Page 65 of High

Manny

Stepping off the airplane into the brilliant morning sunshine on the private airfield was surreal, until I immediately began to sweat, and then things seemed all too normal. It was hotter here in the northwest of Argentina than what we’d left behind in SoCal, and if I had to guess, it was nearly a hundred degrees and humid. I’d grown up with money, but most of my life I hadn’t traveled much. Thio had talked his parents into a short European tour, but other than that, any trips I took consisted mostly of long drives between Pedregal and Thio’s parents’ house in the States, with vacations to nearby beach towns to surf. I’d never grown up needing anything—except maybe more time with my parents—but now that I’d been in the air again and seen the earth from above, I wanted to do this more often.

“I can’t believe how pretty it was to fly over Lake Pozuelo! It’s like someone dropped blue glass between some mountains.” I turned when I stepped down onto the dirt runway and beamed up at Thio, who was reading over some paperwork that Rafael had thrust at him as we began to descend. He hadn’t glanced at the lake once as we flew over. Thio looked up as he walked down the short ladder and smiled at me. My breath caught. How he did this to me several times a day I’d never know, but Thio happy and grinning never failed to have my heart pumping faster.

“It’s good you’re along. You make me appreciate the scenery all over again.” He stepped down and wrapped his arm around me for a quick kiss, but it was so muggy that my shirt was already stuck to my skin, and as much as we loved each other, extra body heat was not appreciated at the moment. I shoved him off and he laughed, swatting at my ass.

“Where are we going? Do we have to be careful?” I bounced on the tips of my toes.

“Actually, cultivating coca is perfectly legal here in Argentina. It’s the sale of it that isn’t.” He shrugged. “Right now we’re not doing anything wrong, and we purchase the entire crop from several farms here. We need a lot of acreage to cover the demand we already have, and we’re trying to expand, so we’re always looking to acquire relationships with local farmers.” He waved around the papers in his hand as if they proved some point. “We come here a few times a year to negotiate. Working in Argentina keeps us out of Bolivia, where it’s more dangerous.” He finished his lecture by dropping a kiss on my forehead.

“That sounds… boring.”

Rafael coughed to cover a laugh but didn’t quite make it. Several more of our men got off the plane, including Héctor, who I’d told Thio I thought was a good guy. I’d noticed him around a lot more lately, and it was strange to see my thoughts and considerations listened to on something as simple as the men who were around me for protection. It was just one more way that Thio made me feel happy, and I was beginning to think maybe I was completely over being mad at him. I ran a hand down his front, and Thio trapped it on his stomach before I could grope anything good. Well, anything better. I gave his hard abs a pat.

“Pay attention, mercoso hermoso. We have several auto-parts companies in Mexico, and we funnel the money to pay the farmers through them, which is then funneled through an eco-rescue organization that we set up, which also does good work, too. After that the money goes to the coca farmers. In theory we’re paying them not to destroy any rainforest or ecologically rich areas with their farming.” He shrugged. “It makes our business look good internationally. Our farmers have to commit to sustainable growing practices, but we pay well enough that it’s no problem.”

Snorting, I studied him for a second until he turned toward me. “What?” he asked, blue eyes flashing. Maybe I’d managed to irritate him, but oh well. He had been putting off getting into the real details, and now we were here, so he’d just have to explain himself.

“Are you telling me that we have organic cocaine?”

He cupped my chin and tapped his thumb against my jaw for a second before letting me go. “No, we have sustainably farmed coca. There’s no such thing as organic cocaine. Do you even know how many chemicals are en esa basura? If our farmers save some coca for their families or to sell locally, yes, the coca leaf is organic. Yes, even though it isn’t legal to receive money for it, people sell it in the market,” he said, staving off my question before I could get it out. “Then at least they’re consuming something that isn’t horrible for them. In its raw state, coca’s no worse an addiction than coffee, and many farms are going organic with that too.”

