by Mike McNeff
“Where's Laurie?” Robin asked about his sixteen-year-old daughter.
“She went to band practice today,” replied Casey.
“Why on Sunday?”
“Because they really screwed up at last night's game.”
“How's she getting home?”
“Chad Wilson will bring her home.”
“Oh, great! You just stand by and let a boy bring your sister home?”
“Get real, Dad,” Casey said, rolling his eyes.
Robin laughed. “It's okay, son. I'm just kidding, I think.”
Robin watched with amused wonder as the three little guys wandered all over the street on the way to the ball field. They inspected almost every rock, stick, and bug with great curiosity and conversation. Robin considered the fact that the boys probably inspected each one of these items a thousand times before.
When the group arrived at the school ball field, Robin took up pitching duties and Casey did the catching. The three boys took turns batting and playing the field. After an hour, the boys said they were tired and went off to play on the monkey bars. Robin and Casey sat down at one of the several lunch tables.
“Well, son, you'll be graduating in one week. Feel any different?”
Casey's steady blue eyes met his father's. “No. Should I?”
“It's not mandatory, but a whole lot of new things are going to be happening to you. You need to be thinking about them.”
Casey adjusted the ball cap that seemed to be an integral part of his nature. “Dad, I'm ready for college. Besides, it's not like when Cathy went to the U of A. I'm only going to be a couple of miles away.”
Casey won a baseball scholarship to Arizona State University. Casey's ready smile immediately engaged most people he met. It belied his exceptional physical strength and agility. He was an outstanding player for his high school team, and an honor student to boot. Robin knew his son to be an intelligent, capable young man. He also knew Casey was starting to feel his oats, and Robin felt some words of caution were in order.
“It may not be as easy you think, son. You'll be making your own decisions, and what's more important, you'll be responsible for them. You've done a good job in high school and got yourself into the college you wanted. Now you have to pay attention to college because it means the rest of your life.”
Casey looked at his hands folded on the table. Robin could see the muscles in his son's jaw working.
“I'm not trying to piss you off, Casey. I've been in the world a little longer than you, and I've made many mistakes. I don't want you to make the same ones. I'm trying to let you benefit from my experience.”
“You couldn't have that many mistakes. You and Mom have us in a nice house and have raised a pretty damn nice bunch of kids. You're an outstanding cop and a pretty famous one too; at least your name's in the paper a lot.”
“Believe me, son, I've made plenty of mistakes and I'll guarantee you that having your name in the newspaper isn't a good measure of success. I guess what I'm trying to say is that whenever you can, think about what you're doing before you do it.”
“You mean like always check your back trail?”
Robin looked at his son, puzzled for a minute, and then laughed.
“You see, Dad, in your own way you've already taught me the things you're talking about. All the camping and hiking trips, the shooting lessons, all the lessons on hand-to-hand combat. These gave me the two things you've always harped on - confidence and discipline. I believe in those principles, Dad. You did a good job.”
Robin looked at his son and realized Casey had indeed been giving the future some thought. Maybe Casey should be a little cocky right now. It might help him get through some of the hard lessons all young adults have to go through.
. “Okay, Casey. It looks like you've got some of this figured out. Just remember your Mom and I will always be here if you need us.”
“I know, Dad.”
“Well, let's round up the heathens and head home.”
The night crept in as Robin called to the younger boys. The heat of the day still lingered, but the relief of not having the sun beating down always felt good. The boys did not want to stop playing, but Robin gently gave them no choice.
During the walk back home, the boys got themselves goosey by making up ghost stories. Casey really got them going. Robin looked up at the sky. The Phoenix city lights dimmed the blanket of stars he marveled at last night. He wondered if Miguel Rodriquez knew about his brother's untimely demise yet. He also wondered if the Guardians could really pull this deal off. It promised to be the most ambitious operation they have ever attempted, and a million different things could make it explode in their faces. Robin mentally shrugged. That's life in the fast lane.
