by Joe Gazzam
“When we met, I wasn’t sure I could trust you. I lied about being denied a visa because my uncle defected. I never applied. Even if I did, they wouldn’t give me one because,” he shrugged, “I too have a criminal record.” His eyes glinted with a sparkle of gold as he lit a small fire.
“Three years ago, I was working as a waiter at a hotel. Castillo ordered room service, and when I went to his room, I heard screaming. A girl.” The subtle accented rhythm of his voice was hypnotic in the sound-dampened lagoon. “I used my hotel key, went inside and saw he was getting rough with her. I pushed him away, he pulled out a knife. I should’ve died, but Castillo lives to torture people. He had me seen to, made sure I lived, paid a witness to testify that I attacked him and it was self-defense. I was the one arrested. Once I was out he made sure I knew that I owed him and he’s had Jorge shaking me down ever since, forcing me to be his...what do you call it...when you take stolen merchandise and sell it?”
“We call it a ‘fence’.”
“Yes, right.” Andy nodded. “Castillo said if I ran, he’d find me, find my family, that I was his and he was doing me a favor by letting me run my business and stay alive. As my grandmother would say ‘he’s as evil as natural and physical as a hillside’.”
Andy brushed his wet hair off his face. “Anyway, I have a second cousin in America who is married to an analyst in the CIA and when they reached out to me I felt like it was my only chance to get out. I want to take Castillo down as much as anyone.”
“Wow.” Our eyes connected over the small flames. “I had no idea. What about your family? Are they all still here in Cuba? Are they safe?”
Andy leaned toward the fire. “They all made it over to the states, legally, before any of this happened. Which means there’s nothing I can do to protect them. They don’t even know they’re in danger if....” He stood to grab more wood, then tossed it on the flames sending a dancing spiral of sparks into the air. “So, what’s your plan?” he asked, changing the subject. “To get your dad back?”
He sat down beside me, prodding the fire with a stick.
“Actually, I was hoping you could help me with that part,” I admitted. “You know this place and these people better than I do.”
The moon tried its best to break through the canopy of trees above us as we talked through scenarios and Andy drew maps in the dirt with his fingertips until I felt more confident in how to play it.
“It’s our last chance,” I said, looking up at him. He was so easy to talk to; so present. There was never any judgment in his eyes.
“You said you were in the Marines, so you’ve dealt with things like this before, yes?”
I shrugged. “I always had a team behind me. Higher ups giving orders. Honestly, I should be prepared, but it’s my dad. I feel totally out of control. I’ve already messed everything up so much.”
Andy nodded slowly, then looked up at me, the flames from the fire shadowing his face with delicate tones. “None of this is your fault,” he said. “Whatever happens, your dad made choices that got him here, not you.”
“It doesn’t matter whose fault it is. I can’t afford to screw up. I can’t let him down again.” I paused, dark thoughts dragging me under. “If he’s even still alive....”
“Don’t think like that.” Andy reached for my bare knee, his touch warm against my chilled skin. I looked down at the fire, but he reached over and turned my chin toward him. “It will all work out.”
We stared into each other, and I felt myself lean closer. His hand moved to my cheek as he moved in slowly. Before I could think it through his lips sank into mine, and I caved. I let it all come crashing in on me, whatever it was between us. He kissed me cautiously at first, a slow and gentle taste of temptation, but the rush took me over, my breath growing heavier as Andy’s mouth slid to my neck.
My hand slipped under the hem of his shirt, and the feel of his skin made me pull back. This was wrong. I should be focused on my family.
“Sorry,” I said. “With everything going on with my dad, everything that happened today...” I couldn’t bring myself to finish. What was I trying to say anyway?
“I understand.”
I looked away from him searching for a distraction. “So, uh...” I waved toward a small squadron of fireflies that floated in formation above me. “You guys have fireflies here?”
