The Untouchables

6. Diego Hernández

I thought I'd be dead by now. Instead here I am, at the third drug lord's villa. If a few days ago someone told me I would meet any of them, I'd have called them crazy.

It's not about being too insignificant to meet the powerful men ruling the world. The realm of drugs works in a different way, getting the attention of a drug lord isn't like meeting a celebrity or a politician. When you receive a call from the top floors, you're either soon dead or a genius that is going to be promoted. I'm not sure which category I apply to, but I'll know that soon.

Diego Hernandez lives in a private neighborhood. It's even more strange that the quartier is silent and inhabited by nice people. Dios mío, he must have a silencer for every gun.

As I walk to Hernandez's house, I hear the joyful screaming of a bunch of kids. I look twice from right to left at the entrance door: there are no guards. So I knock.

"Sigue golpeando la piñata, ¡ya vuelvo!" A warm voice says from the inside.

When the door opens, I find myself facing a man in his thirties, dressed like a typical dad and standing with a curved back, leaning on the door side. If it wasn't for the smell of tobacco and the short beard that he probably didn't have time to cut, I would've fallen into the trap believing he was a loved man with a wonderful family.

"How can I help you?" he finally asks while his eyes search for something behind me.

I look into his tired eyes. "I'm here for business."

He freezes, then fails to hide the shock with a smile. "I'm retired."

"Stop walking like a grandpa, I see that shirt barely fits you. A retired man isn't young, and he isn't built as you are for sure. Do you need those muscles to lift your children or to lift packages of drugs?"

The spark of joy in his eyes disappear in an instant and Diego Hernandez now looks like the cold murderer that he is. "I heard you were a badass, but I didn't think you were so stupid to show up at my house, threatening the safety of my family," he says, revealing an Irish accent.

"I'm not here to be a threat to anyone. I visited Quintero and Navarro: they both will keep working with each other. Can I tell them that they'll still have your collaboration too?"

"Tell them to fuck off. If I don't get the receipts, I ain't paying for shit next year."

"They will be allies and you'll be alone. It wouldn't be very convenient for you to-"

"Go away!" he whispers loudly, slamming the door in my face.

But I stop it from closing with my foot.

Hernandez grabs my shoulder tight enough to hurt me, looking from left to right a couple of times. I ignore the pain and watch the kids playing inside the house from a window.

"You have a lot of kids," I say.

"They're not mine. A friend needed a large space to organize his son's party and I let him come to my home."

"That's nice from you," I say, observing a woman bringing a tray of biscuits to the children. "Is she your wife?"

"What are you trying to tell me?"

I look back at him. "You don't have a family, do you?"

"Family is the one we choose for ourselves."

"But you didn't choose any of the people playing in your house. I can tell who you are, Hernandez. You're the type of man that is so bad that tries to give people whatever they want to feel better about himself thanks to their compliments and gratitude, and then you call everyone a friend."

Once again, I'm right. Hernandez snarls at me, then nods, lowering his head. I won!

He walks into his house, holding my hand, until we get to a large drawer. He unlocks that with a golden key, picks up the machine gun in it and loads a fresh round into the chamber.

I gulp. "Are you going to kill me?"

"No. I'm going to prove you right." Hernandez, the family man, stands up and goes to the children's room with a fucking machine gun.