Once More to Die

by Jim Johnson

  “An historian, too.” CIA sought out Fluffy and returned her eyes to Tommy.

  “None of them were up to human standards.” Tommy casually looked around for any kind of advantage. Nothing. Maybe he could flip the chair over his head at one. But that Linda, she was going to be quick. He’d get one chance—if that. He eyed the white fur ball of a dog that was busy sniffing everything in the room.

  Suzie Q continued mercilessly. “Directly you popped up in a hellish motorcycle gang in southern Arizona under the moniker of The Vicar.” She didn’t look away from him.

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Apparently you accounted for dozens of mules and human traffickers. That comes from a classified diary of an INS supervisor.”

  They had great intel on him. Could there be a sleeper agent in the group nowadays? Or earlier. Should he try to contact the Bear to warn him? Maybe not, the informer could be the bartender Phil. Phil was a decent guy regardless. Besides, Tommy had his own problems now.

  The dog kept trotting over to the three humans, sniffing, and returning to elsewhere in the condo. Each time he got closer to Tommy.

  Tommy shook his head angrily. “First of all, those men were multiple rapists and murderers of the worse sort. Second, I ain’t admitting anything. Third, where the fuck was your precious federal government? And fourth, you probably noticed by now that I don’t like rapists.”

  Suzie smiled thinly. “We could tell from the immediate demise of the rapist and the judge who let the rapist off over in Tampa.”

  “I dunno what you’re talking about.”

  “Let me continue, Mr. Atkins or whatever your name is. After that we have you as a real hitman in Tampa and elsewhere for a mob guy Santana and a couple of other capos. Nobody knows exactly what you did there, but our people interviewed a retired police lieutenant who surmises you took out maybe twenty, including the aforementioned judge.”

  “One, you can’t prove anything. Two, was that old Delmar Rios?”

  “It was.”

  “How’s he doing?”

  “Retired and fishing all the time. Said he’s glad to be shut of you.”

  “Decent guy for a cop. He never could count right.”

  “Next it’s off to prison.”

  “They can’t get you on one thing; they’ll trump up charges on another. You can’t fight the man.”

  Suzie went on as if he hadn’t interrupted. “The warden couldn’t prove it, but he suspects you of killing three or four men there.”

  “I keep saying, you can’t prove it. You can’t prove any of this. You’re trying to hold it over my head for some reason, some leverage. I point out that you gotta protect yourself in the slam. You can’t give one damn inch and, if you do that thing, you make enemies. They pretty much left me alone. Finally, if you get a certain reputation, lots of things get blamed on you which you didn’t do.”

  CIA was relentless. “Lately, we have a rumor of half a dozen dead 13 soldiers, proof of another five or so in San Antonio. Maybe six more outside of Nogales. Toss in one crime boss in Vegas.”

  These people had undercover agents everywhere. The dog was sniffing toward him.

  “You can’t prove any of this and they ought to learn not to fuck with me.”

  “Suddenly now, you’ve turned noble. All your energies expended on behalf of Mrs. García.”

  “You mean María Elena?” he asked casually and snatched up Fluffy to pitch the dog underhanded at them.

  But Linda Landover was too quick for him. “I’ll put three rounds through Fluffy into you.”

  Tommy knew what she said would occur.

  Suzie Q stepped closer to him than she should have, but he knew she still commanded the situation. “Put him down, Mr. Atkins, or I will kill you.”

  “I believe you would.”

  “She would, quick, too,” said Linda. “Believe me.”

  Tommy pitched the dog onto a nearby couch. “I don’t hide behind dogs anyway.”

  Suzie Q glanced at Linda L. “Did you see how fast he moved? Fluffy was on the floor and instantly Atkins had the poor thing.”

  Linda nodded. “Suze, we should just kill him now. He’s too dangerous to let go and, if we do, he’ll fuck everything up pursuing his own agenda.”

  “Say again?”

  “He’s one of the few who will change the situation—“

  “Maybe it needs changing?”

  “It does, but not to his specs, but to ours. I’m telling you.” Linda began pacing.

  “We can squeeze him and then trade him to the marshals.”

  “For what? Afterward, they wouldn’t pay off anyway.”

  Was she trying to intimidate him? Did they want something from him? If they did, there was something bad wrong between 13 de enero and JTF 13. Tommy could almost guess what it was. His eyes followed Linda. The other, Quantrell, was highly dangerous, but she was cerebral and would work out solutions. FBI would take the shortest, most efficient path: kill him.

  Suzie Q, irritated, said, “I know Linda is beautiful; your eyes follow her, they won’t leave her. Quit it.”

  “That’s not why he’s watching me, Suze.”

  “No?”

  “Ask him.”

  Tommy said, “She’s right, ma’am.”

  “What the hell’s going on here?”

  “Well, CIA, it’s not her sexy fuck-me eyes, but the stuff under that layer. She’s one of the three or so most beautiful women I’ve ever seen in person. I am paying attention to her not because of that, but because she is one of the most dangerous people I have ever seen. Believe me, I know. Most professionals can tell.” Tommy grinned suddenly. “Not counting a certain late Cuban commander who I tracked through jungle and dusty hills from Zaire well into Angola. He was tough and tricky.”

  “I’ll be damned,” said Suzie Q. “Complimentary, ain’t he?”

  “And not counting some old sergeants, SEALS, Special Force guys on duty across the world that nobody’s heard of.”

  Linda stopped pacing. “Okay, Atkins, so who are the others?”

  “One is a Mexican, the late Juan Pablo from Sonora.”

