Chapter Text
“Do you understand now how important this is to me, Ernesto.”
It wasn’t a question. Though Ernesto was not a man who made it his mission to understand the fathomless thoughts of his employer, he could tell when a question wasn’t meant for an answer. While he didn’t know the exact reaction he’d get if he did dare voice his thoughts, the idea of facing an adverse reaction from the man standing in front of him was too terrifying to consider. Not when he had such ready physical evidence as to what was possible.
The wind whipped sharply through the hollow, kicking up a sun-bright, summer snowstorm of pollen and dandelion seeds. Ernesto’s boss, Ragnar Havich, with his sharp gray suit and sharp gray eyes, cut a disconcerting shape into the lovely pastoral scene stretched before them.
No, not even the fresh blood of the other general contractor, leaking blood slowly onto the dandelions, was as unsettling to the beautiful panorama as the stark contrast of the tall, gray man standing before him.
“I do, sir,” he answered, never once casting his eyes downward to the body.
Don’t show fear. Even though, he smells it.
Ragnar turned to face him, vicious not-smile still stretched thin across his face.
“Good,” he clipped. “I hate having to hire new contractors.”
Ernesto let his eyes wander down towards the corpse of his former business partner. Havich snapped his fingers sharply to get his attention.
“If you can manage to keep your mouth shut throughout this project, you’ll be paid triple. I am serious. I need this done.”
Ernesto thought for a moment about how much money that would be, about the type of schools he could get his kids into, about the house he could finally build himself for his own family. Then he thought about the slick, “just joking” comments Wayne would make about him and any other contractor with a trace of an accent and skin browner than a paper bag.
He nodded.
“Do you, uh…” he stammered. “Do you want me to take care of that?”
Havich smiled at him, a bone-chilling, soul-searing smile, and shook his head sharply.
“No. Thank you,” the elder man added as an after thought, looking down strangely at the body. “I am a man who largely believes in cleaning up his own messes. Asides, he may turn out useless yet somehow. Waste not, want not.”
Never in his life had Ernesto been more and less curious about a single statement.
“If that’s all, sir—“ he started, pausing stock still as the other man raised his hand in pause.
“If anyone were to ask…” he insinuated.
“No one will, sir,” Ernesto replied, refusing to give the other man the dignity of more explanation. Havich, however, seemed pleased with his brevity.
“Very good, then. I shall see you tomorrow at 9 o’ clock sharp to discuss the additions to the foundation we discussed?” he asked, as if setting up a brunch.
The young contractor nodded solemnly, giving one last look to his old boss’s body before turning back to the truck.
When he was a child, his abuela would always talk about the subtlety of the devil; she would say that he would get you in his claws and you’d never know until it was too late.
Ernesto guessed that after a few thousand years, the devil got pretty damn tired of subtlety.
At least he could appreciate that about him.