Señor frogs puerto rico: Come For The Food Stay For The Fun

Posted by alexxlab
May 26, 2023
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Come For The Food Stay For The Fun

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They haven’t spoken to Michael for five days now. Several times she saw him passing under her windows, but during all this time he never looked at them and did not come to her. Tilly reported to her that he was constantly going somewhere and did not even always dine at the hotel. But despite this, Beth preferred to have breakfast, lunch and dinner in her room, so as not to run into him in the dining room of the hotel. He dined quite early tonight at the hotel or somewhere else—this Beth didn’t know. Now he was sitting under a palm tree and smoking a cigar.

He looked thoughtful and rather sad. She watched him for a long time, trying to guess the reason for his mood and develop some kind of tactics in relation to him and a line of behavior. Beth had been wondering all the time how she should deal with him ever since that Saturday fight. Of course, she could be both gentle and soft and not pester him with questions, in a word, play the female role prescribed by the rules, customs and etiquette, to which she was accustomed. She could well approach him now, apologize and say that she was wrong, beg for his forgiveness. And Beth knew he would forgive her. Michael could be very tough, adamant, but not with her, that almost never happened. It wouldn’t have been different tonight. She already knew this man well enough to divine or simply feel his mood. If she came up to him, he would hug her, they would quietly sneak into his room, and they would love each other. And after that, everything remained as before. This problem faced her with all inevitability, with all cruelty, when she called for help not her emotions, but logic.

In the nearly three weeks since she arrived on the island of Puerto Rico and threw herself on his neck, Michael had made vague allusions more than once. No, these were not even hints, rather, he kept something back, kept silent, but this silence spoke to her more than words. Not once did he talk about the future. And he did not talk about it because in the future, for Beth, there was no place foreseen.

Beth naively thought that Michael would be overjoyed when she broke up with Tim and declared her readiness to stay with him for life. Had he not repeated to her endlessly that he adored her, that he could not imagine his life without her, how passionately he longed for her to belong to him alone? Yes, I did. But it was then, in their other life, there, in London, during their secret meetings, this mystery drove him crazy. She understood this only now, in hindsight, how everything had changed when it came to the fact that he would have to leave for a long time on business. And for all the time that she was here, next to him, he did not say a word about the future.

Now that she had finally taken the trouble to look carefully at the current situation, it became absolutely clear to her that Michael did not want her as a permanent phenomenon. Whatever he was doing here, whatever his plans were, there was no place for Beth in them? Why – she could not find an answer to this question, no matter how much she fought over it. But he did love her, and she had no doubt that he loved her. But…

What was he thinking now? Maybe about her? About how to invent a way to get rid of her? How to free yourself from the burden of her presence here? Perhaps, but not necessarily. Beth was sure she wasn’t the center of his attention here. He was in Puerto Rico because the island was part of an elaborate and elaborate scheme unknown to her. Starting from that sad Saturday, Beth began to summarize all the facts known to her. Michael Mendoza Curren was in Puerto Rico because he wanted to dominate Cordova. This place was an intermediate step from which he had to start on the way of his ascent to Spain. Michael set out to win back what he was deprived of by the will of his father, and this he did not wish, but at the behest of his mother, Lila Karren.

Beth sighed as she read the short text of the telegram. Poor Timothy. She sympathized with him from the bottom of her heart, quite sincerely. He loved her in his own way, and once, a thousand years ago, it seemed to her that she loved him too. Until the time when Beth met Michael and only then realized what love means. She thought that Timothy, now that she was gone, would be able to meet the one who would be to him what Michael was to her. But now…

Beth looked again at the initials with which the telegram was signed – L.C. could only mean Leela Karren, the Black Widow. Leela Karren was the only person who could have known that she was there, because she also knew the whereabouts of her Michael. Beth herself made no secret of the fact that she was going to go here to Michael. She clarified this to Timothy in her letter, which she left for him before leaving. As much as she sympathized and sympathized with Tim now, she had to be true to her original intentions, and she knew what to do now. For all her intelligence, Lila still underestimated her. It probably seemed to her that Beth, having barely read the telegram to the end, would immediately rush to her former husband, obeying her supposedly hidden desires to return to him. No, she was wrong. This is her Michael…

In front of the house, they saw a lot of chickens. The road, which had turned into a narrow path, turned to the right, towards some acacias growing nearby. As they approached the trees, they found themselves surrounded by ten hens sitting on perches. At the sight of people, they raised a terrible uproar, flapped their wings and began to fly. Obadiah and Samson began screaming and shrugging them off in fear.

