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Pacho was hiding something, and Chepe was going to find out what it was. After all, someone around here had to look out for the hermanito. Yeah, yeah, Pachito could take care of his own shit. Chepe knew that. But he still felt responsible to make sure things were good here before he went back to the States. He was sure Pacho would do the same for him.
So he snooped. Real quiet-like. He had plenty of practice lurking around dark corners in New York, finding things people didn’t want him to find. Seeing things people didn’t want him to see.
He snuck around the east wing of Pacho’s favorite country estate and saw a light on in one of the guest suites. Ah. So maybe he wasn’t hiding something but someone.
That in and of itself was extremely suspect. Pacho had long since stopped hiding his lovers. If anything, he’d developed a penchant for flaunting them. Young, comely, willowy boys in swim trunks were always prancing around the pool grounds like fucking a 24-7 strip club in broad daylight.
So who was Pacho hiding?
And he was hiding him. Oh, he hadn’t flat-out denied that anyone was here. But when Chepe had suggested they go out, as they usually did when he came to town, Pacho had gracefully turned him down. At the same time, he’d turned on the charm, trying and failing to cover up the important fact that he wouldn’t take a fucking step off his property.
Which brought Chepe to the conclusion that something was keeping him here, hovering like a mother hen. And it turned out to be a someone. Well, one mystery solved. Eh, partially solved.
Of course Chepe had to know more. He couldn’t very well have Pachito’s back if he didn’t know his business. Any business of Pacho’s was business of Chepe’s. And Gil’s. And Miguel’s.
So he turned the handle of the guest suite door to find out who in the world Pacho thought he should hide from his dearest associate.
Under the warm glow of a bedside lamp, the man asleep in the spacious guest suite bed in a pair of shorts was good-looking enough, Chepe supposed. A little pale, a lot hairless, older than expected, and…hm, injured. His lower right leg was bandaged and propped up on pillows.
The man didn’t stir when Chepe approached. Probably dozing on pain-killers. Chepe hated those things, as they always made him drowsy and inattentive.
There was something about him that was vaguely familiar. He just couldn’t remember how. He racked his brain, looking for the connection. Was he from the North Valley cartel? Is that what this was? Some kind of star-crossed bullshit?
“Chepe!”
His name was hissed from the doorway.
It was Pacho, who was frantically waving him over.
Chepe remained where he was, leaning over the sleeping man’s bedside. He gestured to him questioningly and kept his voice to a whisper. “What gives, Pachito? Why are you hiding him?” He’d seen Pacho sleep with worse.
Pacho crossed his arms defensively and whispered back, “It was an accident, alright? There wasn’t a hospital close enough, so this is what had to be done. We’ll fix him up and get him back to his nannies before anybody knows.”
Chepe stroked his chin. Nannies, huh? Pacho seemed to think Chepe recognized the guy. He studied the man’s facial features a bit more. He recalled recent headlines, bounties, and so on.
The man’s identity hit him like a truck.
He grabbed Pacho by the lapels of his jacket and hissed, “This is a DEA agent!”
Pacho’s eyes flickered like a rabbit caught in the jaws of a coyote.
Chepe didn’t like the guilty expression one bit.
Pacho’s shoulders were slumped as Chepe led him out of the room, closing the door behind them. They went to another room, far enough away so that Chepe could yell at him.
“Was that a gunshot wound, Pacho?” he demanded. “If you kill a DEA agent, we’re fucked! Do you want to be hunted down like Félix Gallardo? Do you want all of your brothers hunted down, the surrender deal off the table?!”
“No! Of course not! I’m fixing it, sí?”
“Sí.” Chepe glowered at him.
“It wasn’t me that shot him.”
“But it was your men, wasn’t it?”
Pacho nodded tightly.
“You can’t keep him here,” Chepe insisted.
Pacho nodded again. Defeated. Deferental. Very, very unlike him. Chepe grew suspicious again.
