Ep1

The ***** was beautiful. Then again, Este usually did have good taste in women, if not in fashion. I watched as she walked uneasily down the cobblestone driveway, heading toward the guards at the gate, heading toward freedom. She reminded me of a spindly-legged fawn, her high heels a poor match for the uneven ground, and for one brief moment I felt sorry for her. Pity, even. Such a pretty thing selling her body for riches that never came. She only got money, but that was never what the ***** really wanted. What she really wanted, she would never, ever get.

She was better off dead. And at that thought, the twinge of pity was gone.

I watched as she approached the gate. Though the two guards were facing forward, their eyes hidden by sunglasses, I could tell they were exchanging a look, wondering who was going to kill her first. Orders were orders.

They didn't need to debate for long. A shot rang out, a bullet to the back of her head, and the ***** fell to the ground slowly, as if she had just grown too tired to stand. Blood began to flow from her head.

I craned my neck, mildly curious to see who had done it. I couldn't see anyone but the guards, which meant it had to have been Franco. It had turned into a hobby for him lately, as if he discovered he had a taste for being a sniper, but it was better the whores than anyone else at the compound.

Somewhere I knew my gardener, Carlos, was cursing himself. Franco never disposed of the bodies, and it would be Carlos's job once again to do something with her, wash away the red mess from the hot stones. Naturally, he would never complain to me, or someone else would have to clean up his own blood.

There was a knock at the door behind me. I kept my hands behind my back, my eyes glued to the blood that was pouring out of her head, a hypnotic, moving painting.

"Come in," I said. I didn't have to turn around to know it was Este. "What was the *****'s name?" I asked, still staring at the growing crimson pond.

The door clicked softly and I felt him step into the room. “Laura,” he said. "She could **** like no one's business, hey. You should have tried her. You know I don't mind sharing."

I ignored him. "Don't you thinkit's a bit, oh, I don't know ... crude, to have the whores leave this way?" I asked him. "Wouldn't it be better to kill them in bed?"

I heard him snort. "No, that

would be crude. We might as well

let them have that bit of hope that

they'll make it out alive, don't you

think? Besides, this is more

sporting. It's hunting. Hunting is

elegant."

I nodded. I supposed he was right. It wasn't very sporting otherwise. I watched as Carlos came scurrying toward the body and started to drag Laura away. I never asked what he did with the bodies, but as long as I never saw them again, it didn't really matter. Out of sight, out of mind.

I turned around and eyed Este. “I suppose in a perfect world, we wouldn't have to kill them at all."

He smirked and leaned on my desk. "Well, look at you getting all soft."

I raised my brow. "It's just a shame that you can't buy silence anymore."

He shrugged. "One ***** talks and then you get fuckers at your door. We all need to get laid, well at least I do." A wry look came across his face at that. "There really is no other solution."

"I suppose not," I said, and sat down at my desk. I adjusted my watch and stared up at him expectantly. "So, why are you here? Showing off your terrible taste in cardboard?"

shoes? Are those made of

He peered down at his feet. As usual the man looked like he'd rolled out of the California surf with his T-shirt, board shorts, and terrible Birkenstocks. Not the image the cartel had at all, but there was no talking style into him. Believe me, I had tried.

See you guys see you in next episode....

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