by Luke Murphy
Calvin woke up the next morning and immediately reached for his throbbing, pulsating temples. He checked the bedside clock and rubbed his eyes. It was 6:15 a.m. in Brazil, which meant only 2:15 a.m. back in Vegas. Too early to make a call and tell Dale his plan and that he was heading out. Calvin wasn’t sure when he would get a chance to call again, leaving him feeling a little helpless regarding what was going on at home.
He slid his hand under the blankets and felt the dampness immediately. The bedsheet was soaked through, and Calvin had slept in the giant puddle.
The bag of ice that he’d wrapped around his now ballooned knee, had melted and created a flood on top of the bed. Calvin squished around in it, as the images came crashing down in his head.
Last night. Gabriela. What a mess.
He sat up on the edge of the bed, shook his head, and dropped it into his hands. He was happy that he hadn’t stayed at the bar until closing, although it had been tempting. The bartender was right, after midnight the crowd trickled in and before he knew it, the place was plugged. The band played even louder.
He thought of Gabriela. Last night she’d been persistent to the point of relentless. She wouldn’t take the hint no matter what. He’d never seen a girl throw herself so blatantly at him. Sure, he’d been hit-on before, but Gabriela had been almost stalker-like.
He closed his eyes and pictured her puppy dog eyes when he turned her down. He’d felt bad. She’d taken a cab back with him to the hotel, even after he’d specifically told her he was going back to bed, to sleep. She’d followed him right to the front entrance before he’d told her straight up that he had a girlfriend he truly loved. She was devastated.
If she was working this morning, he’d go down to the lobby and apologize for any hard feelings.
He got up and went through a short routine of exercises. Making sure his knee was well stretched, loose, and prepared, was his number one objective every morning, but today especially.
He continued to work it through the aches, which was common until the knee was ready. He heard the familiar “pops”, working out the kinks. There was no telling how much trekking he had in front of him and he had to make sure his knee would hold up. Even though he’d been training long and hard since his battle with Derek Baxter, this situation carried an entirely new and different set of circumstances that he hadn’t prepared for.
Today, if all went as planned, might be tough on his knee. Who knew where the day would take him? Tracking Sanders through the rainforest could lead him anywhere. Calvin still wasn’t sure if hitting it by boat or plane would be the way to go. He was hoping Luiz and Chantal would help him make that decision, since they had all of the experience.
After putting his knee through a vigorous workout, he showered and dressed. He went through the duffel bags and stuffed all of the essentials into two. Calvin didn’t need much in the way of clothes. He had to make room because there was more important equipment needed, like weapons and his explosives.
Chantal and Luiz were already in the lobby when Calvin made it downstairs. They both wore large hats that shielded their face, and dark sunglasses. Even the locals were wary of the sun’s potential.
“Hi.” Chantal smiled, that same game-show-host smile she always seemed to have.
“Good morning, Chantal.” He turned and nodded at her husband. “Luiz.”
The man nodded back.
“Did you have breakfast yet?” Chantal asked.
“Not yet.”
“Good because we brought snacks and drinks. Our clients always find it’s a nice addition to our tours.” She put out her arm for Calvin to take. “Shall we go?”
“Just give me a minute.”
Calvin walked to the reception desk where an older gentleman worked the counter.
“Is Gabriela here?” Calvin asked.
“No.” The man looked grumpy and a little disgusted. “She just started yesterday, and today she calls in sick. They’ll hire anyone here. I doubt she’ll have a job tomorrow.”
Calvin shook his head. Gabriela was probably too ashamed to show her face today, in case she ran into Calvin. Or she could be too hungover. He turned and rejoined his tour guides.
“Shall we?” Chantal asked again.
He put on a ball cap, then intertwined his arm through her waiting one and they walked out the front door.
The sun’s bright rays blinded Calvin and he immediately put on his sunglasses. When he looked around the street, he was sure he saw Gabriela on the other side of the curb, partially blocked by a van, talking to a man in a trench coat with a shaved scalp.
