Page 30 of Taunting Tarran
I can’t let on I have any interest in the girl. That would be suicide.
‘Big!’ Carlos shoots back, he grins as he pulls a cigarette from behind his ear. ‘They’re a bit restless, and grouchy. Don’t get too close.’
‘What’s wrong with them?’ Sal chimes in.
Carlos chuckles, ‘I stopped feeding ‘em yesterday. Gotta prime them ready for the weekend.’ He leans on the fence, eyeing the snorting beasts with pride.
The pigs jostle, thick and bristly, each weighing in at what I guess is two-fifty kilos, easy.
Hungry, ugly, and mean - a bad trio for anyone on the wrong side of the fence.
Carlos gestures with a casual wave, ‘Their hunger is insatiable. Raw, primal urge. Once they catch a whiff of fear, even a hint, it’s game over. They’ll tear through anything.’ He smirks, wicked and knowing, and I feel it – a flicker of something animalistic, something I can relate to.
Sal’s face turns white as he leans in close, his voice barely a whisper. ‘Boss, I don’t mean to be rude, but would you mind if I left? It fucking stinks here.’
‘Soon,’ I reply. ‘We’re leaving soon.’
Carlos talks to the pigs, each one he recognises by sight, their individual quirks and temperaments. Disposing of a body viapigs was one of the first things I learnt, thanks to Uncle Carlos – he’s been disposing of bodies longer than I’ve been alive, and he has it down to an art form. Moving a whole body is a struggle even for the strongest of people. The best way is to cut it up into six pieces, then feed the pieces to the pigs. Ideally, you want to starve the animals for a few days, that way, a chopped up body, according to Carlos, looks like a kebab would to a piss artist.
A single pig, depending on its size can consume roughly a kilo of flesh every minute, so Carlos’s sounder of boars would effectively remove a body weighing two-hundred pounds before you’ve finished a cup of coffee. Except the hair and teeth – hair affects their digestive system, and teeth just pass right through, like corn.
Wouldn’t want to be sifting through shit to clean your crime scene.
‘I don’t mean to interrupt, Carlos, but I’m curious about this girl.’
Time is ticking...
‘There’s nothing to tell. That buyer was livid when she escaped. We’re lucky he only demanded double what he had paid for her. It could have gone down a lot worse. She’s indebted to us – should return a pretty penny at the auction.’
Carlos’s gaze cuts to Sal, his lip curling as he jerks his chin in his direction. ‘He seems quiet.’
Sal flicks his eyes to mine, a flash of unease passing between us. He catches my silent warning, a sharp cue to hold his tongue, and his discomfort deepens. His hands twitch by his sides,fingers flexing nervously.
‘He’s not much of a talker,’ I reply, though the tension coils beneath the surface.
Carlos smirks, as I revert our conversation. ‘So, what you got planned for the runaway?’
My jaw clenches, the ripple of anger surging through my veins like a live wire. I fight to keep my composure, every muscle wound tight as a bowstring, it’s physically painful.
My pulse hammers at my temples, the sound deafening in my ears. Behind my back, my hands curl into fists, nails biting deep into flesh - until the sharp sting brings me back to reality. The storm rages within, but I wrestle it into submission.
My eyes stay locked on Carlos, a challenge simmering in my stare. The mask of calm I wear is a fragile one, every second of silence burning like fire across my skin.
‘Excuse me,’ Sal interjects. Without waiting for permission, he turns on his heel and heads towards the car, leaving me to face the storm brewing in Carlos’s crooked smile.
‘It all started with her grandfather, Pepe Pineda. That bastard thought he could just walk away, like it was that easy. But once you’re in, you’re in. There’s no cosy goodbye, no clean exit. We’re not some run-of-the-mill biker gang that lets you off the hook by grinding away your tattoo. No, walking away from us is a death sentence – a one –way ticket to hell with no stops in between,’ Carlos shrugs, cracking his neck before continuing.
‘Your father sent out a team to track him down, to clean up his mess. They found him, all right. A few k’s north on his farm.But they were too late – someone else had gotten there first. The scene was pretty brutal. He’d been impaled, his body nailed on a branch like a scarecrow. And the person that did it also shot him in the face.’
‘The girl.’
Carlos nods. ‘Yep. One of our men heard the gunshot, saw a girl bolting off into the woods. His own granddaughter.’
‘But why?’ The question slipping out before I can stop it.
‘Pineda wasn’t a silly man. He knew if we got hold of him first, he’d suffer a far worse fate. That little bitch put up one hell of a fight, though. Miguel had to knock her out cold – punched her square in the face just to shut her up.’
‘And that’s why she was all busted up,’ I murmur, the memory flashing through my mind.
