Judge & Jury - James Patterson [87]
A brown haze had settled over the vast valley outside the bedroom window. Soon it would be winter. Everything would change. The pastures would be blanketed in snow, and a howling wind would lash them for months—frigid and unending. Cavello’s skin turned cold just thinking of it.
Still, it was worth it—all that he had given up to be free. He had the largest ranch in the region. The extradition treaty with the U.S. was weak and rarely, if ever, tested. He had anyone who mattered in the local government on his payroll. He was safe.
And there were no delicacies like young Mariella back at Marion prison.
A couple of bodyguards, armed with machine guns, were lounging on the fence next to one of his Range Rovers, sipping coffee. At the girl’s sobs they looked up and met Cavello’s eyes. Hard to tell what they thought, and he didn’t care.
“I told you to stop whining.” He came back at the cowering girl. “You sound like a hen. Is that what you want—to sleep in the barn with the other hens? Or maybe”—he undid his robe, feeling himself come alive once more—“you want to screw Daddy again.”
She reared up and cursed at him in Spanish. Cavello rushed forward and slapped her across the face again, slicing open her lip. He slipped off his robe and pushed her back on the sheets. He grasped her by the wrists as she struggled, staring at her perfect breasts, at her young pussy. “Yes, I think that’s what you need.”
Suddenly, he heard shouting downstairs, and then a loud knock at the bedroom door.
“Who is it?” Cavello snapped.
“It is Lucha, Don Cavello.”
“What do you want? You know I’m busy.”
“I’m afraid we have a little problem, Señor,” Lucha called through the door.
Lucha ran security for him here at the ranch. He oversaw the men downstairs and the dogs that patrolled at night. All the local law enforcement people in Ushuaia were on Lucha’s payroll. He was an ex-policeman from Buenos Aires.
Cavello pulled himself off the girl and belted his robe. He cracked open the door. “You’re pissing me off. Not a good idea, Lucha. What kind of problem?”
“The girl’s father. He is in the house right now. He is demanding to see her, Don Cavello.”
“Pay him off.” Cavello shrugged. “Get Esteban to give him a day or two off. I’m busy now.”
“Señor Cavello, this one is different,” the security man said. “The girl is fifteen.”
“Pig! Filth!” The father’s angry shouts rang down the hall.
Mariella threw herself off the bed. “Papa!” she screamed. Cavello grabbed her. She tried to break free and run for the door.
“This is not so easily disposed of, Don Cavello,” Lucha continued. “If word gets out, it will draw attention.”
The farmhand’s loud voice could be heard calling him a pig—and his daughter a whore.
“Bring him here,” Cavello ordered. “I’ll talk to him myself.”
“Don Cavello?”
“Bring him here!”
Lucha nodded, and two of his men dragged in the burly, wild-eyed farmer. He glared at Cavello with venom in his dark eyes. He spit on the polished hardwood floor.
“He says he is dead to the world now, Don Cavello. And you as well.”
Cavello stared into the farmer’s angry eyes, while he stroked Mariella’s slender backside. “He is right, Lucha. It is wrong to leave him in such shame. Give the man his wish.”
“His wish, Don Cavello?” The security man looked on, unsure of what to do.
“Kill him. Shoot him. Bury him.”
“No!” The daughter’s eyes flared up. “No. Señor, no!” She fell to her knees, pleading with him in Spanish.
The security man hesitated. He was paid well to do as Cavello wished, and he would do what had to be done. “That will take care of one problem, Don Cavello.” He nodded toward the girl. “But what of the other?”
Cavello looked at beautiful Mariella, disappointed. He knew he would not find one like this again.
“Kill her, too. Better yet, I’ll kill her myself. Eventually.”
Chapter 109
IT TOOK