This huge woman was completely naked, except for a very revealing loincloth, barely covered with some feathers. Her long, drawn-out breasts dangled almost to her knees, and each nipple was circled in blue paint. She stood in the middle of the shed by the fire. One of the men grabbed a struggling frog, tore off its head with his teeth, and handed it to Assunta. She let out an enthusiastic cry and, throwing back her head, opened her mouth and sent it down her throat.

A sudden cry cut through the darkness. He echoed. At first, it seemed to Michael that he was coming from within, but then Samson brought him out of his state of stupor, desperately pounding his fists on his back and calling for attention. Michael turned around and saw a zombie approaching him. The zombie swayed on the move – the rhythm of the drums could be seen still continued to sit in it. Every few seconds he would stop and let out a heartbreaking scream, a piercing shriek. Someone opened the barn door and the reddish reflection of the fire illuminated the path along which the zombie was heading towards the barn.

Assunta, standing at the open barn door, was waiting for his approach. When he approached, she took his hand and led him to the middle. Others stood around, clapping their hands, they formed a round dance around this couple with Assunta and zombies in the center. Then, when this round dance broke up, Michael saw Nurya. She lay in this frog mess at Assunta’s feet, naked and, as it seemed to him, unconscious. Michael took a step towards the open door, waiting for the right moment to rush inside. His fists clenched and unclenched, he stood on tiptoe, tried to plug his ears so as not to hear this endless drum roll, from which his mind began to cloud; he tried to resist this, feverishly thinking about what to do, trying to work out some kind of plan of action.

It will be difficult to get through, almost impossible – there were about a dozen men there, besides this monster. It is unlikely that the zombie will yield to Michael in strength. Therefore, his main weapons should be speed and surprise. Burst in there like lightning, grab Nurya in an armful and go! You need to act so quickly that they do not come to their senses and do not realize what happened. And then it will be too late. And pray that you don’t slip and slouch while stretched out on this disgusting slime.

Michael pushed those thoughts aside and moved forward, realizing that now was the time to act. There could not have been another moment like this. He could see Nurya now—getting to her was relatively easy. She was still unconscious on that terrible carpet of dead and living frog bodies at Assunta’s feet. But now there was a zombie nearby. He raised his dagger-wielding hand above his head and prepared to strike.