Andy laughed at my obvious attempt to lighten the mood. He nodded, caught one and held it toward me. Its rear end glowed brightly. “Alecton discoidalis. I had to do a paper on them once in school. They are some of the largest and most luminescent in the world.”
The bug flew off and I smiled. “Good to know.”
Andy moved closer. “Would it be terrible if I kissed you again?”
My cheeks immediately flushed hot. His dark eyes held mine, intent, warm and unabashed. This was the worst possible time, but I was so tired of having to be tough, of trying to pretend that I had it all together. That everything would be okay. Right now, the only thing I wanted was to be held.
“No,” I said tentatively. “It wouldn’t be terrible.”
Andy was already leaning in. My eyes closed as he pressed against me, and I melted underneath him, laying back on the dirt floor. His heart beat against mine and his hand swept against my waist as we kissed.
I gasped as he rolled and dragged me on top of him, but only let the small hesitation linger for a second before finding his lips again.
I could take things further. I wanted to. Instead, I pulled back, slid down and rested my head on his chest. His pulse was fast, and the warmth of his body radiated through me. I slid off and tucked myself into the crook of his arm, laying my head on his shoulder.
He hugged me, without trying to push for anything more, and I stared at the stars above, unwinking and constant. Maybe this is what life could be like when all of this was over. All those suns, worlds, dizzying constellations and galaxies by the millions made my problems feel small, if only for the briefest second. And for the first time in close to a decade, I let go.
No more being closed off and numb. All my walls that continually needed repair exhausted me. No matter how I rationalized it, I felt something for Andy. It was rushed, under horrible circumstances and the timing couldn’t possibly be worse. But I couldn’t deny what I was feeling. So, I allowed myself this one small moment.
Andy squeezed me tight and kissed the top of my head. I closed my eyes, imagining I was home, pretending sleeping in his arms was a nightly comfort. And eventually I began to dream.
“WE SHOULD GO.”
I jolted awake at the sound of Andy’s voice, suddenly terrified I’d slept through the morning.
“What time is it?” I gasped, sitting up.
The fire had gone out, but thankfully the pieces of sky winking through the tangled branches of the lagoon were still a dark shade of purple.
“3:30,” he answered.
My frenzied heart slowed and I let out a deep breath. There was still time.
“I wanted to let you sleep. I texted Mitch, but I think it’s best we get going.”
“Yeah.”
As much as I wanted to push the truth away, I couldn’t. I had to face the dawn and whatever came with it.
Without much to say, I got to my feet, the stark reality of what I had to do, a looming storm cloud in the distance.
BACK AT THE SAFEHOUSE I found Mitch sitting on the balcony. The sliding screen door made a slight scraping sound as I opened it and stepped out. I plopped down in the rusted chair beside him, and for the next twenty seconds, we sat together in silence.
“About two hours until we leave,” Mitch said, staring forward.
I nodded, dread sitting heavy in my stomach, and I couldn’t think of a thing to say. In the distance, a large freeway split the city. I hadn’t noticed before, but our building was on a small hill which provided quite a view from this direction. The city below was an enormous imbroglio of color, resisting the smothering cloak of night with its noise and
light. Even when the sun was down, Havana refused to submit. I closed my eyes for a moment and soaked in the sounds, the occasional bleat of horns and the meshing gears of the giant mass of vehicles all concentrated into white noise.
Eventually I turned to Mitch. “How’s your face?” I asked.
One side of his lip looked like a bad silicone implant. A spotted line of bruises dotted his left cheekbone, four perfectly round circles the size of shot glasses, compliments of Jorge’s brass knuckles.
He moved his jaw around and winced. “I have this sound, like a distant hum, from behind my right ear. And the throbbing is going down my spine, all the way to my feet.” His shoulders bobbed with a shrug. “Looking like a badass was one thing, feeling like one...sucks.”
“Yeah.” I laughed. “I’ll get you some ice.”
He held up a plastic bag, half melted from the table next to him. “I’ll be fine.”