“That’s not all, is it?” Chepe asked. He paced the room, connecting the dots as he thought about the agent sleeping peacefully in Pacho’s guestroom like he was at a five-star hotel in Acapulco. He certainly hadn’t looked held against his will—not that Chepe would judge if he were. Pacho knew he could count on Chepe for help with anything, problems big or small, even persuading DEA agents to stick their noses elsewhere. As problems go, a DEA problem was big enough to warrant putting a brother in the know. “Did you not tell me because you’re worried? Or,” he paused, checking Pacho’s face for a reaction, “because you’re not worried at all?”
“What do you mean?” Pacho asked, pouring them each a finger of brandy. He handed Chepe a glass.
Chepe sipped from it and studied Pacho over the crystal rim. He thought about the agent’s smooth, bared skin and fine-featured face. “Are you fucking him?”
Pacho squinted into his glass. But Chepe didn’t miss the slight smugness tugging at the corners of his eyes and mouth.
“So he’s not a threat?”
“Oh, he’s a threat,” Pacho demurred. “But I’m handling it.”
Chepe knocked back the rest of his drink and scratched his chin. “Ay, Pachito, you give me headaches—headaches, man! Why do you do these things? Getting bored? Take a holiday. Go to war against someone. But don’t go fucking around with gringo agents!”
Pacho just pushed a hand through his hair, leaning against a chair but not sitting in it.
Chepe groaned. “Siempre te gustó el peligro, hermanito.” His grumble turned into a weak chuckle, which Pacho echoed. “Was the shooting an accident en la cama?” He laughed aloud.
Pacho sat down and shook his head, laughing as well. Then he looked up at Chepe with more seriousness. “I’m sorry, brother. I should have warned you.”
Chepe reached out and clapped him on the back. Shook his shoulder. “Forgiven, forgiven, always, Pachito.”
“Thank you, Chepe. I knew I could count on you to…keep this between us.”
Chepe pursed his lips. He ought to tell Gil.
Pacho put down his drink. “Es una situación…muy temporal.” He held his palms a short distance apart.
His glassy brown eyes seemed sincere. Chepe gave a clipped nod. Let him burn it out of his system, whatever it was. Maybe he just wanted to fuck the system in a different way than Gil did. Ha. And then if it didn’t sort itself out, Chepe would help him sort it out. “I’ve got your back, Pachito.”
And that was that. Or so Chepe thought as they shared a final nightcap and parted ways. But Chepe still had questions he wanted answered. He didn’t think he only recognized the agent from his bounty picture, but it’d help to get a good look at him awake and eyes open.
Chepe’s memory brought him back to Gil’s surrender announcement party. After the four of them had clinked their glasses to start off the night, Pacho had reappeared in the crowd with a man on his arm, the two of them sipping champagne and mingling. Ah, that’s right, it hadn’t been just any man but a DEA agent. Pacho had been particularly smug about it at the time. It had been quite the provocative stunt, Pacho parading around someone entirely inappropriate for the occasion—or was that entirely appropriate, given that Gil was announcing their government-backed surrender deal?
The party was months ago. Could the agent in Pacho’s bed now be the same one? How long had this been going on then?
Chepe’s feet turned around on autopilot.
The party hadn’t been Pacho’s first brush with the DEA. Was this Pacho’s Los Pepes contact, in the flesh? If so, this relationship had gone on far longer than Chepe had initially supposed. And that, unlike the thought of this just being a misbegotten, short-term amusement, gave him pause.
He walked back down the hall and slowly turned the handle to the guest room, peeking through the door.
Pacho was sitting on the bed. The two men were talking. Chepe could only hear low murmurs of conversation sprinkled with soft chuckles. He observed Pacho’s body language, the way he leaned in towards the reclined man in the bed. Pacho reached out to brush his fingers across the agent’s face, almost unconsciously, like couldn’t help but touch him, before dropping again, fingers twisting the bedsheets.
Hijueputa. Pacho likes the gringo.
Chepe had been planning to tease him about the risks of keeping a DEA agent like a pet, because they were rabid and tended to bite the hand holding the leash. But it didn’t look like Pacho was holding a leash. This was something else.
What a fucking mess.
He’d have to talk to this guy. Size him up.
So he waited. And waited.
Finally, at some point late at night, Chepe found Pacho asleep in his own room. Chepe went to the guest suite.
