The Murdered World 13 (Patreon)

Frank rigged a half dozen more rooms before deciding that was all he’d press his luck. He made a show of detecting something off in one of those big power banks that could charge ten cell phones at once. He unplugged it and told Reinaldo to leave it unplugged for at least an hour. The wi-fi should cycle right back on.

In the meantime, he would take his break. If the system showed that the connection was stable, he’d call it a day.

He drove off and as he did, floodlights thundered on, turning the compound's outskirts white hot. Frank couldn't imagine that eye gouging brightness was popular with the neighbors. He supposed Angel kept them too intimidated to complain. Or the rich just didn't give a shit if the view they paid so much for was actually worth the money.

He dialed a certain number and the USB drive he’d installed in the cell phone tower stopped blocking the signal. As far as anyone at Angel’s was concerned, the cable guy had done his thing and was now forgotten along with the entire inconvenience.

He just missed Angel, Christina, and Emma as they returned.

***

Christina stomped out of the limousine before it'd even come to a stop, Angel following after her with the air of a man who would just as soon let her storm off, but knew it would be more painless to chase her down and assuage her.

Emma stayed in her seat, looking at the chauffeur like she was considering going wherever he was headed.

“I've never been so embarrassed,” Christina wailed.

Reinaldo got the door for her. She wrenched it away from him only to slam it shut in Angel’s face.

“You're embarrassed?” Angel roared through the door, while Reinaldo hurried to haul it open for him. “You are embarrassed. Look at me! I'm soaked!”

Christina crunched her dress sitting down on the staircase, ripping at the straps of her pumps. “You deserve worse than that. It's not enough that you leave me for a younger woman, it's my own sister?”

“You're insane. You're loco. I am nice to your family, give her a place to stay, and you hold that against me? I should've married a Latina. At least when they go crazy, it's for a reason.”

Christina kicked off her heels, delighting that they almost hit a ducking Angel. “This isn't the first time, I know this isn't the first time, but my fucking sister?”

“I have never been unfaithful!” Angel bellowed, driving a finger at her. “Never! Never!”

“Ha! The only way you could be faithful is if you cut your dick off. And you might as well, just so you don't have another psycho kid like Julio. You know that sick fuck actually made a pass at me?”

Angel lunged forward, hands grasping Christina like steel claws. He hauled her up and slapped her across the face. Light burst behind her eyelids like the floodlights that had just powered on.

“Don't you ever insult a man of my blood! Not ever!” He shook her harshly. “I'll bear your insults as a husband, but you will not disparage my son. He is a future don. A caballero. And you are just another gringa.”

“Jesus,” came Emma's soft voice. She stood in the doorway, her eyes wide.

Angel let go of his wife. “¡apártate de mí vista!” he told her.

Christina took off on her stocking feet, thinking of nothing more than going to the wine cellar and glutting herself with something that would cost Angel a lot of money.

“I'll be in my room,” Emma said and slipped past Angel up the stairs.

Angel sat on the bottom step. Though he didn't know it, his thoughts were much the same as his wife. But after his burst of rage, he didn't feel like he had the energy to fix the Moscow Mule he would've liked.

He smiled to himself. Julio. His son Julio was young and strong. He would keep a ladrone like Christina in line, even if she were a man. She was only a woman, though. He could handle her, but why bother? He was old and shrewd. His energy would be better spent on a mujere worth the effort.

***

Frank parked the van, stripped off his disguise, and left it in the same boardshorts and tropical shirt he had worn into it. He took the Seadoo and returned to the yacht. By the time he got back there, Lucy was sunbathing nude, taking in the last rays of the setting sun. When he boarded, she lowered her sunglasses to appreciatively look over him with no make-up, no costume—aside from the fact that he’d never be dressed like this if it weren’t part of his cover.

“Muuuch better,” she breathed. “Wanna have some fun?”

“I looked in on you earlier. Seemed like you were already having fun.” He picked Lucy up, slinging her over his shoulder and carrying her below deck. “Now it’s my turn.”

Her sunglasses slipped loose as she whooped with glee and beat playfully on his broad back. With them lying on the deck, it was clear the only thing Lucy would be wearing for the foreseeable future would be Frank.

In the hold, he dropped her down onto the bunk. She straightened her tousled hair and looked up at Frank. “Take off your shirt,” she told him, wanting a look at the muscles that had hefted her like she weighted a feather.

“This is the only thing you need me to take off,” Frank said, and pulled loose the knot on his boardshorts.

Lucy recognized the air of command in Frank’s voice. She liked it. She’d had enough of being self-indulgent up on deck. Now she wanted to be used.

***

Emma bustled around her room, packing her bags just in case dear sister Christina got them both kicked out of here. With how long people had been having sisters, there had to be a word for being concerned about someone and at the same time, sick of their shit. 

She wanted to go to Christina and sooth her. At the same time… hell, she'd wanted to smack Christina herself plenty of times. Angel had always been nice to her. Christina hadn't. But shit, she was his wife.

A knock came at the door. It had to be Christina. As conflicted as Emma was, she wouldn't turn her sister away when she needed comforting.

It was Angel. He held a glass empty of all but ice and smelling like tequila. “I came to apologize to you, senorita. I am sorry you had to see that.”

“It's alright,” Emma said, the words seeming to become unconvincing as she said them. “I know how she can get.”

“But you don't know how I can get,” Angel persisted, surging into the room so ardently that she had to give ground to him. “I am not always so harsh.”

“I know you aren't,” Emma said, though she wasn't sure anymore. Why did she feel the need to lie, to mitigate?

“I can be tender, Emma. I can be loving as you cannot imagine. This woman, your sister, she does not permit me to be the lover I so dearly wish to be. How can any man be a good husband to someone who does not wish to be a wife?”

“Everyone has their problems,” Emma said, not at all knowing what to do. 

“I cannot be a good man with a bad woman. But with someone like you, Emma, someone innocent, someone pure…”

Her mind was being barraged. This was a lot more than a man commiserating with her about his wife. She already felt overtaxed trying to figure out Christina's feelings and her feelings. Now Angel. It was too much.

“Dude, you're my brother in law.”

“And is that all I am?” Angel’s face evinced hurt, but it looked as hollow as a wax figurine. The lust in his eyes was much more convincing. “And am I a boater too? A wetback? How many ways can you not see me?”

Emma forced a calm politeness she didn't at all feel. “I want you to leave my room.”

“Your room? Your room?” Angel's voice was like a blasting car horn. “You're like your sister after all. My money, my work, but your room!”

“You said I was your guest,” Emma insisted, sounding petulant now to her own ears. Pleading.

“Like your sister,” Angel repeated. “You won't let me be loving. You won't let me love.”

His hand flashed out to make Emma feel what her sister had.