Enslaved (Colombian Cartel #6) - Suzanne Steele Page 0,3

they drank too much aguardiente, a drink literally translated as fire water by some. Some preferred rum, and some loved their tequila. Still, aguardiente was the firewater many cartel craved; it was a drug to wash their worries away.

Mano’s ears perked up when he heard Cupid speak his name, “I’ve never asked you, amigo, what made you name your son Mano?”

Fidel chuckled as the memory of the boy’s birth, flooded back as if no time had passed. “When I looked in his eyes, and he balled his little fists up waving them at his newfound world, I knew he would be a man who had his hands in everything; he would have contacts and businesses that reached far beyond this beautiful land of Colombia and her borders. My son is multifaceted, and it will serve him well.”

The men nodded their heads as if pondering a great truth. Mano’s father had seen into the future as if he possessed a sixth sense or some crystal ball that revealed the boy’s destiny. When it came to his son’s future, perhaps he did, because his son would grow up to be what the Colombians referred to as a fixer.

Mano rubbed his tired eyes and took his father’s words to heart. There wouldn’t be anything Mano couldn’t accomplish with the connections and knowledge he’d possess as the years turned him from a boy to a man.

“There are men who are hiring Sicario to shoot the crop dusters to the ground when they attempt crop-dusting their poppy fields. Perhaps you should hire bodyguards to protect the finca.” The conversation had moved on as easily as if Mano’s name had never been mentioned.

Mano thought it was the man who had given him the unsettling feeling when he looked at him that was speaking now.

“Loco, I see now how you got your nickname. Blowing military planes out of the sky would draw unwanted attention. I’m just a humble farmer.”

This caused all the men to laugh. Fidel was a man who would kill you with no hesitation if you came against his family or business. He was a farmer with a fire in his soul; it had settled to embers as he’d aged, but it only took the right circumstance for those embers to be ignited and turned into a raging inferno.

Loco tossed back a shot of aguardiente and looked at Fidel and said, “If you ever change your mind, contact Cupid, and we’ll ensure you have Sicarios here within a day.”

Cupid stood and smacked his cowboy hat against his leg as if brushing off imaginary dust, “Thank you for your hospitality, mi amigo. Flying at night helps with staying under the radar. Hasta luego.”

The men said their goodbyes, and there was a part of Mano that was glad to see them go, especially the one his father referred to as El Loco.

Once again, he rubbed his tired eyes, but this time he climbed up into his bed to give way to the sleepiness that blanketed his little body. He went to sleep with dreams of the day he would have his hands in various businesses. He would live up to his name in ways even his father couldn’t imagine. Fidel gathered the shot glasses, checked to see if the cigars were extinguished and joined his wife in the bedroom.

“No wonder they call the man El Loco. He wants me to hire Sicarios to shoot military planes out of the sky.” Fidel looked at his wife and studied her features. She was beautiful, but it was her green eyes she’d gifted her son with that always pulled her husband into her web of intrigue. She was as smart as she was beautiful, and her husband never failed to include her in his business decisions. He often wondered why a woman like her would fall for a Colombian farmer. He never came up with an answer; all he knew was he was the luckiest man in the world.

Avis shook her head and huffed, “That only draws attention to us. One plane shot out of the sky, and we have the military avenging the deaths of their comrades. Some battles have to be won with a velvet glove and not an iron fist.”

“Spoken like a true woman with wisdom.” Fidel leaned over and kissed his wife, “One thing we have going for us is dual-citizenship. If things get too crazy here because people think radical shit like shooting planes out of the sky is the answer to our problems, we