The Lord of Opium

In the evening he and Cienfuegos sat down to dinner in El Patrón’s grand dining room. Now that Matt took the time to study it, he saw how unusual it was. The walls were covered with priceless Spanish paintings of kings and queens. Royal children, dressed in stiff clothing, stared dolefully out of dark nurseries. They didn’t look as though they knew how to play, and their only entertainment seemed to be dwarfs. Spanish kings collected dwarfs, to go by the number of them, the way other people collect stamps. A brooding misery hung over all the scenes. There was even, in one shadowy corner, a painting of heretics being burned at the stake.

“Those are all originals,” said Cienfuegos. “Muy, muy valioso.”

“I don’t care how valuable they are. I think they’re creepy,” said Matt.

“They’re marks of prestige. A man who can afford such things is like a king.”

“Who am I going to impress?” asked Matt. With the border closed, no visitors came to the hacienda. Its rooms and halls were deserted except for the occasional shadowy figure of a servant dusting a statue.

They sat across from each other. The crystal chandelier shed flecks of light over the tablecloth, and they also had a heavy gold candelabra, for the room was large and dark. Waitress served them dinner. She poured pulque for Cienfuegos and water for Matt.

“This was where El Patrón entertained his most important guests,” said the jefe. “Presidents, dictators, and drug lords. Ah, those were the days!”

“Were you invited?” Matt shook his head at Waitress when she tried to cut up his meat.

“I was one of the bodyguards. We stood around the walls and watched the guests.”

Unlike now, Matt thought, realizing he might have made a mistake by inviting Cienfuegos to eat with him. It seemed important to show underlings that he was too important to be friendly. Celia had told him he should hire more bodyguards, too, because Daft Donald wasn’t enough. A drug lord with only one bodyguard, she said, was like a general with only one soldier. The other drug lords would make fun of him.

“Tam Lin was always present,” remembered the jefe. “I came when El Patrón wanted to know whether someone was lying. I’m very good at reading faces. For example, I know right now that you’re thinking about Waitress.”

Matt almost choked on his food. “I am not!” he objected.

“You’ve been casting shy little glances at her all evening,” said Cienfuegos. “She’s a pretty thing, isn’t she? I’m glad I didn’t train her for farm labor. She’s much more ornamental here.”

A surge of anger almost suffocated Matt. Cienfuegos had captured Waitress and turned her into an eejit. He could have saved her!

“Rage,” the jefe said calmly, pointing his fork at Matt. “Or perhaps jealousy. You like the girl and think that I’m a rival.”

“I’m not interested in her that way,” Matt said, trying to keep the anger from showing on his face.

“I’m afraid it’s a lost cause, mi patrón. Eejits can’t feel emotions.” Cienfuegos went on eating as though he were merely discussing the weather. “Now let’s forget pretty girls for a while and decide what to do about the border.”

Matt took careful breaths to calm down. He couldn’t afford to quarrel with Cienfuegos. He had too few allies. “Is there a way to communicate with the outside world?”

“The holoport has been locked down along with everything else. You could access it.”

“I see,” began Matt slowly, wondering what a holoport was. It worried him that Cienfuegos knew so much more than he did. It gave the man power. El Patrón would have surrounded Cienfuegos with spies who would report to him of any disloyalty. And he would have arranged a convenient accident if the reports were bad. Although, if what Celia said was correct, the man would be struck with lethal pain if he tried to rebel.

“I should negotiate with Esperanza first,” Matt said aloud. “I’d like to lower the security barrier briefly to allow her daughter María to visit.” From the look the jefe gave him, Matt realized that he knew about their friendship. “I’ll tell Esperanza I must find a way to remove the microchips from the eejits’ brains before we discuss anything. It’s a humanitarian problem and should appeal to her. Until they’re free, the business of shipping opium and bringing in supplies must go on.”

Cienfuegos raised his eyebrows. “That’s exactly the sort of plan El Patrón would come up with. Esperanza is always bleating about the poor eejits, and we can deflect her until we secure our power base.”

“She didn’t do anything for them during Operation Cold Turkey,” Matt remarked.

“Oh, she wrung her hands and said no one told her what was going on. Esperanza likes to look like a saint.”