Fernando would have to begin again, distancing himself from her.

There were many ways he could accomplish this. The goal was to wean Felicia off him without provoking her to hysterics. Fernando enjoyed playing with women. He even enjoyed tormenting them a little—but to cause them real pain was never his intent. Women’s tears of anguish sickened and repelled him. A clean break was best for all parties concerned. Arguably tricky to accomplish when a woman’s pride had been exploited for his gratification, but Fernando prided himself on his ability to turn the tides of tempestuous passion in his favor. To him, the exit strategy was as important as the initial approach.

Being a few towns away helped to this end. There was already a practical separation of space and time which he could use to his advantage. To let Felicia down nice and easy, as he had done with others like her, other times in the past.

A tidy plan of execution began to formulate in his mind. But before he could act on this, the unexpected occurred. Perhaps Fernando had been unlucky. Perhaps he’d simply been careless. Certainly this is how he would see it in the final analysis, as a fatal misstep on his part—

A chance of chaos he should have allowed for in his calculations, for there was no practical accounting for space and time in the mind of an aggrieved woman.

It was a typical night at El Toro—busy, bawdy, riotous and lucrative. By word of mouth, the infamous reputation of the joint had spread like wildfire. Intrepid sinners of all persuasions traveled from far and wide to sample its sordid delights, which were growing choicer thanks to the same reputation. El Toro had become a pilgrimage point for the darkly inquisitive, the seasoned profane. Foreign tourists, drug lords and their entourages, Antiguans and their mistresses.

“Cortez, a hot destination,” Mondragón had chuckled as he and Fernando had talked recruitment and further expansion. “Who would have guessed?”

Of course there were the local patrons as well. Fernando gave them the royal treatment with free drinks, free bets, and other under-the-table perks. Envious onlookers wondered how they themselves might buy their way into similar echelons of exclusivity—which Fernando judiciously obliged.

He was fast becoming the patron saint of Cortez with all the wealth and economy he was bringing into town. Inns, restaurants and other local establishments that had had mostly stray dogs and drifters darkening their doorstep were suddenly swamped with more business than they knew what to do with. Even the tottering mission church was being repaired to cater to the influx of wasted penitents who flocked there after nights of drunken debauchery. Around town, people whom Fernando had never met were claiming friendship and even kinship with him (on his sane grandfather’s side, naturally).

There was nothing to suggest anything inauspicious was afoot on that unremarkable evening at El Toro. From the balcony Fernando surveyed his booming domain. Above and apart from the hustle and bustle, he reclined against the railing, drinking from his glass of whisky in perfect, easy ignorance of the danger hurtling toward him.

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La Gorgona © CS Dark Fantasy