started long before that. All I know is the money just kept coming. More people down here got involved. He’s got quite a payroll. Or did. For some reason it stopped.”
“What made it stop?” I’m on autopilot, in search of nothing but the facts.
“I don’t know. Maybe he wanted out. Maybe he invested some of it in the stock market and lost it. Or stole it. I have no idea. All I know is that he owes my cousin and the people he works with a lot of money. And they think you had something to do with it.”
“Why in the world would they think that?”
Benicio doesn’t meet my eyes.
“Why!”
“Because that is what your husband told them.”
9
For months I’ve had the feeling that I was lying in wait for something that had no name. Something that I yearned for and dreaded at the same time. This feeling wasn’t attached to reason. What little I shared of it with Jonathon always received the same careful response. It doesn’t seem to be grounded in fact. Please pinpoint what it is and I’ll try to make it better . But facts have been elusive little details beyond my reach. All I knew was that something was wrong, and the only thing I had to go on was a feeling, an intuition, a flimsy, namby-pamby notion from meditation class.
“What else?” I ask Benicio.
“Pharmaceuticals aren’t their only ‘project,’ as they like to call it. They’ve got their hands in other things I don’t care to know about. Business is business, especially for the guys Leon answers to. It’s a lot of money, and they handle one the same as the other. Even if it were only prescription drugs, we’re still talking millions of dollars. And people who go from having nothing but dirt to owning millions can get very angry if you take it away.”
“Wait a minute. All right. Let’s just say for argument’s sake that everything you’re telling me is true. Why would Jonathon bring Oliver and me down here with him?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re lying.”
“Celia,” he says, and my heart thumps against bone.
“I deserve to know,” I say.
“I suppose you do.”
“Tell me.”
“It’s only a guess.”
“So guess!”
“All right.” He takes a deep breath. “I think the money has been missing for a while and things reached a point where they no longer believed your husband was going to pay up. My guess is they told him to bring you to prove he meant what he said about paying what he owed, or else. They take the money; you enjoy your vacation. They don’t get the money; they take you instead.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You’re collateral. To show he was true to his word.”
“Collateral.”
“Right.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. If he brought them the money, then why did they still kidnap me?”
“Maybe he didn’t bring it.”
My lip quivers. How did Jonathon remain so calm, knowing what was going to happen as we headed out the door of our home? He was unusually serene. Had he taken something? Some antianxiety drug? Or was his intention all along to get rid of me?
I begin to hyperventilate. How can any of this be true? If Jonathon knew he didn’t have the money, then why else would he bring Oliver and me? Putting me in harm’s way is one thing. But Oliver? His own son?
I shake the bars on the window. I growl and scream, even as Benicio tries to calm me.
“I could be wrong,” he says.
“Get away from me! Don’t touch me! I want out of here!”
The door flies open and in comes Isabel, screaming in Spanish, brandishing her gun.
Benicio raises a hand to stop her from coming any closer. He pumps it as a signal to calm down.
“ Por favor ,” he says, and something in his twisted face convinces her to stay back.
She yells in Spanish. She repeats herself several times, jerks her head at me.
“Isabel wants me to tell you that this is what you get,” Benicio finally says without taking his eyes off his sister. “It’s your fault. And you’re lucky she doesn’t kill you
“What made it stop?” I’m on autopilot, in search of nothing but the facts.
“I don’t know. Maybe he wanted out. Maybe he invested some of it in the stock market and lost it. Or stole it. I have no idea. All I know is that he owes my cousin and the people he works with a lot of money. And they think you had something to do with it.”
“Why in the world would they think that?”
Benicio doesn’t meet my eyes.
“Why!”
“Because that is what your husband told them.”
9
For months I’ve had the feeling that I was lying in wait for something that had no name. Something that I yearned for and dreaded at the same time. This feeling wasn’t attached to reason. What little I shared of it with Jonathon always received the same careful response. It doesn’t seem to be grounded in fact. Please pinpoint what it is and I’ll try to make it better . But facts have been elusive little details beyond my reach. All I knew was that something was wrong, and the only thing I had to go on was a feeling, an intuition, a flimsy, namby-pamby notion from meditation class.
“What else?” I ask Benicio.
“Pharmaceuticals aren’t their only ‘project,’ as they like to call it. They’ve got their hands in other things I don’t care to know about. Business is business, especially for the guys Leon answers to. It’s a lot of money, and they handle one the same as the other. Even if it were only prescription drugs, we’re still talking millions of dollars. And people who go from having nothing but dirt to owning millions can get very angry if you take it away.”
“Wait a minute. All right. Let’s just say for argument’s sake that everything you’re telling me is true. Why would Jonathon bring Oliver and me down here with him?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re lying.”
“Celia,” he says, and my heart thumps against bone.
“I deserve to know,” I say.
“I suppose you do.”
“Tell me.”
“It’s only a guess.”
“So guess!”
“All right.” He takes a deep breath. “I think the money has been missing for a while and things reached a point where they no longer believed your husband was going to pay up. My guess is they told him to bring you to prove he meant what he said about paying what he owed, or else. They take the money; you enjoy your vacation. They don’t get the money; they take you instead.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You’re collateral. To show he was true to his word.”
“Collateral.”
“Right.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. If he brought them the money, then why did they still kidnap me?”
“Maybe he didn’t bring it.”
My lip quivers. How did Jonathon remain so calm, knowing what was going to happen as we headed out the door of our home? He was unusually serene. Had he taken something? Some antianxiety drug? Or was his intention all along to get rid of me?
I begin to hyperventilate. How can any of this be true? If Jonathon knew he didn’t have the money, then why else would he bring Oliver and me? Putting me in harm’s way is one thing. But Oliver? His own son?
I shake the bars on the window. I growl and scream, even as Benicio tries to calm me.
“I could be wrong,” he says.
“Get away from me! Don’t touch me! I want out of here!”
The door flies open and in comes Isabel, screaming in Spanish, brandishing her gun.
Benicio raises a hand to stop her from coming any closer. He pumps it as a signal to calm down.
“ Por favor ,” he says, and something in his twisted face convinces her to stay back.
She yells in Spanish. She repeats herself several times, jerks her head at me.
“Isabel wants me to tell you that this is what you get,” Benicio finally says without taking his eyes off his sister. “It’s your fault. And you’re lucky she doesn’t kill you
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