A Touch of Malice

by Gary Ponzo

  “I was thinking about where . . .” Julie’s voice cracked.

  “Baby.”

  “I was thinking about where . . .” she sucked in a quick breath and got it out quick before she completely broke down, “where you should be buried.”

  Julie’s love was so strong, Nick could feel it in his bones.

  “Baby, baby, please. It’s going to be okay. Nothing bad is going to happen. I’m surrounded by Navy SEALs.”

  Somehow he’d managed to say just the right thing. Julie’s sobs became erratic breathing.

  “Really?” she said.

  “Sure,” Nick said getting up from his seat. “You want to speak with one of them?”

  “No, it’s okay.”

  “Seriously, let me put one on and you can talk with him.”

  “No, really, Nick. Don’t.” Julie’s tone was softening.

  “You sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “You believe me, then?”

  “I always believe you.”

  “Good,” Nick said, standing now, gripping the back of the seat in front of him and staring down at the blue Caribbean through one of the open windows. “Then believe me when I say this—I’ll be home in two days with a healthy appetite for a long nap with you.”

  In the background, his son’s voice was rising, looking for some attention.

  “I think someone might have something to say about that,” Julie said. “Here he is. Say good-bye to him.”

  Nick could hear the innocence of a toddler breathing into the receiver, probably trying to chew the thing.

  “Say Da Da,” Julie said from a distance.

  “Mama,” Thomas said.

  Nick grinned. “Yeah, buddy. Mama.”

  “Mama.”

  “I love you, Thomas.”

  Breathing.

  “I think he understood,” Julie said returning to the phone. “He’s smiling.”

  “All right, baby, I’ll—”

  “I’m sorry, Nick.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not. I’m really sorry. I love you too much sometimes, that’s all.”

  “Yeah,” Nick said, dropping back into his seat and shutting his eyes. “We’re going to have to work on that when I get back.”

  Chapter 20

  Tommy parked the rental on a side street. The road itself was lined with some type of brick pavers, uneven and disheveled with entire sections missing. It was obviously an older section of Medellin with a taco stand on the corner and the smell of fresh Colombian coffee permeating the air. Although the buildings were a combination of brick and wood siding, they were clean and the landscaping had been kept closely manicured.

  Tommy found the office building directly across the street from his small sedan. It was an enormous compound, yet it was unobtrusive, with vines crawling up the bottom half of the building. The only dubious component to the entire complex was the iron gates covering the windows on the first floor.

  There was an opening in a block wall which fronted the office. Above the opening was a sign which read: Pavone Bros. Funeria. Tommy walked down the concrete sidewalk bordered with a planter full of an impressive assortment of colorful flowers. He was about to open the solid oak door when he noticed a surveillance camera monitoring the entrance.

  The door opened. A man wearing a black suit and a thin black tie cocked his head.

  “May I help you?” the man asked with no sense of humor.

  “I’m here to see Carl.”

  The man opened the door and Tommy stepped into the showroom. The room was packed with so many flowers and plants that it resembled a greenhouse. The wall paintings were all spiritual in nature, featuring Jesus on the cross and the last supper. In the center of the room were three empty caskets sitting on platforms. The one in the middle was a rich mahogany color which gleamed like the hood of a new Mercedes Benz.

  “Did you have an appointment?” the man asked.

  The middle casket was split into two halves. Tommy pulled up the top portion of the casket which must’ve been spring loaded because as heavy as the object was, he could’ve opened it with his thumb and index finger. The inside was lined with black velvet and had a silky white material draped over the lining with a frilly white pillow by the head of the structure.

  “How much does something like this go for?” Tommy asked.

  “That one is our Executive model. It sells for twelve thousand.”

  Tommy let out a low whistle. “Man, what a way to go.”

  “It comes with a protective rubber gasket for a full seal,” the man said, putting his sales training to work.

  “You know what? I think I’d like to be buried in something like this. It looks more comfortable than my bed.”