A Phoenix police car pulled alongside the group driven by Sergeant Gabe Martinez. Robin and Gabe had become friends when Robin worked patrol on the Phoenix freeway system. He and Gabe worked the same area and had backed each other up numerous times. When Gabe promoted to sergeant, he became the supervisor for the area where Rob lived. He often stopped by for a cup of coffee.
A giant of a man, Gabe stood six-two and lifted weights every day. Robin noticed the boys gawking at Gabe's biceps.
“Hey, Rob! What's up?”
“Gabriel! Good to see you. Need a cup?”
“Naw, we're short-handed tonight, so I gotta keep movin'. I saw you and just wanted to say hi.”
“Well, I'm glad you did.” Robin walked over closer to Gabe and leaned closer to the window.
“Gabe, we are in an investigation involving some pretty bad dudes. We killed one last night. I would appreciate it if you could keep an eye out around here.”
“Not a problem, my friend. You know we do anyway, just for drill. But I will heighten the awareness factor. Anybody in particular we should be looking for?”
“Mexican nationals in the area would be a tipoff.”
Gabe looked at his friend. “Rob, you really look worried.”
“I am, Gabe. I am.”
“Hang tough, amigo. We'll do anything we can.”
“I know, buddy. Thanks.”
With a wave to the boys, Gabe drove off.
When Robin and his sons walked into the house, Karen was watching the news. She turned to Robin. “They talked about your shooting on the news.”
“Did they make us sound good or bad?”
“It sounded as good as killing somebody can sound, but they also said at least one person escaped. You didn't tell me that.”
Robin just answered with a grunt. He opened the refrigerator and got a beer, opened it, and sat down next to Karen. He put his arm around her and looked into her eyes. She knew he didn't tell her everything.
“I wonder what it would be like to be married to a more passive woman.”
“That's something you will never find out, my dear.”
“Oh well,” Robin sighed, smiling and calm on the outside. Inside, the disquieting thought of Rodriquez's revenge chilled him. If the news covered the shooting, then Rodriquez knew about his brother. The party was about to begin.
SIX
Juan Trinadad-Nunez stared straight ahead at the fire in the large stone fireplace. Although anger rose inside of him, he did an admirable job of controlling it. It had been a very long time since a man talked to him like this and lived. Since Miguel Rodriguez had made Juan a very wealthy man, however, Miguel would not die for his harsh words. Juan knew Miguel's tirade flowed from his brother's death at the hands of the troublesome “Guardians.” Juan couldn't be sure grief fueled Miguel's anger. More likely, Miguel's belief that his power over the world had been severely breached contributed to his state of mind. Of course, the missing money did not help.
Miguel told Juan the lawyer Walton, who had called only a short time ago, informed Miguel about his brother's death. Walton learned of it on a television newscast. A case of unfortunate timing caused Juan to be visiting Miguel when the call came. Miguel threw an Inca sculpture, smashing it to pi
eces against the wall, as his first reaction to the news. He began screaming at Juan. The screaming continued.
“I trust you to make sure these deliveries get done right! I trusted you to take care of my brother! All I see is a fucking failure!”
“This kind of delivery has been made many times before, Miguel, without problems. I will find out what went wrong and fix it.”
“Fix it! Fix it! How are you going to bring my brother back?!”
“Miguel, I pleaded with you not to let your brother go. He was not ready.”
Rodriguez slammed his fist down on the desk next to Juan. Juan did not flinch. Miguel's long thin face loomed a foot away from Juan's; both men were looking into each other's eyes. Miguel's eyes burned with an angry madness. Juan held his steady, without fear. After several seconds of silence, with only the crackle of the fire and the cool hiss of the refrigeration coming through the vents, Miguel's shoulders slumped and his head hung over his chest. He slowly straightened up, turned to the chair across from Juan, and fell into it, staring at Juan with vacant eyes.
Juan looked at his employer. Very few people in Mexico could compete with Miguel's power, but Juan knew a good deal of that influence came from Juan's own ruthlessness. In fact, Juan believed he held the power. He only let Miguel head the organization because Juan did not want the headache. He already had more money than he could ever spend in his lifetime. Why bother?
