East, Sixth

There weren’t always Dragons in the valley. But since the cousin of the jefe went missing, soldiers had been tearing apart the favelas, searching every tenement and hovel for some sign of his kin.

Chito – balanced precariously on an outcrop of stone overlooking the palms and banana trees that surrounded the valley – grinned around the grass stalk in his mouth. He watched the lizards – as the soldiers were derogatorily monikered by the general populace – down in the village of Pequeño. Doors were kicked off hinges, people dragged into the street to be beaten bloody. The smell of smoke and flame lingered like the last drunk in the bar. To see such wanton destruction in his home made him sick, but everyone in the favelas understood that precio de vengaza, vengeance had a price.

And Chito knew that when he called in his own debts, he would be paid with interest.

The young man spat towards the village and leapt nimbly from his eyrie, flicking his grass stalk away as he sauntered back into the dense jungle. He pushed hanging leaves and branches from his path, enjoying the warm breeze and the sounds of birds in the canopy. Following his own tracks, Chito arrived at a nondescript clearing.

“How’s it going, Jonas?” he called.

His steadfast, thicker-than-panela peón stuck his head out of the hole he was digging. Jonas sniffed, sounding the rattling instrument of his sinuses. Squinting through the sweat dripping in his eyes, the man looked even more befuddled than usual.

“I think it’s deep enough boss,” he said. Jonas swiped a dirty arm across his brow, droplets of sweat scattering like diamonds found in a pig pen.

Chito leaned down and offered a tattooed, wiry arm, swinging Jonas easily out of the trench. “You’ve done well, hermano.” Chito clapped the older man on the back, turning away. “Let’s get the seal of approval, then we’ll go find a drink,” he said, throwing Jonas a sideways wink.

Skirting the hole, Chito approached a tarp-covered lump lying next to the piled dirt Jonas had shovelled. The slow, steady rise and fall of the sailcloth gave way to more frantic undulations as Chito’s footfalls announced his approach.

“Come, come sir!” Chito called, “Look what we have wrought for you! Gaze your eyes upon your lavish new abode!” He ripped the tarp back exposing a youthful man, hair bleached blond, throat tattooed with the sign of his cuadrilla. His eyes bulged and darted frenetically as he took in the scene surrounding him, the dragon wrapped around his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

Chito squatted in front of him and patted his cheek fondly. “Who could ever say that I am ungrateful?” he asked. “What do you think, Jairo?” Chito said mildly, his eyes never leaving the jefe’s cousin. “The Dragons take us from the favelas. They provide employment in their mines.” Chito’s eyes glinted dangerously as he lowered his voice, barely more than a whisper. “They even thought to teach my brother the meaning of respect.” He spread his hands, as if in contrition. “Am I not magnanimous to return the favour?”

“Definitely boss,” Jonas added, nodding absently.

Chito leaned closer to Jairo, till their noses were almost touching. “I could have taken you to the hechicero, let them play with your bones.” He stroked the young man’s face. “But those coño loco give even me the creeps”.

Chito stood abruptly. “So welcome,” he waved his arm, benevolently encompassing the deep trench, “To your new Casa! I do imagine your cousin will be joining you shortly.” Jairo’s eyes began to shine, tears spilling whilst he shook his head and muffled insistently into the rope tied around his mouth. He strained and thrashed against his bonds, wrists chafed raw and bleeding.

Chito smiled, triumphant and filled with flashing gold teeth. He dragged Jairo towards the open grave.

“Rent is due first of the month.”