Chapter 103 - A New Life - Feddos
Simón
Inés had stayed with the rosary in her hand while we infiltrated the Contreras' warehouses; the bosses of the Plains. There were three cousins, and two of them were a real pain in the ass, very problematic and real bastards. After the Cárdenas, the next ones to be the masters were these jerks. They never agreed to stop sending women to the brothels of Europe and Asia; according to them, a Latina's vagina was worth the money, and if she was Colombian, her ass was the most sought after. Damn scum! I admit I was a hitman, but I had never mistreated a woman, much less children. I had a wonderful wife, and the best thing that ever happened to me was being a father, even if it was for a short time.
Forgive my language, God, I was ashamed now. The more good I did, the more disgusted I was by my past. Even so, women should never be treated by force; I had never felt satisfaction in mistreating women. With her, even if you doubt it, I was a gentleman in bed, no matter what. She had changed my life; in a week, I would sleep with two or three, but now it had been a couple of months since I had been with anyone. First things first, and that was getting into the Contreras' estate, getting the women they had locked up out, and I didn't know the number of prisoners.
A smile formed on my face as I remembered the expression on the lady's face when I officially told her the other names of the members of our group. They had always stayed on the sidelines when she was the Boss's girlfriend, and because we had a lot of work pending with the Capo, with the snitches, and the cartels. Now that we weren't doing those jobs, they were seen more often, but I hadn't introduced them officially as part of a brotherhood we had. When I did it in the afternoon, her face was worth framing.
"All set, Rat. We have Cherry and Crunch with the trucks at the agreed place," said Onion as he entered the office.
"Is it a rule that you all have nicknames? Why were they never introduced to me?" the lady pointed at my two colleagues. She was wearing comfortable clothes for the occasion, although black. I handed her a bulletproof vest. I had already requested a suit like Roland's for Onion, and little by little, everyone would have one. The thing was, it took two months to get them.
"Ma'am," they greeted her. Onion came in behind her, smiling, I imagine because of what was to come.
"It's better to handle an alias," I said.
"I hope they have more affectionate nicknames than Rat and Onion." The laughter of my second-in-command caught her attention. "Did I say something inappropriate?"
"Introduce yourself," I said.
The smiles of those present in the office were the prelude to the lady's very evident blush.
"You can call me Turd, and I'm always at your service, ma'am."
Her expression was priceless, going from blushing to red as she shook hands with the other member of the operation.
"I'm Butt-Scratch." This time the blush reached the roots of her hair.
"It's a joke, right?" We couldn't stop laughing. "They introduce themselves with such pride. I had heard of them before, but I thought they would tell me their real names."
"Not at all, ma'am Veronica."
"Simón," we all looked at her. "I can't call them that. Please, tell me your real names, or I'll make one up."
"Ma'am, there's nothing wrong with it. How would you change the nicknames?"
"It's a joke!"
At that moment, Inés arrived to give us each her blessing as was her routine.
"Butt-Scratch," she said to the dark-skinned, big-built man. "May God bless you." Veronica's mouth was monumental.
"I'm sorry, please. Your names, because I couldn't call you that way. Even changing the nickname wouldn't sound right."
"What do you mean?" The dark-skinned man approached her. "We know your way of speaking, which is very nice. How would you change my nickname?"
"Are you making fun of me?" She half-smiled and blushed again. "I couldn't call you butt-scratch either, and I don't like it. And as for yours, I know that concrete blocks on sidewalks are called turds, but among you, it's used pejoratively, so I can't imagine calling you the second option."
Turd was a blond man, very fair-skinned, with a European appearance, but he was more Colombian than a bandeja paisa. He was the youngest, and we all especially appreciated him, especially me, who loved him like a son. He loved martial arts, was athletic, and was the tallest of us all.
"I don't dare call you poop."
She said in a whisper, and the general laughter was magical. She turned red up to her ears, Inés looking at her with admiration, and somehow we surrendered to her tenderness. She was undoubtedly the perfect woman for Roland. Oh, old man, how you would be enjoying this moment with your wife.
"I'm Arnold," Turd said, shaking her hand again. "At your service, ma'am."
"Thank you."
"My name is Gustavo, thank you."
"You have beautiful names, don't hide them. I accept saying Onion sometimes because it's not so vulgar. Cherry and Crunch are also acceptable. What do you gain with such pejorative nicknames?" We shrugged, none of us gave an answer.
