served and cleaned and cooked and took care of The Beast better than a personal concierge and a personal chef.
Draco Calamite Ganymedes. Draco was meticulous, head shaved bald, always dressed like a goddamn butler, always in a goddamn black tuxedo, face clean-shaven, not a flaw in sight.
He served drinks when The Beast was thirsty. Cooked when The Beast was hungry.
Medianoche never spoke to Draco. Never looked at him.
Draco took The Beast’s wet overcoat. Took his guns and placed them on a table. Then removed The Beast’s suit coat like he was taking the robe away from a king. If The Beast were KIA, the concubines and wives would mourn, but the servant would take the closest sidearm and, with a single bullet, follow his master into the great battlefield beyond the one that existed on this astral plane. The ultimate act of loyalty. The ultimate act of madness.
Medianoche didn’t enter beyond the rug at the door, kept his wet clothing on the mat.
The Beast’s apartment was meticulous, clean and up to military code, everything in place. The tiled floor sparkled. The swank apartment had walls as white as a museum and the luster of a world-class traveler. Flags, a half-dozen war trophies, awards, coins, DVDs on military training, books on military heroes, military magazines, warplanes, books on WWII, Civil War, Vietnam War. Cuban cigars. Stainless steel flask. Matching lighter. Weapons qualification badge.
The Beast asked, “Want to talk about Señorita Raven?”
“I can handle her.”
“ Una guerra de egos .”
“My ego is fine. Not a war when one side can squash the other like a bug.”
“Let me know if you need me to put her in check.”
The Beast’s cellular rang. He looked at the number and took the call. The conversation lasted about ninety seconds before he hung up and faced Medianoche.
Medianoche nodded. “Let me get out of this wet uniform.”
“Señor Rodríguez will handle the disposal detail. Anything you need trashed or dry-cleaned, get it to him by morning.”
“Not Señorita Raven?”
“She has next detail.”
“She should have every detail. Women like her should clean up behind men like us.”
“She should. But she doesn’t.”
Medianoche nodded.
The Beast said, “I’ll pass the onerous task to the subordinates. That call I just received was about another contract. Mind going to meet with the client?”
“No problem.”
Medianoche remembered Señorita Raven’s words.
Whatever was in that briefcase was the key to millions. Maybe billons.
They were in the middle of pandemonium, and The Beast moved around his apartment at a stride that said he wasn’t worried. As if each step he took helped the world rotate, pushed what he didn’t want to see back behind him, brought what he needed closer.
He walked as if the world was his. Like he was Mussolini.
Medianoche asked The Beast, “Where will that kid hide that part of the package?”
“Somewhere in the villa . If we brought it here, we’d have another firefight within the next few hours. So I’ll let it sit in the villa for a day or two. Those people are insular. The moment a stranger sets foot in that area, everyone knows. That, soldier, is security.”
“The Russians, Jamaicans, Jews, Italians, and North Americans are after it.”
“They won’t go in there. They’d wait for it to leave, but they wouldn’t go in there.”
“We don’t go in there.”
The Beast chuckled. “And we’re some bad motherfuckers.”
“So it stays there until Hopkins arrives.”
“Or until I say otherwise.”
Medianoche nodded. “When Hopkins arrives, then what?”
“Then we exchange the package for the wire transfer.”
Medianoche understood. Had always understood.
The Beast said, “You never asked this many questions before.”
“I’m curious.”
“Why the curiosity, my friend?”
“Since that package is so valuable, have to make sure I’m doing what needs to be done.”
The Beast nodded. “You always
Draco Calamite Ganymedes. Draco was meticulous, head shaved bald, always dressed like a goddamn butler, always in a goddamn black tuxedo, face clean-shaven, not a flaw in sight.
He served drinks when The Beast was thirsty. Cooked when The Beast was hungry.
Medianoche never spoke to Draco. Never looked at him.
Draco took The Beast’s wet overcoat. Took his guns and placed them on a table. Then removed The Beast’s suit coat like he was taking the robe away from a king. If The Beast were KIA, the concubines and wives would mourn, but the servant would take the closest sidearm and, with a single bullet, follow his master into the great battlefield beyond the one that existed on this astral plane. The ultimate act of loyalty. The ultimate act of madness.
Medianoche didn’t enter beyond the rug at the door, kept his wet clothing on the mat.
The Beast’s apartment was meticulous, clean and up to military code, everything in place. The tiled floor sparkled. The swank apartment had walls as white as a museum and the luster of a world-class traveler. Flags, a half-dozen war trophies, awards, coins, DVDs on military training, books on military heroes, military magazines, warplanes, books on WWII, Civil War, Vietnam War. Cuban cigars. Stainless steel flask. Matching lighter. Weapons qualification badge.
The Beast asked, “Want to talk about Señorita Raven?”
“I can handle her.”
“ Una guerra de egos .”
“My ego is fine. Not a war when one side can squash the other like a bug.”
“Let me know if you need me to put her in check.”
The Beast’s cellular rang. He looked at the number and took the call. The conversation lasted about ninety seconds before he hung up and faced Medianoche.
Medianoche nodded. “Let me get out of this wet uniform.”
“Señor Rodríguez will handle the disposal detail. Anything you need trashed or dry-cleaned, get it to him by morning.”
“Not Señorita Raven?”
“She has next detail.”
“She should have every detail. Women like her should clean up behind men like us.”
“She should. But she doesn’t.”
Medianoche nodded.
The Beast said, “I’ll pass the onerous task to the subordinates. That call I just received was about another contract. Mind going to meet with the client?”
“No problem.”
Medianoche remembered Señorita Raven’s words.
Whatever was in that briefcase was the key to millions. Maybe billons.
They were in the middle of pandemonium, and The Beast moved around his apartment at a stride that said he wasn’t worried. As if each step he took helped the world rotate, pushed what he didn’t want to see back behind him, brought what he needed closer.
He walked as if the world was his. Like he was Mussolini.
Medianoche asked The Beast, “Where will that kid hide that part of the package?”
“Somewhere in the villa . If we brought it here, we’d have another firefight within the next few hours. So I’ll let it sit in the villa for a day or two. Those people are insular. The moment a stranger sets foot in that area, everyone knows. That, soldier, is security.”
“The Russians, Jamaicans, Jews, Italians, and North Americans are after it.”
“They won’t go in there. They’d wait for it to leave, but they wouldn’t go in there.”
“We don’t go in there.”
The Beast chuckled. “And we’re some bad motherfuckers.”
“So it stays there until Hopkins arrives.”
“Or until I say otherwise.”
Medianoche nodded. “When Hopkins arrives, then what?”
“Then we exchange the package for the wire transfer.”
Medianoche understood. Had always understood.
The Beast said, “You never asked this many questions before.”
“I’m curious.”
“Why the curiosity, my friend?”
“Since that package is so valuable, have to make sure I’m doing what needs to be done.”
The Beast nodded. “You always
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