Yunior: The Delgado Files, #2

Music PlayList

Welcome to the Terror Dome’ by Public Enemy

Jean Sibelius - The Violin Concerto in D minor, Op. 47

One in a Million, Larry Graham

A House is Not a Home, Luther Vandross

Let’s Stay Together, Al Green

Brahms Violin Sonata No. 3

Perfect- Ed Sheeran

Prelude

HOLA. COMO ESTAS. It’s me, Yuñior.

I hope this message finds that you are doing well in your life.

Today, I wanted to take a moment and have, how do you say, the chitchat, before you begin the second part of my story. Understandably you are anxious, but please, allow me a moment of indulgence. I beg your forgiveness on two fronts one, English is not my first language, but my fourth and two, the writing may be the choppy as I pen these words. Wait, you did not know that about me, did you? Colombian Spanish is my first language, then Castilian Spanish, Portuguese, and then English. Yes, there is a difference between the language the native Colombian Indians speak and the standard Spanish, which I speak both fluently.

My apologies, I digress and shall make this brief since I know you want to get at the heart of the story, which is what our little chat is about. My heart. Yes, I know, you have the anger for me not being honest with Melissa at the end of the relationship. Truth is subjective, my friend. You can place a snake in a container with a label that reads venomous, and at least three people will want to touch the glass, not looking to see the top has no cover. It is the nature of humans. So, is the way of love. It is an odd thing; this love a man has for a woman. This love can defy all logic and all reason making a man believe he can do all things, yes, with the aid of Jesus, but we shall talk about that much later.

I have met someone. Yes, I am engaged to marry Irena. I do not need you to remind me of my obligations. All of my life, people tell me of my responsibilities to the family and an entire continent. Everywhere my feet touch, people think they know who I am. Even you. Yes, you believe you know the shoes in which I walk. I am here to tell you, maybe you don’t.

This is not a comfortable journey for me, and I’m struggling between my heart and the duty I must perform. Marrying Irena was never my choice, but when I do, The Delgado influence will extend to the far reaches of Paraguay. The only countries left that will not be governed by our blood will be Peru, Venezuela, Uruguay, and Brazil, which we shall quickly remedy.

In 18 months, I shall marry. In between that time, I’m going to stretch my legs, limbs, and every other appendage to enjoy being a very virile young man. Come with me on this next leg of my journey. I pray you keep an open mind and prepare to turn the page. I learned a great deal about who I really am, and so will you. It shall be, how do you say...ah, si, hella fun.

Oh, and please, call me Ed.

Fondly yours,

Chapter One – The Art of Intent

MILLICENT CHANNING Johnson had questions, lots and lots of questions. She took a seat in the Cessna Bombardier Jetplane, taking extra care to fasten her son Chad’s safety belt. His excitement should have been contagious, but the very large white man with the mohawk made sitting an uneasy task.  Millicent’s husband, Brody, whom the young man with the dark eyes called Mr. Yield, sat across the row from her.

She cut her eyes at her husband, who only shrugged as he fastened his seatbelt. The young man, who said to call him Ed, also brimmed with excitement in taking them to his home in Colombia. He seemed dangerous and the past had taught her to go with her gut instincts. Treacherous men created hazardous conditions that impacted their lives in negative ways. She’d had enough of being trapped in an unwanted life by a dangerous man. Brody had been a savior, and luckily for her and the boy, he turned out to be a good man. However, her husband’s new friend gave off a vibe that made her skin prickle, and he was taking them to a country notorious for perilous situations.

Relax, Señora, Yuñior said to her. My home is a wonderful place. The green fields extend as far as the eyes can see. You shall have a good time.

Thank you for the opportunity, but I don’t have a passport, and neither does my son, Millicent added.

No need. We shall disembark at our private airfield, and there are no customs agents on our land, Yuñior replied. You and your family will be under my watchful eye and care. No harm will come to any of you.

Yuñior handed a covered plate to the large white man, who scowled at the contents. It was the extra waffles with eight strips of crispy bacon he had asked Millicent to prepare in a to-go plate. At first, she wondered if, during the length of the flight, he would want more food, but now she observed the food wasn’t for him. A statuesque, raven-haired woman came down the aisle from what Millicent assumed to be the kitchenette. She held two additional plates and forks, holding them in front of the large white male who forked a Belgian waffle onto each plate.

