Chapter 3
The estate occupied nearly twenty secluded acres just outside New Orleans, hidden behind ancient live oaks draped with Spanish moss and protected by walls high enough to discourage unwanted visitors.
A massive wrought-iron gate slowly swung inward.
Beyond it, a long avenue lined with centuries-old oaks led toward a sprawling Mediterranean-style mansion whose pale stone walls glowed beneath carefully placed floodlights. A fountain spilled gently into a reflecting pool. A swimming pool shimmered beneath the evening sky. Tennis courts stretched off to one side, while several expensive sports cars rested beneath a covered porte cochère.
Every inch of the property spoke of enormous wealth. Except none of it had been honestly earned. Every brick, every chandelier, every polished marble floor had been purchased with blood.
Inside the mansion's enormous living room, half a dozen heavily armed men stood silently along the walls while five others knelt on the polished marble floor.
Only one man remained standing.
Salvador Diego Vargas.
Immaculately dressed in a charcoal-gray Italian suit, he looked less like the head of one of the world's most ruthless cartels than the chairman of a multinational corporation. His silver hair was neatly trimmed. His shoes gleamed beneath the crystal chandelier, and an expensive gold watch rested beneath one tailored cuff.
Only his eyes betrayed him.
They possessed the cold patience of a man who had ordered hundreds of deaths...then slept soundly afterward.
He slowly paced in front of his enormous mahogany desk, his hands clasped behind his back. There was nothing hurried about his movements. He radiated complete confidence.
Finally, he stopped.
He looked down at the five kneeling men.
"Do any of you idiots know who I am?"
The first man swallowed hard.
"Y-Yes, sir."
"And?" he asked impatiently.
"You are Salvador Diego Vargas."
Vargas nodded.
"I am."
A faint smile crossed his face.
"And who am I?"
The frightened man hesitated.
"You...you run the cartel."
Vargas continued staring at him.
"Go on."
"You oversee the operations throughout Colombia."
A broader smile spread across Vargas's face.
"Correct."
He spread his hands.
"So, tell me...if I already control everything back home, why in the hell am I standing here in Louisiana?"
No one answered.
Vargas chuckled.
"Because we have had..." He paused, considering the word. "...issues."
He laughed softly.
"I rather like that word. Issues."
Several veteran soldiers exchanged knowing smiles. They had seen meetings like this before.
They seldom ended well.
Vargas looked toward the men lining the walls.
"Apparently, our entire operation here collapsed about a year ago."
His smile disappeared.
"My best man, Papa Legba..." He slowly shook his head. "Well, we're still looking for his body."
He sighed.
"Yes...issues is an excellent word."
His eyes returned to the kneeling men.
"The five of you worked directly under Papa Legba, which raises a very interesting question."
He walked closer.
"If he is dead..." He reached down and casually rubbed one man's hair. "...why are the five of you still alive?"
The first man looked up nervously.
"We weren't with him that night, sir."
"Oh?"
"We stayed behind to watch the other operations."
"I see."
Vargas nodded thoughtfully.
"So, while your leader marched off to fight, you stayed home. That was very convenient."
The second man hurried to speak.
"Sir, not everyone could go. Somebody had to watch the business."
Vargas smiled.
"You watched it?"
He slowly turned, looking around the luxurious room.
"You did such a magnificent job that the entire operation collapsed."
Silence filled the room.
He turned toward the remaining three men.
"And what brilliant explanations do the rest of you have?"
None of them spoke.
Vargas folded his arms.
"So, out of the five of you..." He glared at them. "...only one has enough courage to open his mouth."
Finally, the fifth man spoke.
"Sir...we didn't know what happened. We swear it."
Vargas nodded once.
"I believe you."
The man's face brightened.
Then, without the slightest change in expression, Vargas drew a pistol from beneath his jacket, pressed the muzzle against the man's forehead, and pulled the trigger.
Bang!
For just an instant, no one moved.
Then the body slowly toppled backward onto the marble floor. Blood spread across it toward the expensive Persian rug.
Vargas looked down with mild annoyance.
"What a mess."
Vargas holstered the pistol and looked at the remaining four men.
"Now..." A pleasant smile returned to his face. "Does anyone else not know?"
None of them answered.
None of them even breathed.
"Good."
He turned toward one of the guards.
"Miguel."
A massive man stepped forward.
"Sí, Señor."
"Bring me four knives."
Moments later, Miguel returned carrying four long fighting knives. He handed one to each of the kneeling men.
