Chapter Twenty-One
With Dancy established in residence and already (incredibly, delectably, stupefyingly) sexually available, Armando felt a strange blend of feelings that he was not at all used to, and did not begin to understand. The peak of exultancy he’d expected had not made itself felt, but neither had his interest suddenly slackened, as had happened once he’d won through to other women. In fact, had he really even won what he’d already gotten?
It seemed silly to nitpick, but he had the distinct impression that it was he who’d been had, and under Dancy’s terms. There was nothing about her sexual behavior that suggested surrender, that was for damned sure. But he had time to pry around in her, to actually win the game in the long run, establish just who was the marauder here.
But he found himself wondering what that might entail, as he watched her moving around his suite naked, or sat listening to her semi-innocent barbs over coffee. He had taken her off, had fucked her prodigiously, had made her yowl and crawl and beg. What was the upper hand he was looking for? He could only think that he’d know when he saw it.
What he least understood was his desire for her approval. He felt himself wanting to please her but had no idea why, or what it was he sought from it. Probably, he realized, the very fact that she was withholding it. The smart-assed bitch. In other woman, he might have dealt with jibes and putdowns by slapping her face, curdling her with sharp words, or simply stripping her naked and breaking her to his will. But Dancy had something that kept him restrained. Possibly because Dancy’s opinion of him was natural and unfeigned. She was never trying to make him feel inadequate, just saying what came into her mind. Sometimes her remarks made him proud, other times gave him that gnawing feeling that he wasn’t up to her standards, was somehow just some burglar that had her only by right of hook and crook.
He just couldn’t wait to be on her in earnest, feel her bend beneath him, come to the true understanding of who was the dominant animal. But angling for it gave a sweeter pang, and he was starting to very much enjoy her richbitch attitude. It gave him something to fence against, made the easy acquiescence of other women seem pale and boring by contrast. He could admit to himself that she was dangerous to him. Usually, he thought ruefully, the most a woman can do is say no. Yes, Dancy Russell was one bitch who could only be handled with a full male confidence and already he could not imagine himself with a lesser woman. On the other hand, he was beginning to understand her husband saying he’d be glad to kill after eight months.
Even as he started to realize he couldn’t bear to lose her, he was staring to understand how much he’d enjoy killing her. The very fact that she was his in body, life and death, like a doll or a dog, made it all more complicated, gave him a new and exhilarating attitude. It didn’t matter what he did, what he told her. He could tell his secrets, stoop to degeneracy. He could kill her at the peak of ecstasy. Yet he’d never felt more caution with a woman, or more urge to gallantry. The one thing he knew: whatever he wanted from her, he’d have to get it before he killed her or he would lose. Well, if a man has to wrestle with something, better that it be a woman who looks like an angel and copulates like a demon. As problems go–even as obsessions go–it was far from an unpleasant one.
“I may have a fairly pleasant problem very soon,” he told Dancy over a breakfast on the balcony. She raised an eyebrow, but continued rolling up chorizo, eggs and manchego cheese in a flour tortilla that she handled as if she was doing up a joint. “I may have more money coming in than I currently have means to invest.”
“I’ve heard of problems like that,” she said, “But it never seemed all that real to me. You can always buy more furs and diamonds, right?”
“That’s an idea I hadn’t considered. Probably because people don’t wear much fur here in the tropics.”
“Poor things. Well there’s always CD’s. I don’t suppose smack dealers have IRA’s or anything?”
“It’ll be a lot of money. Probably about equal to the combined net worth of your father and your husband.”
“Wow, that’s some serious change. You sink a new oil well or something?”
“Something on that order,” Armando grinned, “But I had help. I have a very special, what should I call him? Lieutenant, protégé? He dreamed up a whole new source of wealth, both supply and demand, and has just finished putting it together. The ‘oil’ should start flowing next month.”
Dancy chewed silently, looking out over the mist that still hung in the valley. Then she said, “This wouldn’t be the kind of oil that goes up your nose, would it?”
Armando hadn’t been drinking anything at the moment, so he could come off relatively cool. After a moment he said, “What makes you think that?”
“Well, you know, I see what you’re doing with opium and weed and all, but it just doesn’t seem like you can just keep expanding something like that by extremes, you know? You’d need something totally new. And it seems like these things go better with Coke.”
