34. Attila
34
ATTILA
C astillo’s maid Maria was made for this life. I guess being around a cartel boss for so many years has taught her a thing or two. When the RSVP’s for “The Auction Of The Century” start coming through, she collates the invitations into those attending and those who will not be. She alone controls this information. And she alone has the foresight to make a note of those not attending, who she turns around and adds to the ‘attending’ pile.
The majority of our men will be infiltrating the venue in the catering trucks as wait staff. A few of us will be walking in as invited guests, thanks to Maria. The fact that the party is a masquerade ball is the added bonus that has us lining up all our ducks in a neat row. This is by far the luckiest break we have had so far.
I’ve been fortunate enough over the years to remain off everyone’s radar. My name may be whispered in darkened hallways, and I am referred to at times as the Bogeyman. No one really knows if I actually exist, because I’m an enigma, and those few who have had the pleasure of dealing with me and lived to tell the tale have been tight lipped at best. This is the code by which Caleph and I have always lived — to keep a low profile and give people only what is absolutely necessary. This formula has served us well.
I tie my hair back in a short, low ponytail. It’s nothing to write home about, but it does wonders for my image as a man with too much money and nothing to do with it. I wear my tuxedo, my shoulders filling out the jacket like a footballer’s. This is the way I was built. I don my mask and take a look in the mirror. There’s enough mystery there that even someone who has intimate knowledge of my existence wouldn’t know who I am behind the mask and the disguise.
The drivers arrive and we travel toward the venue in two different cars. Dante and I will be arriving separately through the front door, ‘invited guests’ keen on bidding. Cesar will be with the wait staff. We’ve accounted for every possible scenario, but there’s no telling how this will go. Anything can happen and something probably will.
* * *
We’ve done extensive research on all the players at the ball. Thanks to Maria, the list of guests she provided us with was invaluable. I have to remember to reward her well once this is all over. Without her, there’s no way we would have gotten this far in the game.
For security’s sake, Dante and I arrive separately, within minutes of one another, giving our names at the door and gaining access easily. Too easily, I think, but Castillo is a desperate man. And unless someone betrays us, there’s no way he’d see us coming.
The ballroom is so crowded with people, it’s not hard to blend in and avoid scrutiny. I estimate about a hundred and twenty or so people in attendance, the majority of whom are men. A handful have brought along female partners. Sadistic couples who like to play.
To cement my presence and throw off any suspicion, I grab a drink from a passing waiter and press the glass to my lips, taking a sip. Then promptly find an out of the way plant and tip the contents into the pot. I don’t need to be drunk this evening.
I move through the faceless crowd seamlessly. Everyone wears a mask, making it hard to recognize anyone. Which is both a good thing and a bad. I identify Castillo across the room by body shape and the gait he has when he struts across the floor. He is flanked by men on either side. They all wear masks, but one of the men is looking directly at me. I turn my eyes away and merge with the partygoers until I appear on the other side of the room. I don’t need or want any unwanted attention tonight. That could shoot our whole plan to hell.
“Hors-d’oeuvre?”
I turn at the sound of a male voice. My eyebrows rise then just as quickly drop when I recognize Cesar ‘The Jekyll’ Cavalho standing in front of me. He’s seething at the uniform he’s been forced to wear tonight; black dress pants and a waistcoat without a shirt underneath, tonight’s uniform for the waiters. His head is covered by a short black wig, his face hidden behind a mask, but I’d know that scowl anywhere. His arms bulge with muscle as they hold a tray aloft.
I reach for a delicacy and he moves away, serving the party attendees. It’s been agreed that he should spend as much time as the night allows on the floor mingling amongst the guests. Observing every move, every action, paying attention to what’s going on in various corners of the room. We need to be ready if Castillo decides to make a move.
I cast my eyes across the room; I haven’t seen any sign of Luna yet. I’m starting to think someone must have gotten the details wrong when Castillo announces dinner and waiters lead the crowd through a hallway until we reach a huge room set up with about fifteen round tables, each large enough to seat ten or so people.
I find the table with my place card on it and take my seat, my eyes finding Dante sitting a few tables away. There is a makeshift stage at one end of the room, no less than a meter high, accessible by a set of stairs located off to one side. The waiters bring out our food as Castillo takes the stage, stands behind a microphone and informs us that dinner is served.
“And as a special surprise for you all tonight, our entertainment for the night will be brought to you by my very own daughter, Luna Castillo. The one and only listing on tonight’s auction agenda.”
Castillo calls out for the auctioneer as knives and forks tap delicately at dinner plates. I’m probably one of the only men in the room repulsed by what is about to happen. The auctioneer takes the stage, and there are low murmurs as Castillo exits the stage behind a curtain, then comes back dragging along a heavily made, shackled Luna.