Confused, they accepted them.
Vargas smiled.
"We're going to play a little game with you four."
He pointed toward the first two men.
"You."
Then toward the other pair.
"And you."
"You will fight."
His tone remained almost conversational.
"Fight until only one man from each pair remains standing."
The four men stared at him in horror.
"The winners..." He gave a slight shrug. "...live. The losers..." Another shrug. "...don't."
He walked slowly between them.
"I suggest you remember this evening for the rest of your lives. At least the two of you who still have lives." His eyes settled on the corpse lying nearby. "Because this..." He pointed toward the dead man. "...is the only mercy you will ever receive from me. If you fail me again," he said with a thin grin, "you won't be given a knife. You'll simply join your friend here."
For several agonizing seconds, no one moved.
Then one man lunged.
Steel exploded against steel as one fighter slashed wildly. His opponent barely avoided the blade before driving a shoulder into his chest. Blood splattered across the polished marble while another man screamed as a knife ripped across his forearm.
Throughout it all, Vargas calmly walked behind his desk and poured himself a glass of twenty-year-old brandy.
Never once did he encourage them.
Never once did he shout.
Never once did his expression change.
He simply watched.
Like a jeweler examining flawed diamonds.
Within minutes, it was over.
One survivor stood trembling over the body of the man he had just killed. Across the room, another slowly lowered his knife as his opponent collapsed onto the marble floor.
For several long seconds, neither victor moved. Then, almost together, they let their knives fall. The metallic clatter echoed through the silent room.
Vargas smiled.
"Very good."
He looked at the exhausted survivors.
"You two have earned another chance."
He gestured toward the armed men standing along the walls.
"You'll join my personal soldiers."
Neither man spoke.
They simply nodded.
Vargas's smile faded.
"But understand something. I expect results."
His voice remained calm, almost conversational.
"If you fail me..." He glanced toward the two bodies. "...you already know what your future looks like."
Again, both men nodded in silence.
Vargas returned to his desk.
"I want this city tightened up. I want every operation tightened up. For one year..." He shook his head in disgust. "...this city has mistaken my absence for weakness."
He poured himself another finger of brandy.
"For the past year, every little street gang...every independent pimp...every pissant drug dealer with a pistol..." A cold smile spread across his face. "...has convinced himself he can build his own empire. That illusion ends this week."
He slowly looked around the room.
"I want every one of them visited. Tell them..." His eyes hardened. "...New Orleans has an owner again."
He paused, letting the words settle over the room.
"And understand. This is not a negotiation. If anyone argues..." He gave a slight shrug. "...their body goes into the Mississippi."
The room remained silent.
"Are there any questions?"
Several of the veteran soldiers exchanged faint smiles. They understood exactly what was expected.
The newer men simply nodded.
"No, Señor."
"Good."
A servant quietly appeared carrying a silver tray.
Without a word, Vargas clipped the end from an expensive Cuban cigar and lit it. He drew in a long, slow breath before smiling.
"I intend to spend the rest of my evening enjoying this cigar. I don't wish to be disturbed by incompetence."
He looked at each man in turn.
"Do we understand one another?"
"Sí, Señor."
"Yes, sir."
The responses came almost in unison.
"Excellent."
The men began filing from the room.
"Oh..."
Vargas called after them.
They stopped.
He casually pointed toward the bodies.
"Somebody clean up this mess."
He glanced down at the marble floor.
"I hate stains."
Several men immediately returned, dragging the corpses from the room while another arrived carrying a mop and bucket.
Within minutes, the marble gleamed once again. Only the faint scent of gunpowder lingering in the air hinted that three men had died there less than fifteen minutes earlier.
After dinner, Estelle led Virginia through the quiet streets of the French Quarter to her apartment.
The old brick building stood on a narrow street lined with wrought-iron balconies overflowing with ferns and flowering vines. Old-style gas lamps fitted with modern bulbs cast warm pools of golden light across the sidewalk, while somewhere in the distance a lone trumpet played a slow jazz melody that drifted through the humid New Orleans night.
They climbed the stairs to the third and top floor.
Estelle unlocked the door.
"Welcome home."
Virginia stepped inside.
She stopped.
For a long moment, she simply looked.
The apartment was beautiful. Soft lighting filled the spacious living room. Modern furniture blended effortlessly with polished hardwood floors, colorful artwork, and large windows overlooking the streets below. Shelves filled with books lined one wall, while carefully chosen sculptures and paintings gave the apartment warmth without making it feel cluttered.