Finally, Emilio broke the silence and offered to tell about himself, about his former life.
He lives in the province of Pinar del Río, on the very edge of Cuban land, where the shore plunges steeply into the ocean. Here the landscape is different than in central Cuba.
Palm trees are disappearing. Behind them are the cliffs of distant foothills hanging over the horizon. The best grades of Cuban tobacco are grown here. The barbed wire fencing the pasture is gone. Instead of wire, there are high poles, on which white panels are stretched for many hundreds of meters.
This is a protection of tobacco plantations from hot winds and the sun. There are so many of them that it seems that the whole area around is floating somewhere, the poles creak, the white fabric rinses in the wind. And the shelter of this violent dispersal suddenly becomes a forehead hillock with multi-colored roofs of houses, with ruby beads of bright colors at each house, and a little further away rises the only giant of these places – a laurel tree – a bizarre interweaving of powerful roots, giving life to a three-meter trunk in girth. The colors of nature here are successfully introduced by others created by man: blue, white, pink, cream walls of one-story and two-story cottages. This is a settlement for peasants and workers of the local economy. ..
Emilio’s story is interrupted. There is a clang of keys in the keyhole.
The jailer appears at the door. He stops in the doorway and stares indifferently, then turns his head back and looks down the corridor: he is waiting for someone. Footsteps are heard approaching the camera. The jailer steps aside. A man appears at the door.
Children’s joyful exclamations:
– Captain?! It is you?!
– Yes, it’s me! – The captain rushes to the guys. – How are you feeling? Is everyone here?
– All! Juanelo answers.
– I came to tell you the good news: we are free! The Yankees played the comedy of the court, took a fine from the captains of the ships. Penalty for nothing: they want to somehow justify themselves, to put a good face on a bad game. They let us go!
Leaving the prison, the guys involuntarily looked around. The jailer accompanied them to the iron gates.
Two hours after they were released, they were back on the Lambda. No one turned and waved goodbye to the inhospitable shore. Everyone had one desire: rather to the sea, rather home!
The shore began to slowly move away from the stern, farther and farther. Here is the open sea. On “Lambda” is tidy. The captain comes on deck. An excited Armando runs up to him.
– Captain, all things are gone!
– And the radio was ruined, – the captain adds, – but we got freedom.
… The captain announces another good news: the radio has been restored.
… Soon Havana. Where is she? When will her skyscrapers appear? When will they, faceless in the distance, as if frozen in the midst of a boundless ocean, suddenly begin to grow before our eyes and the whole city will appear, like in a fairy tale?
Manolo saw Havana first.
– Look! Look! he shouts. – Havana!
An agonizing forty minutes pass while the ship approaches the city, passes through the narrow strait past the fortress of Morro to the port water area and approaches the pier filled with welcomers.
MEETING IN THE NIGHT
HURRICANE
Manolo didn’t stay in Havana. He was sent to safra – harvesting sugar cane in a farm located near the city of Bayamo in Cuba’s eastern province of Oriente. Here he befriended a girl named Paula.
There was a lot of work. It was necessary to organize the repair of agricultural machines, to create a repair base. For spare parts had to go to the city of Holguin.
One day Manolo and Paula were returning from Holguin to Bayamo at night. Friends preferred night riding: there was no such scorching and humid heat as during the day. Holguin – Bayamo is not a long journey. Usually by two or three in the morning they were in place and, having slept for a couple of hours, they again set to work.
This time their journey is more difficult. In the hustle and bustle of business, they forgot about the hurricane, about the approach of which they were warned in Holguin. Soon the hurricane reminded them of itself.
Long before the bridge over the Cauto River, the rain covered the windshield of the cab of the truck with a dense veil, fountains of water flowed from under its wheels.
Manolo, who was driving, noticed that in some places the road was covered with water for half a meter or more. Soon they stopped the car: the headlights snatched a cliff out of the darkness. The downpour continued. The wind swirled wildly around. The guys had no radio, and they could not know that they were almost in the center of the hurricane. But despite all this, Manolo carefully crossed the dangerous section of the road and told Paula that they would stop at the village of Ojo de Agua. There was a spring here, and the water in it was tasty and extremely cold, and it is difficult to find tasty drinking water in Cuba. Manolo knew this. He knew where they got the water. Ojo de Agua – eye of water, i.e. fontanel.
Already near the village of Ojo de Agua, on the road flooded with streams of water, the silhouette of a man with a raised hand flashed. Manolo braked, Paula opened the door with difficulty. The wind threw streams of water into the cabin. Jumping straight into the water, Manolo walked off into the darkness. A minute later, he opened the door again and helped the sodden, frightened woman into the car. However, Manolo got wet to the skin.
