The Lord of Opium

“They work in the large observatory you saw when we flew in. What you must remember is that the doctor would do anything to protect them.” Cienfuegos leaned back, watching Matt expectantly. After a moment he said, “Waitress, go to the kitchen.” She rose at once but paused to look at Matt.

“It’s all right. Please go to the kitchen,” the boy said.

“Did you see that?” exclaimed the jefe after she left. “She waited to get your permission.”

“Maybe she likes me.”

“She was trained to obey everyone, not make choices about who to obey,” Cienfuegos said. “The cooks say she jitters when she’s away from you. That’s a danger sign. Eejits break down if they’re under too much stress, and they can die.”

Matt was appalled. He hadn’t meant to put her in danger. “What should I do?”

“Stop trying to awaken her, mi patrón. Let the doctors do it. Right now we have a much more important problem on our hands. Dr. Rivas has been lying to you.”

More trouble, thought Matt. You crawl out from under one rock and another rolls into its place. He was ready to start jittering himself. “What about?”

“It’s better if I show you. Follow my lead,” said Cienfuegos.

Following his lead meant wandering through the gardens as the jefe explained which plants he planned to collect for Esperanza. He’d already trapped several kinds of squirrels. There were so many around all you had to do was hold out a peanut and they jumped into your arms. He was digging up wildflowers and collecting seeds. “You have to collect them as complete communities,” he explained. “You can’t mix the ones growing in alkaline soil at a thousand feet with those in acid soil at five thousand feet. You also have to collect the bacteria and fungi living with them.”

Matt wasn’t interested in soil samples, but he guessed that the conversation was a cover for their real purpose. He knew that hidden microphones and cameras were scattered all over Paradise. El Patrón had been addicted to spying. Dr. Rivas could keep track of their movements, but what difference did that make?

The doctor had a family, and now the idea that had begun to surface in Matt’s mind became clearer. He knew little about the outside world except what he’d seen on television. On TV people had brothers, sisters, sons, and daughters. Ton-Ton had parents. So did Chacho. Fidelito had a dearly loved grandmother.

No one in Opium had a family except the Alacráns and their visitors. No one else got married. Until Matt had met the boys at the plankton factory, he hadn’t realized how abnormal life in Opium was.

They came to an outdoor shrine dedicated to Jesús Malverde, and Matt was embarrassed to see a small plaster statue of the young El Patrón draped with silver charms. Cienfuegos bowed his head and crossed himself. “That’s not a real saint,” Matt said.

“I am directing my prayer to God,” the jefe replied. “It doesn’t matter who delivers the message.”

Directly behind the shrine was a building almost completely hidden in vines, and Matt heard a girl yell, “Don’t touch me!” It was Listen! He started to run, but Cienfuegos held him back.

“Let me handle this,” he said. Matt saw that standing in the shadows on either side of the door were bodyguards in the distinctive black suits El Patrón had favored. So they had not all died at the funeral. Some had been kept here, and Matt wondered why. Cienfuegos casually walked toward the men and said, “I’ve come to fix the electrical problem.”

“What electrical problem?” growled one of the guards.

“The current is leaking into the wall, and anyone touching it gets a shock,” said the jefe.

“Nobody told me about it,” said the other guard.

“Dr. Rivas just contacted me. He’s afraid one of the children will get electrocuted.”

That woke the guards up. “Crap! I didn’t know wires could leak. Have you got a pass?” the first man asked.

“Right here.” Cienfuegos started unfolding a piece of paper, and the two men bent over to read it. Suddenly, with a speed that made Matt’s heart leap into his mouth, the jefe flicked a stun gun from a shoulder holster and shot both of them. Twice.

“You killed them!” the boy cried.

“Not quite,” said Cienfuegos, prodding one of them with his foot. “You need two shots for some of these gorillas.” He bent down and relieved the men of their weapons.

“But why? They were no danger to me. I’m the patrón.”

“Only if they think you are,” said the jefe.