Miguel looked pathetic. The “most powerful man in the world” doesn't slump in a chair with a blank stare. For a second Juan thought he might kill Miguel and take over the organization. No, it would be too much trouble, he thought. Instead he would appease the man and prove again he held the power.
“Miguel, I bear the death of Ramonito heavy in my heart. Although not my brother in blood, I loved him like a brothers I love you. Let me exact revenge upon these common policemen.”
Miguel's upraised hand interrupted Juan. Miguel leaned forward in his chair, his hands folded on his knees. He spoke in a hoarse and conspiratorial voice.
“I want you to learn everything you can about these men. Find out which one them killed my brother. I want them dead, but first I want them to be in anguish. I want them to feel a thousand times more pain than I feel. Find out how to do that, my friend, and we shall have our revenge. That is your mission.”
Juan's eyebrows rose at the word “mission.” It meant Miguel was playing freedom fighter again. Juan got up from his chair and stood somewhat at attention.
“I will take care of it, mi Jefe.”
Miguel stood up and put his hand on Juan's shoulder. “I know you will, my faithful friend,” he said solemnly.
Juan turned and walked out of the room, feeling awkward. Once outside, though, he relaxed and thought of the irony of his “mission.” Juan had always thought Ramon was an idiot; he cared nothing about his death. Getting rid of him equaled getting rid of a painful pimple on his ass.
Juan walked down the large, red tiled hallway, his footsteps echoing off the walls. He approached a guard, who stood out of respect. Juan nodded in acknowledgement. He turned Walton's words over in his mind. The news media had reported Ramon's death, but said nothing about Newman or Carlos or the money. This is very interesting. If the police captured them, they would have announced this as well. So perhaps they escaped. They did say that at least one person escaped. They must have also escaped with the money, or the American police would have definitely bragged about such a seizure. Maybe things aren't so bad after all. Juan felt better already.
Juan walked out on to the veranda. He could see the entire south side of the “ranch.” Actually, its thick walls and fortified buildings made it a formidable fortress. From his second-story view he could see no less than twelve heavily armed guards he and Carlos personally chose and trained. In all, over forty men guarded the complex twenty-four hours a day. Currently, twenty-five tons of marijuana, eight thousand kilos of cocaine, and three thousand kilos of heroin sat in two large barn-like buildings on the premises. The guards were necessary.
The sound of an aircraft engine starting up prompted Juan to walk to the corner of the veranda. He gazed at the airstrip just south of the compound wall. In the fading light of dusk, he saw a twin engine Beechcraft taxiing. The aircraft bore a Canadian registration number. Juan leaned forward and rested his forearms on the veranda railing. The Canadians developed almost as great an appetite for cocaine as the Americans, he thought. Juan smiled. They were also willing to pay more.
The Beechcraft reached the end of the runway and turned around. The pilot revved one engine, then the other. Then both engines gathered power in unison as the plane strained against its brakes. The aircraft started to roll forward and quickly built speed. Juan lost sight of it as it went behind the buildings on the east side of the compound. He walked back around the corner in time to see the Beechcraft in a steep left bank. It rolled out to a northerly heading at about two hundred feet off the ground. Crazy pilot, he thought, shaking his head.
Juan watched the plane disappear into the twilight. He kept his eyes to the north, even when he could no longer see the aircraft. He stared into America. The absurd Americans believe their country is the most powerful in the world. Yet they are powerless against this ranch, only fifteen miles south of the border. Every day the organization sent more and more of the most destructive force in the world into the United States, and every day the very fiber of that country grew weaker. A proud smile formed on Juan's lips. He felt great pride in his contribution to the destruction of arrogant America.
