by Carl Henegan
“Oh yeah, um which one is that?” Mike asked.
“I read that one didn’t cross the line.”
“That’s a good question. Well my guess is that he just went back to his family to keep them safe.”
Willard twisted his mouth thoughtfully. “Humm, I think he shoulda stayed and crossed the line with the rest,” Willard said then ran back and stood Danny and John.
The group eventually left the Alamo then found their way back to the river walk path. Night had fallen across the river as they passed bars with more mature crowds then Mike wanted to deal with. Nestled between the wilder establishments, they came across a more family friendly place to eat.
It had been a while since they had eaten so the food was devoured fast by everyone. As pallet pleasing as it was, Mike was more impressed with the ability to just relax.
While the small talk and laughter continued through out the meal, Mike’s mind was haunted by the words of the Wiz. He hated when his thoughts drifted and hoped that the other’s didn’t notice.
You where right Wiz; there will always those who play it safe and never cross the line.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
The Omni La Mansion Del Rio Hotel sister property sat directly across river. The Watermark Hotel operated by the same company represented contemporary version of The La Mansion with five star excellence. The Watermark may have lacked an historic link but impressed its visitors with pure elegance.
Even without the historic value it delivered an atmosphere of urban sophistication. It existed as a modern compliment to the La Mansion and the chosen location for Garcia and his associates. Garcia didn’t need the history; he planned on making some of his own.
“Beautiful,” Anna said as they entered the grand lobby.
Several eyes, mostly on Anna, followed the couple as they passed through the lobby. Just like at the airport, their presence drew a lot of attention. Garcia and Anna remained a short distance away while Tyler walked up to the check in counter.
He maintained an expressionless face when he spoke to the girl behind the counter. “We have several rooms reserved under the name Al Khan,” he said.
A total of four suites were reserved for the group. One premier suite with the three regular suites was all specifically chosen for strategic purposes. With the arrival of Garcia, Anna, and Tyler, now everyone had arrived.
The four men that included X, who drove to the location, sat in the lobby waiting for their room keys. Tyler completed taking care of the room assignments then passed out the room keys. Anna and Garcia made their way to their private suite.
* * *
Across the river at the La Mansion, an equally large party checked into the historic hotel. This group landed in a private jet at the San Antonio International Airport carrying a total of three armed men. He knew Michael was already there in the same hotel as well as the exact rooms that he and his family occupied.
Daniel Perez knew more then most people even wanted to know.
To the staff at the La Mansion, the group of men appeared like an assembly of business travelers. As they received their separate room keys no words were passed between them. Their rehearsed assignment locked in their heads as solid as the ABC’s. The rest of the night would be routine. They completed missions much more complicated then this, so errors on any level were not an option. That lack of tolerance did not concern any of them, mistakes were never made.
* * *
About four blocks away from the La Mansion, a tall female checked into her room. Men working at the Holiday Inn tried to conceal their constant staring but still twisted their heads for a better view. She disliked the attention and felt like a virtual magnet for moral deprived male onlookers.
As she unwillingly pulled their eyes toward her she thought about only one man. Her head lifted held remaining unmindful and unconcerned about the distant admiration. She made a concerted effort not to draw attention.
She knew that she commanded attention in a way that she did not consciously control. The innate sway of her hips and, so she has been told, sultry strut came as natural for her as her breathy voice and a genetic curse from her mother. As she approached the front desk, the young lady working behind it stood up straight looking up to her almost as mesmerize as the men.
The six-inch heels on her Manolo shoes made her tall frame reach even higher, towering above nearly everyone around her. Men at the lobby’s desk stood transfixed with their eyes locked on her tight red dressed. She tried not to sway when she walked up to the check in counter but failed.
“Do you have any rooms available?” she said. Her strong Russian accent laced across every word.
“Yes we do we have several available, would you like smoking or non smoking?”
“Smoking please. Also would you tell me how close am I to the Watermark Hotel?”
The young girl behind the counter voice shook when she spoke. “I, I think we are only a few books, I mean blocks away.” She pointed east. “The Watermark sits right on the, the river walk. If you walk that way, you can’t miss it, I think.”
The woman handed the girl her passport and credit card.
“Ok Miss um,” the hotel clerk looked at the passport for her name.
“It’s Garcia, Mrs. Marsha Garcia,” she said.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
Alone in his suite, Daniel Perez sipped on a glass of Cognac. He brought the liquor with him from his personal collection. Tonight’s choice turned out to be a bottle of Remy Martin Louis XIII.
He sipped from the monogrammed glass. “Ahhhhhhh,” he said leaning back. The flavor caressed his pallet allowing him to savor all that he possessed.
What eluded him for so many years fell within his grasp. With all the connections, inside information, and control of powerful people the one thing he had not been able to obtain was closure from his last wife’s indiscretions. When Michael Andrews approached him to help get Garcia, it was the very thing he needed for solace. The planets aligned in his favor.
