The new establishment was called El Toro, and it was part pool hall and gambling den. Backed by Mondragón’s full support, Fernando saw the place finished out in record time.
El Toro appealed without pretense to all of Cortez’s most deeply cherished vices. Because of this, it was eagerly anticipated and well-received—not only by the locals, but by the rural region at large. Drinks and women were served on the side. Underground fights held there were advertised by word of mouth. No less than five separate brawls broke out to christen its bawdy and lucrative opening night. Like the stolid young interloper who ran it, El Toro had the uncanny quality of seeming to have always been there.
Chico and the others relinquished their careers in construction at a word, setting aside their tools one day and taking up their places in this new operation the next, as easily as donning a fresh change of clothes. Fernando had no such expectations of them. Yet all the same he’d anticipated this, their falling in line with the natural order he had set.
“Just don’t expect me to call you ‘jefe,'” Tito said, adjusting the cuffs of the new suit Fernando had just bought him and the others with Mondragón’s advance.
Chico paused in admiring his own sharp suit to sneer over at him. “You can wrap a turd in silk, but it’s still just a turd.”
Tito scowled and said “fuck you” as Pepe smirked and tucked a silk kerchief into his chest pocket. Lacing up a pair of gleaming dress shoes as big as small boats, Lalo chortled.
Fernando just smiled as he took out a thick stack of bills from his jacket pocket and set them on the counter. “Didn’t I already tell you, Tito? If you’d rather call me ‘papi,’ that’s fine.”
While the others laughed their asses off, Tito fumed.
Fernando even found a place at El Toro for his old jefe Alfonso, hiring him on to do backroom security for the club. It was a nominal position of authority which kept Alfonso out of the way while allowing him to feel important. Half-watching the surveillance cameras, he lazed about with his boots up, while Lalo and his fellows provided the real muscle to keep the rowdy patrons in line.
With their complementary merits, Pepe and Tito worked the floor, bringing any disputes that couldn’t be settled between them to Fernando’s attention. Chico remained his right-hand man—pit boss, hustler and fellow reckoner. Whatever Fernando decided, Chico executed with anticipatory swiftness.
Quite suddenly, the five of them found themselves with more money than they knew what to do with. Chico bought a car, a vermillion roadster to make his older brother Pedro green with envy. Lalo gambled and drank to his oafish heart’s content. Tito purchased flashy clothes and flashy women to suit them. Pepe bought a big diamond ring for his girlfriend Alejandra.
“Smart man,” Chico said to Fernando, grinning. “I still don’t know how he managed to land a catch like her. Life’s just one big fucking mystery, I guess.”
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