Juan deeply breathed in the warm, Sonoran desert night air. He must tell Maria that Carlos would be delayed in returning from Arizona—not an unpleasant task for Juan. Maria's beauty took him the minute he saw her. Her mere presence in the same room excited him. Maria, being the wife of Carlos, complicated his feelings. He respected and truly liked Carlos—he was one of the few men Juan did respect. This, however, did not deter him from trying to impress Maria. In fact, Juan wanted to win Maria for himself, friendship notwithstanding.
Juan walked downstairs from the veranda and out to the east side of the main ranch house to the house where Carlos and Maria lived. Juan felt his quickened heartbeat fueled by anticipation as he approached Maria's door. He quickly straightened himself out and ran his hands over his hair. Juan gave three sharp knocks on the door.
When the door opened and Juan saw Maria, he became nervous and unsettled. She did not glow or smile as usual. Maria's face looked drawn; her eyes empty and exhausted. She did not say anything to Juan, but simply stared at him.
“Maria, I...I just wanted to tell you Carlos will be late in getting back from across the border.” Juan cursed himself for stammering.
Maria's eyes brightened. “Carlos is safe?”
“Of course, my dear,” said Juan, making his voice mask his uncertainty.
Maria seemed to almost collapse at this news. Juan reached out and took hold of her arm as support. She in turn held on to his arm. Looking up, she smiled weakly at him, her dark brown eyes meeting his with gratitude. Juan's heart pounded and his mouth became dry. He had never been this close to Maria before.
“I am sorry for my weakness, Juan. I fear I have spent too many nights waiting for my husband to come back from somewhere.”
“Maria, you talk nonsense. Carlos is clever and strong. Nothing could ever happen to him.” Juan realized an opportunity and added an afterthought. “I would not let anything happen to him.”
Maria lowered her head as if in supplicant thanks. At least Juan viewed it that way. She smiled again, and, stepping back, quietly closed the door. Juan continued to stand in front of the door for a frustrated minute. He sighed deeply, turned, and walked away, angry with himself for not being more assertive about getting inside the house. He trudged off to the guards' quarters. He needed a strong drink and the company of strong men.
Maria moved through the house, turning off the lights. When she reached the bedroom, she fell on to the bed, sobbing and
exhausted. Maria both worried about her husband and cursed him for leaving her in the company of such scum as Juan Trinidad and Miguel Rodriguez. Living her life for the “good of Cuba” no longer mattered. She wanted only a quiet life with her husband and to be a mother. She realized neither of these wishes.
Maria rose and sat on the edge of the bed, holding her head in her hands. The curls at the end of her flowing black hair tumbled into her lap. The excitement of marrying an intelligence agent deceived her. She had thought it would be glamorous diplomatic gatherings laced with intrigue. There were glamorous positions in Cuba's intelligence community, but not for Carlos. A dedicated agent, he wanted only those assignments that directly contributed to the goals of his country. The main goal was to destroy the United States of America. Encouraging and feeding America's narcotics habit contributed to that goal. Carlos facilitated the flow of narcotics into the United States. He used the narcotics smuggling apparatus to get Cuban and other third world agents across the border. All of this disturbed Maria for reasons she did not fully comprehend.
Maria stood up and removed her robe, placing it on the foot of the bed. The glow from the perimeter security lights filtered through the window, allowing Maria to see herself in the mirror across from her. She worked hard at keeping her youthful beauty intact for her husband. She very much wanted him with her so he could enjoy her charms. This thought caused the tears to flow again. Maria fell into the large bed, so lonely without Carlos. She eventually cried herself to sleep.
Robin looked at Karen lying naked before him. The shimmering moonlight came through their bedroom window and warmly illuminated her body. Strands of her auburn hair lay across her dark, smoldering green eyes. Karen's pink lips parted slightly as her breath began to quicken. God, I love this woman!
Robin lay down next to her and pulled her close to him. His hand moved slowly, caressing her hip as he kissed her gently on the lips. He lightly ran his fingers over her forehead, first across and then in gentle circles. He kissed her upper lip and then her lower lip and the corners of her mouth. Then he kissed her on her mouth and their lips parted to accept each other's tongue. There they lovingly played.