What was she doing here if she’d called in sick? Why was a man wearing a heavy trench coat in this Brazilian humidity?
When she turned and made eye contact, a slight grin tugged at the corner of her lips. She pointed in Calvin’s direction and whispered something. When Calvin saw the man turn. It clicked.
“Russian,” he mouthed, barely audible.
Chantal turned to face Calvin, surprise registering on her face. “What?”
But the Russian had already pulled a PP-2000 Submachine gun from his long jacket, aiming it right at them.
When the gunfire cracked, Calvin shoved Chantal to the ground and dove behind a parked car. The glassed-in front lobby to the hotel shattered, shards of glass spewed out onto the sidewalk. Parked cars in front of the hotel were riddled with bullet holes, tires were shot out and car alarms erupted.
Passers on the street screamed, running for cover and throwing themselves to the ground as the firing ensued.
Calvin pulled a weapon from one of the duffel bags. Using the car as a shield, he lifted his head in five-second intervals, waiting for an opening. He grabbed a piece of shattered mirror from the car and held it at a low angle, watching the Russian pop up and fire another round.
He leaned back against the car. Surely the Brazilian police were on their way? He looked at Chantal, lying face first on the pavement. She wasn’t moving, and the puddle of blood surrounding her grew larger with each passing second. Calvin had no idea if she’d been hit by a bullet or glass, and where the wound was, but he did know that she was losing a lot of blood, and fast.
Calvin looked around the now near-vacant street. Everyone who’d been around either lay face down on the sidewalk, heads covered, or had run for cover inside nearby shops. No one moved except for one guy.
Calvin spotted him immediately, because anyone who wasn’t involved in this showdown would be hiding. Since this guy did the exact opposite and wasn’t wearing a cop uniform, Calvin had to assume it was another Russian coming to help his friend. The PI kept a close eye on him, but didn’t look towards him. He didn’t want to give away that he’d actually seen him.
Calvin looked back at Chantal, who still hadn’t moved.
“Chantal!” he said quietly. “Chantal?”
But she didn’t stir, didn’t acknowledge Calvin at all.
He turned to Luiz, who was also down. “Luiz, are you hit?”
Luiz lifted his head and looked at Calvin. His eyes didn’t show fear. He shook his head.
“Are you armed?”
Luiz shook his head.
Calvin pulled another handgun from his bag and slid it to Luiz along the concrete. Luiz caught it while on the ground.
“Do you know how to use that?”
The Brazilian tour guide nodded.
“Move behind that car.”
Luiz did.
“I think there’s two of them. One is firing a machine gun from behind that car, and the other is approaching us from down the street.”
Luiz nodded again.
“When I say, I need you to move to your right. Go to the next car and duck down behind it. Can you do that?”
This time Luiz didn’t just nod, but he also smiled, as if enjoying the intensity of the action.
Calvin raised the mirror back up and checked out his Russian friend holding the submachine gun. He couldn’t see him, but he knew the gunman would be sitting, w
aiting for an open shot. Well, he was about to get it.
Calvin checked his weapon and closed his eyes, picturing the paper targets at the gun range. Back-to-back shooting champ, but that wasn’t the same as aiming at a live target.
“Are you ready?” he asked Luiz. Calvin kept his eyes on the little mirror. “Go!”
It happened in seconds, but that’s all they needed.
When Luiz got up and ran, the Russian stood up and took aim with the machine gun. Calvin jumped to his feet with only half a second to aim, and squeezed the trigger. The bullet struck the Russian in the throat, thick blood spouted from the hole. The Russian slumped to the ground, unmoving.
As Calvin admired his shot, the front windshield of the car he stood behind blew out. He looked up to see the second Russian running towards Calvin, taking aim with a Makarov 9mm handgun. Definitely Russian. Calvin stared straight into the weapon when the shot went off.
He flinched, but didn’t feel anything. He opened his eyes to find the second Russian lying face down. Calvin turned to see Luiz standing up, his arm extended and the gun still pointed across the street.