  “Well, if you—”

  “It’s okay,” Tommy said, gently closing the lid. “I’ve got a couple days to go yet.”

  “Certainly,” the man said.

  A door opened from the back of the room and a gaunt man with three-day stubble and bushy eyebrows stood in the doorway examining the intruder. The man had a bulge under his brown jacket signaling a weapon. When he finished his examination, the side of his mouth curled into a slight grin.

  Tommy waited.

  Carl Pavone took six or seven quick steps and wrapped his arms around Tommy, squeezing so hard, Tommy almost couldn’t breathe. When Pavone finally pulled back, his face beamed. He looked at the man in the black suit.

  “Eddie, this is Tommy Bracco. He is a very dear friend.”

  Tommy shook the man’s hand who gave him a reverent nod.

  “Eddie, could you bring us a couple of espressos from Sweet Maria’s?” Pavone asked.

  “Of course, Mr. Pavone.”

  “C’mon, c’mon,” Pavone said, ushering Tommy through the open door and into a large warehouse filled with empty caskets. There were metal shelves thirty feet high packed with various colors and sizes of caskets. On the far wall was a large garage door for a semi-truck to pull up and load or unload its cargo. In a section beyond the shelves, Tommy could hear the high whine of an electric circular saw with voices talking over the din.

  Pavone opened the door to his office and let Tommy have a seat before sitting in his squeaky leather chair behind his desk. Pavone’s office was small and messy and looked like he actually worked there. It had a large window which offered a full view of the warehouse.

  Just then, a man casually walked past the picture window with a boning knife stuck into the side of his head and blood dripping down the side of his neck. The man smiled at Pavone and hopped on one of the hydraulic lift trucks and began lifting a casket with the metal forks.

  As he drove away with the casket, Pavone said, “Halloween is in a couple of weeks and some of the guys are having fun with the costumes we bought for the crew. The neighborhood kids come by after school and we dress up and hand out candy before we go home.”

  “I see.”

  “So,” Pavone said. “How do you like Colombia?”

  “That’s exactly what I was going to ask you.”

  “Well, really, Tommy, it’s been kinda nice. The people are friendly. The cost of living is reasonable. It’s been nice.”

  Tommy’s eyes roamed around the office, finally finding a picture on the desk of a dimpled teenage girl smiling with a mouthful of braces.

  “How’s she doing?”

  Pavone’s face threatened to turn maudlin.

  “Hey,” Tommy said sharply. “Don’t get soft on me, Carl.”

  “Tommy,” Pavone managed. “What you did . . .”

  “Forget it. Tell me how she is now?”

  Pavone brightened. “She’s going to college down here and loves it. Couldn’t be happier.”

  “Great. That’s all I wanna hear.”

  Eddie brought a couple of small cups of steaming espressos and placed them down on the desk in front of the two men.

  “Enjoy,” Eddie said as he left for the showroom.

  “Thank
you,” Tommy and Pavone said together.

  Tommy sipped the dark liquid mixture and immediately smiled. “Wow.”

  “It’s from a small farm in Nariño,” Pavone said, conspiratorially. “The best.”

  “Man, that’s good. Almost a little fruity.”

  Pavone’s long fingers tapped his desk. “So you need some help?”

  “Information. That’s all.”

  “Tell me.”

  Tommy took another sip, then placed the cup on the desk. “I need to know about Pablo Moreno.”

  Pavone’s face dropped. He put down his espresso and moved around his desk to shut the door. Then he pulled up an empty chair next to Tommy and leaned forward. “What did he do?”

  “He kidnapped a friend.”

  Pavone looked at the empty space between them without focusing on any one thing. “He’s dangerous.”

  “I know.”

  “He’ll have me killed if he—”

  “No,” Tommy said. “I won’t put you at risk. I just need to know about him. Details. I need to get inside his regime. And quick. I spent two hours reading classified information on the flight over and it was helpful, but you’re here in the trenches. You can help me understand how he operates.”

  “You are working with Nick again?”

  Tommy nodded.