“Don’t the local authorities realize that entire fields are being sold to go to cocaine production?” I wrinkled my nose. “They have to know.”

He held out his hand for me as a long black Rolls pulled up in front of us. “Yes, of course. We pay them off. There’s a certain way of doing things here. The US police would rather work against us, but in Mexico, and most South American countries, we’ve come to an understanding. It’s business.”

It still sounded risky. When the car slowed to a stop near us, he held the door for me so I could climb in back, into the blissfully cool interior. Another two cars came along behind us, gray Rolls Royces, and Rafael and the rest of our men got into them.

Thio sent me a tight smile. “In case there are any unpleasantries, it’s best not to have everyone in the same vehicle. The cartel must go on. These visits are some of the most dangerous jobs I have because all of the cartels, and people like Sloan Killough and some of the Italians and Russians, are in competition for the same basics to make our products. No one on earth can make cocaine without coca, and there are only so many places it can be grown.”

My stomach swooped at the reminder of our enemies, but I nodded, and all at once what had seemed like a fun little jaunt to South America for a vacation—Thio had promised we could check out one of Argentina’s beaches before we went home—became a lot more sinister.

But it was difficult to hold on to my fear. The trip to the farms that Thio wanted to show me and inspect took about an hour and a half. On our way we drove through a couple of small old-world colonial towns and some lush tropical forest that had so many birds fluttering in the branches I put my window down to stick my head out and see them, only to have Thio laugh and tug me back inside. We were quiet for almost the entire ride, simply enjoying each other’s company. When the car stopped, it was on the road at the edge of a rolling green field that spread away out of sight. There was a small rutted path that looked like maybe a tractor or heavy-duty truck could travel down it, but not our nice cars. Thio and I climbed out, and a few minutes later, Rafael’s car pulled in behind ours and he got out too, waving at Thio and me.

“Did you tell him where we are?” Rafael asked as he made his way closer, adjusting the jacket of his suit on his broad shoulders.

“Not yet,” Thio said, and easily captured my hand again. I squeezed his fingers between mine.

“This is the Perez farm.” He nodded at the greenery. “Julio Perez owns about thirty of the fields we buy, which ends up becoming about a quarter of the product we sell for the year. Some years he plants one or two more fields, some years less. We leave it to him because he always gets good crops.”

“Okay.” I nodded along. “Isn’t there more to this? Is it really this easy?”

Thio brought my hand up to his mouth and bit at my knuckles, like he was telling me to mind my manners. “Growing is one aspect of the business, and probably the easiest. It’s difficult to process the product into cocaine without hurting or poisoning anyone. We’ll see those facilities a different time. This is the third cash crop for the year. We won’t have another one till March.” He tugged on my hand and we walked down the dirt road through the fields. He reached out and brushed his hand across the short bushy plants. The leaves were a dark emerald green.

“They don’t look that different than hedges growing around the side of any building at home.”

He plucked a leaf as we passed and handed it to me.

“What would happen if I chewed on this. That’s what people do with it, right?” I held it up and it still looked unimpressive. I wasn’t sure what I thought coca would be like, but at least marijuana looked a little exotic.

Thio laughed. “I’ve tried it before. It’s kind of gross, doesn’t taste very good, and leaves you feeling a little weird in the head.” He flicked at my forehead and I stuck my tongue out at him.

“Yes, I agree,” Rafael said, walking a little faster to be at my side so they seemed like they were my bodyguards. Knowing Thio, maybe that was on purpose. “If you want to try it, wait until later.”

Shrugging, I dumped the leaf on the ground. “I’m not excited about it.”

The dirt road ended at a large white steel barn that had a distinctly modern style and was freshly painted. There was no grass around the building, though there were some odd low stone walls facing the road. It took me a second to realize the gaps in the walls every few feet were probably for slotting guns through. The barricades weren’t high enough for much, other than sitting behind them and firing a weapon.