What? No syrup? the big man asked. He sounded like the monster in Frankenstein learning to use his big boy words.

Brody and Millicent, along with Master Chad, the Johnsons, this is Alana, the flight assistant, Yuñior offered and then pointed toward a dark-haired male who came from the cockpit. He is Hans, my pilot. Hans, we are ready to get underway.

Sí, Señor, the man said, accepting the waffle and two strips of bacon. Thank you for breakfast.

The smile he gave to Millicent radiated warmth and genuineness as he took the plate and locked the cockpit door. Seconds later, his voice came across the loudspeaker for Alana to perform cross-checks and prepare the cabin for take-off. The discomfort of it all showed on Millicent’s face, no matter how she tried to hide it, and she couldn’t shake it off. Yuñior spotted the concern as well.

Chad, holding onto the globe, pointed at South America as he spun the ball around. He asked Yuñior, Is this where we’re going?

Yes, it is, Yuñior replied.

Uhmm, why? Chad asked.

I would like you to meet my family, Yuñior said. "We have very few visitors to our home, which is Las Tierras Verdes de mi Atecendents, which translates to the green fields of my ancestors."

Is it very green? Chad wanted to know.

Sí, it is. We grow coffee mostly, Yuñior said. "Coffee is the main crop of Colombia, and our country is the fourth-largest producer of beans in the world. The green fields are mottled with beautiful flowers and plants with which my brother has started a small business selling cut flowers to retailers. We also grow bananas, a bit of rice, tobacco, some corn, sugarcane, cocoa beans, oilseed, vegetables, fique, panela, forest products, and shrimp. Each village on Las Tierras is responsible for the production of a sustainable, locally sourced product."

Millicent wasn’t buying the whole farmer act. He omitted the other primary crop of coca, which was used to make cocaine and opioids. Again, he read her facial expression.

My family also grows coca, which we sell to big pharma and the independent businessman, Yuñior said with a cocky grin.

Millicent tried to breathe deeply and accept the opportunity for travel, but the man had shown up at her home, uninvited, to whisk her husband off on his adventures. Adding her and Chad to the mix didn’t change her opinion of the young man. It only made it worse. It was bad enough that her husband worked for an organization that treated him like a Golden Retriever, sending him off to fetch wayward balls, and now this. Her lips pressed tightly together since she wanted to scream at Ed and ask him what in the hell he wanted with her husband.

Again, Yuñior read her face and body language.

Señora, I am Eduardo Benicio de la Marta Castanza Delgado, Yuńior. My father is the Drug Czar for the Americas, and I am the primary heir, he said. "In 18 months, I am to be married to the daughter of the Czar of Paraguay to unite our families. I am taking a gap year to stretch my legs before I have to get married and produce the next generation of caretakers of Las Tierras. It is my duty and an honor that I hold most dear, but my Papa doesn’t play. If I’m to spend time with a new friend, he wants to meet you all. It is a privilege to be invited to my home and to meet my family. Not many receive such an honor."

She swallowed hard. I’m sorry. It is just so abrupt, Millicent said.

My intention is for you to see where and how I live as an attempt to get to know me better, Yuñior said. Plus, there will be trips I would like to make with my fiancée, and a chaperone is required. Am I mistaken in assuming you would like to travel the world and not have to pay a dime for the trouble?

Millicent allowed herself to smile. Señor. Ed. In my world, everything has a price, and nothing is free, she replied. If these trips will make my husband and me beholden to you, then I’m not sure we were given a choice in the matter.

Mr. Yield leaned forward in the seat as the plane began to taxi down the runway. Honey, you're being rude. He said he would pay us a salary for our time, Brody cautioned his wife.

No, I'm not rude, Brody. What I’m asking for is honesty from the Señor, she said. If his intention is to have you watch his back as he stares at the Mona Lisa in the Louvre, then that is one thing. However, if his intention is to have you watch his back while holding a gun as he drops product on the tarmac in some third world country, then that is another. I don’t deserve to sit at home wondering if this trip is the one where I get a call that you’ve been arrested in Mogadishu for drug trafficking or worse!