The woman was pregnant. She could barely stay in the seat and could hardly catch her breath. It was evident that the last few hours had been difficult for her.
“You should talk to her, Paula,” Manolo said after wiping his face.
But the woman, even without questioning, having calmed down a bit, pointed to the left window and repeated several times:
– There are children, my children …
Manolo jumped out of the car again, but immediately returned and turned the truck so that the headlights illuminate the left side of the road . A dark stream of water rushed along it with great force, and then whirlpools were only guessed and the wall of the house turned white.
– There are children! – the woman repeated, pointing to this whitish spot, and, seeing that Manolo was going to go down into the water, she shouted: – Be careful, wire!
Manolo did not immediately understand the meaning of the warning. Only when his chest bumped into some kind of obstacle and felt a sharp pain did he remember that almost along the entire central road in Cuba, pastures were fenced with barbed wire. At that moment, he was torn by a stream and dragged along the wire.
After waiting for a gust of furious wind, Manolo began to slowly, by touch, look for a passage, but fell into some kind of hole. Dirty water got into the nose and mouth. He was sick. After wandering a little more along the stream, he felt for a slope that went up. On this slope, almost crawling, panting and spitting, Manolo made his way to the house. There was no need to look for the door – it was washed away. Clinging to the doorpost and each other, two girls stood knee-deep in water and trembled with fear. Seeing Manolo, they rushed to him. He picked them up in his arms, but in the first moments he lost his bearings.
By chance, already standing up to his chest in the water, Manolo found himself in the passage. But then the whirlpool swirled him again. Paula arrived at that moment. Together they dragged the children to the car…
However, after this adventure that ended happily that night, the friends did not have to rest. They did not suspect that they would end their journey on the finca (estate) of Senor Gutierrez.
… Before this hurricane night came, Señor Gutierrez, who lived on Cespedes Street in Bayamo, woke up early in the morning, but did not lie down: there were many things to do.
Going to spend the night at his country estate, Senor Gutierez saw that his old friend Jorge drove up to the mansion quite inopportunely in his Oldsmobile. Obviously, he had good reasons for the untimely visit.
Jorge was abandoned by the heirs who fled under the wing of the Americans in Miami. The calculation was simple: the old man would not be touched, but he would somehow “yet” look after the good.
The senor brought big news. Hurriedly crossing the threshold of the living room, he excitedly, but lowering his voice to a whisper, spoke:0189 – You must have seen it yourself. ..
Señor Gutierrez raised his eyes and looked attentively at his guest.
– They’re running! The Milicianos are fleeing inland! Get on the trucks!
– So what?
– Landing, landing today! Well, finally!
Leaning closer, Jorge recounted the details of his observations. In response to everything said, Senor Gutierez, comparing only the facts known to him, uttered one phrase:
– Maybe …
After a little while, he left for the estate, and Senor Jorge drove through the streets of the city, modestly demonstrating his old age and resignation to fate.
In the evening of the same day, as soon as darkness fell, near the coast of Cuba, in the agreed place, not deep under water, the submarine froze for a few moments.
From a special hatch, carefully and gently spreading his arms, slipped out a man in a scuba diver’s equipment. Behind him, he pulled out a swimming apparatus that looked like a large frog. Slamming the hatch and turning on the “frog” motor, the scuba diver, grabbing the handles of the rudders, pushed it in front of him. A few minutes later, the “frog” carried him away from the boat, towards the Cuban coast.
It was an ordinary, well-practiced operation to drop an agent on the Cuban coast. The agent was already familiar to us Kosoy.
By this time Senor Gutierrez was finishing his business in Finca. He turned on the refrigerator in advance, spoke with the servants, the local peasants who worked on his sugar plantation, and let the Negro cook go home. The seigneur left the door in the courtyard unlocked and, taking the newspapers, sat down under the awning.
He was in a slightly depressed mood. Maybe it was the change in the weather. The air was stuffy and humid. It was hard to breathe. The overhanging clouds seemed to be about to descend to the ground and crush all living things. Several times already, the National Observatory has warned the public about a hurricane approaching from the Caribbean Sea.
