Drifters: The First Generation

1

November 16, 2018
Havana, Cuba
10:23 p.m.

Tamíra Diaz gazed out the gigantic living room windows of her husband's extravagant penthouse apartment settled along San Lazaro street, views of the Gulf of Mexico and a small peek of the top of San Lazaro Tower gave her solace in times of great duress. She felt distressed now, much like she usually did whenever her husband was around.

In fact, he sat on the couch in expensive gossamer and faux fur counting hundred-dollar bills and smirking like the devil. A client sat across from him. Tall, muscular, handlebar mustachioed Frederico Franz; Havana's third most popular drug dealer, after the Perdido clan. Frederico hailed from Santa Clara, where other addicts dieted on crank. Here, by the sea, people had a classier way of getting things done. Also, the ridiculous parties attracted tons of tourists and that brought in more drugs, which meant more cash flow.

Tamira's husband was the top drug dealer of Cuba, in general, although he preferred to practice his business in the capital. Who could blame him? Business was booming in Havana. His name was Maximiano Diaz, literally his name meant "the greatest". He had strived toward perfection most of his life, stepping on a bit of people on the way up. Tamira loathed him; many times, she dreamt of different ways to harm him. She never thought she could be pushed to the point of murder, not even during her early years in Uganda. Things changed when she married Maximiano Diaz.

Maximiano slid the wad of money across the glass coffee table toward Frederico, who collected his payment with glee. Frederico grinned and handed over a white box that had been at his feet. Maximiano opened the box, wasting no time. He nodded once he had made sure that everything was in order. Maximiano closed the box and cleared his throat. "Thank you for your business, Frederico."

"Oh, the pleasure is all mine, Maximiano. One could only hope to achieve business status the likes of which you have." Frederico raised his eyebrows and smiled, flopping like a fish right into Maximiano's open palms.

Maximiano offered a small smile, a rare form of business affection. "Would you like to stay and hang for a bit?"

Frederico chuckled and waved a dismissive hand. "I really should be getting back to Santa Clara. The people there need me, you see. Profits to be made and all that."

Maximiano laughed, a nice sound if one could overlook the razor-sharp sarcasm that usually laced the background. Frederico stiffened. Tamira watched from the corner of her eye at her perch on the window seat, dread crawling up her throat.

"Come on, Frederico, stay a while. I'm sure Tamira won't mind having a visitor. Would you, honey?" Maximiano said, now turning his attention to Tamira.

Silently, Tamira prayed for mercy and hoped this time would be different, even though she knew this time was no different than the rest. Still, she shook her head. "No."

Maximiano raised his glass and beckoned to Tamira. Obediently, whilst annoyed, she collected Maximiano's empty glass and Frederico's half-full cup. At her back, Maximiano answered, "I'm feeling bourbon, baby. As for Mr. Franz, I believe he'll take Tequila. Right, Frederico?"

"Yes." Came the measly reply of Frederico as Tamira disappeared around the corner.

Tamira set the cups down on the counter and poured their drinks. After she was done, she leaned against the table in a moment of hesitation. She didn't want to waste time that she didn't have to spare; if she took too long, Maximiano would get suspicious. Hurriedly, she reached in her pants pocket and pulled out a vial of slight purplish liquid. She unscrewed the bottle and poured it in the bourbon and the tequila, quickly mixing it with her finger. The bourbon covered up the lethal dose of nightshade well, but the tequila had a slight tint that was barely noticeable.