Calvin took in the carnage in front of the hotel. Although he’d never been to war, he thought this scene was as close as it got. Calvin’s hands shook involuntarily.
Bodies lay unmoving on the ground, shattered glass spewed across sidewalks. Small fires broke out from car gas tanks, smoke erupted to pollute the air and streams of red blood drained down street gutters into the storm sewer.
It was a full-blown frenzy.
He approached Luiz who was still pointing the gun and deliberately lowered the man’s arm for him. “Thanks,” Calvin said.
“We need to get out of here.” It was the first time he’d heard Luiz speak. His English was surprisingly good, but not great.
“What about Chantal?”
Luiz shook his head. “I’ll take care of her later. But the cops will be here soon and they can’t see us or there’ll be big trouble for you.”
Luiz’s words took Calvin by surprise, but he didn’t want to be here when the cops arrived. He grabbed his duffel bags and moved out.
Mike had said that the Russians sent a team of four. That meant two still remained out there somewhere.
♣
They stopped running about three miles from the hotel. Luiz bent over at the waist, gasping for air. Calvin was only mildly sweating. A light rain started to fall, which felt good on their sweaty bodies.
Calvin placed his hand on the back of Luiz’s damp t-shirt. “Luiz, I’m sorry about Chantal, man.”
When Luiz caught his breath, he said, “This is Brazil. We know these things happen. She decided to stay with me. I’ll always love her for that.”
Calvin was silent. What could he say to a man who just watched his wife get gunned down in broad daylight, in Luiz’s hometown? Calvin was just surprised the man showed very little remorse.
Calvin was torn. He felt a lump of guilt deep in his chest for what happened. He was the reason the Russians waited outside the hotel. Gabriela must have been working for them and had relayed the information about Calvin’s location. That’s why she’d wanted to be with him last night—it had been a trap.
He glanced at Luiz. The man looked badly shaken, and hurting. Probably a delayed reaction to losing his wife.
Should Calvin tell Luiz that he was to blame, that he was responsible for luring the Russians to the hotel? Should he tell Luiz why he was really here in Manaus and needed the man’s boat and plane?
In the back of Calvin’s mind, the bartender’s warning lingered. Even his work on the Vegas streets had taught him about caution around anyone who wasn’t family—but even his family had let him down in the past.
There would come a time when he had to disregard the cab driver’s counsel, and jump in head first. The way it looked now, Luiz might be Calvin’s only option, and his hope was depleting. But he was sure if he told Luiz everything, he’d lose the man’s trust, and any chance of getting his help.
Calvin took a deep breath. He gripped Luiz’s shoulder and looked him in the eye. “Luiz, I know you just lost your wife, and I don’t want to sound like an inconsiderate asshole, but I still need your help.”
Luiz looked into Calvin’s eyes, as if reading what was going on. “My help to go after those guys who killed Chantal?”
Calvin nodded. “You’ll get that chance.”
Luiz swallowed, his Adam’s apple bouncing. He looked around and seemed to tremble a little. “I will help you.”
“Thank you.”
“But we can’t be seen together for a couple of hours.”
“What do you mean? We need to go now.” Calvin didn’t like the idea of waiting.
“We need to lay low and let everything calm down. The cops might be looking for us. Who knows what scared witnesses might say? Plus, look at you, you’re a mess. You have pieces of glass in your face and your clothes are torn and dirty. You need to get cleaned up, and I need to go see about my wife.”
Calvin felt his cheek and ran his hand over the rough shards of glass lodged in his skin. Only now did he register their bite. He nodded. “You’re right.”
“There’s a good possibility that the cops will block off major intersections exiting the city, so meet me at the Opera House in two hours.”
Luiz turned and took off.
Calvin needed to find a restroom so he could clean up. He couldn’t go back to the hotel, there’d be too much heat on him.