"Whoa! She has a great imagination, no? Especially with the little orange box of a car she rented for you—very practical, Yuñior said. I like her!"

Yeah, to say the least, Brody mumbled.

I’m all for adventure and Brody getting a second life as an archeologist, but I don’t want to be a widow, Millicent said.

Millicent, where is all of this coming from? Brody asked, looking at his wife.

Where is it coming from? Where?’ she asked, gripping the armrests of the seat as the plane lifted from the ground and gained altitude. All during our family vacation, there were moments when you and Mr. Mann both zoned out. I don’t know what happened when you went to rescue the Señor, but it changed you. Even Sharon, Mr. Mann’s wife, commented on the difference in her husband when he came back. This is not fair. I deserve to know what these free trips entail and if my family and I are in any danger. So, please forgive me if worrying about our lives makes me rude. Getting an unwanted stray bullet in my ass is rude.

Yuñior found himself laughing.

For a minute there, I thought she to be the quiet little mouse, Yuñior said. She has fire! Good for you Brody the Johnson.

I’m just hoping not to get blistered, Mr. Yield said under his breath. He didn’t know how much to tell her, and in some cases, knowing a little could be harmful and knowing nothing could be bliss. He looked at Yuñior and held out his hands, giving the young man the floor.

My father doesn’t have a great number of enemies, Yuñior said. He manages several legitimate businesses, but there are those who seek to profit off the less fortunate. Mr. Yield’s assignment to rescue me was met with, how do you say...ah sí, hiccups.

What kind of hiccups?

I created a new enemy when we rescued a boatload of children being trafficked by a man named Tito Montoya, Yuñior told Millicent. The intentions for the children were not nice. As a father, the idea of your son or Mr. Mann’s children befalling a similar fate is very disconcerting.  My offer to travel with me has nothing to do with Tito. I wish to see more of the world and visit museums and have discussions with a man who can offer me insight and education. Is this too much to request?

No, it’s not, but if Tito harms a hair on my husband’s head, he and you both are going to have to deal with me, Millicent boasted.

She’s so cute when she’s all riled up like this, Yuñior said, tapping her on the nose with his index finger. Ahh boop!

Millicent didn’t feel cute. She felt scared. Yuñior Delgado was scary in a way that she couldn’t put her finger on, which made her anxious as well. He moved down the aisle of the plane to take a seat on the couch. In a matter of seconds, he’d stretched his six-foot frame out on the bench seating, closed his eyes, and drifted off to sleep as if he hadn’t just turned their world upside down.

Mr. Yield understood what she meant, but he wouldn’t open his mouth. It wasn’t just about the museums and seeing the world. Men like Yuñior Delgado were plotters and planners. This trip to meet Yuńior’s father was part of a greater plan. He felt like a pawn on a chessboard that had just been put into play. Brody Johnson didn’t plan to sacrifice himself for the knight, the king, or queen.

In the interim, he’d just wait and see. Sometimes that was all a man could do to prepare for the unknown. He had to allow a few matters to play out.

BEFORE THE PLANE TOUCHED down in Las Tierras, Yuñior was up and changing clothes in the bathroom. He stepped out of the lavatory, no longer clothed in the sharply cut suit that he arrived at Mr. Yield’s house wearing, but a pair of worn black jeans, black boots, a dark green long-sleeved tee, and a black leather vest. The flight was less than five and a half hours, yet he awoke seemingly refreshed.

You look ready to get to work, Mr. Yield said.

Work it is, my friend, Yuñior replied. I must ride the fields, check on production, and so much more before dinner.

It seems odd, you having to work like a normal job, Mr. Yield said as the pilot announced their arrival.

"Sí. Sí, we all have responsibilities, Yuñior replied. I must see to the coffee and the main production facility of the coca plant. The standards are higher for the leaves that are shipped to the pharmaceutical companies."

Versus the plants you process for...distribution?

"Bueno, Yuñior said, taking a seat and strapping in as the wheels touched down. I’m really thinking, Brody the Johnson, of having this plane remodeled to include a bed. It can only fly siete hours before needing to refuel."

Or you can trade it in for a bigger plane, Mr. Yield suggested.

