Total Consciousness

Chapter-2: The Bird and The Cat

Parts 1-6

     Don Amado placed his rifles, barrels down, on Diego’s brown leather sofa. He hung his white gambler hat and burgundy coat on the mahogany stand, by the entrance to Diego’s office. He adjusted his shirt and vest and hinged forward to sit. His heavy pistol—an intricate pearl grip revolver, holstered under his left arm—smacked against his ribs. He smirked with pride.

     Unimpressed by the office, Amado yawned and moved his seat closer to the circular rosewood table. He adjusted his pistol once more and then placed his leather satchel to his side.

     Patricio entered the office with three jugs: one of tamarindo, another of water and the third of ice. He placed all three on a small maple table, adjacent to the conference rosewood, and left.

     A few minutes later Patricio returned. He carried a large silver platter with a variety of pan dulces, a small pyramid of mazapans in the middle and a bowl of dark purple higos. He placed several glasses, napkins and utensils near the refreshments, and retired himself across from Diego’s office, in a small waiting room.

     “Some refreshments,” asked Diego, “before we begin?”

     “No, gracias,” said Amado, “let’s get to the heart of the money. Remember, money comes first, all else is fifth.”

     Diego bowed in agreement and sat down across from Don Amado. One more glance at the grandfather clock in his office, and he noted that the 1:00p.m meeting with Amado Aguilar started at 5:25p.m. He inhaled extra deep, paused and continued.

     “I have the contracts ready,” said Diego, “for your approval.”

     “Magnificent, hombre, I appreciate your detailed work; but …” Don Amado reached into his leather satchel and removed a dark-green folder and handed it to Diego.

     A flutter of twists and churns punched Diego in his stomach as he read over the report. What now? He thought.

     Don Amado continued: “There are some minor modifications that need to be made with the contracts. I’m sure The Far-East Trading Company will agree with these fair adjustments.”

     Cold numbness colored Diego’s face as he listened and read.

     Amado Aguilar smiled and continued to talk about his silver mines. Each word he uttered spread goosebumps along Diego’s spine and arms. Still, Diego reviewed the report multiple times with as much tact as he could manage, while on occasion glancing at Don Amado.

    Diego placed the report down on the table and adjusted his seat. He moved closer and looked over at the stained-glass window in his office. Farther up, he eyed the two crossed Henry rifles for a split moment. He leaned forward and took a deep breath of air like a swimmer and returned his attention to Amado.

     Easy, easy … todo con calma, Diego repeated in his thoughts. His wide eyes softened, his tense jaw relaxed and the knot in his stomach unraveled. He coughed a few times and paused.

     “Don … Amado” said Diego, “Spain is not a short horse ride away. The trip to The Far-East Trading Company will take a minimum of at least three months, señor. Thirty days by sea in each direction, thirty days for business and travel on the mainland, plus any additional days of negotiating in Spain.”

     Don Amado smiled in agreement: “Si, si, I understand Diego. Money requires time to grow before it can be reaped in abundance. Now is not the time to reap. Calmado, Diego. These changes benefit all purses involved, including the bank. The only thing to wrangle is the fair shares of distribution. Calmadito mas bonito, I know of your sickness with the ocean. Send someone else in your stead.”

     Diego looked over the documents again. Except, this time Don Amado stayed quiet.

     “Based on this report,” said Diego, “the bank agrees with your actions. The discovery of copper veins, in your silver mines, must be accounted for in the contracts with The Far-East Trading Company in Spain. Once Spain is aware of this report, they will send representatives to verify, on site, all claims made within this document.”

     Diego opened a thick folder on his desk, flipped a few pages and continued, “Based on this clause here, there is a penalty for delay, and the earliest we can expect them to verify your mines is nine months from now. Be advised, this will push back all contracts by at least twelve months. Do you still want to set this in motion, señor?”

     A triumphant grin showed his pointed fangs as Don Amado replied without hesitation: “Of course, Diego, fire away. Let loose the seeds of money and watch it grow upon the land.”   

     “Very well, then,” said Diego, “as a first step, Señor Amado, I’ll leave Marco in charge of this business trip overseas. He will act as courier and as initial negotiator.”

     “Si, that’s perfect,” said Don Amado. He stood and moved to the refreshments. “Marco is most dependable and charismatic. He is an excellent choice.” He placed two ice shards in a glass, poured tamarindo halfway up and filled the rest with Tequila from a flask he carried in his coat.

     “Glad you agree,” said Diego. He stared at his grandfather clock and pressed his lips tight.

     Amado sipped his drink and picked up several napkins with his right hand. From a variety, he gathered a pineapple empanada, a circle of mazapan and two plump purple higos. He took a bite of each item he gathered and then focused his next two bites, finishing his higos.