I leaned back in my chair, glancing back through the sliding glass door at Andy who was checking his phone at the kitchen counter.
“I found this,” Mitch finally said, lifting Dad’s coat from the ground next to him.
He handed it to me. I took it and pressed it to my cheek, picking up on the faintest scent of home—a mix of sun-baked leather and Dad’s cologne. If things didn’t work out tonight, it might be the closest I ever got to him again.
“This was in the pocket,” Mitch added, revealing a silver chain with a pendant on it he’d had clutched in his hand. He pulled down the collar of his shirt revealing a quick glimpse of his own chain. The very one he told me he no longer had.
I blinked up at the sky trying to stop the pooling tears. “You’re such a liar,” I teased him with a breathy laugh. “I knew you still had it.”
Dad had bought the chains for the three of us after Mom left. Just like mine, the medallion on the end was of Saint Anne. She was the mother of the Virgin Mary and grandmother of Jesus Christ. She watched over families, kept them safe and together. That’s what Dad had promised. That even though Mom was gone, he would never leave. That we’d always be a family together, no matter what.
I looked out at the distant ocean, and thought of her. I wondered where she was, what she was doing. Was she safe? Did she miss us? Would the fact that her husband’s life was in danger matter to her? Would she care that Mitch and I had risked our lives to try and save him?
I remembered the day she left. It was just before my thirteenth birthday. We’d made plans to go to Disneyland the next day. Mom spent all night telling me all about it. The rides, the food, how much fun we would have.
I remembered her kissing me on the forehead before bed. How she turned out the lights, but left the door cracked, so a tiny bit of light could stream into the room. She hadn’t acted strange; there was no sign that anything was wrong.
But the next morning, she was gone. No goodbye, just a note saying, Take care of them. After all I’d learned about Dad, I had to wonder. How much did she know? There was no way he could hide something like this from his own wife, could he? For the first time in years, I considered whether there was more to it than I’d thought. Something deeper. Maybe it wasn’t her fault.
“You know,” I said, “whatever happens with Dad...” I wasn’t the best at this stuff, but I forced the rest out, because I needed him to know. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying with you. And I know you think I’m just some screw up who can’t follow through, but...I’ll be there Mitch. I promise.”
He nodded, staying quiet at first, but I could tell he was letting down his guard. “Thanks,” he said after a while. “But you don’t have to. You’re not Mom, and I know I’ve kind of pinned that on you.”
I smiled, feeling his thick wall of resentment start to crumble. “Yeah, so our mom left. We’ve got issues. I get it.”
“Can I ask you something?” He looked out at the twinkling lights of the city. “Why didn’t you let me shoot that man? Rico. You made sure you pulled the trigger. Why?”
I didn’t even need to think about it. I knew exactly why. “Because I know what it’s like. It’s one thing to shoot someone shooting at you. That’s fight or flight, something you can rationalize. But to kill an unarmed man, even if he was trying to kill you five minutes earlier...that’s different. It changes you. It takes something away from you. I guess...I wanted to protect you from that.”
“I get that you want to protect me,” Mitch said. “Maybe you don’t want me to become...you. But, there’s a theory in philosophy, the more you try to protect something, the more vulnerable you make it.”
I nodded. “That...makes sense.”
“It got me thinking. I can’t depend on everyone else forever. I’m eighteen. Eventually I’m going to have to step out and do things on my own. Be a man. And to be honest, there’s a huge part of me that actually likes the feel of a gun.”
“You like it?”
“It’s hard to explain. For some people, life is easy, but for me...it’s a constant struggle, always has been. Every minute of every day, I’m consumed by anxiety. You know when you take a car out of gear and press the accelerator. That’s my brain 24/7. I over-think everything. And it’s exhausting,” Mitch said, leaning back. “But when I shot that gun...even if just to take out the support beam, all of that vanished. My head was crystal clear and for the first time I can remember, I felt in control. Does that make any sense?”
“Yeah...it does.”