Previously, one sight of the estate, already noticeable from the turn of the central highway, always put the seigneur in a good mood. Finca “Esmeralda” “Emerald”, was well known far around for the wealth of the owner, elegant layout and fertility of the land. Brighter than the tropical nature of these places, flowering ornamental shrubs adjoined to the right a huge pasture for cattle, whose pens were lost far beyond the horizon. On the other side were the green squares of sugarcane plantations. A narrow, dusty strip of red earth curled among them – a field road, poorly maintained and broken by carriages – bullock teams. It was crossed by an asphalt-covered offshoot from the central highway leading to the estate. The black ribbon of asphalt was guarded on both sides by slender royal palm trees, planted by the grandfather of the current owner of Esmeralda.
All this splendor of the old, still living world was dominated by the far visible white pipes of the sugar central – a large plant where cane was processed and raw sugar was obtained.
Señor Gutierrez did not stop his measured swaying even when the first large stars lit up in the sky. Only newspapers in a white rustling armful slipped from his knees and scattered at his feet. He rocked, the rocking chair creaking evenly until a slight cough could be heard from the inner rooms.
The long-awaited guest came through the back door and cautiously called the host. In case of danger, he had to stay in place. But everything was in order, and the host rose to meet the guest.
The light in the windows of the finca did not burn for long. The guest needed rest. But those who slept soundly, although not quite calmly, were awakened in the dead of night by an insistent knock on the door. When the owner opened the door, two people were standing on the threshold. Señor Gutierrez recognized one of them at once. It was a neighbor, miliciano Manuel Picans. The other was not even guessed – a shadow from a palm tree fell on him.
For a moment some premonition made him hold his hand on the lock of the door, but he could no longer close the door. Together with Pikans, the second one also entered. It turned out to be a young fighter of the revolutionary forces, armed with a machine gun.
Such visits were not uncommon, and Señor Gutierrez was not afraid of them, or almost not.
Pikans did not know everything at that moment. And yet he was worried. From the instruction he received, Pikans remembered well that one had to be polite, not to allow violence, of course, unless something unforeseen happened. However, everything that needed to be done was written in the instructions. It was the militiano who handed it to Señor Gutierrez, after saying “Good night” and politely inquiring how things were going.
The content of the document did not immediately reach the owner of the finca. Glancing briefly at him, he invited Pykans and his companion to sit down. Picans emphatically refused.
“We’d better start right away, senor,” he said. – It’s exactly two in the morning.
– What shall we start? – did not understand the owner.
– That’s it, Senor Gutierrez, read the paper.
The owner moved closer to the light. The paper spoke about the decision of the government to carry out a second agrarian reform and nationalize all the land left by the landowners.
Señor Gutierrez sat down, once again carefully re-read the paper, and only now did he fully realize that a misfortune had come that he, at least today, did not expect.
“We must examine and rewrite everything,” came the voice of the miliciano to him. – The nationalization of land is carried out at two o’clock in the morning throughout the country, and nothing should prevent this.
“So that’s why all the militia went out of town!” – remembered the owner of the estate.
At that moment, Scythe came out of the bedroom. The position of the “cousin” of the owner of the house and forged documents guaranteed him safety. But now he only needed one look at Gutierrez’s bewildered face to understand that this time it would not be easy to extricate himself.
– Who is this? – the fighter asked, raising the machine gun.
Instead of glibly presenting the “cousin” version, the owner stuttered. His silence was long, long enough for the fighter to make Diagonal raise his hands, and Pikans pulled a pistol from his “cousin’s” pocket. The spy was tied up, seated on an ottoman in the corner of the living room, and they began to inspect and inventory the property. We had to hurry to get everything done by morning. Leading a spy into the city now was useless, everyone was busy carrying out land reform.
During the inspection, the Finns militiano found a warehouse of weapons: machine guns, pistols, cartridges, knives, as well as a portable radio transmitter. The warehouse had been patched up very carelessly. It was not only easy to spot, but also easy to understand that it had recently been used.
While they were busy, they did not notice how the wind whistled in the yard, then a tropical downpour began. Contrary to custom, it did not stop even after an hour. The wind picked up. The roof cracked, small things, debris, tree branches flew from the yard. The element raged.
The finca of Senor Gutierez stood on a high hill, and its inhabitants were not in serious danger. Only Pikans was worried. He got up and went to the window. And when the miliciano turned, everyone saw his worried and upset face.