     Rich color poured in through the stained-glass window, a mix of red, orange and yellow. Amado moved to the vibrant window, sipping on his drink. His head angled up and he stared at the two crossed Henry rifles. He bit into his pineapple empanada and lowered his gaze and stared at the window.

     Diego served himself a glass of water and walked over to Don Amado with an uneasy stomach. He asked, “Is there anything else?”

     “These rifles above your window,” said Don Amado, “do you still remember how to use them?”

     “I haven’t kept up with much practice since the war. My skills have dulled. I doubt I could hit a target even at fifty meters.”

     Don Amado stared at the rifles with sparkles in his eyes. “If I recall, doesn’t the bank have a pistol and rifle range in the back?”

     Diego breathed in deep, and said: “That’s correct, the guards are required to practice at least once a day. However, ….”

     “Well, there you go,” said Amado, “you have your two rifles, and I have my two rifles. How does some night practice sound? We each take two shots, one with each rifle.” He grinned and stared closely at Diego for a response.

      Diego’s posture stiffened and his neck tensed. He ran his hand through his black wavy hair and thought, of all nights, why this night? His throat dried tight; but he managed to reply calmly.

     “As … you request, señor; however, is there anything else with our current business. The mines or Spain?”

     “No, Diego,” said Amado. “All the details we have discussed are in the report. When do you expect Marco will be ready to leave?” He finished his tamarindo drink and stared at the window.

     “Sunday afternoon at the latest,” said Diego. “I’ll have Patricio relay the information and bring Marco back tonight, after our meeting … after our night practice.”

     A peculiar smile grew on Don Amado’s face as he said: “Bien, Diego, todo bien.” He finished with his pineapple empanada and Mazapan and puzzled over the window.

     “This window,” asked Amado, “is it an eagle and a dog?”

     Diego stared at the stained-glass window and replied, “No, Señor Aguilar, that’s not a dog, it’s a cat.”

     “Si, I see it now, a big cat: lion, tiger or cougar, perhaps.”

     Diego approached the window and traced the bird and the cat for Don Amado. He said, “This cat has the most powerful bite of all the great cats. It prefers to kill its prey by crushing the back of their skull with its massive bite. It’s a jaguar, señor.”

     Don Amado placed his empty glass on the conference table and dusted some crumbs from his vest and moved to gather his things.

     “An eagle wrestling with a jaguar,” said Amado, “I like those odds. Where did you get the idea for this window?”

     Diego hesitated for a second and surprised himself with the truth: “I saw this scene in a dream, five months ago. A month later I had it installed.”

     Don Amado laughed. He picked up a napkin and reached for one more of the nine-remaining purple higos. He ate the higo in two bites and tossed the napkin into the waste can by Diego’s work desk.

     “I’ve heard,” said Amado, “that dreams are messages from God. Perhaps you need some pets to keep you company on that big ranch.”

     “Perhaps you’re right.” Diego kept staring at the window.

     Don Amado pulled out a deck of playing cards from his coat pocket and tapped it twice, pulling Diego’s attention from the window. And without removing the cards from their box, Amado Aguilar ripped the cards in half.   

      Don Amado smiled proudly, threw the cards away and reached out and tapped Diego on his shoulder a couple of times.

     “Come, Mr. Dreamer, let’s go … it’s never too late for some night practice.”

     Patricio and Juan worked fast as they prepared the rifle range behind the bank. The sun dropped below the horizon as the stars blinked open upon the night. There was a need for more light, and the two men rushed and lit a squad of lamps and prepared two targets at the end of the range.  

     Facing away from the rear of the bank, there were seven horse stalls on the right. And, to the left, fifteen meters away from the stalls, the pistol range and then rifle range.

     On the edge, running the length of the rifle range, there stood a large cinder block wall. It stood three meters in height and half a meter in thickness.

     The total length of the rifle range extended to one hundred meters; and it rested at a depth of three meters, from ground level. For greater safety, a five-meter mound of dirt stood, at the target end of the rifle range, that extended to a thickness of seven meters and then tapered off.

     Adjacent to the rifle range, there sat a ten-meter-long pistol range, wide enough for three shooters at a time. Between the pistol range and the horse stalls, there ran a cobblestone path leading out to a small open field. It connected to the rest of the city and mainly consisted of dried grass and gopher holes.

     At the end of the hundred-meter lane, the first square target stood ready. Its dimensions measured one meter by one meter. Pinned in the middle of the white target, a thin black paper outline of a person’s bust waited for the practice to begin.