  Pavone took a quick glance at his daughter’s picture and came back with a fierce look of determination. “I’ll tell you whatever you want, amigo.”

  “Well, let’s back up. How well do you know the guy?”

  “Very well.” Pavone gestured to the warehouse full of caskets. “He’s my biggest customer.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No. He has a . . . how can I put it, a compassionate side to him. Out of guilt, I suppose. In Medellin he’s called ‘El Patron del Bueno,’ the good boss. He feeds the poor and pays to have roads paved and schools built.”

  “A regular Robin Hood.”

  “In a way, but don’t let that fool you. He is a shrewd businessman who will chew up his competition rather brutally. When he has an enemy killed, however, he sends me to their house and has their funeral paid for. I’ve become so accustomed to being the messenger, people see me on the street and they tense up.”

  Tommy took another sip of the espresso and could feel his heart pump, a combination of caffeine and the intensity in Pavone’s eyes, knowing he was about to become part of the story himself. “Let me ask you something. I put a gun to his head and tell him to release my friend, what happens?”

  Pavone rubbed the side of his face. “Boy, Tommy, I don’t know. It’s probably fifty-fifty. This isn’t Baltimore. This guy practically owns the entire country.” Pavone had a distant look, maybe playing things through in his mind. “Okay, let’s say you pull it off and he releases your friend. Then what? You think you’re going to make it out of the city alive? No, I don’t like that at all.”

  Tommy picked up the hot cup of coffee and held it in his hands. The warmth soothing him somehow, or maybe speaking with one of his kind, working out problems just like the old days.

  “Okay,” Tommy said. “He has faults. Somewhere in his personality is a flaw. Tell me about him.”

  Pavone stared at Tommy, seemingly desperate to help his friend. “Here’s what I know. Not only does he have compassion for the poor, he hires people on the spot without ever scrutinizing their background. Maybe he figures if the guy is stupid enough to cross him, he’ll be dead soon anyway? But one day, we’re at a job where my brother-in-law is working with a cadaver. He’s spending time to make sure the face looks realistic for the loved left behind. Moreno sees this and immediately asks him to be part of his crew. He liked his work habit.”

  “What happened?”

  “What could I do? I can’t afford to pay him what Moreno could offer, so I told him to go and make a good living.”

  “What else?”

  “Anyway, the only other thing I know about Moreno is he’s a bad gambler. He loses money all the time on dumb bets, but he doesn’t care. He’s got more money than he needs, so to him it’s just ego. But one day he bets ten million on a soccer game and fixes it so the team he’s betting against will throw the game. Problem is, he forgot to pay off the goalie and the guy stands on his head the entire game and shuts out his team. And his bet. He still hasn’t paid that off. The bookies are afraid to ask.”

  “Geesh,” Tommy said, putting his coffee down on the desk. “I could get rich just collecting the vig from this guy.”

  “Exactly. Also, he’s a little paranoid that some of his crew might go mutiny on him. He’s especially afraid of losing power. Any slight chance of his power diminishing, he’ll freak out. I don’t know how he’ll react to that, but he does have an abnormal fear of insubordination.”

  Tommy listened to every word as if Pavone was reciting the Ten Commandments. He tried to turn Pavone’s words into a workable plan.

  Pavone tapped Tommy’s knee with the back of his hand. “One other thing. If he ever offers you a drink, refuse it. It’s a Colombian tradition to offer a drink to the person you’re about to kill. So you refuse it. If he insists, you’re dead.”

  Tommy nodded. “Okay. Where do I find him?”

  Pavone looked out into the warehouse, a frown lingered on his face. “He has an office over in the garment district, a beautiful view of the Andes from his twelfth-floor office. For obvious reasons, only a handful of people even know where it is. He drives into an underground parking garage that only he can enter, then pulls into a small one-car garage and remotely closes the door behind him before he exits the car. Inside the garage is an elevator which takes him directly to his office.”

  “Does this place have a front door?”

