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The Death Box(89)

By:J. A. Kerley


Leala stepped into the clothes like a robot. Amili nodded at the ensemble. “Now give me your face.”

Leala closed her eyes and Amili applied lipstick and eye shadow and brushed rose into her cheeks. “Don’t touch it or Señor Orzibel will put it back on. You will not like his methods.”

“We must go,” Guzman said from the door. “I hear Señor Orzibel calling.”

Amili looked into Leala’s eyes. “Go to the bathroom and relieve yourself. I am sorry, it is all I can manage in the circumstances. But you have a sharp mind. Use it and let it take you away.”

Leala stared. “What are you saying?”

“Bathroom,” Amili pointed. “Now.”

Leala shuffled to the dirty toilet. Amili went to the door and stepped into the hall. Guzman started to push into the room but Amili stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“She is urinating,” Amili told Guzman. “So she will not piss herself on the journey. She will be out in dos minutos.”

Leala stepped to the toilet but was as empty in her body as in her heart. Something terrible was about to happen. She wanted to cry but her eyes had emptied as well. Everything was gone. She passed through the room for the door, but stopped. She had almost forgotten the headscarf. She plucked it from the bed and was surprised by its weight. Something was knotted into the fabric. She slipped loose the knot and a small black object fell to the bed.

A phone.

The yellow tab stuck to it said simply, 911 = Emergencia.

Amili returned to her office with Orzibel’s minions at her side. Guzman sat on the couch and ticked at the video game, the other gangster wandered the hall and sucked a soda pop. Music from below shivered the floor. Amili marked on a large pair of padded envelopes and snapped her fingers.

“The bank deposit is prepared. Can you be trusted?”

“Of course,” Guzman said. “I am selected by Mr Orzibel.”

Amili handed him an envelope. “The address is there, the bank downtown. It is closed until Monday but there is an outside deposit window.”

The man frowned in confusion. “I must watch you. Can Jorgé take the envelope?” He nodded toward the man in the hall.

Amili rolled her eyes. “Is he smart enough to read the bank address?”

“I will tell him where to find it.”

Guzman passed along the package and instructions. Outside, the twilight beaconed toward Tomorrow. “Now I must go to the bathroom,” Amili said. “Are you to watch me there as well?”

Guzman looked stricken: Orzibel was his boss, but Señorita Zelaya was also very powerful and rumored to be one of El Jefé’s lovers.

“You have no phone?” Guzman said. “I am sorry to ask such an impertinent question.”

“Search me.”

“I-I will have to touch you.”

“Then hurry, but do not let fingers linger.”

Face averted, Guzman patted Amili down. She went to the bathroom and closed the door. Her hands moved beneath the sink and found the packet kept for long days at the office. She returned with fingers rubbing her temples.

“I do not feel well, the migraine. I must be alone to take a nap.”

“I-I am sorry but I am not permitted to permit it.”

Amili frowned in thought, nodded. “Aha! There is a simple solution. I will go to the basement and take my rest there.”

“Basement?”

“So you can be certain no communications will take place.” She aimed an accusatory finger at Guzman. “Unless you people leave phones laying about down there.”

“Never! Señor Orzibel strictly forbids—”

“Then put me in a room and lock the door. I assure you Mr Orzibel will approve. You have found a good solution, Guzman.”

“Thank you, Señorita. Thank you.”

They descended into the stink of mold and the rustle of rats. Amili chose a small bare room centered by a yellowed mattress and stained pillow. Concrete bricks formed the horizon and pipes the sky: It was the room where Amili had been imprisoned one year ago.

Guzman looked uncertain. “Are you sure that you wish to rest in—”

“I will be fine, Guzman. Do not disturb me until Mr Orzibel returns. Tell him to come wake me with a kiss.”





45





“I bought four sleeping bags as you instructed, Orlando. And pillows.”

“Line the trunk.”

Leala heard tape stripping from a roll. Her ankles and wrists were crossed and bound.

“Careful of bruises, Chaku. I promised perfection.”

“A towel between her and the tape?”

“Yes. But make sure the tape is tight.”

Leala’s crossed legs pressed the small phone tighter into the junction of her thighs. Her hands were bound at her waist and she could touch the phone through her clothes. She was lifted from the warehouse floor and set into the padded cushioning of the Lincoln’s cavernous trunk.