     The target held two small plates, one at the center of the head and one at heart level. Don Amado noticed the modifications and convinced Diego on a bet. The goal was simple. Hit the target anywhere in the black shaded profile for some gold pieces. And, for added difficulty, one higo would be placed at head level and one at heart level. Hitting the fruit would be worth more gold pieces.   

     In total, each shooter could make five gold pieces, by landing anywhere on the black target; and each shooter could make twenty gold pieces for each higo annihilated. Another requirement in play revolved around time. Both shooters agreed to be responsible for loading their rifle at the moment of firing. Picking up a rifle started the time, while the second shot fired ended the time. As timekeepers, Patricio, Juan and the non-active shooter would each mark start and stop times.

     “How about we flip a coin,” asked Amado, “to see who shoots first?”

     Diego reached into his inner coat pocket and produced a thick silver dollar made in the United States of America. Don Amado inspected the coin, handed it to Patricio and said,

     “A fine coin, Diego, and since you offered the coin, it’s only fair that I claim a side first. I pick the side of the eagle, and you can have the other side. It looks like a lion.”

     “The bird versus the cat,” said Diego, “I have no complaints. Whenever you’re ready, we can begin.” 

     Two tables waited, along with ammunition, while the shooters carried their rifles. Both men switched their rifles, inspected them and made sure no rounds were loaded. Only Diego had to unload Don Amado’s Spencer repeaters. And, once weapons were checked, each shooter prepared their table and themselves to shoot.

     Diego stared at his rifles and reached forward and held his hand over his ammunition. He sniffed at the air and placed two rounds on the table, one next to each rifle on a coin tray.

     Don Amado glossed over the range as he rolled up his sleeves. He said with a dry tone, “I’ve always wondered about the business of war. How was it with you, Diego, in the forties?”

     Diego swallowed hard and jerked his head over to Amado. He held his tongue for several breaths before giving his response.

     “It is a horrible experience, señor. Truely, I’m blessed to be alive.”

     “To be alive,” asked Amado, “if I recall, didn’t you insist on volunteering? Do I detect some regret?”

     Diego subdued his anger by checking his rifles. He felt comforted by the heaviness of his weapon as he replied, “None, señor. I fought for my country—just like the soldiers from the north did.”

     Amado tsked twice, and said, “It sounds like a miserable business venture—best controlled at a distance. Do you think you could ever do it again, the racket of war; and serve your country, if needed?” He placed his box of rounds between his rifles and side glanced at Diego.

     Diego calmly inspected the range and stared at the dirt swirls around the location of the target. Careful with his words, he asked: “What man neglects his duty? Are not all responsible and accountable in any war, señor?”

     Don Amado stayed quiet. He maintained his eyesight down range and considered his reply for three long breaths.  

     “What neglect is more important?” asked Amado. “A rich man’s individual life is his prime duty. How else can any wealthy man grow old and enjoy the pleasures of life for many years to come?”

     Diego stood ready to engage all targets. He turned and faced Amado and said: “You forget señor, rich or poor, a neglectful man is without a soul, living within the death of his chosen weakness. I prefer to live an honest and responsible life. To answer your question, it’s not a matter of choice; it’s a matter of accounting for one’s responsibilities in life, in war, and yes, even in death.”

     With a firm posture, Amado adjusted his wide stance into a narrow position. He lifted his chin up, puffed his chest forward as his eyes gleamed with distaste.

     Don Amado thrust his arm up, waved at Patricio and said:   “Enough talk, flip the coin and let the shooting begin.” 

     Patricio flipped the coin between the two shooters and watched as it fell. It landed with a dusty thump.

     Patricio bent over and called it, “The coin has landed with lion facing up. Gentlemen, your verifications please.”

     “Verified,” said Juan and Diego in unison.

     “Por Dios, it’s verified, let’s get on with it,” said Don Amado.

     Diego moved his table over to the firing line with the help of Juan. With ease, he positioned himself to shoot. All others readied their time piece and waited for him to begin.

     Several quiet breaths and Diego moved like a well-oiled machine, efficient and precise. Swiftly he loaded his first rifle within seven seconds and continued to load his second rifle. By the end of the seventeenth second mark, Diego aimed and fired. A loud Kra-ka-koom echoed around the bank; and one pretentious higo exploded in the head portion of the target.

    The horses continued to eat their grain. Not once being startled by the typical gun fire in their surroundings.

     Diego picked up and placed down a rifle within one second, and another loud Kra-Cha-koooom pierced the ears of the shooting party. An explosion of red-juicy-flesh scattered, this time from the heart level of the target. The second prideful higo lay dead on the range, seeds and meaty flesh mixing in the dirt.

     “Bravo, Diego, bravo,” said Don Amado. “Nice shots, young man, I mark twenty seconds.”

