At first, Jefferson didn’t notice the sound of the shooting. Maybe three or four crucial seconds as his mind, dulled by pain and painkillers and exhaustion, registered the sound he knew so well. Perhaps it was the Urabeños. Perhaps it was the police. Perhaps it was Javier. It could even be the Navy SEALs.
He got up, unsure of where he’d put his pistol, which was still tucked in his pants. He wasn’t afraid. He grabbed it and pulled and accidentally jerked the trigger as it came from his pants and an explosion registered as the bullet grazed a testicle, penetrated his thigh, and lodged in his femur. He stumbled and fell against the side of the couch. Everything moved slowly. But he brought the pistol up. There was a blur of movement and then two explosions in his chest and he slumped to the floor. Colombian soldiers in tactical gear flowed into the room, checking corners, securing the area. Jefferson stared at the ceiling. He felt another explosion in his chest as one of the soldiers dead-checked him. Adrenaline coursed through his body, quickening his mind in a way he hadn’t felt in years, while blood poured from the holes left by high-velocity rounds. This was good. This was a death in combat. This was a good death.
On the television, Steven Seagal disarmed a gun-wielding butcher as Richie and his goons got away.
8
Alma was not surprised when some of Javier’s men grabbed her off the street and told her they knew she was a toad. It was foolish of her to have gone to the foundation, and to have told her story in the first place. Even if Luisa hadn’t said Jefferson’s name, everyone there would have known who she was talking about.
“But we’ll make you a deal,” one had said. He was the tallest one, and seemed the oldest, but he was still young. Baby fat on his cheeks. A loud voice meant to project authority but, in fact, showing only his fear. The other two huddled beside him, one scrawny and the other very young, with skinny arms and a round belly and a nervous, boyish smile that Alma would have found sweet in other circumstances. They reminded her of the guerrilleros she’d fought alongside.
“Javier told us to make it look like you got hit by a car.”
Alma nodded her head, understanding how the game was going to be played, and the oldest one explained the bargain. You’re going to stand here, on the side of the road. And we’re going to get in our truck, put the pedal to the floor, and accelerate toward you. If you stay there, if you don’t run, you’ll die a quick death. We’ll go as fast as we can. If you run, we drive to your home and kill your children.
And so Alma stood in the road. It was the end of the day. She had a bag of yuca she’d paid for with a bag of coca leaves. Food for her children. She asked them if they’d bring the yuca to her family after they killed her and the oldest one laughed. But then the skinny one said, “Why not?” And so she gave him the bag and stepped out into the road.
“Here?” she said. And they told her, yes, there, and put their truck in reverse, stopping only a hundred meters away, then shifting to drive. The road was muddy. She wondered how fast their truck could accelerate in the mud. Would the strike kill her? Or would she still be alive? Would she bleed out in the road or would they go in reverse, run her over to finish the job? She knew she was stupid for speaking out against Jefferson, but she had no regrets. She did not allow herself regrets. Her youngest would be too young to remember her mother. Her oldest would have to tell stories of her. The truck spat mud as they hit the pedal, wheels spinning, and then it was advancing toward her, too fast for further thoughts, and she faced it the way she’d faced battle, for this was just another form of combat, wasn’t it? And the front of the car impacted with her chest so powerfully her whole rib cage shattered inward, her heart exploded, and her mind disappeared before she struck the ground. And the boys looked upon her body sadly, because she’d shown courage and none of them were sure if they could have done the same. And then, because they weren’t without pity, they drove by where she lived and flung the bag of yucca out of the car, the heavy bag flying only a few feet before crashing to the ground, the seam of the bag splitting and yucca spilling out into the dirt for her children to later find, and wash, and eat.
—
People were afraid of Javier. He knew that, and it was a problem. All the best commanders he’d worked for knew how to inspire both fear and love. And though he knew he could inspire an intense loyalty among his men, especially among those he worked with closely, and most especially among those he had killed with, among townspeople he inspired only fear. This made him an excellent hammer. Javier handed out justice, a justice so severe that when Jefferson stepped in and stayed his hand, it seemed like the mercy of God raining down from heaven. People didn’t just fear him and love Jefferson. They feared him so that they could love Jefferson.
As a younger man, Javier thought power was the ability to make a man beg for his life. That was the most pure, most direct form of satisfaction in this world. But as he grew older, he
