Since my training is complete, I start to patrol the streets. As newbie, I get stuck with the early six a.m. round, but Miguel makes it a point to get up with me to show his support. We have breakfast in the mansion's large kitchen, right at the counter, and I actually appreciate the silence of the early hour. A chilly nip, leftover from last night's storm, wakes me up during the ride in the open Jeep; by the time we reach the compound, I'm ready to roll.

My troop consists of young soldiers, most of them barely teenagers. Some I recognize from basic training. Tomás introduces me to Emilien, who will be my translator and second-in-command. He looks about sixteen, his lively gaze darting around with curiosity. Dark, unruly bangs keep falling in his eyes, and every time he pushes them away, he laughs boyishly.

"Emilien grew up in the orphanage and is fluent in English," Tomás says. "He has worked patrol for close to two years, so even though you're technically in charge, I would go with his advice."

Miguel closes the straps of my bulletproof vest. When he bends forward and kisses the tip of my nose, his forehead is creased with concern. "Be careful. And keep close to Emilien. He knows what he's doing."

"I'm a fully trained soldier. It'll be fine."

"As my girlfriend, you're a target." He turns to Emilien with a sullen face. "If I find a scratch on her, you'll have to answer to me."

Emilien salutes. "Understood, sir."

For a moment, Miguel's gaze rests upon me, his lips twisted as if he's about to call the whole morning patrol off. Letting out a sigh, he finally releases my arm. "Just don't forget you mean the world to me."

Heat prickles in my cheeks; I'm well aware that everyone's ears are pricked to follow our conversation. "Please, Miguel. This is not a big deal. All I'm doing is going to work."

"I suppose."

When I climb onto the truck, his forehead is still wrinkled with worry. I give the signal for the driver to move out and his figure grows smaller until it's only a dot in the distance. I exhale deeply, every nerve end in my body tingling. Excitement mixes with fear and twists my stomach into a pretzel, but the one feeling that dominates in the end is stronger than any caution or anticipation. It's the pure sense of intoxicating power as I run my fingers over the grip of my gun. I'm the one in charge and no one can take this away from me.

~~~~

I quickly figure out that morning patrol is beyond boring. Most people are still tucked away in their houses and the few early risers who roam the streets go into hiding when the trucks turn the corner. The capital has never been a lively place and Emilien confirms that any action doesn't start until the nine o'clock shift. No wonder Tomás wasn't at all worried to send me without any supervision.

After the first week, I grow tired of just riding through the empty streets and grab a cup of coffee at a small bodega whose owner is still busy polishing the counters and glasses from the night before. The rest of my troop is combing the streets after Emilien barked at them that they should report back any unusual activity. As I slurp my coffee, my gaze is fixed on the pictures on the wall. Most of them show Santino in his soldier uniform, though a few depict Miguel during official functions.

"Where're you from in America?" Emilien asks.

"Indiana."

"Is it nice there?"

I gaze at him, puzzled by his question. "Well, it's not really an exciting place."

"Are the people nice?" Longing colors his words. "I mean, is it safe or do people shoot at each other? Are you allowed to go to school?"

I frown. "Yeah, I guess it's safe if you stay away from certain neighborhoods. And everyone goes to school. It's mandatory."

His head bobs up and down. "That's what Mr. Moore says. He told me there's hardly any violence in America."

I sure wouldn't go that far. "There's a lot of crime there, too. We have school shootings and there's a huge drug problem."

He laughs. "I bet you half of the cocaine comes from Malaguay."

My cup freezes midair. "What do you mean?"

"We're one of the larger cocaine-producing nations in the region." He beams at me with an innocent smile. "I'm not sure how much money comes in through US imports, but Mr. Moore says it's millions. You should ask Miguel. He runs the operation and knows all about it."

Since my trip into the mountains with Miguel, I hadn't even thought about it. He assured me that he wasn't dealing drugs, and that was good enough for me. But does it make sense? Where is all of Malaguay's money coming from? Running an army isn't cheap, and the leading families live in unbelievable luxury despite them being either employed as a soldier or as a government official. The economy consists only of those coca fields and selling to the food and cosmetic industries couldn't yield enough profit to sustain all these people and run the country, could it?

Intending to ask Miguel about it, I check my watch. "It's almost eight-thirty. We should round up the others and go."

"Sure." Emilien tosses a few coins on the table. "Please don't tell Miguel or Tomás that I'm still in contact with Mr. Moore. They'd kill me if they knew." His eyes are pleading and he has chewed his lip bloody. "My sister lives at the orphanage and I sometimes go down and visit."

I laugh it off. "Miguel would understand. Don't worry about it."

He grabs my wrist. "No, it's prohibited. Please, Stacy, I beg you."

I pull my arm loose from his tight grip. He's acting like an immature child. Miguel has bigger problems than worrying about one of his men visiting the orphanage.

"It's fine. I'm not gonna tell him." In my mind, I'm already scheming about how I can raise the drugs issue with my boyfriend.

The ride back to the compound passes in uncomfortable silence as the sting of betrayal itches me like a nasty rash. I can't wait to confront Miguel. If he lied to me, he'd have some serious explaining to do.

