The Mercenary's Daughter

by Joe Gazzam

  Just over my shoulder, Mitch shook his head in disbelief. “I can’t even believe we’re here right now.”

  I turned to looked around at the sparsely decorated apartment. Everything seemed old and yellowed. The only thing remotely new was an air freshener plugged into a nearby outlet that hissed out a smell meant to remind people of country breezes.

  “At least we made it this far.” I passed by an outdated globe on a shelf and spun it, my finger leaving a mark in the dust near Greece. “We need to be ready to go when Andy gets back,” I said as Mitch plopped down on the couch, leaning back in exhaustion. “Let’s come up with a plan.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  A DOLLED-UP VERSION of myself stared back at me from the cracked mirror of the apartment bathroom. I’d found a girl at a local shop who got a little overly excited about giving me a Havana-style makeover. Gone were the jean shorts, tank top and sneakers. In their place, a deep maroon V-neck minidress and pair of black lace-up four-inch heels.

  For an extra five bucks American, the shop girl even did my hair and make-up. My dark waves were curled and pinned, a few ringlets dangling for effect. She dusted my eyelids a smoky gray and my cheeks with a subtle blush. To cap it off, she even went to town on my nails, which now matched my dress, maroon with silver flakes along the tips.

  I popped open the red lip gloss the girl threw in for free and slicked my mouth with the tiny brush from the glass tube. My lips flinched and I smacked them together. It’d been so long since I’d had a reason to dress up. It felt like a costume. Definitely a far cry from the dust-covered, sweat-soaked gear I’d sported while on tour in Iraq.

  I took a step back and followed it with a deep breath, trying to decide if I liked the way I looked. Despite my demeanor, I’d never tried to be masculine. It sort of just took over when I joined the military. But a girl could be tough and still look good.

  I leaned forward and gripped the sink with both hands, letting my head fall. It didn’t matter. Getting ready was all just a distraction as I waited for the eternal minutes to pass. Every hour I wondered where he was, if it was his last, if there was still time to save him. Who knew if our plan would even work?

  What sounded like a good idea a few hours earlier now seemed pretty flimsy. I’d taken part in high-value target extractions in Iraq. But every overseas mission was planned for weeks with mountains of intelligence. There were repeated run-throughs and extensive escape routes. It was all so highly coordinated. Here, we were just winging it. The whole plan felt counterintuitive to my training, the years of being taught not to do anything on impulse.

  But what other choice did I have? Mitch and I were alone and Dad’s life was in our hands. I swallowed down my rising fear. We were in a foreign country with no back-up, no support, and no knowledge of the city itself. We also had very little knowledge of Castillo or his organization.

  The more I thought it through, the more dire the situation seemed. I glanced up into the mirror. Suck it up, I told myself, daring my own eyes to falter. You don’t get to fall apart now.

  I let out another tense breath and touched up my eyeliner. As I stepped back and smoothed out my dress, there was a knock at the front door. I flashed my teeth to make sure they were free of lip gloss and headed to the living room.

  As expected it was Andy. He stood a little too long without saying anything, his eyebrows raised.

  “Wow,” he finally said, clearing his throat.

  Suddenly I was afraid the make-up made me look like a prostitute. “Is it too much?” I asked, embarrassment warming my already blushed cheeks.

  Andy laughed. “No. It’s...” His laughter faded as our eyes connected. “You look beautiful.”

  “Thank you,” I said, breaking away from the moment.

  As I stepped aside to let him in, he smelled of freshly cut pine and citrus. He wore nice jeans and leather driving shoes with a loose, white linen shirt unbuttoned at the top.

  “You like nice,” I said, confused by his choice in attire. “I thought you weren’t coming inside with us.”

  He turned to sit on the sofa. “Just trying to blend in.”

  As he looked up, I averted my gaze. “Come on, Nancy, time to go,” I shouted toward the back bedroom.

  “Be right there,” Mitch shouted back. “And don’t call me that.”

  The two of us waited in silence for a moment before Andy finally spoke. “Are you sure you know what you’re up against?”