Oblique, realizing something, began to stare at the owner of the house. Finally, he looked up at him. With a slanting glance, he pointed to the miliciano.
In such circumstances, thought worked quickly. Señor Gutierrez moved closer to Picans, genuine concern sounded in his voice:
– What happened?
Pikans shivered as if from cold, although the room was damp and stuffy: he was clearly uneasy.
– You know, senor, I have a house, a family there, in the lowlands.
Oblique and the owner looked at each other again. But Gutierrez was in no hurry. This was their last chance.
Turn on the radio. In an excited voice, the announcer reported: the Cauto River overflowed its banks, the number of flooding sites is growing catastrophically.
Everyone turned towards Pykans.
Senor Gutierrez was waiting. He wanted a young fighter to unwittingly become an assistant in the implementation of his plan. The silence was becoming unbearable. And the fighter was the first to break it:
– Listen, friend, go get your family, I can handle it alone.
In response, he heard a hoarse sigh:
– Don’t…
Senor Gutierrez’s finca shook from the powerful blows of the hurricane. Oblique was locked up in nevera, a small isolated but solid room where ice was kept before buying a refrigerator.
Manuel Picans listened to every sound outside, as if trying to hear something comforting for himself. Señor Gutierrez several times tried to convince him to leave everything and run to save his family. Already when the property was rewritten, there was a knock on the door of the house for the second time that night. The knock was hasty and barely audible over the roar of the wind.
Pikans and the fighter after all the events seemed to be ready for all sorts of surprises. Opening the door, they aimed their machine gun and pistol at its dark opening. In the opening, illuminated by the flickering light of a candle, a teenager appeared in a tattered checkered shirt, his face covered in bleeding abrasions and scratches. Water flowed from it in streams.
It was Manolo. He said:
– Here, shelter for now! – And he made a sign to Paula, who held the hands of the children. He led them into the house and made way for the woman. She stopped in the middle of the room, frantically trying to pick up her skirt so that it would not leak onto the floor. Picans, who first saw her, rushed to her.
– Maria Elena!
From the words of the woman, Manolo understood whom she had met: Pikans was her husband.
The woman was talking, crying, stroking the children at the same time.
Manuel Picans stepped towards Manolo.
Manolo felt the miliciano’s strong embrace.
– Okay, then. Need to hurry! – said Manolo, patted Pikans on the shoulder in a friendly way, patted the children affectionately and, smiling at the woman, turned to Paula.
– What shall we do now?
At this time, a fighter brought Kosoy out of unbelief. Meeting his gaze, Manolo was taken aback for a moment:
– It’s him! It’s Kosoy! he screamed out. Oblique recoiled as if struck by lightning. The fighter held him tightly.
– It was he who interrogated us in Miami!
ON THE RAFT AGAIN
At this time, the raft, on which Joaquin and his sister were, continued to sail through the Gulf of Mexico.
Joaquin, after reassuring his sister, hid the gun in the doll and gave it to his sister, while he himself went to look into the tent.
For a long time he stood in front of the canopy of the tent, not daring to go inside.
“Perhaps they are still alive,” he heard his sister’s voice, and then stuck his head in, throwing back the flap of the tent wider so that the light could penetrate there.
In the tent, all things were scattered and in a big mess. Parents were lying on their backs, blood was still oozing from the wounds. His eyes glazed over and froze, as if fixing their last gaze on the ceiling.
Joaquin in an instant saw the whiteness of the faces, the immobility and unnatural position of the arms and legs of the dead. He recoiled out of the tent opening, looked at his sister, who looked inside with wide eyes. Joaquin sat on the deck of the raft and burst into tears. At the same time, the thought flashed through his mind: “But they wanted to kill my sister too,” – he did not think about himself.
The raft continued to float, and the children sat on it immensely lonely and unhappy.
It was already beginning to get dark when the sister moved over to Joaquin and, embracing him by the shoulders, clung to him.
– What are we going to do, Joaquin?
– I don’t know, – Joaquin shook his head and looked around. He shuddered in surprise: a small ship was heading straight for their raft. He pointed it out to his sister.
– They will save us!
People stood on the deck of the ship and waved their hands at them.
Soon the raft was next to the ship. It came close at a very low speed and two people jumped onto the raft.
It seemed to the guys that salvation had come. But they did not know and could not know that the owner of the ship was a famous drug smuggler, a drug lord nicknamed Tiburon – Shark. Now he was just trying to deliver a significant consignment of drugs to Florida, an American state in the south of the country.
– Chief! shouted one of Tiburon’s henchmen, jumping onto the raft. Something is wrong here!
– What?
