“It wasn’t the Elenos,” he said.
The man said, “Then it was Jefferson.” And that’s when Abel realized the curse was working.
Abel shrugged. Just that, a shrug. If his boss knew he was talking to the military, he would be dead. If it wasn’t for the curse he’d planted, the curse only he knew about, Abel would have been terrified. But knowing about the curse and feeling, for the first time since he was a boy, the circle of protection his parents had always dressed him with, he had just enough courage to tell the man that he’d keep an ear out for information, and that he’d be willing to do whatever it took. The man handed Abel an envelope with a little money inside. Not enough to risk his life for, but still something to set aside for when he reopened the store. It was funny to think that way. As if reopening the store was a possibility now.
They told him if he wanted to stay out of jail, he needed to continue to be cooperative.
“I’m not doing anything illegal,” he said.
The man laughed. It was such an odd thing to say, especially in a place like La Vigia. What did the law even mean here? Perhaps in big cities, in places like Cúcuta, or Medellín, or Bogotá, people walked around with a sense that somewhere, outside of them, was this thing called “law.” In La Vigia, there was none. There was a way of doing things. Talking about your boss to military intelligence was not the way of doing things in La Vigia.
“I’ll work with you because I want to,” he said. It made him feel like a brave man.
They left him with a phone. “This uses the Integrated Communication Network,” the man said. “It’s secure, so we can speak freely.” And it was over this phone that Abel had agreed to give Jefferson a gift, a gift the military would prepare for him and deliver to his store.
A few days later, Abel went to meet Jefferson to discuss the mobilization for the peace vote, carrying the gift under his arms. A DVD box set of Steven Seagal movies, tied with a red bow. Abel had examined the package carefully. It didn’t seem suspicious. There was no obvious place where the electronic beacon was hiding. And, they’d told him, it was on a timer, so it wouldn’t give off a signal for the next few hours, just in case Jefferson had it examined.
Abel held the box out awkwardly to his boss. He regretted not removing the bow. A bow was unlike him.
“When you used to show us movies, at that ranch you had near Cunaviche, these were my favorite,” Abel said. “I wanted to get you a small present, to thank you for bringing me back where I belong.”
Jefferson laughed and took the gift. “Thank you, thank you.” He examined the box, reading off titles. “The Patriot. Marked for Death. That was a good one. Did you know he’s making a movie with Mike Tyson?”
Abel did not know that.
“That will be very good.”
And then they discussed the peace vote. Jefferson had surprised Abel when, a few months ago, he had told him he wanted the vote to succeed. This was an old paramilitary town, and the peace was unpopular here, but if they could turn people in favor of the peace it’d give them a sense of how much influence they had before the more important elections, like the one for mayor.
“Oh,” Jefferson said. “That journalist. We found her. We’ll figure out what she knows and then turn her loose. Things will return to normal.”
As he was leaving, Jefferson stopped him and said, “Come by tonight. I’ll send someone to pick you up. We can watch a movie, like we used to.” And he’d hefted the box of DVDs.
So. Jefferson wanted to spend time with him. Him alone. Abel nodded. The invitation sparked fear but also, somehow, pride. Jefferson had always treated him differently.
After the meeting he went right back to his store and took out the special phone the military had given him. If he called them and told them that Jefferson had the gringa, there would be consequences. Serious consequences, though he wasn’t sure what they would be. The forces operating at a higher level in his country had always been mysterious to him. He called. He delivered his message. And when he hung up, his heart was racing. He was afraid, and anxious. He wanted to go find Luisa, and tell her what he’d done. He knew it was important. But he couldn’t tell anyone, and so instead he decided he’d go see Deysi, ask her if she’d like to go dancing Saturday, and keep the knowledge of what he’d done to himself, a jewel he could take out and polish if he felt the need.
He would never be a saint, that was clear. But he had done three dangerous things in his life. First, protecting Luisa back in Rioclaro. Second, using the curse. Third, giving Jefferson the beacon. He doubted most men in his place would have had the courage to do any of those things, let alone all three. He didn’t know what would happen, but even if what he’d done didn’t free him from Jefferson, he’d tried. He wasn’t an especially good man, he knew that. But he was better than most.
—
Jefferson sat across from the journalist, feeling old and tired. He knew what he should do. Move back across the border to Venezuela, put out the word he’d been killed, allow Javier to rename the Jesúses. Then he could return with a new name but the same connections. A temporary setback. Hide out a few months, come back. But a few months meant more to him now than it used to.
“I should kill you,” he said.
Her face was impassive. Perhaps defiant. It was also a mass of purple and