“I’m very impressed. That’s pretty close to what I’m getting into here. Sort of a distributorship using existing supply lines. And opening up new avenues of distribution at the same time. Very delicate operation.”
“I’ll just bet it is.” Dancy suddenly turned toward her face toward him, her eyes as wide and clear as mountain lakes. “And which end of all this has my idiot husband gotten mixed up in and how long before it gets him in prison or whacked? Just a rough estimate is fine. So I’ll know whether to make plans for the holidays.”
Armando didn’t even try to be cool behind that one. His hands clenched, his mouth dropped open, his eyes didn’t actually bug out, but they did things Dancy found almost as amusing. He turned to stare into middle distance and slugged down some coffee while he thought it over. Finally he said, “You did a little spying, or was Stan pendejo enough to tell you about it?”
“You think I listen to Stan, much less go out of my way to hear what he’s saying when I’m not even around? Get real, Arms, you know what he’s like.” She fussed with her hand-rolled burrito a little, then said, “At least give me credit for 20/20 hindsight. Now that I know you’re a heroin exporter, I ask myself what that week in Cabo was all about, and what answers am I coming up with? So, give me a hint: how bad’s he fucking up?”
Armando stared at her for awhile. Then he said, “He was right about one thing. You’re scary. And you know what. For some reason it makes me want to take you back inside and fuck your brains out.”
“Feel free,” she smirked, “With tits like these, who needs brains?”
“Pardon the expression, but, Ay chihuahua. You’re too much, woman. You’re going to get along well with my segundo, the guy who dreamed up this whole deal. He says that it occurred to him at a very early age that Americans have a bottomless appetite for junk.”
“Nobody goes broke overestimating it, I hear. Did he put you on to Stan?”
“No, he just had the general idea and got the supply lined up safely. Stan just happened along to fit our profile. You’re aware, I’m sure, that he is very capable of going broke overestimating himself.”
“A natural mistake, in his case.”
“And stupider yet, that he had no appreciation for you. A lucky man who doesn’t know it has already run out of luck.”
“It’s a little early for Confucius. I’m just going to assume Stan is in this up to his raunchy red ass, and that it’s going to be a mess, but that it can’t hurt Daddy in any really important way because he doesn’t trust Stan to wipe up. So, when do I get to meet Mr. Let’s Make a Deal? It’ll be nice meeting one of your henchmen with my clothes on for a change.”
“In that case we’d better delay the de-braining, because he’s due to join us for coffee any minute.” Armando pointed to a third chair at the delicate wrought iron table. “He eats breakfast in the kitchen because he’s never lost his appetite for hot peasant fodder. Personally I won’t have nopales on my table.”
“Nopales?”
“Fried slices of cactus. You’d probably call it prickly pear, I think. It’s revolting. About as Mexican food as you could think of, though. You can try some if you can find the kitchen and don’t mind revolting green slime.”
“Sounds like okra,” Dancy said, “I can handle it, but I can sure do without it. So your right hand man is of sturdy peasant stock, you say? Was he born here on the plantation, maybe looks a little like the Lord of the Manor?”
“He was born in the gutter. And he conquered the world with his bare hands, then lost it because of his cojones. Don’t judge him by appearance. You’re going to be in the presence of a folk hero. A champion.”
He’d said it evenly, but Dancy didn’t miss the gravity behind it. She touched her breast lightly with her fingertips and said, “Oooo, now I’m all aflutter.” But letting Armando know that she had heard and understood.
Fortunately, Martillo paused a minute inside the door that led to the balcony, passing a joke with the waiter who’d just brought their cappuccino. Armando was up and over to the door immediately, showering him with compliments and clasping him in a powerful abrazo. Dancy turned for a view of the legend and found herself looking directly into the eyes of her jungle sprite, once again wearing an Italian suit. She stared, her face coloring and loins tightening. Even in her surprise she was sorting out explanations. Nothing came to mind but fairy tales and paranoia. She leaned back in her chair, took a few breaths, and grinned at him over Armando’s shoulder.
Martillo was shocked even more deeply when he glanced past Armando and saw the water goddess calmly sitting at the table in demure white cotton sipping from a tiny cup. He locked up just as Armando embraced him, staring past his benefactor’s head at what he assumed to be a vision. When she smiled at him, his heart did a double-clutch. And the idea entered his head that perhaps she was his reward from his patron for a job well done. He felt dizzy, enamored. He gripped Armando tightly, not taking his eyes off Dancy.