The driver chats with E in Spanish, looking confused when I use English. My Spanish isn’t great, mostly based on the Latin from college and French I learned in High School, so I’m missing most of their words. I know how to ask for things like the bathroom, but the Cuban accent is different, and they’re talking fast. If he was telling the man he’s been kidnapped, the driver’s laughter would be very out of place.
Squeezing his thigh, E cuts off something about plantains and looks at me. I raise a brow to remind him of the plan. As far as he knows, I understand everything he says.
“Right,” E nods and turns back toward the front again. He speaks in rapid Spanish, “...dar un paseo por el barrio hasta el Castillo. ¿Puede dejar ahí delante y esperar?”
The only words I catch are for ‘neighborhood’ and ‘Castle,’ so it sounds right. The man meets my eyes in the mirror for me to confirm E’s request. “Sí, por favor y gracias.”
He pulls over on the corner of a well lit street with a compound taking up half the block. This looks like a neighborhood for millionaires and billionaires, so I don’t question the location. With anyone else, I would.
After tipping, E takes my hand and leads me around the corner. “I haven’t been here in over a year, and it was a couple years before that since I spent more than a few days here. Still, I know the neighborhood like the back of my hand.”
“Why so infrequently?” I ask as E drops my hand. I don’t like the separation and take his hand in mine again. “Do you not like it here?”
“I love it here,” E scoffs and squeezes my hand as we fall into step. “Which is why we rarely came. My dad has owned this place since before I was born, but he hated how I could talk to the employees without him understanding after years of shipping me here every summer.”
“So he’s owned it since before it was legal for Americans to come here? No wonder we had trouble finding the address.”
“Almost everything he owns is in the name of shell companies,” E explains as we round another corner. “This place has a high wall, a gatehouse, and twenty-four-seven security even when he’s not here. It was the perfect prison when I wasn’t at one boarding school or another.”
“How many security guards should we expect?”
“At least five, since it’s less at night. If my dad’s here, it will be a dozen or so.”
“Fuck.” We can’t handle a dozen. I only have my pocket knife on me, and the training I’ve done over the years. They likely have guns.
“If he’s here, then you can ask to see him. But there’s no breaking in.” E slows as we approach a property like the one he just described, so I assume we’re here.
“We’ll find a way.”
The pot-bellied man walking in front of the gate stops to look at us. He’s got one hand on the gun attached to his belt, and the other sweeps us with a flashlight before calling over his shoulder in Spanish, “¡El hijo del jefe!” which I understand enough to know they recognize E as their boss’ son.
A man in the gate house comes out to join him. Where I expect hostility, the younger man smiles and greets him in Spanish, calling him E like I do.
Putting an arm out to stop E from greeting the man whose arms are outstretched, I ask quietly, “You know him?”
“Yeah,” E nods and looks up at me as he suppresses a smile. “I used to sneak out and hook-up with his older brother, who was the former gate-house night guard.”
Bristling at the implication someone else got to have my pet, I realize I’m jealous. If I meet anyone who thinks they have a claim to him, I’m liable to kill them on sight.
“Does his brother still work here?”
Shaking his head vigorously, E grimaces. “Uh, no. He got transferred by my dad. And I didn’t get to be here without a personal guard picked by my father.”
“Okay,” I let out a breath and unclench my jaw. “Can his brother help us get in?”
“Hold on, let me ask Ignacio.” E turns back to the guards, approaching them with an innocent face. He gestures wildly, pointing at me and making them laugh. They shrug and nod, moving to the gate. “Alright, we’re in.”
“Just like that?” I’m suspicious of how easy this is.
“The guards saw me grow up. They were mostly kind to me despite my dad’s instructions, since I’m Cuban and Dad’s a dick,” he shrugs and I hear the sound of a latch unlocking.
We start towards the opening, following the brother while the bigger guy stays behind. He asks E some questions, and I think they’re about college. E’s answers are short as we walk up the brick driveway towards the castle-style mansion. I guess we’re seeing a castillo after all tonight.
The guy slows at the giant front door where another guard is waiting. The two of them get into a quiet argument and I worry I may need my knife.
“What’s going on?”
E looks at me with narrowed eyes, and I realize I’ve given away how little Spanish I know. “They’re arguing about letting us in. I don’t think they were told to keep me out at this house. The other guy is new to me, but says he’s fine with me being there, but not you. You’re a strange white guy and the bosswill kill them.”