  “Just because I’m wearing a cocktail dress, doesn’t mean I’m a bimbo. I can handle myself.” I leaned in, challenging his assuming eyes, then pulled my gun out from under one of the sofa cushions. “Only one problem with a dress though...” I said. “There’s nowhere to hide this.”

  He eyeballed the gun, and I wished I could hear what he was thinking.

  “For the record,” he said. “I know you’re not a bimbo. Not many men, let alone young women, would come here to do what you’re doing. But there is a line, as they say, between brave and reckless.”

  His concerned expression made me turn my focus to the floor.

  “And you’ll have to keep your weapon in the car,” he added. “They are very strict at the club. They will frisk you and search your purse. That’s why I got you this...”

  I glanced up, surprised as Andy stood and pulled a silver necklace from his pocket. He dangled it from his palm and I stepped forward to get a better look. At the end was a beautifully ornate dragon, its tail curving another few inches down. Once we were feet apart he grabbed the tail and yanked it, pulling the pendant in half to reveal a small, hidden knife.

  I set my gun on the coffee table and smiled. “Wow,” I said, reaching out to examine it. The details were intricate and there was a nice weight to it. “It’s beautiful.”

  “And sharp. I didn’t feel right about you going in unprotected.” He reached a hand out. “Here. I’ll help you put it on.”

  I handed him the necklace and turned my back to him, feeling slightly guilty for thinking he was a jerk. “Thank you,” I said quietly.

  As he draped the chain around my neck, I became acutely aware of how close we were, a few inches apart at most. His hand brushed my bare shoulder and instant goosebumps rose on my arms, the space between us growing warm and strangely intimate.

  “You know, I can get it,” I said, reaching back.

  “Just stay still.” The chain brushed my collarbone and as the tips of his fingers tickled the back of my neck, I tensed up. He locked the clasp. “There, all set.”

  I turned back around, letting out a slow shaky breath as Andy adjusted the dragon.

  “Listen,” I said, desperately searching for a segue. “I just wanted to thank you for your help. I, we...my brother and I...appreciate it.”

  “You are welcome.”

  We stood facing each other, until I turned to look down the hallway for Mitch. He was taking his sweet time. “Hurry up, Mitch!” I yelled.

  I turned back to Andy, intentionally moving out of his personal space. “So, did you know my father well?”

  “No, no. I spent a little time with him, but not much. He seemed like a good man. Very honest, straight-forward.”

  “He is the best man I know.”

  “I respect what you are trying to do. I know if it was my father, I would move mountains to save him.”

  I glanced at the gun on the table. “I’ll do whatever I have to.”

  “Do you have a plan?” he asked.

  Mitch and I had discussed it earlier. It wasn’t full-proof, but it was the best we could do. “We follow him home. See where he’s staying. If he’s switching homes every couple days, maybe we get lucky and he’s at one we can sneak into. Maybe, just maybe there’s a security breach, an opening, or a patrol change. Something. Something that would let us grab him as he sleeps...”

  Mitch stepped in from the hallway, his hair still wet. “You guys aren’t much for water pressure around here are you?” He tugged at a dark blue silk shirt that hung over black
pants.

  “You look good my friend,” Andy said. “But we need to go.”

  ANDY DROPPED US OFF in our stolen Cadillac some distance from the club and pointed us toward the line.

  “Popular place,” I said as I slid out of the car in my slinky dress.

  “Sorry I can’t come with you. I’m just trying to—”

  “Lay low,” I finished for him. “Yeah, I know.”

  “You shouldn’t have any problem getting in, though,” he said through the open window. “You look amazing.”

  “Thanks.” I waved a hand at him, then Mitch and I made our way across the street to the humming crowd of waiting people.

  The façade of the Vida Futura Nightclub was a stunning spectacle. Completely encircling the top railing of the modern two-story building, torches plumed with five-foot-high flames. Behind them, women in elaborate costumes and headdresses danced erotically to an intense chill-pop and flamenco mash-up beat. The women had curves upon curves and I quietly laughed to myself at how their swaying hips seemed to hypnotize Mitch.