~~~~

After I stomp around the entire compound, I finally find Miguel back at his office in the mansion. He's seated behind the desk, working on the computer. When I storm in, he regards me with a deep crease on his forehead.

"Sorry, babe, but I'm very busy." His eyes remind me of black beads, drilling into me with displeasure. The coldness in them sends a shudder down my spine; someone or something must have really upset him.

I'm nevertheless not willing to wait. "Is Malaguay selling drugs to the US?"

"Not now, Stacy." He runs his fingers through his hair with a sigh. "Let's talk about this later."

"No. I want to know now. You said you only sold the coca plants to the food and cosmetics industries, but I heard it's used to make cocaine."

"Really? And who told you that?"

I remember the promise I made to Emilien. "That doesn't matter. Is it true?"

"What if it is?" He raises a brow, as if to challenge me. "What are you going to do about it?"

"I can't believe you lied to me."

"Are you seriously criticizing me? Do you know what America has done to my country? What they still do?" Before I can even utter another word, he's right in my face. Grabbing my lower arm, he shakes me roughly. "Don't you think each and every one of you bastards deserves to die?"

I pull on my arm in an attempt to break free, but his grip only tightens. Pain shoots up my arm. "Miguel, let go of me. You're hurting me."

His eyes hold a vicious glint, the anger spilling out of him by the buckets. Spinning me around, he pushes my cheek against the wall and pulls my arm back with one swift move until the joint threatens to pop out of the socket. It's one of those interrogative torture moves Tomás showed us during basic training. It's normally used to get a prisoner to talk.

"Who told you about the drugs?" Miguel shouts.

My only response is a whimper. A few hot tears spring loose and soak into the wallpaper.

He slowly pulls my arm back; when the pain overpowers my senses, I cry out. My breath is ragged. Even after he relaxes my shoulder, a throbbing ache lingers.

"I'll break your fucking arm if you don't tell me the truth." His voice is low and sends goosebumps all over my body.

"Please, Miguel."

The sharp pain is stronger this time, shooting unbearable throbs through my chest. Every breath is pure agony. When he relaxes my arm again, my shirt is soaked in sweat.

"Last chance." His voice is so cold that my blood freezes.

When he jerks my arm back, I can feel my bones separating. A cry escapes my lips. "Wait!" The pain is breath taking and I fight a sudden spell of dizziness, though the pull is gone. He's waiting for my answer and will continue to torment me if I don't fess up. "It was Emilien." My revelation tastes bitter on my tongue; I'm a total traitor for breaking my word.

"What else did he say?"

When I don't immediately respond, he applies pressure. The agony from my pounding shoulder threatens to tear me in half. I don't dare to hold back. "Sometimes, he still visits his sister at the orphanage."

Miguel lets out a low whistle. "Interesting." He finally releases my arm, but before I can wiggle out of his grip, he spins me around to face him. "Now, Stacy, I hate to do this, but we have to set some ground rules. First of all, you will never challenge me again. Understood?"

I nod, tears spilling from my eyes. Every part of me throbs, but I'm not sure what is worse—the physical pain or my breaking heart.

"Second, when I ask you a question, you will reply without hesitation."

"Okay."

The word is no louder than a whisper. His furious eyes have me close to peeing my pants. Tears keep running down my cheeks as he continues to glare at me, the muscles in his jaw twitching.

"I can't tolerate disobedience." A warning finger wiggles in front of my face. "From here on out, you'll be respectful and compliant. I allowed you to train as a soldier because I didn't want you to become bored and get homesick but don't let this go to your head. I'm not gonna have my woman make a fool out of me. Is that clear?"

"Miguel, I never meant—"

He silences me by pressing his hand over my mouth. "You need to learn when to shut up."

Three of his fingers come to rest on the center of my throat; his eyes darken as he cuts off my oxygen supply. I struggle for air, his hand on my mouth and nose preventing me from breathing. When the hold on my throat tightens, I pound on his back with my fists, but he doesn't ease up.

Mybody switches to survival mode, to the moves Tomás showed me if I'm ever in a bind. My instincts take over. Pulling up my leg, I slam my knee right into Miguel's groin. His eyes widen as he doubles over. Both of us grapple for air. My lungs sting, I pant and splutter, sucking in breath after breath in a desperate attempt to calm my shaking body.

My ragged breath finally evens, although my skin prickles at the nape of my neck. Before I can even grasp it's a warning, Miguel rams his fist right into the side of my face. "You stupid bitch."

The next blow connects with my cheekbone. A crashing sound resonates in my skull and stars explode behind my closed eyelids. I cradle my head in the crocks of my elbows to protect me from another blow.

He goes for my kidneys instead. When the pain robs me of my breath, I drop to my knees, a sudden spell of nausea making me gag. His index finger and thumb dig into my sore shoulder, sending the room spinning. Another blow to the back of my head almost splits my skull wide open. Blood flushes my mouth. The room spins faster and faster, sucking me into a whirlwind of pain. The descending darkness is like a merciful embrace that carries me away.

~~~~

© Sal Mason 2017

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