Pinagsoltada

91

ERNESTO slowly put down his lowball glass with a sparkling rich beer in it, on the top of the balcony railing. Nakatayo siya sa balkonahe ng roof deck, nakaharap sa direksiyon ng kabundukan ng Cuerpo Serpiente na pumapagitan sa lupain ng pamilya Dela Fuente at pamilya Silvestre.

Ernesto mimicked the sky. His navy blue—almost black colored—button-down shirt was wrinkled from the day's work. His hair was cloudy thick and tousled by the chilly late evening air. His back was against the light scope of the floor, making the shadows loom darker on his face.

He could not believe the day—or night, rather—would come when he would finally understand what's running through his father's head: why he had a lot of enemies, why he always kept other people at arm's length, why he refused to smile, and why he barely showed any hint of camaraderie to others. He wasn't just grumpy, a trait he believed he inherited from his father. Neither was he just being a strict disciplined boss, because that old man didn't have control and could slip into being irresponsible in a second when it comes to using any weapon to exert his authority.

Ernesto finally understood . . . why Timoteo was so rough and inconsiderate.

He understood why his father had to be that kind of man.

A few steps away from behind him, Dario was standing, trying to look as stoic as possible while reporting to Ernesto.

A lump formed in his throat, but he had to stay firm and recollected as much as possible. "Is she safe?"

"Sa tingin ko, opo, señor. Sinundan ko ang sasakyan nila at ligtas naman siyang naihatid sa airport."

"Saan papunta?" His jaws tensed. He felt like his voice was about to crack, so he had to stop talking and swallow silently before resuming. "Ang eroplano?"

Dario shrugged. "Wala akong ideya, señor. Pribadong eroplano ang sinakyan niya."

"Sinabi ba niya kung saan siya pupunta?" Silent anger glinted at the corner of his fierce eyes.

"Hindi, señor. Nagmamadali siya at . . . nakikita kami ng tauhan ni Señor Vidal kaya siguro nagmadali siya."

Hindi pa rin niya nililingon ang kanang-kamay. "Inobserbahan mo ba ang mga kilos niya? Ang galaw ng mga mata? Bawat pagkibot ng mga labi? May palihim ba siyang ipinahiwatig na maaaring makapagsabi kung saan siya pupunta o pinapupunta ni Vidal?"

"Dili, señor. Wara."

He slightly winced. 'Damn, Jo! Paano kita matutunton kung wala ka man lang iniwan na clue?' "May ibinigay ba siya sa 'yo? Sulat? Numerong puwedeng tawagan?"

Napatitig saglit sa kaniya si Dario bago mabagal na umiling. "Wara, señor."

Ernesto nodded and quickly picked up his lowball glass. Isang tunggaan lang at naubos niya ang natitirang alak na laman nito. Then, he planted the glass back on top of the balcony railing.

'Joan must be expecting that I will deal with this like how I usually deal with our problems—peacefully and responsibly. But I think that this time, she, especially that fuckshit Vidal, are in for a surprise.'

"Papuntahin mo ang mga vaquero sa dating barnhouse para sa mga manok-panabong." He turned and walked past Dario.

"San-o, señor?" Halata ang pinaghalong pagtataka at pag-aalala sa mukha ni Dario nang pumihit para sundan siya ng tingin. "Ano'ng oras? Lahat ba ng vaquero o 'yong mga tauhan mo lang sa kanila?"

"Lahat," sagot niya nang walang lingon-lingon habang patuloy sa paglalakad. His calmness could give everyone present to see it the chills. "Ngayon na."