     Patricio and Juan were also impressed by the two shots. They each replied with total times of twenty-one seconds.

     “I’ll take the average of the highest two times,” said Diego, “which puts me at twenty-one seconds. Do you have any disagreements, Don Amado?”

     Amado finished his slow clap and replied, “None to declare.Let the record show twenty-one seconds with two precise mortal shots delivered.”

     Diego wiped drops of sweat from his face and struggled to hold back a smile. With the help of Patricio, he moved his table and weapons to the side. In the meantime, Juan moved on to help Don Amado.

     Finished positioning the remaining table into the firing lane, Juan rushed to set up the next target. Don Amado readied himself, taking a few sips of his Tequila Lumbre flask. 

     Juan called out in between gasps as he ran back: “All set … gentlemen … I’m ready with … my time piece.”

     Don Amado steadied his breathing and moved into action. In four seconds, he loaded two rounds into his first rifle. Four seconds later, his second rifle received two rounds as well. Another three seconds and Amado’s first shot hit one centimeter to the left of the head leveled higo.

     “Mierda,” said Amado as he picked up his second rifle in a blur. He aimed for another four seconds and fired: Kra-choom. The second shot hit one centimeter to the left of the heart leveled higo.

     Diego lifted his hands to clap but stopped.

     Don Amado fired for a third time. This shot chipped the head higo, sending it spinning off the small holding plate. One more time, Amado switched rifles, and he fired. The fourth shot splattered the heart higo, bursting red pulp and seeds into the air.

     Thin long ribbons of smoke surrounded Don Amado as he placed his rifle down. The smell of sulfur reached everyone before it vanished into the warm night air.

     “My apologies,” said Amado, “I got caught up in the excitement and fired four shots instead of two. Of course, we’ll only count the first two shots.” 

     “Understandable, señor,” said Diego, “the first two shots were superb hits to mortal areas. I marked sixteen seconds.” He looked at the three men and tried to contain his victorious smile on his face.

     Patricio and Juan confirmed that the first two shots were made in sixteen seconds.

     “A bet is a bet, Diego. Twenty pieces per higo, minus the five pieces per shot I made … I’ll bring you your thirty pieces of gold next week.”

     “No rush, señor; I’m glad you convinced me to practice with you this evening.”

     Amado laughed. “I’m not surprised you shot well. I heard stories of your expert shooting from the veterans in the cantinas. Every one of them spoke highly of the calmness, accuracy and swiftness of your elite marksmanship. Now … with my very own eyes, I know … I know firsthand of the character you possess.”

     Amado lifted his chin and moved to gather his things quickly. All set and ready to leave, he turned to Diego and bowed his head as he reached over to shake his hand.

     “Well played,” said Amado, “and excellent shooting. Keep me informed on the details of the business we discussed earlier. For now, I am off to other important business matters at La Rata Roja cantina: fine easy drinks and even finer and easier women.” He laughed and turned to Patricio and Juan and waved. “Gracias muchachos, have a pleasant evening.”

     Without hesitation, Diego and company replied in chorus,

     “Para servir es mi deber, señor.”

     Amado strutted away with an overabundance of victory in his steps.    

     Diego ignored Amado and instead gazed up at the moon. A mixture of sadness and wonder dripped over his heart. The moonlight filled him with awe as he called out to Don Amado before he entered the bank. “Thank you for the practice, señor.”

     Don Amado walked out of Banco de La Republica at 7:15p.m. Patricio, along with Juan, cleaned up the rifle range and secured everything to its proper place.

     Inside the bank, sitting at his circular conference table, Diego cleaned his rifles before giving them one last inspection.

     He finished and sat for a while with his rifles in his hands, reflecting on the night’s events. The feeling of firing his weapons stirred more memories within his heart. Memories he resisted and failed to keep back. They lived and breathed again, tugging at his soul.

     A glint of light flickered in his office window. It caused Diego to blink several times, urging him to move into action. He stood and carried a rifle in each hand and walked toward his stained-glass window.

     The pendulum of his grandfather clock grabbed his attention for a breath, as he walked past his ornate time piece. The dependable swings soothed him, while the steady ticks and tocks reminded him to aim ahead.

     Heavy in each of his hands, Diego lifted his rifles and placed them away in their spot, above the stained-glass window.

     By 7:45p.m, Diego stood with his arms crossed behind his back. He swallowed hard and stared at his over-used rifles. They glistened, and appeared to breathe as they rested, all peacefully like, above the bird and the cat.

Thank you

     I appreciate your time in reading this blog post. Next Saturday I will upload the first part of Chapter Three: A Pledge Accepted, from my first novel: Guerrero of Passions.