Drugs were the real money. Drugs and gold. El Patrón had a lot of that, too.
For the first time Matt appreciated the power he had. He could buy anything he wanted—a castle in Spain, a spaceship, an Egyptian pyramid—and have it shipped to him. When the boys visited, he would throw them a party that would outdo El Patrón’s birthdays, and it wouldn’t include boring speeches or stiff, formal dinners.
What did Ton-Ton like? Soccer. Matt would have the top soccer teams from Argentina and Brazil flown in. Chacho liked music. Matt would invite the best guitarists in the world. Fidelito liked wrestlers. Or rather, Fidelito’s grandmother had liked wrestlers and told him stories about them. The little boy’s eyes lit up when he talked about El Pretzel, so called because he tied his opponents into knots. Another favorite was El Salero, the Saltshaker, who threw salt into people’s eyes when the referee wasn’t looking, but El Muñeco was the best. He was so noble he never played dirty tricks and so good-looking that girls fainted when he stepped into the ring.
Planning the party made Matt feel feverish, and, in fact, he did have a fever. Dr. Rivas ordered him to bed, and Matt thought, I don’t have to go to bed. I’m a drug lord. I can do anything I want. But he was too tired to argue.
He awoke refreshed and full of confidence. It was time to return to Ajo. The doctors would arrive in a few days, and he had to prepare for the party. And he missed Celia, Daft Donald, and Mr. Ortega. With his newly found power he wanted to give them all presents, but he realized that he couldn’t give them the things they really wanted. Daft Donald would want his voice back and Mr. Ortega his hearing. As for Celia, what reward was good enough for her complete devotion?
He was feeding Mirasol breakfast in his hospital bedroom when Cienfuegos slunk in. The jefe closed the door carefully and ran a kind of wand over the walls, ceiling, and floor.
“Expecting trouble?” Matt said, picking fragments of toast from the front of the girl’s uniform.
“Avoiding it,” Cienfuegos said. “I declare this room free of listening devices and spy cameras.”
“That’s good,” said Matt absently.
“A drug lord should never be this relaxed,” the jefe said. “You act as though you haven’t a care in the world, brushing crumbs off your pet eejit, while who knows what plots are being hatched behind your back.”
“Even El Patrón took holidays,” retorted Matt.
“He did when he was old and had a system of bodyguards and sicarios in place. When he was young, he slept with his eyes open.”
Matt sighed. “Should I send for Dr. Rivas?”
“No!” Cienfuegos barked. “No,” he repeated more softly. “Dr. Rivas is the problem.”
“How can I believe you? He saved my life.”
The jefe pulled up a chair and leaned close, as though he expected someone to be eavesdropping. “He’s a brilliant scientist, but he has a family to protect, and that compromises him.”
Matt took a second look at Cienfuegos as an idea began to surface in the back of his mind. “I know Dr. Rivas came here with his father, wife, and three children.”
“The father died of a heart attack, and the wife killed herself when El Patrón turned one of their sons into an eejit. The eejit is still alive, which is amazing for someone so profoundly chipped, but the doctor has devoted his life to protecting him. I believe you saw the young man removing leaves from a pond.”
Matt remembered. Dr. Rivas must have chosen the veranda so he could watch his son. “The other two?”
“They work in the large observatory you saw when we flew in. What you must remember is that the doctor would do anything to protect them.” Cienfuegos leaned back, watching Matt expectantly. After a moment he said, “Waitress, go to the kitchen.” She rose at once but paused to look at Matt.
“It’s all right. Please go to the kitchen,” the boy said.
“Did you see that?” exclaimed the jefe after she left. “She waited to get your permission.”
“Maybe she likes me.”
“She was trained to obey everyone, not make choices about who to obey,” Cienfuegos said. “The cooks say she jitters when she’s away from you. That’s a danger sign. Eejits break down if they’re under too much stress, and they can die.”
Matt was appalled. He hadn’t meant to put her in danger. “What should I do?”
“Stop trying to awaken her, mi patrón. Let the doctors do it. Right now we have a much more important problem on our hands. Dr. Rivas has been lying to you.”
More trouble, thought Matt. You crawl out from under one rock and another rolls into its place. He was ready to start jittering himself. “What about?”