THE BRIDGE TO CARACAS (Volume 1 of The King Trilogy)

CHAPTER 61

Phillip was awakened early by a loud conversation between Maria and Carla. They were talking just outside his bedroom, their rapid-fire Spanish periodically interrupted by loud laughing and giggling. He climbed from his bed, walked to the sliding glass doors, and witnessed the beginning of a perfectly clear day. He put on his new blue bathing suit and opened the glass door just wide enough to squeeze through.

At the pool, he kneeled and timidly lowered his right hand into the water.

"Last one in's a rotten egg!" Servito shouted, standing behind Phillip in his new red and yellow swimming trunks.

"It's going to be you, Dad!" Phillip shouted. He raced to the shallow end, descended to the first of the four steps, and dove in. Seconds later, his head emerged from below the water. "You're the rotten egg!" he shouted.

Servito laughed, and then he dove in. They swam, laughed, and splashed each other. When they emerged from the pool, the morning sun quickly warmed their bodies.

Carla, dressed in tight white shorts and a form-fitting T-shirt, appeared at one of the sliding glass doors leading to the main section of the house. "Breakfast is ready!" she shouted in broken English.

Servito placed his hand on Phillip's shoulder. "Go get dressed. I'll see you in the kitchen in a minute."

Phillip arrived in the kitchen to find his father already seated at the massive wooden table. A breakfast of strawberries, scrambled eggs, bacon, and Belgian waffles with maple syrup awaited him.

"Get over here and eat your heart out, son," Servito ordered. "Carla's the best cook in Venezuela."

Servito finished his breakfast and wiped his mouth with a napkin. He marched to the stove and placed his right hand on Carla's left buttock. She giggled as he fondled her breasts with his left hand. When he kissed the back of her neck, she turned and playfully poked his ribs with her finger. He doubled up as if in great pain, and then turned to Phillip. "Hurry up, son. We're late."

"Where are we going?" Phillip mumbled, his mouth still full of toast.

"Down to the city. We're gonna buy a car." Phillip gulped the remainder of the toast down with a swallow of milk, and then followed his father to a yellow taxi that was waiting near the front door. He stopped abruptly when he saw Carlos, who was standing beside the taxi and talking to the driver. He was terrified by the man's tremendous size and scarred face. He trembled before the gold skull and cross-bones dangling from the bottom of the heavy gold chain around Carlos's neck.

"Come on, son," Servito shouted from the back seat. "If you're not in here in three seconds, we're going without you."

Phillip ran to the taxi and climbed into the back seat beside his father. Carlos closed the door behind him, and then got into the front seat beside the driver.

The taxi took them down the mountainside and into the business section of Caracas, where it came to a full stop in front of the Banco National Venezolano, a modern, three-story concrete building with a massive front wall of bronze tinted glass. Carlos and the driver remained in the taxi while Servito and Phillip got out and climbed the concrete steps leading to the bank's front doors. One of the doors was opened by a short, plump man in his early sixties. His head was devoid of hair and he was neatly dressed in a brown, pinstriped suit, white shirt, and a brown bow tie. "Mr. Servito!" the man exclaimed, smiling and shaking Servito's hand. "Welcome back to Caracas. It is indeed a pleasure to see you once again."

"It's good to be here, Alfred," Servito replied. "I want you to meet my son, Phillip. He's come to live with me." He placed his hand on Phillip's shoulder. "Phillip, this is Alfred Schnieder. He's the president of this bank and a very good friend of mine. I don't know what I would have done without him all these years."