– Three dead and two children alive… One is a teenager, the other is a girl of about twelve… What, sister? … The guy says that this is his sister … Two are killed, that in the tent – this is his father and mother … The third is a raft racer … Delivered them to Miami.
– Is he “sour” himself and the parents of the guys too?
– Yes, chief, “soured” to death.
– Who do you think they are?
– Now I’ll ask, – the speaker addresses the children, they are silent.
– Chief?
– Yes?
– The case is dark, apparently, this is a family that fled from Cuba.
– And three dead, – Tiburon responds, – we need to get out of here quickly, if an American coast guard ship finds us here, we will be accused of murder, and the electric chair cannot be avoided.
– What to do, chief?
– Remove the children from the raft, put all the things on board here, set fire to the raft with the corpses so that no traces remain.
The children were searched. When the gun was found, Tiburon discovered that it had been fired from and still had bullets in it. He whistled and looked at Joaquin carefully. He held his gaze, but said nothing.
Tiburon ordered the pistol thrown overboard. He whistled again when a large amount of jewelry was found in the things of the Cuban family. But he no longer looked at Joaquin, but ordered the jewelry to be carried to his cabin.
Tiburon knew how to be careful. He did not kill the children because he was afraid of getting into the electric chair. Drugs are not murder. You can go to jail for 15 years for them, but stay alive, and then you can pay off – the main thing is to be rich.
YOU WILL BE SILENT!
After everything that happened, Joaquin somehow lost consciousness. He sat at the side of the ship and looked at one point. He did not feel his body, and before his eyes there were bloody scenes of recent events.
Tiburon’s shout brought him out of prostration:
– Hey kid, come here!
Joaquin looked in the direction from which the voice came, and saw that Tiburon was standing in the open door of the wheelhouse, and beckoning him with his hand.
Between them, a disappointing conversation for Joaquin took place.
The first thing he heard from the drug dealer was that he was accused of a double murder.
– I defended myself! Joaquin tried to justify himself. They killed our parents!
“You will never prove it,” was the reply.
Joaquin was silent, he did not know what to say, and in general did not know how to proceed further and what to do.
– Murder in America is punishable by the electric chair!
Joaquin remained silent.
– Look, kid, – continued Tiburon, – you are completely in my hands. I could kill you and your sister and end up dead! But I will never go to a wet business. Enough with me and what I already have…
Joaquin looked away from the drug dealer and did not look into his eyes.
He said that he would take Joaquin to Miami, give him two hundred dollars for the first time. Let him find relatives or some business there.
– What about our jewels? Joaquin asked. – They cost tens of thousands of dollars!
– Were these jewels? Tiburon chuckled. Did you see how I took them? Do you have proof?
– Evidence? Are they needed? Jewels were in things…
– Listen! Joaquin Tiburon interrupted rudely. – You will be silent! Yes, you will be silent about everything. All “ends” are already in the water or burned out, there, at sea. You have nowhere to go… I can throw you and your sister into the sea. .. If they find you there on a boat, you won’t even be able to prove who you are… Do you understand?.. That’s why you will be silent. .. You will be silent, damn it!
Joaquin was silent, turning away from Tiburon.
He could not stand this posture of his and sharply turned him around to face him.
– Well, okay! I’ll help you for the jewels, I’ll get you a job in Miami, they’ll give you a job, and I’ll leave my sister with me, because you have to feed her and take care of her, but you don’t have anything yet …
Joaquin did not understand whether this was good or no, when they were separated from his sister, at that time he did not know much, did not understand and could not foresee – he had to go through too many upheavals, and his consciousness was, as it were, under some kind of pressure, from which it was difficult for him to get out .
Tiburon knew how to count money well, and therefore, after delivering drugs, he sold Joaquin’s sister to a brothel on the island of Puerto Rico. This island once voluntarily joined the United States of America.
Joaquin, after many troubles, reached the city of Miami in Florida, USA, where he hoped to find relatives.
IN MIAMI
After a deep sleep in a new place in Miami, Joaquin looked out the window. It was on the first floor of a long-unrepaired house with badly peeling paint on the chipped walls.
It was hot outside. The embankment was visible from the window: a wide asphalt strip of the road with rare passers-by, lowered panicles of palm trees, quickly scurrying cars. All this did not linger. I wanted to look further, to where the immense blue of the sea stretched, to look and imagine its coolness.
Just yesterday, Joaquin got into this house. In the port where Tiburon’s ship legally entered, he was met by a small man with a frightened face. For about an hour he had been waiting on the pier for their arrival. While passing through customs, the little man paced nervously along the pier flooring, fanning himself with a hat made of Panamanian straw.