Page 21 of When Lies Unfold

Again.

I type out a quick response.

Meet you in two hours.

“Juarez said somethin’ ’bout Hidalgo fuckin’ around with shit?” As always, Gordo’s sharp as hell. At my grunt, he nods. “Need to head to Paso Canoas?”

I exhale slowly, wishin’ I could expel the stress along with that breath. Hell…some days, I get so sick of jugglin’ shit all the damn time. But there’re no vacation days for a man like me. There are too many fuckin’ demands.

“Yeah.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, willin’ the dull ache that’s just bloomed behind my eyes to go away. My response is muttered, and I don’t give a shit how pissy I sound. “Head to fuckin’ Paso Canoas.”

“You got it, boss.”

1 A Costa Rican is referred to as a Tico (male) or Tica (female).

10

LOLA

Monday morning

Better not be talking to anybody.

This is the text that greets me when I wake up.

That asshole. Of freaking course, he got my number.

I don’t immediately respond, because I refuse to start my day like this. Especially before I’ve had my coffee.

My rear deck isn’t actually a deck or even a porch area. It’s more like a ledge separating the dense jungle and the steep terrain from my casita.

The narrow concrete border, however, is barely wide enough for a single chair and a tree stump I use as a little table.

Overlooking the lush, green jungle, I enjoy my morning coffee while toucans chatter and howler monkeys echo in the far distance. It isn’t until my second cup of coffee that my visitor arrives.

She’s stealthy as always, but her wild scent gives her away. Sleek black fur shimmers as she slinks toward me in her usual cautious manner.

Keeping my movements slow and non-threatening, I set my coffee on my little tree stump table. Then I patiently wait for her to inspect me until she gives a little purr and nudges her head against my leg.

“It’s good to see you, too.” Careful not to spook her in any way, I murmur this softly.

With the utmost gentleness, I pet the back of her neck where she likes it most. “Still feeling okay, Belleza?1?” Her purrs grow louder as I stroke her fur while casting a hard, inspecting look at her rear left leg.

About a year ago, during one of my hikes through the jungle, I heard the cry of a wounded animal. Once I ventured toward the sound and discovered this poor black puma?2—or panther—my heart plummeted, her injuries were so severe.

Her wounds indicated that she’d gotten caught up in a barbwire fence and her rear leg suffered the brunt of the injury.

Initially, she didn’t want to trust me. I knew I was running the risk of being mauled, but I couldn’t leave her in that state, especially in the jungle. There was a good chance her open wounds would’ve gotten infected and she’d have died.

Somehow, though, we decided to trust one another. She trusted me to help her, and I trusted her not to hurt or kill me. I spoke to her in a calm tone, much like I would a small child, while I applied medicine I had in my bag, and ripped part of my shirt to use as a bandage.

Never did I expect her to track where I lived and visit me. But she did. She let me check her wounds, then reapply medicine and a fresh bandage while I spoke to her as if she could understand me. Although, sometimes, I almost believe she does. Her eyes hold an odd sort of awareness, as though she’s a different kind of soul.

As much as I know I shouldn’t get attached, least of all to a wild animal, I couldn’t help myself. I named her Belleza because, although she’d been wounded and battered looking back then, I could tell she was a beauty.

“You came to visit me at the perfect moment,” I coo at her while petting her soft fur. “I definitely needed this. Yes, I did.” Her purrs grow louder, vibrating beneath her silky coat. “Is it bad that I wish you’d eat a certain bad man for me?”

She rubs her face against my knee as if to demand more petting, and my mouth curves into a smile. She’s such a unique creature. Still so wild and hesitant, but affectionate, too.

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