The Lord of Opium(13)

“Tam Lin was always present,” remembered the jefe. “I came when El Patrón wanted to know whether someone was lying. I’m very good at reading faces. For example, I know right now that you’re thinking about Waitress.”

Matt almost choked on his food. “I am not!” he objected.

“You’ve been casting shy little glances at her all evening,” said Cienfuegos. “She’s a pretty thing, isn’t she? I’m glad I didn’t train her for farm labor. She’s much more ornamental here.”

A surge of anger almost suffocated Matt. Cienfuegos had captured Waitress and turned her into an eejit. He could have saved her!

“Rage,” the jefe said calmly, pointing his fork at Matt. “Or perhaps jealousy. You like the girl and think that I’m a rival.”

“I’m not interested in her that way,” Matt said, trying to keep the anger from showing on his face.

“I’m afraid it’s a lost cause, mi patrón. Eejits can’t feel emotions.” Cienfuegos went on eating as though he were merely discussing the weather. “Now let’s forget pretty girls for a while and decide what to do about the border.”

Matt took careful breaths to calm down. He couldn’t afford to quarrel with Cienfuegos. He had too few allies. “Is there a way to communicate with the outside world?”

“The holoport has been locked down along with everything else. You could access it.”

“I see,” began Matt slowly, wondering what a holoport was. It worried him that Cienfuegos knew so much more than he did. It gave the man power. El Patrón would have surrounded Cienfuegos with spies who would report to him of any disloyalty. And he would have arranged a convenient accident if the reports were bad. Although, if what Celia said was correct, the man would be struck with lethal pain if he tried to rebel.

“I should negotiate with Esperanza first,” Matt said aloud. “I’d like to lower the security barrier briefly to allow her daughter María to visit.” From the look the jefe gave him, Matt realized that he knew about their friendship. “I’ll tell Esperanza I must find a way to remove the microchips from the eejits’ brains before we discuss anything. It’s a humanitarian problem and should appeal to her. Until they’re free, the business of shipping opium and bringing in supplies must go on.”

Cienfuegos raised his eyebrows. “That’s exactly the sort of plan El Patrón would come up with. Esperanza is always bleating about the poor eejits, and we can deflect her until we secure our power base.”

“She didn’t do anything for them during Operation Cold Turkey,” Matt remarked.

“Oh, she wrung her hands and said no one told her what was going on. Esperanza likes to look like a saint.”

It hadn’t escaped Matt that Cienfuegos had said “we” would secure “our” power base. Somehow, he had to make the man understand that they were not sharing power. “I really do intend to cure the eejits,” he said.

The jefe held out his hands in mock submission. “One may intend anything, mi patrón. The reality, alas, is different. In the old days the drug lords used one microchip the size of a grain of rice. It wore out after a few months and had to be replaced. Now they inject thousands that are no larger than bacteria. These spread out over the brain and form a network, and if one fails, the others take over its function. The effect is permanent.”

Matt felt shaken. “If a surgeon tried to remove them . . . ”

“It would be like finding the right grains of sand on a beach.”

They ate in silence. Waitress brought them crème caramel custards and withdrew to stand by a painting of a Spanish infanta being amused by a dwarf. She looked hypnotized, and the dwarf’s face was twisted in an expression that might have been pain.

The windows of the dining room were open, and a cool breeze carried the smell of distant creosote bushes. Matt thought it must be raining somewhere out on the desert. “Please close the windows, Waitress,” he said.

Cienfuegos laughed. “You say ‘please’ to an eejit. You might as well say ‘thank you’ to a duck.”

“It does no harm,” Matt said, disliking the man’s attitude.

“It doesn’t bother me, but you can’t do it in front of important people. I’m telling you this for your own good.”

Waitress had closed the windows, but she still stood in front of the glass, gazing into the darkness. What is she thinking? Matt thought. Does she know what she’s doing? Can she smell the creosote?

“Please meet me in Celia’s kitchen tomorrow morning,” he said, turning back to Cienfuegos. “Eight o’clock. You can show me the holoport.”