The Gift: Books 1 - 3 by Stapleton Marc

Author:Stapleton, Marc
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-10-18T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 24

I stand by one of the giant gleaming windows, looking down at the traffic outside and the people going about their days, seeming tiny and insignificant like ants. I can see far up the road: the riotous queues of cars and buses, the army of people of all walks of life inhabiting the park opposite us.

I couldn’t imagine spending all my days cocooned up here, watching everyone from above like some lonely god. Every shopfront light, reflected in a car windshield looking like a burning torch, every lamppost looking like a pitchfork. It could drive a person to madness.

“Are we ready?” Carlos yells. It’s been 10 frenetic minutes of him, Jairo, and Marcelo filling their pockets – plus several sports bags and rucksacks they found – full of shiny things. Jewelry, watches, ornaments small enough to be hidden away, art that looks even vaguely expensive. I even saw Marcelo packing a ham from the refrigerator.

I put my hands in my pockets – free of anything, other than my cellphone – and stroll back to the elevator.

“C’mon man,” Carlos says to me with a characteristic grin on his face; for the first time I see that he has a gold tooth set back within his molars. “You didn’t actually believe we were going to be his bodyguards, did you?”

I look at him, pathetically straining under the weight of a sports bag full of ill-gotten loot, then avert my eyes. I snort out of my nose, dismissing the notion of even replying to him.

Of course, I didn’t believe they were going to protect that man; Carlos’ gimmick is as slimy as the gel he smears his hair with. I don’t feel proud about participating in this grim charade, but it’s not like I haven’t done worse.

I’ll get what I need from Carlos and his ilk and go.

“We’ve got a car around the block,” Carlos says triumphantly. “Cheer up man, we did good work today.”

I follow them out of the elevator – trying to hide my face from the ever-confused looking concierge – and into the street outside. We hurry across the block to find a beat-up sedan – silver, with a conspicuously red door on the passenger’s side – and I wait as they set about filling the trunk.

When they’re done – all three huffing and puffing – I follow them into the car. Jairo drives, pulling out from the curb into the path of an oncoming truck like a maniac. We’re lucky not to be completely pancaked.

“What?” Carlos turns to face me and says, “Are your hands completely clean?”

I know what he’s talking about. I came to Madrevaria and asked around for the country’s most notorious drug lord; it’s not like I can claim to be a saint. And he’s right, my hands are far from clean.

“Why did you even need me there?” I ask, buckling up my seatbelt.

“He wouldn’t have even met up with us if we didn’t have some badass American veteran. And besides, you were handy enough

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