Mitch pulled his necklace out from beneath his shirt and dropped the Saint Anne medallion onto his chest where I could see it. I smiled for a moment. The old Mitch, the chin-to-chest, stare at your shoes little brother he’d always been to me, had grown up while I’d been gone. I could almost see him becoming a man. And if there was anyone in the world I could trust when the bullets came flying, it was Mitch.
I locked eyes with him. “Let’s get Dad back.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
WITH ONLY TWO HOURS until sunrise, the three of us stood around the kitchen counter picking apart our most recent plan.
“But even if we plant the phone, he may not go straight to Castillo right after,” Mitch added. “We can’t assume Nefasto will lead us to him right away, and we might run out of time.”
“What if we could force his hand somehow?” I asked, trying to solve the puzzle. “Do something to make him have to meet Castillo face to face. Make him lead us there without knowing it.”
Andy looked at me. “What would make him do that?”
They probably weren’t going to like my answer, but it could work. “This transaction has to go bad,” I said. “Really bad.”
JUST BEFORE DAWN, ANDY drove us to Puerto de El Cochinito, a large commercial loading port on the edge of Cuba’s coastline. The metal claws and posts that crowded the shore were worn by age, yet still functional. It was easy to imagine the buzz and hum of a busy workday, but tonight the industrial monster slept. Fifty or so forklifts lay dormant and several quiet cranes kept watch over a maelstrom of large metal shipping containers stacked on the docks like giant, multi-colored Lego bricks.
I sat quietly in the front seat of Andy’s Jeep, trying and failing to figure out how to say goodbye to him. His help had been invaluable, but this was where it needed to end. I had decided on the drive over that this was our fight, not his. Despite his personal history with Castillo, I couldn’t put another person I cared about at risk.
As he parked and shut off the car I turned to him. “Thank you...I—”
Andy threw the keys under the seat. “Let’s go.”
“Wait,” I said, jumping out and trapping Mitch inside the car.
Mitch’s voice muffled through the glass, but I ignored him.
My shoes crunched the gravelly road as I confronted Andy. “You can’t come.”
“What? Why?”
“Because this could go...badly.”
“Exactly,” he said, his dark eyes full of a new intensity I hadn’t seen before. “That’s why I’m coming. You said yourself you’re out
numbered and outgunned. You need all the help you can get. You might be able to handle yourself, but what about Mitch, huh? He’s a good kid, but come on. If things go bad, like you say, you need someone who won’t hesitate.”
I averted my eyes, already feeling guilty enough bringing my little brother. “Well, he won’t stay in the car, I know him.”
“All the more reason you need my help. Me keeping an eye on him frees you to do what’s necessary, right?”
“I’ve already dragged you way too deep into this—”
“I told you. You didn’t drag me into this. This day has been coming for a while. It’s time for me to make my move.” Andy opened the door to let Mitch out. “We don’t have time to argue. It’s my choice. Let’s go.”
My stomach turned at the thought of either of them getting hurt, but he was right. We didn’t have time to argue.
Andy led us into the maze of shipping containers until we were close enough to the water we’d be able to see any boats in the area.
“We need to get higher,” I whispered. “Find a vantage point.” I scanned the yard and locked in on a stack of empty wooden crates. “There.”
Mitch and Andy began stacking them against the wall of one of the storage units until the crates were high enough to climb. I hoisted myself on top of the giant boxcar and army-crawled to the center. Mitch and Andy did the same, flanking my sides.
Lying stomach-down on top of the metal container, the air felt too warm, even this late at night. Sweat dripped from my temples as I waited. Mitch waved a hand at the gnats and mosquitoes that swam through the thick, humid air around us, and Andy wiped his brow for the fifth time in an hour.
Finally, I heard voices. Castillo’s guys arrived fully armed as expected. Their casual Spanish conversation echoed around the dock as they hauled and placed several unmarked wooden crates against one of the containers.
As the sky began to lighten into a pale gray, I spotted the buyers. “There.”