I returned to the present. We were entering the estate. Mojón and Rasca culo took care of clearing the path; we didn't want the lady to be traumatized while we killed. We saw ten bodies, and when we arrived, Rasca culo was injured.
"It's all good, just a stitch, and I'll be as good as new," he said.
The lady approached him, pulled out some first aid supplies from her bag, and pressed on his wound.
"This will help a bit; it's deep, Gustavo. As soon as you can, get a doctor to check it," she said.
"Thank you, ma'am."
It was clear she already had two more men in her pocket to take care of her. In some way, we were all devoted to her service, as if to show Roland how much we missed him. Arnold didn't show it, but his red eyes in the mornings revealed he cried alone over the absence of his mentor. Santiago was right; wherever the lady went, there would be people willing to risk their lives for her. In this squad of demons, an angel was beginning to give us a bit of light.
We reached the basement, where there were fifteen women, young girls, none older than twenty. They were beaten, chained with shackles. The lady did her job, calming them so they wouldn't scream; we didn't want to face the Contreras just yet. She had cloned the cameras before we arrived to leave no record of us. One by one, we freed them. There was a pregnant woman who was badly beaten.
"We think the baby died; she hasn't felt it since yesterday. The baby's father beat her very badly," the lady said, trying to hold back tears.
"Miguel, help her."
After I freed her leg from the shackle, Cebolla carried her, not without the young woman complaining. We got them out of the place, and on the main road, two trucks were waiting. Most of the girls went with Mojón and Rasca culo in one of the trucks.
"Gustavo, go straight to the doctor," the lady ordered. "Take care of them, Arnold."
The other truck was driven by Churrusco. We left with two girls and the pregnant woman, who couldn't have been more than twenty years old, with a huge belly and a face disfigured by the beatings. She needed to go to the clinic. I called Dr. Mendoza to inform him we were coming with a pregnant patient. We hoped she'd make it through the two-hour drive to Bogotá. But the girl's scream of agony alarmed us and caught the lady's attention. The girl had her head on Cebolla's lap, and the lady started attending to her. She screamed again; it was evident she had gone into labor. This seemed like a soap opera.
"This can't be happening. Simón, stop the truck!"
The lady, Verónica, ordered. I knocked on the cabin, and Churrusco pulled over. The tension was increasing with the young woman's screams.
"We're halfway," I said.
I didn't want a confrontation with any of the Contreras; it would be fatal for the situation. I told Churrusco to stay alert.
"The baby is coming!"
"Do you know how to deliver a baby?" As far as I knew, she wasn't a doctor.
"I'm a veterinarian; I can handle this. Call an ambulance. I'll do what I can until it arrives."
She took off her bulletproof vest and sweater, remaining in a black t-shirt. I did as she suggested and requested an exclusive ambulance. The screams returned. It was just us and two other girls, in the middle of the road at night.
"Well, I need help. Cebolla, be her support. Girls, look for blankets or anything we can use for this!" She pulled out gloves from her bag. "Simón, I need more light."
I took the flashlight, and Cebolla turned on his phone's light, illuminating the woman's legs. My friend also focused his light, providing better illumination.
"Jesus, it's coming!" I noticed a hint of joy in her voice.
"I don't have the strength," the young woman whispered.
Seeing her disfigured face moved me. The other two girls had pulled out the blankets we had brought to give them some warmth. We also had a more equipped first aid kit, not knowing what we would encounter. It felt like being in a movie. A few days ago, she was trying to take her life, and now she was helping bring one into the world. God, your ways are indeed incomprehensible.
"What's your name?"
"Diana Ramírez!" she screamed again.
"Well, Diana. Nice to meet you; I'm Verónica Vásquez."
She looked at the other girls and signaled them to place the blankets on the side.
"Miguel, Simón, help me get her on the blankets. Are there scissors, alcohol, water?"
"Yes, there's a bit of each," answered one of the girls, a beautiful brunette.
"Diana, hold Miguel's hand, grip it tight to push. I understand your state, but you're brave. You're very weak, and your body hurts, but think of your baby. Do you love your baby?"
"He isn't to blame for what happened to me, but I don't think..."
"You can do it, trust me. We'll make it, and this warrior or warrior will be born healthy and will be the one good thing from this bad moment. It's the light you will cling to, do you agree with me?" The young woman screamed again. "Push when you feel the contraction, do it for your baby."