He remembered running past the Manaus Shopping Plaza with Luiz, so he turned up the collar of his shirt, pulled down his hat as low as possible, and walked back towards the scene. He just hoped that his shirt collar could conceal enough of his damaged face not to bring attention to himself.
He reached the mall with no one taking a second glance. After slipping his handgun in the waistband of his pants, he pulled his shirt down to cover it. Calvin walked in and followed the signs for the food court. He knew there’d be a bathroom in vicinity.
Reaching the eatery, he scoured the options and found a Doggis Original Hotdog. The aroma from the fast food shops was enticing, but Calvin didn’t have time to eat or think about food, and was in no condition to be seen.
He hustled past the counter and discreetly grabbed a handful of vinegar packets from the basket at the cash register. No one said anything.
He went into the bathroom, where a man and his son stood at the urinals. Calvin locked himself inside one of the stalls and listened, waiting for the two to finish. When he heard them leave, he came out and put his duffel bags on the counter.
He removed his hat and rolled down the collar of his shirt, stained red with blood. He turned on the hot water and let it run. Using the mirror, Calvin carefully picked the shards of glass out of his skin and hair, dropping them down the drain with a clink. Some were in deeper than others and caused bleeding. It took time before every piece had been removed. The blood streamed down his face and neck.
Calvin was always amazed at the things he learned working on the streets. Tricks of the trade he could put to use now.
He wet some paper towels and cleaned his cheek and neck as well as he could. Then he opened up a packet of vinegar and squeezed it onto the cuts. He winced from the short sting. The vinegar helped to disinfect and clot the small cuts. He used up the rest of the packets.
When the water in the sink almost scalded his fingers, he used it to wet some paper towels. The hot water would also cauterize the cuts, allowing the blood to clot.
Finally, he removed his antiperspirant from one of the duffel bags and, using his finger, smeared the gel over the cuts. The deodorant had aluminum chloride which worked as an astringent to stop the blood flow.
Triple layered, Calvin was convinced he had the blood under control. He checked out his work in the mirror. He wasn’t pretty, but the bleeding had stopped. With no time to visit a hospital, there could be some minor scarring.
He changed his shirt and left the bathroom, exitin
g the mall through the back and walking around in the parking lot. He pulled out his satellite phone and punched in a number.
“Hello?”
“Mike, it’s Calvin.”
“How’s it going?”
“Busy morning. Ran into the Russians. I took out two of them before I hightailed it. There was a shootout just outside my hotel about twenty minutes ago.”
Mike blew out his breath. “I just saw it on CNN. They aren’t sure if it’s terrorists or what. I have the office TV set so I can watch for news. They’re reporting that the two killed were former Russian Security Service in Moscow. The others must have gotten away before the cops showed up.”
“Anything yet on Sanders?”
“Nothing on the TV, and from my contacts I’ve been told no one has found him yet. He must be alive and on the move.”
“Fuck! I haven’t even been able to leave the city.”
“So, what’s your next move, Mr. 145 IQ?”
“I have a contact here who’s agreed to help me. He has a boat and a plane.”
“Can he be trusted?”
“I just watched one of the Russians murder his wife outside of the hotel. He has some motivation.”
“That’s good, but be careful.”
“I will. I’m heading out in about an hour. I’ll stay in touch.”
Calvin hung up and immediately called Dale.
“Detective Dayton.”
“It’s Calvin.”
“What’s up?”
“You sound tired.”
“Give me a break, it’s six o’clock.”
“Any news?”
“We haven’t heard anything on Sanders. We don’t think anyone has. But there’s no way to know for sure. We’re still waiting for CAA findings on the crash. Now that they know about it, they’re looking into cause.”
“What’s happening with the Marshals?”
“Not sure. If they know Sanders is in Brazil, they’re probably setting up an International task force and expediting all the paperwork so they can send search and rescue personnel over there to get him. That could take days, maybe even weeks. That’s one advantage we have over them. We didn’t have to wait for the green light.”
“Not we, Dale. Me.”