The idea of getting Garcia was not a new one. During the years that followed his wife’s death, he quietly tried to track Garcia down to make him pay for the affair. For Perez, the indiscretion insulted and ultimately showed a sign of total disrespect. As hard as he tried, locating Garcia proved to be problematical to say the least. With multiple identities, world traveling and insiders working with him, the task became more trouble then it was worth.
Perez heard the stories about Garcia like everyone else. In the small circles of organized crime word traveled fast. The mutual respect accompanied a strong level of revulsion. In Perez’s eyes Garcia was a foul representation of the honor among society’s rebels.
The fact that he arrived to the crest of crossing paths with Garcia was of no surprise. Perez had no doubt that that sooner or later the collision would occur. With Garcia after Michael he could use the situation to enter a surprise attack of his own.
Perez had no false illusions. The very moment that he and Garcia crossed paths would become a collision that was going to be nothing shot of volatile. The sick scent of death lingered as if waiting for the pending war. He would have to chalk up the bodies left in their wake as casualties of conflict.
Perez consider Garcia as a worthy but lesser adversary. He would never allow himself to be place Garcia in the same category. The mere thought of this issue disturbed him more then anything. As far apart as he wanted to be from Garcia, their names would somehow end up spoken in the same outside conversations. Their links from the past migrated to the vast separated underground empires they ruled today.
Comparisons were unavoidable and often spoken of by others but never out loud. On the flight to San Antonio, Perez overheard two of his men whisper about Garcia. The conversation center on one of the numerous rumors they heard about the man. This rumor spoke of a man who tried to repay a debt to Garcia with counterfeit bills.
The minuscule dollar amount had little bearing on Gar
cia’s response. For him it was a matter of principal and reputation.
The man who gave Garcia the counterfeit money made a grave error. While sitting at a bar he had just enough drinks that allowed him to brag about the incident. The bar just so happened to be partly owned by Garcia. Word got out fast and to Garcia just as Garcia was about to board a flight to Mexico. Instead of getting on he stepped out of the plane and instructed his personal driver to take him to the establishment.
Garcia entered to find the half drunk man still sat at the bar. The entire bar fell to a haunting silence. The man however rambled on about odd topics till he too noticed the change in atmosphere.
He looked around then saw the people inside moving away for him while others eased closer to the walls. In the door way the shadowy figure of Garcia stood. His smoldering cigarette rested between his fingers and his eyes locked on the seated man.
Sobriety hit him instantly from extreme trepidation. Garcia walked slowly from the entrance in his direction. The man nervously knocked over his glass as he trembled on the barstool. Garcia stood over him looking down with the squinted eyes of a dark soul. The man soiled his pants as tears began to develop in his red eyes and all conditions of drunkenness had left his body.
The initial hope that Garcia may not have known about the counterfeit bills dissolved the moment he saw him. Garcia reached inside of his jacket then gently placed the fake bills on the bar. He pulled a ten-inch blade from his other pocket and kissed the tip of the blade.
Heavy sweat poured from the man’s body. His breathing grew loud and rapid followed by incoherent mumbling. “Pleees...Oh Ga...oh...oh, God, Jesus Chr-” Heavy whimpering followed the unintelligible plea.
Garcia separated the bills in shorter stacks. With the care of a surgeon he began cutting up the bills in to smaller pieces. Garcia reached behind the bar and slid a bowl in front of the terrified man. All of the dissected bills were sprinkled into the bowl.
“Listen my friend; you have known me for a long time. I know you were just in a bad situation,” Garcia paused and lifted his shoulders to the crowd. “It happens right guys?” No one responded.
He turned his attention back to the shivering man. “But as much as I would like to, I just can’t let this go. Understand? My reputation just can’t afford that kind of bad publicity.”
The man blubbered like a five year old looking into the bowl of cut up counterfeit money. Garcia spoke low with an emotionless tone and only loud enough for the man right next to him to hear.
“So, you think you can get me the real, money by say next week?” he said.
“Oh God, I am so sa sa sorry Mr. Garcia. Next week no problem, I’ll have it all every cent. Before next week even, I’ll ga get it, for sure I’ll get it,” he said as his voice quivered and he sniffed between every other word.
Garcia got even closer. His breath fell against the man’s face as the cigarette smoke exited out of his mouth.
“I think you will my friend. I really think you will. Also I need you to add five hundred dollars to the previous total, you know to make up for this little inconvenience?”
“Ok, ok, no problem. I’ll get the money and the extra, you have my word.”
“Yeah, I think you’ll be ok.” Garcia patted the man on the back gently. “Before I leave, I do need you to eat this bowl of fake money you gave to me.” Garcia pulled up the bar stool next to him and sat calmly smoking his cigarette.
The bar crowed watched in disbelief. The man picked up the pieces of bills by the hand full and washed it down with water. He continued till the entire bowl was empty.
After he finished it all, Garcia stood then signaled his driver. “I’ll see you next week my friend,” he said. Garcia walked to the exit with his driver holding the door open for him then walked through it.
The man sat slumped in the barstool. His breathing slowed but the tremendous amount of sweat remained across his face and soaked shirt. He appeared to be at the brink of a stroke with his lowered head now apparently too heavy to hold up. The burden of trying to think of ways to come up with the cash already weighed heavily on him.