  The dancers were entertaining for the first hour. After that their taunting movements made me increasingly irritated. When we finally reached the front, the enormous bouncer peered at me from under dark, bushy eyebrows.

  “Él está contigo?” he growled, nodding at Mitch.

  I bit my lip, not understanding.

  “Is he with you?” he repeated, crossing his tattooed forearms over his chest.

  I smiled sweetly. “Him? Oh, yeah. He’s with me.”

  The bouncer looked away and waved his hand for us to exit the line. “Sorry. Not tonight.”

  “Wait,” I pleaded. “We need to get in there.”

  He glared at me as I continued to plead and finally waved some of his guys over to escort us away.

  “Come on. I have money,” I whispered. “Isn’t there—”

  “Carlos!” Andy’s voice carried over the crowd as he jogged forward. “Acere, qué bolá?”

  The bouncer extended a fist, which he bumped.

  Without warning Andy put an arm around my back, resting his hand on my hip. I tensed and stared at it for a moment, suddenly feeling my heartbeat everywhere. But the bouncer waved his guys off and I smiled.

  “Sorry I’m late, Baby.” He gave me quick wide-eyed look, silently telling me to play along.

  “That’s okay.”

  I leaned into him, secretly enjoying the contact and the smell of his cologne, then wrapped my arm around his firm torso. My hand stopped at his waist, and I could feel the side of his abdominal muscles contracting as he stepped forward.

  “Is this tu novia?” Carlos asked, his serious features now light with friendly familiarity.

  “Sí. Can we get in tonight?”

  Andy smiled and led me up to a velvet rope, sliding his arm down to grab hold of my hand.

  “Just her?”

  “And her brother,” Andy said.

  “Another guy?” The bouncer looked down the waiting line. “It is tough tonight.”

  “It is tough every night, come on Carlos,” he nodded toward me. “Don’t let me down. It is her brother’s birthday, she wants to make sure he has fun.”

  “All right, but then we’re even.”

  The bouncer removed the rope. Andy patted him on the back and motioned to Mitch who ran up.

  “You two are in, just make sure you tip my friend on the way out, yes?”

  “We will, thanks,” I said as we headed inside.

  As Mitch made his way into the club, I stopped Andy in the entry.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” I said, “but thank you. Were you watching from somewhere?”

  He shook his head. “No, I came back. I couldn’t let you do this by yourself.”

  “What about laying low?”

  I turned to check on Mitch who was waiting in the dimly lit hallway up ahead.

  “I’ll keep my head down,” Andy answered.

  I sighed, reluctant to accept more help. “Andy—”

  “Follow me,” he said, keeping hold of my hand.

  “What’s going on?” Mitch asked as we passed.

  I ignored the question, knowing Mitch would trail behind as we headed into the club. After navigating a series of corridors, we exited into the main space. It was enormous inside and packed with people all swaying in rhythm. The decor mixed the old with the new. Classic Cuban paintings, fixtures and columns blended seamlessly among strange, modern furniture tortured into strange shapes, all feathered together with bold, colored lighting throughout.

  After the patdown Andy warned me about, I realized I’d lost sight of Mitch. I walked in, paused and took in the rest of the space. It was insane, like nothing I’d ever experienced. I had been in a few clubs, but they were nothing like this.

  The main dance floor was entirely see-through with what looked like molten lava coursing back and forth underneath. Colored lights played over it, turning it into a multicolored ocean of acid blues, stark greens, and hot pinks. Girls tossed long hair and boys pumped fists. Slender limbs appeared and disappeared as the masses danced. Above, the entire second floor was ringed with a giant metal railing. A massive throng pressed against it, like a riot crowd held back by a security fence. They all pulsed to the music. Even those engaging in casual conversations reflexively moved to the beat.

  “We lost Mitch,” I shouted to Andy.

  He stopped and a pack of stunning, but clearly intoxicated women stumbled toward us, their bodies shimmering with gold necklaces and chunky neon rings. The girls giggled loudly, their insanely short skirts riding dangerously high. They swarmed around us like bees passing a tree, coagulating on the other side and bouncing out onto the dance floor.