Bigger plane, bigger expenses. I only have my salary plus the emerald mine. I don’t know how long it will be before the veins dry up, Yuñior said. I would have to find a legitimate means to generate more income to cover fuel, the cost of the pilot, and the attendant. In time. In time.

The plane came to a smooth stop. Hans’ deep voice came over the airwaves, announcing the arrival at Las Tierras. Yuñior was excited as he looked out the window and saw a man on a wagon pulled by a donkey with a black stallion tied to the rear. A black four-door SUV also waited on the tarmac.

Welcome to my home, Yuñior announced with pride. Come. Come. There is much to be seen Brody and Millicent the Johnsons. Chad, you’re with me.

The boy, also awake after his nap, jumped from the seat, leaving the globe in the chair. His small Black Panther suitcase was being loaded into the rear of the black vehicle that was driven by what looked like a mustached Samoan on steroids. A young woman with jet black hair wearing a tailored ivory suit waited by the vehicle as well.

Millicent the Johnson, you shall ride in the vehicle with Marianna, Yuñior said, bounding down the stairs. He shook the hand of the man on the cart who also wore all black, including a black Bolero hat, with a cheroot dangling from the side of his mouth. Yuńior’s attention went back to the kid. Chad, do you like horses?

I don’t know. I’ve never seen one in real life, Chad said, coming off the plane. He, too, shook the man’s hand on the cart before following Yuñior to the stallion. Yuñior mounted the horse and with one hand, reached down, lifting Chad into the saddle in front of him.

Hey, wait a minute, Millicent called.

"He shall be safe with me, Señora! We shall see you at the hacienda," Yuñior called out, gently kicking the sides of his favorite horse and galloping away into the lush green fields. The clothing he wore and the black horse blended into the scenery, and Mr. Yield’s eyes had trouble distinguishing where the horse ended, and the man sitting astride it began. The joy in Chad’s voice could be heard over the sound of the hooves as he laughed, holding onto the front of the lightweight saddle.

Señora, you’re with me, Marianna said, opening the back door of the SUV. Millicent looked to her husband, who nodded while providing a weak smile. This left him with the man on the wagon.

"Buenos Tardes," Mr. Yield said, as he climbed onto the buckboard seat, giving a greeting to the driver. Although they hadn’t been formally introduced, he knew who the man was. A click of the driver’s tongue, a flick of his wrist, and the reins landed on the rump of the donkey who started to pull the wagon toward a white house that sat in the background. Mr. Yield was ready, or at least he believed himself to be, as he sat on the cart, riding through the green fields of the ancestors of the one and only, Eduardo Delgado.

Chapter Two – Not a Bad Aim

MR. YIELD SWALLOWED every single word that came into his mouth while riding on the cart beside one of the toughest men on two continents. He was taller and much thicker than he appeared in photos. The eyes, focused on the dirt path and guiding the old donkey along the route they obviously rode frequently, didn’t glance his way. Since the driver offered no conversation, Mr. Yield waited for the moment to reveal itself when Eduardo Delgado planned to test his character.

Men like him always needed to know how a person would react in adverse situations. After all, his son had chosen Yield as a friend. Eduardo wanted to understand what Yuñior saw in the man with the scarred face. He only knew of one way to test his calm.

Surprised it’s so hot here for this time of the year, Mr. Yield said.

We are three hundred miles from the equator, Eduardo replied, guiding the donkey off the path that led to the main house ... about the same driving distance as your house to New York City.

Eduardo glanced over at Mr. Yield, expecting a reaction from the man facing the reality of a dude driving a cart led by a donkey knowing where he lived. Brody didn’t flinch at the acknowledgment. He was, however, concerned with the detour from the main path.

The wooden wheels of the old wagon creaked and whispered a groan while the donkey labored, pulling them along through dense foliage. Eduardo advised him to pull the hood up on his jacket, covering his neck and hair. Mr. Yield heeded the advice.

Creatures fall out of the trees, Eduardo said, pointing at the low-hanging branches.