When a loud scream came from inside of the bar, he jumped in his seat. The startled man jerked his head up to see catch the sight of Garcia running directly at him.
The silver blade held high above his head. Garcia’s wide eyes laced with madness and his forehead creased with stern intensity. Before the man could even react the ten-inch blade plunged into his chest. The momentum forced his body off the barstool crashing into a nearby table.
The victim’s eyes remained open as the shock of instant death touched his last seconds of consciousness. His eyes stayed fixed on Garcia who stood directly over him. “Save a seat for me in hell, my friend.”
Garcia extinguished his lit cigarette against the man’s face then walked out of the bar.
* * *
Perez walked over to his guard who had just told the story.
“Who told you that story about Garcia?” Perez asked.
The guard gave a nervous glance to the other one seated next to him. He cleared his throat. “Sir, I um, was told that story by a guy who said that he was there that day.”
“Is that correct? I have to tell you that my brother was there on that day and your account was not accurate,” Perez said then returned to his seat.
The guard stood then moved over to Perez.
“Sir I’m sorry. I was just telling him what I had heard,” he said.
Perez could see his bottom lip quivering.
“It’s fine,” Perez assured him. “Besides most of the story was accurate.”
“Oh ok thank you Sir.” He turned to walk away then stopped. “Sir, if I may ask. What part of the story was not accurate?”
Perez leaned his head back against the chair and closed his eyes. “The blade was 12 inches not 10. The rest of the story was dead on,” he said.
“That man is pure evil,” the guard sad before lowering his head then walking away.
“That he is,” Perez agreed.
Yet, in my youth, I’ve done a lot worst, he thought.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
Garcia sat at the end of the four-post iron bed. On the bedroom chair inside the suite, his treasured copy of the Art of War sat in pristine condition. He kept the book close and found a sense of comfort by it constantly being in his presence.
“Anna my dear,” he said. “I signed you up for a spa treatment here. After that you can do some shopping if you would like.”
Anna kissed Garcia on the cheek. Over the years they developed a level of communication that didn’t need words. She knew that the spa and shopping offer was his way of telling her that he needed her to disappear for a while, business ─ to whatever extent that entailed ─ needed to be attended to without her around.
“Ok baby, thank you,” she said.
“X!” he called out. Javier entered the room.
“X, Anna is going to the spa and then do a little shopping for about an hour of so. Would you escort her for me?”
“Of course Mr. Garcia,” he said.
Once they left Garcia took time to gather his thoughts. He wanted; rather needed the space to allow the well arranged pieces to fall in place. So much work needed to be done.
Final adjustment would ensure that everything was as it should be. He removed a pair of high-powered night vision binoculars from the nightstand then walked to the balcony. He placed then to his eyes then peered through them looking across river walk.
The view that materialized inside of the scope was none other then the La Mansion Hotel. From the ground floor he counted up five floors. He then counted across to the fourth and fifth windows.
The curtains were closed, but Garcia knew exactly who occupied the rooms. The two rooms had been reserved by Michael Andrews and his family. With his free hand he made a call to Tyler.
“Is everything set?” Garcia said.
“Yeah, we all got the balconies to their
adjoining rooms visually marked. They’re not there now but we’ll be able to spot them as soon as they return,” Tyler said.
“And Chris?”
“Chris is posted on the balcony to his suite just one level directly below you. He’s just waiting for the signal.”
“How good is this guy?”
“He was a sniper for the army and did a tour in Afghanistan, worked for a swat team in New York as the top man on the team, then was recruited by the CIA but turned them down. Word was he got a better offer from another team, so not above reproach. That’s why I got him.”
“Like him already,” Garcia said.
“He does this job and disappears till we need him again. He wasn’t told who or when just to stay at his post till you make the call to his earpiece.”
“That’s good Fuse, very good.” Garcia disconnected the call and continued to survey the area.
* * *
The shops along the river walk were lined up waiting for customers just like Anna. The window displays pulled her inside then tempted her with sales that she thought she would be foolish to pass. After just a half hour she could see that X had already grown restless.
The impatience didn’t just come from the idol time spent waiting for her to try on different outfits. She noticed how he sat the bags he was carrying for her down every chance he could.
“Are the bags getting heavy X?” she said.
“No, there’re fine,” he lied.
While inside of one stores Anna was told about a good place to buy jewelry by one of the sales persons. The lure of jewelry purchases overpowered her without fail. She dashed out to find store as X trailed behind as best as he could.
The concrete path between the shops and the river itself lined with several brightly colored oversized umbrellas. Below the umbrellas, small tables anchored where many would sit to people watch and embrace the essence of San Antonio. Anna noticed a stunning tall women sitting at one of the tables and offered her a nod.
The woman did not return the friendly greeting.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
Marsha Garcia sat with a cup of coffee, watching, waiting. When Anna passed right in front of her Marsha recognized her immediately. Martin’s flavor of the week, she sniffed. She could not help but notice the large body guard the trailed behind the petite brunette.
