Girl in Gold

Chapter 3 ~ Blake Moreno Bowmen

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CHAPTER 3

Blake Moreno Bowmen

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The sun did not reach this far West so early in the morning. Getting up at this time on a Monday was not Blake's forte, but something about it was ideal for him to visit the graveyard. When the mist hung heavy, and birds only just woke up. Before the sun could catch him in the act.

It was because of two tombstones that Blake found himself here. Lighting a cigarette, he tried discerning blackbirds from sparrows as he listened to the chirping tunes. He took a drag. This place made his lungs itch. In truth, he was only visiting one grave, but the other came along as a package deal he never cared for.

Leaves crunched behind him, but the slow, measured steps were too familiar to be concerned. He kept his eyes on the grave.

"You're awake rather early," Dominic Moreno said as a greeting, his voice low and accent thick.

"El que madruga, dios le ayuda," Blake replied, fiddling with the bracelet under his jacket sleeve.

Dominic had a breathy chuckle.

"Indeed he does," he said, standing next to Blake.

The men watched the grave in silence. After Blake had already smoked half his cigarette, Dominic let go of a plangent sigh.

"Ay, qué peca'o, he truly was going to be the best cyng the West had ever seen. Such a shame it had to be you," he said, the words dripping with honeyed poison.

The corner of Blake's mouth lifted. He had found amusement in condescendence after three years of being cyng. It would be easy to have his uncle's tongue cut out for the disrespect, but if he did that to everyone who thought he should not have been cyng, he would have had a whole bloodline full of mutes. Including himself.

"I didn't know you were back," Blake said, the cigarette warming his lips. "Not enough work back in Colombia?"

"Ah, no, there's plenty of work back home. I'm only here because my sister asked nicely. The elder kin are gathered for next week's shipment."

"Tell Mother I can handle a few containers."

His uncle scoffed.

"You make half a billion euros cocaína sound so trivial."

"Well, isn't it?" Blake asked. He took another drag. "You don't have to worry about me, Dominic."

"Of course I do. As elder kin, it's my job. Even in your father's time, I worried for the West," the older man replied with a plastic smile. "I heard you were completely out of it last night."

"Just celebrating my third year as cyng."

"Not with your own product, you don't."

Blake clicked his tongue. He had no habit of getting high. There were only three instances, and last night was one of them.

A ping chimed and Blake checked his texts. His shoulders caved with another long breath. Finishing his smoke, he pocketed his phone and stepped on his cigarette.

"I have business at school," he said, aiming to turn.

"It's been three years."

Blake stopped. His uncle turned to face him. Everyone on his mother's side of the family looked the same. Black hair, sharp cheeks, and dark narrowed eyes that could freeze over hell itself.