He opened the door. The lights were off now, casting the room in total darkness. He walked across the room without muting his steps, intending to turn on the bedside lamp instead of the overhead light and wake the guy up. His hand was on the lamp’s switch when he heard a gun cock.
Dios míos. Absolutamente rabioso.
“Tranquilo, gringo. I’m just your room service. We’re gentlemen, right? I’m turning on this lamp.” He turned the lamp on and saw the agent had gone to the floor, ducking behind the other side of the bed. Over the edge of the mattress, Chepe could just make out his eyes and the gun pointing his way.
You let him keep a gun, Pacho? Really?
Chepe put up his hands and complained, “Hey, you’re going to mess up your leg, eh? I’m just here to talk.”
The agent stood up awkwardly, favoring his injured leg.
Chepe gestured for him to sit back down.
After a short standoff, the agent relented, lowering himself and the gun to the mattress. “Señor Chepe.”
“Señor, he says! So polite! Remind me your name again? Or does everyone just call you the ‘Los Pepes hombre.’”
The man grimaced. “Peña.”
“Sí, Agent Peña. Well, Agent Peña, forgive the late hour, but I just wanted to meet Pachito’s latest fling. That’s all this is, right? Yes, yes, you’re injured and recovering, but I know it all now.” He let the tone of his voice get darker. “A thrilling saga of sleeping with the enemy, hm? Who doesn’t love a good affair full of secrets? The danger of it. Anyone can appreciate the allure. The excitement! Who will shoot whom first? Who will be the first to betray? The first to smother the other with a pillow?”
“What’s your point?” Peña asked flatly.
Chepe folded his hands in front of him. “My point, Agent, is that I can come up with many reasons why you’d be interested in warming his bed.” He sees Peña frown at this. “But I want to know which ones are true.”
“Are you asking me what I see in him? Nice eyes. Great dick. Is that all?”
Chepe laughed, then cleared his throat. “¿Y tus intenciones?”
“My intentions?”
“You two have been en comunicación for a while now. I remember you from the party. I know you were his contact in the pursuit for that malparido Escobar. And you’re the agent assigned to, ah, supervising our surrender deal, no? So, tell me, what is this? Is it some West Side Story bullshit? Don’t give me that look, gringo, I live in New York. You think I haven’t been to Broadway? Just don’t forget how the show ends, hm?”
Peña blinked and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Are you trying to give me the shovel talk for an untouchable, six-foot cartel kingpin who’s got better aim with a .45 than anyone in the agency?”
“Yes.”
Peña looked surprised, opening and closing his jaw. “Alright then. Duly noted.”
“Bien.”
“Great talk. Now get the fuck out.”
Chepe grinned. “After you get yourself tucked back in. Can’t have you dying on our watch.”
“I got shot in the foot. I’m not dying.” His eyes flicked up to Chepe’s, expression wry. “Unless you’re offering to change that? You sure seem interested.”
“Shooting you does sound very tempting. Don't imagine there aren't other ways I could make you suffer that would be much worse. But no. You’re just going to have to suck it up and suffer Pacho’s luxurious, full-service accommodations a while longer.”
“Get out. Seriously.”
Chepe left, and he didn’t feel any better about the situation than he did an hour ago. Pacho wasn’t just fucking any policeman. This was the DEA Agent assigned to their case. Did that make it better or worse? If Peña was just smoothing out the surrender deal, Chepe supposed it wasn’t so bad. But what if he went rogue and actually tried to stop it? Sleeping with Pacho certainly gave him an edge.
Worse, they weren’t just fucking.
Oh, maybe they thought that’s all it was. But while Chepe didn’t know Peña, he knew Pacho. He knew how Pacho was when he was infatuated. The signs were all there.
Pacho was loyal. Chepe knew he wouldn’t betray him, Gil, or Miguel for anything—not even for this cabrón with the soft eyes. But that didn’t put Chepe’s mind at ease. He didn’t know how Peña felt. Hopefully he felt something.
If not, Pachito was going to need his family at his back more than ever when shit hit the fan.
And Chepe would be there for him. He always would.