Unlike Bedelia, whose tastes reflected centuries of history, Estelle preferred contemporary elegance. Clean lines. Comfortable furniture. Modern artwork. Yet there remained an unmistakable sense of refinement.
Everything about the apartment reflected quiet success.
Virginia felt tears beginning to gather, not because of what she saw, but because she had never imagined living somewhere like this.
Estelle smiled.
"The apartment has three bedrooms."
She pointed down the hallway.
"You take that one. I think you'll find the bed quite comfortable. And you'll have plenty of room."
Virginia looked into the bedroom.
A large bed stood neatly made beneath a wide window. Fresh flowers rested on the dresser, and soft lighting created a peaceful atmosphere unlike anything she had experienced in years.
"It..." She swallowed. "It's beautiful."
Estelle smiled warmly.
"I'm glad you like it."
Virginia slowly turned back toward her. A question had been lingering in her mind ever since dinner.
"Do you..." She hesitated. "...sleep?"
Estelle laughed softly.
"I rest."
Virginia nodded.
Then she asked the question that had truly been bothering her.
"So..." She looked around the apartment again. "Do you sleep in a coffin during the day?"
Estelle burst into laughter.
"Oh, goodness, no. You've seen too many Hammer films. Coffins are not a necessity."
She smiled in amusement.
"No coffins. I've never understood why people believe that."
She walked over to one of the bedrooms and opened the door.
"I have an ordinary bed. But I don't truly sleep the way humans do. I simply rest. Maybe read, watch television, or listen to music." She smiled thoughtfully. "Sometimes...I simply lie there and let my mind wander."
Virginia couldn't help smiling.
"So...no coffins?"
Estelle grinned.
"No coffins."
"Well..." Virginia laughed quietly. "Live and learn."
Estelle disappeared briefly into another room before returning with a small envelope.
"Oh..."
She handed it to Virginia.
"One more thing."
Inside was a credit card.
Virginia looked at it in disbelief.
"Estelle, I can't..."
Estelle smiled.
"Oh, yes, you can. Just don't abuse it."
Virginia laughed for what felt like the first genuine time in years.
"I promise," she said, sounding almost like an adolescent girl whose parents had just allowed her to go shopping on her own for the first time.
"Good."
Estelle smiled.
"Tomorrow, I'd like you to go shopping."
Virginia looked puzzled.
"Shopping?"
"I think it's time you owned some beautiful dresses."
She smiled.
"Every now and then, we may attend charity dinners, galas, or other social events. And when we do..." Her eyes sparkled. "...you must look like a lady."
Virginia became very still.
A lady.
There was that word again.
That one simple, elegant, beautiful word.
Not a prostitute.
Not trash.
Not worthless.
But a lady.
Something deep inside her began to heal.
Estelle saw the emotion in her eyes. She walked over and gently squeezed Virginia's shoulder.
"Get some rest. We've had a wonderful dinner, and you've enjoyed a little too much Cabernet." She smiled. "I think you'll sleep very well tonight."
Virginia nodded.
"I think you're right."
Then, more softly,
"Thank you."
Estelle picked up her purse.
"I have to go out for a little while."
Virginia looked at her nervously.
Estelle laughed.
"No, don't worry. I'm not going out to kill anybody."
A touch of mischief entered her smile.
"If that's what you're thinking."
Virginia couldn't help laughing.
"I have to visit someone. A relative—my aunt. I shouldn't be terribly late."
She walked toward the door.
"Make yourself at home."
Then she was gone.
The apartment became wonderfully quiet.
Virginia wandered slowly from room to room. She ran her fingertips across the polished furniture, looked through the books on the shelves, and paused before paintings she never would have imagined seeing up close.
She opened the closet in her bedroom.
It was empty.
Simply waiting...
For a new life.
She sat quietly on the edge of the bed. The mattress was softer than anything she could remember sleeping on.
For several minutes, she simply sat there, thinking.
Earlier that evening, she had been little more than property.
Now she had a home. A bedroom. A future.
Someone who cared whether she ate.
Someone who wanted nothing from her except her friendship.
A single tear rolled down her cheek. She gently wiped it away.
Then she smiled.
"No more," she whispered to herself.
"No more streets."
"No more Eddie."
"No more fear."
She looked around the beautiful room one last time.
And deep within her heart...
Virginia made herself—
and Estelle—
a promise.
She would become the woman Estelle already believed she could be.
As God was her witness...
She would be...
a lady.