  “Sure, of course, he’s discreet, but not dumb. You enter from the front of the building and ask the receptionist for Uncle Freedo. She’ll call up to Moreno’s office for you.”

  “What are my odds of getting in to see him?’

  Pavone shook his head. “Not good.”

  “You’re beginning to be bum me out, Carl.”

  Pavone rubbed his narrow fingers together. “Take some of my men with you. There’s probably less than forty of his soldiers up there. We can match his manpower.”

  “No,” Tommy barked at his friend. “This isn’t about you, Carl. This is something I need to do alone. If I mess up, I’ll be the only one who suffers. No one else.”

  Pavone pursed his lips, looking like he wanted to argue, but knew better. “What about Nick? Can’t he help you with this?”

  “He is.” Tommy thought about it for a moment, then said, “It’s President Merrick’s brother. That’s who Moreno kidnapped. Nick’s on the rescue team looking for him right now.”

  Pavone shook his head. “I must be getting old. I should’ve figured that out already.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up.”

  “Where do you think they’re keeping him?”

  “We know it’s somewhere in the Amazon.”

  Pavone ran a hand through his hair. “That’s not good.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that’s Manny Padilla’s post. He’s Moreno’s top soldier, but the guy’s a loose cannon. He has a short temper and doesn’t listen very well to orders. Moreno knows this, but still keeps him in charge. I think this move to the jungle is Moreno’s way of keeping him in line.”

  Tommy pointed a finger at him. “This is all good stuff, buddy. Thanks. Let’s make sure we keep this under wraps. Moreno finds out someone’s attempting a rescue, he’ll have Merrick’s brother killed instantly.”

  “So what can I do to help?”

  “You already did more than you know,” Tommy said, getting up and taking one last sip of espresso.

  Pavone stood and gave Tommy a hug. “Listen,” Pavone said, nodding his head out the window toward the room full of caskets, “I better not see your face in any of those boxes. Understand?”

  Tommy grinned. “I don’t know, Carl, that Execu
tive model is bigger than my bedroom.”

  Pavone’s face turned dark. “I’m serious.”

  Tommy tapped Pavone’s cheek with the palm of his hand. “Don’t worry, pal. I’m not ready to go just yet.”

  Chapter 21

  It was almost one in the morning when the DOJ plane landed at Palmaseca International Airport just outside of Cali, Colombia. They taxied to the far end of the runway where a marshal guided the massive jet with a pair of red light-sticks. As the 747’s engines eased, a white truck crawled up to the passenger door with a set of air stairs on its back. Even though the terminal was almost a mile away, the steady rain made the lights from the building glisten off the tarmac.

  The male flight attendant opened the door and a gasp of pressurized air mixed with the ground air while the three Navy SEALs stood by and waited for the rest of their team to exit first. Nick threw the strap to his duffle bag over his shoulder and stepped down the stairs on the back of the mobile truck. The rain was mild and the night air slightly chilly.

  Matt and Kalinikov followed Nick down the stairs and grouped together with the SEALs on the tarmac. A pair of headlights sped down the runway toward the team.

  “Is this your contact?” Kalinikov asked Nick.

  “It better be.”

  A large black Hummer SUV pulled up next to the group and stopped. All three SEALs had their submachine guns across their chest and began forming a barrier in front of Nick, Matt and Kalinikov. The head of the SEAL team was Lieutenant Bret Olson. He was the shortest of the three men, but without question the leader. He approached the Hummer as the car door slowly opened and a man wearing a gray business suit came out with his hands held high. As he walked out onto the tarmac, the other two SEALs opened the passenger door and examined the interior. Nick allowed the inspection because he knew it was SEAL procedure and he wasn’t going to squander their training.

  Lieutenant Olson said to the driver, “Name.”

  “Agent Chris Garber,” the man said with an appropriate amount of insecurity in his body language. With his gray suit and short cropped hair, he looked more like a corporate executive than a CIA agent.

  Olson looked back at Nick who nodded. The SEAL dropped the gun to his side and said something to Garber who instantly put his hands down and approached the group.