Yeah, I would lose a lot of cool points stripping down to my drawers in the middle of the lush green fields of your ancestors, Mr. Yield responded, pulling the hood up on the lightweight jacket, thinking of ways to open the conversation. Years ago, when I was still with the university, we were excavating a site close to Montezuma’s Well in Camp Verde, Arizona. It was hotter than mid-July in Phoenix, so there was this pond. I stripped down and jumped in, trying to lower my body temp and rinse off the dust. I came out covered in leeches. Even had one attached to my lip, and that took all night to remove the little bastards.

Eduardo didn’t make any comment as the wagon exited the thick vegetation and came to a clearing where a lone greenhouse type of structure sat. On both sides of the windowless building were vents and a portable cooling unit. Even from the outside, Mr. Yield could smell the snakes. A funky musk odor mixed with urine and snake feces the animals used to mark territory seeped out of the building from the open vents.

Mr. Yield thought of several places he preferred to be versus where he currently stood. At this point, twenty minutes in the lady aisle in Wal-Mart with Millicent trying to decide which package of butt pads she preferred was better than entering a building filled with vicious, venomous vipers. This was his test, an exam he prayed he wouldn’t fail and come out of the building screaming like a little girl getting mud on her knickers.

"Vayamos," the hatted man said, climbing down from the wagon. Mr. Yield did the same, watching the feet of the father, walking where he walked and stepping where he stepped. The door opened, and the scent curdled the half-digested waffle in Brody’s belly.

Damn, that is funky, Mr. Yield replied, stepping through the door Eduardo opened.

The lighting in the room was dim. Glass cages on two shelves lined the walls as the sound of scales, all moving at the same time, scraped over rocky habitats re-created to simulate their home environment. The sound made Yield’s skin crawl. He swallowed hard and began to walk the dirt floor, peering in the glass cages and making a mental note of what he was seeing. He recalled Yuñior boasting that the farm produced and housed as much antivenom as the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta. Mr. Yield prayed that Eduardo didn’t want him to milk any of the family pets.

These are all vipers indigenous to Colombia, Mr. Yield spoke aloud. His attention was drawn to a bright yellow viper that he nearly missed inside the glass casing. The snake wrapped itself around a limb, almost blending in with the yellow flowers. The bocaracá. It’s much smaller than I’d imagined, yet beautifully deadly.

As he said the words, a sound drew his attention, an angry little snake striking the glass in front of Eduardo.

He thinks it’s feeding time, Eduardo said.

Is it?

In an hour, but each time I come in, Fernando thinks he’s supposed to get out and play, Eduardo replied, reaching for the top of the vivarium to open the hinged lid. It was all the space Fernando needed as he struck out at Eduardo, making him jump back to avoid the bite. In a blink of an eye, the viper shot out of the cage, onto the sandy dirt floor and slithered toward the open door.

Mr. Yield moved quickly, grabbing a set of tongs hanging from the wall. Closing the metal just at the base of the viper’s head, he lifted the slithering sly snake towards the glass home, easing it back into the case and closing the hinged opening.

Whew, that was close, Mr. Yield said, hanging the tongs back on the wall. Eduardo only nodded, pointing his finger at Fernando, who responded by striking the glass again.

"Si, but I would have caught him and put him back, Eduardo said, shifting the hat on his head. Vayamos."

You don’t have to tell me twice, Mr. Yield said, following behind the man but stopping at a vivarium inhabited by four colorful frogs. Wow, dart frogs. I’ve heard of these but have never seen one in person. It’s said that one touch to the skin holds enough poison to kill twenty people. I thought these were only found in Choco.

"This is only one of the many venom houses we have on Las Tierras, Eduardo replied. We have at least four of every poisonous species on this continent and the other six around the world. Come, I need to get you to your family."

Okay, Mr. Yield replied, looking at the Fer-de-Lance one last time. "That was a close call. I would hate to have to tell Ed I reacted too slowly and allowed the Fer-de-Lance to strike the Fer-de-Lance."

Eduardo closed the door to the venom house, observing the man his son called Brody the Johnson. He had reacted quickly without panic. This Brody acted to protect him even when he didn’t require his assistance and spoke of his background without sounding boastful. Yuñior had selected well, making Eduardo pause again.

So, you know who I am?

Of course, Señor, Mr. Yield said. "However, I was half expecting you to try and make me milk one of them as a