  Andy leaned in close to my ear. “Do you see him?”

  I took a deep breath as I searched, and a swirl of smells assaulted me. Perfume mixed with the spice of dribbled bourbon and the tang of mixed drinks, all being pumped around the room by high-powered air conditioners designed to keep the frenetic mob inside from sweating. I finally spotted Mitch through the crowd. He was leaning up against the bar, holding a beer.

  I tugged on Andy’s hand and walked up to him. “Really?”

  “Hey, we’ve got to blend in.”

  Mitch glanced at the two of us holding hands and I immediately let go.

  “Come on,” Andy said to both of us. “Let’s get a better vantage point.”

  We followed him along a set of glowing, sweeping, rounded stairs, up to the second floor. I found a spot near the railing and pressed against it, my eyes skimming the area. Andy stepped up next to me and Mitch took the spot to my right before downing a big swig of beer.

  I pushed his bottle down. “One beer. And nurse it. We’re not here for fun.”

  “Dad lets me have one every night. Helps me relax.”

  “First off, I don’t believe you and second, you’re a sheltered suburban teenager, what could you possibly be stressed about?”

  “My psychologist says I get raised levels of generalized anxiety in situations where I have no obvious control.”

  I laughed. “Fine, Nancy. Have a beer if you really need it.”

  The three of us stared straight ahead in silence as I scanned the club, checking every face.

  Another few seconds went by before Mitch spoke again. “You know what kills me?” he said, the beer clearly starting to loosen his tongue. “All this time I was trying to be the good son, trying to be like Dad. But the whole time, he was more like you.”

  I laughed at the irony. “And I thought I didn’t fit in with you two squares.”

  Andy stepped away from the railing and I turned. “With the size of this place, we should split up,” he said.

  “Good idea,” I answered. “Let’s start downstairs. Mitch, you stay here.” I glanced at the near-empty beer bottle. “Like, don’t move from this exact spot.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I got it,” he said, holding his beer up in a mock toast.

  A
s I serpentined my way through the crowd and downstairs, Andy followed me, despite our original plan to split up. After a few minutes of wading through heated bodies, dodging loosely held drinks and sharp heels, he pointed to a small table on the far end of the club.

  “I’m going to sit there, out of view,” he said.

  “Okay,” I shouted, but before I turned to head in another direction, I jerked at the sight of Castillo in my peripheral vision. I rushed closer to get a better look as he walked by with an entourage. It was definitely him. The man looked almost frail next to his eight large bodyguards. I watched as word of Castillo’s arrival spread, buzzing down rows of club-goers like a line of firecrackers.

  After a few minutes, Mitch found us and sat down at the table.

  “We saw him,” I said immediately. “Just keep calm. Let me think this through.”

  Castillo was led toward a roped-off VIP area full of plush velvet couches less than fifty feet away. At this distance, he looked older than his picture, which must have been taken years ago. He was probably sixty-five if I had to guess. His skin was pockmarked, scarred and much rougher in this light. The overhead glow cast a shadow into each dimple. His white hair was slicked nicely to the side, which did nothing to hide his age. He walked with a distinct gait and carried himself with an air of entitlement. I glared at him, unbridled rage burning in my chest. The man who held my father’s life in his hands sat fifty feet away.

  Castillo headed into the VIP area, tugged at the sleeves of his shirt and sat down on one of the couches.

  “So now we just wait for him to leave, right?” Mitch asked. He had nothing to fidget with so he wrung his hands and popped his knuckles. “Just follow him home...”

  Mitch trailed off as five teenage girls were roughly escorted up to the VIP section and lined up in front of Castillo.

  When he turned, I noticed his right arm was normal, but his left one was shriveled and missing the thumb. A birth defect had, in essence, turned his hand into a claw. It was what he used to take liberties with the women, who almost seemed in a fugue state. As he ran his claw along their bodies, his smile glittered like poisonous water.