The ride across the bridge to Rikers had given Catalina a headache. This last trip to America from Madrid had given her a whole series of them, actually. Ever since that phone call from one of the distributors in her chain yesterday, she’d taken enough aspirin to cause her ears to ring. Another distributor, one she’d only met with personally once before, had gotten himself caught with several kilos of her product. Unspoken rules dictated that, well, shit happened. Both parties would cut ties and figure a way through their own problem. Manuelo Verdin had taken it upon himself to change the unspoken rules, though, and had reached out to Catalina with a quiet threat of uttering her name to authorities if she didn’t provide funding for an appeal. She was untouchable in Spain, but losing her cut of the drug trade in America was not an option. 

“Buenos días, Manuelo. You look well.” That was a lie, because he looked terrible. He was in full withdrawal, shifting in his seat restlessly, and quite irritable when he spoke to her across the visitor’s table they’d seated themselves at.

“Did you bring me money for a better lawyer? I can’t do time here, Dama. Este lugar me matará.”

“Entiendo. He traído algo para ayudar a su situación. No te preocupes. ¿Quién es ese hombre de ahí?” She said, her attention suddenly on the familiar-looking face of a male across the visiting room, who was also being visited by a young woman, this one with similar features. Family member, if she guessed correctly. 

“Danny Fitzgerald,” Manuelo replied, reverting back to English now. “Killed some Italian in a fight or something. No one wants to mess with him, he’s protected by all the Irish,” he said, voice low. Catalina was still staring at Danny. It was him, the young man from the fight a few months back. The name brought back the memory of the night even more clearly, although she’d missed all the news of his arrest, trial, and incarceration. She’d already been back home in Madrid before his victim’s blood had cooled.

“So, you’ll get me better defense, right?” Manuelo pressed. Catalina smiled and nodded. 

“Sí. Don’t worry, I’ve got a plan. Just keep your head down and stay out of trouble. Everything will be fine,” she said, standing. Her large purse was heavy, and the straps wanted to keep sliding off of her shoulder. There were two kilos of cocaine in it, but they were shaped and packaged to look like sugar cookies. After bidding Manuelo goodbye, she went for the exit, her high heels clicking loudly in the large room. 

Danny, visiting with his sister, couldn’t see anything but the back of her, at least until she opened the door and turned to look over her shoulder at him with that same smile on her face that she’d had the night of the fight when he’d beaten his opponent to a pulp. She mouthed her name at him, but certainly he couldn’t tell what she’d said? The eye contact remained unbroken between them until the door closed. Catalina stared at it a moment, then turned and headed back to the guard station. One guard left his post and followed her out into the parking lot. It was the same one who’d examined the contents of her purse earlier.

“Got that sugar for me, Mamacita?” He said from behind her as she walked to her car. She stopped in the middle of the parking lot and looked at him, all humor and amusement gone.

“Don’t call me that. Where’s your coche? We’re not doing this in broad daylight.” The guard lifted eyebrows at her and then stepped away and towards his vehicle. He got in, but she did not. She simply waited for him to roll down the window. One of the two boxes of cookies came out and was tossed into his lap.

“You want him hurt, or worse?”

“Worse. He does not know how to act like a proper criminal, and needs to be removed from the life permanently for his impertinence.”

“You’re a frightening woman.”

“Am I? You must scare easily,” she replied, then pulled the other box of cookies out and tossed it onto the first. “Daniel Fitzgerald. I want him taken care of.”

“Oh, hey, no. I can’t do that. No one can, he’s protected. Irish mob got him in the fold, real deep-like.”

“Not like that. I want him taken care of. See to it that he gets whatever he desires until he is released. Alcohol, drugs, women. Whatever he wants. How long is his sentence?”

“15 years. He’s eligible for parole in 7.”

“Joder,” she said under her breath. At least he was protected well in there. He was young, too. Couldn’t possibly be 20 yet. She herself was already 25. “I’ll be back next month during my next run. I’ll bring another box of cookies with me if you do as I have requested. I will continue this on a monthly basis as long as the man is kept happy. Understand?”

“Clear as a bell. See ya next time. Hey!” He yelled as she was walking away towards her own car. “You want him to know you’re his sponsor?” 

Catalina stopped and turned. “He will know. If he refuses the gifts, that is his perogative. If he wishes to put me on his visitors list, that is also his perogative.” She said, then walked away.