’s considered at least one way to kill every adult in this restaurant, especially that loud blonde diagonal from me who keeps cackling. She keeps looking at me. Didn’t her mom tell her that’s the quickest way to get killed? Don’t stare at strangers; you never know what they’re hiding.

Holding up my hand, I toy with the wedding ring so she can catch a hint and live to poach another day. Luckily, her boyfriend appears and kisses her. It doesn’t stop her light brown eyes from finding me again. Disgusting. This is the issue with feelings and love, it weakens your focus. It’s compromising and for nothing. People have no loyalty. I check the clock. Still on schedule. Throwing enough money on the table to cover the food and drinks, I start to walk out. I slip my hands in my pockets and look up at the sky. I can’t wait to get out of these stupid ass clothes. My bait finds her way outside just as our cab pulls up. I don’t do rideshares. They require apps and an electronic trail.

The driver watches as we climb into the backseat, I control my face when she drops her head on my shoulder. She sighs and places her hand on my thigh. Fighting the urge to push her against the door, I pat her hand and grin at the driver.

“Newlyweds,” I announce and wait until he looks down to squeeze her hand hard enough to inflict pain, and she moves to rest her head on the window.

The sedative has her where I want her by the time we make it to the private jet. I remove a purse, her fake passport, a prescription bottle, and a few unnecessary items that women carry in their purses from my bag and stuff the purse.

Her head dips because she’s falling asleep as we get to the airstrip. “Don’t fall asleep, mi amor . We’re almost there,” I coo with a gentleness I don’t feel.

I put on shades and give her some. The driver accepts the crisp bills after I usher us out. The best way to get through a suspicious situation is to look like you belong and aren’t doing anything wrong. I sigh because I don’t like talking. Small talk is bullshit. Get to the business and get out. The rest is unnecessary.

Rolling my shoulders, I prepare to fall into my role. Timing is precision since she’s falling into the glazed over sleepy phase. Time to act unnecessarily “ Hispanic .”

“ Vamos, mamita, we don’t want to be late!” The airport security guy looks at her and me, then her again, then back to me. “ Mami , I told you that the third margarita was no bueno ,” I say as I pass.

She doesn’t respond because she’s beyond the point of being coherent, but they don’t need to know that. I need to talk enough for both of us. The flight attendant looks nervous when we approach.

“? Buenas tardes, preciosa !” I greet her and slide her our tickets and my fake ID. Her smile is tight as she looks at my almost dead weight.

“Ma’am? Your ID.”

Jada just blows a raspberry and giggles. Dios mio.

“ Perdon, mami . She’s a nervous flyer.” I open the purse I’d put on her shoulder then pretend to look for it while placing random items on the counter. “Women’s purses, geesh. Am I right?”

My phone, with her drinking a margarita as my screensaver, the photo college we just made, the prescribed anti-anxiety medication for the flight, one tampon, face moisturizer, some hair ties, and condoms clutter the counter.

“Ah! Finally!”

I open the passport and slide it to her while pushing the condoms with it. The condoms serve their purpose when she blushes and pushes everything back in my direction.

“Enjoy your flight,” she says tightly as we move through security.

“ Mami , I can’t wait to get to our room. I’m taking Jello shots off your body, then I’ll make you call me Jesus.” Uncomfortable sex talk also distracts people from doing their job properly. Jada smiles sleepily, and the guard rolls her eyes. “Ah! Get it? It’s a Spanish name, but It’s divine.” I cross myself and kiss my thumb. “And my name isn’t even Jesus ,” I yammer as I walk through the scanner. I turn to look at my bait like I care about her appearance. “Look at my wife,” I say to the guy. “Isn’t she beautiful? I can’t wait to bite your ass, Gatita .”

No one speaks to us, and we board the private jet without a hitch or delay. I buckle her across from me and she passes out the moment she’s comfortable.

When she awakens, we’ll be in another country, and she won’t have any idea how we got there. The FBI agents in Father’s pocket can’t help him now. He’ll have to come find us himself.