  CIA and FBI glanced at each other. “We heard he was dead.”

  “That’s so.”

  “Who killed him?” Linda wanted to know.

  “The other of the three.”

  “That would be?” asked Susan Quantrell.

  He didn’t answer.

  “It’s obvious,” said Linda. “He did it.”

  “Aw shucks,” said Tommy, wondering why he was banging his own drum. Was he subconsciously trying to impress FBI?

  “Between the two of you, this place is full of—oh, yeah, modesty.” CIA shook her head.

  Tommy’s eyes went back to FBI.

  She faced him, legs apart, hips thrust out. “Thank you for the compliment.” Then she grinned. “You oughta see me on PMS. Anyway, you flatter me.” She turned to Suzie Q. “He’s buttering me up, trying to set me up.”

  “Wasn’t a compliment, merely the truth,” Tommy said. “One thing though?”

  “And that is?” She cocked her head.

  “You gotta quit smoking, sweetheart. Your enemy is gonna know your habits. All they have to do is wait outside for you to take a smoke break. As attractive as you are, they still gonna off you—no matter the terrible waste.”

  FBI smiled widely. “Fuck that. I’ll take my chances.”

  Tommy grinned. “You know, under different circumstances I could really like you.”

  “Well, thank you, Mr. Atkins.”

  “But it’s you and CIA here, isn’t it?”

  “You guessed?”

  “No, I figured. The protective way you work together. The way you look at each other. Little tell tales. It’s another weak spot.”

  FBI relaxed. “You got it half right. I’m bi-. And I’ll tell you what, if we break up or anything happens to her, I’ll come look you up.”

  “My pleasure—if you don’t kill me off
. That is, if a certain lady dumps me and I don’t eat my gun because of it, or she doesn’t make it through—”

  Quantrell interrupted. “That answers a ton of questions.”

  “Ain’t love grand,” said Linda simultaneously.

  “—this and you’re available,” Tommy finished.

  FBI gave him an enigmatic smile. Which told Tommy that she hadn’t decided whether to kill him or not. “If I don’t kill you now, I might later, if anything happens to Suze.”

  Women, go figure. “First: no you ain’t. Second, I never killed any women—that I know of—and I ain’t gonna start now. Anyway, not going to happen on my account, you and me, for my heart is taken by another. I came here to rescue her and she’s not here.”

  CIA perked up. “Rescue? We’re talking María Elena García?”

  Tommy hesitated, and then nodded. “We went to her father’s lawyer’s house. Quinones. He was María Elena’s godfather. He took her in a cabin cruiser out into the bay down in Miami this morning.”

  Brow furrowed, CIA asked, “What do you mean ‘took her?’ What exactly is going on? Why did you and she go on the run? I mean besides you being an escaped prisoner and all.”

  Tommy saw she had her own suspicions, but the smart ones always wanted your information to work on regardless of what they already knew. He decided he had little choice but to level with them, for he needed them to be either on his side or neutral. “María Elena discovered her husband was cooking the books and getting rich off donations to 13; not only that, but he was charging people to bring them out of Cuba and maybe running drugs and spitting on the sidewalk, too.”

  “When you paint by the numbers and the blocks fill, pretty soon the real picture begins to emerge.” CIA dropped her weapon to her side. But Linda still had hers trained on Tommy. Doubtless, he thought, that was plenty.

  “So now you’re backing a bad hand,” Tommy ventured. If they were in on it, he’d just gotten himself killed and doomed María Elena.

  “How’d you get mixed up in this?” asked Landover.

  “I stumbled upon García killing the old man and turning his men loose on María Elena.”

  The two looked at each other. “You’d swear to that in court?”

  “Sure. But I ain’t going to court and you know it.”

  Quantrell nodded and Linda said, “You bet your ass you ain’t.”

  It was obvious that JTF 13 had no control now and they’d be guilty by association. They were in a pickle, too. Whatever, he might have just turned the corner with these two.

  Quantrell continued. “So you interfered, grabbed the girl, and ran. And you and Ms. García have been on the run ever since.”

  Tommy shrugged and sat back to telegraph to FBI he was no longer a danger to them; not true, but that’s what he wanted them to think.

  She didn’t buy it for she remained as she was, with the weapon trained on him.

  “Why did you stay together?” asked the CIA agent.

  “You ask too many questions, CIA. It just happened.”

  “Stockholm Syndrome?” asked Linda.

  Suzie Q shook her head. “Methinks the opposite of the Stockholm Syndrome, as you speculated earlier. He said he was in love with her.”

  “No I didn’t,” said Tommy, feeling like he should cut off an ear.

  “In so many words.” CIA went to a side board and brought over a laptop computer. “So García has his wife back. What’s he going to do now?”

  “Kill her,” said Tommy and Linda at the same time.

  “When you want to know the answer, ask a professional,” Suzie said.

  “Will you help me?” Tommy asked. A question he had never, ever asked anyone, anytime, anywhere.

  “I don’t know,” said CIA.

  “What’s in it for us?” asked FBI.

  Tommy snorted. “Look, you might be recording this whole thing, it occurs to me too late. So you are not going to agree to money or me swearing to kill García. So how about this, suppose I help you with your problem?”

  “Our problem being?” asked Quantrell. She knew the answer, but wanted to hear if he’d figured it out far enough.

  “A rogue militia unit. Murder cover-up. Misuse of federal funds, or downright theft. Association with human trafficking. And maybe drugs. JTF 13 is in trouble and the man will whack the whole task force if this comes out. Not to mention you all getting canned. And that’s just a start.”

  “It’s nothing we can’t handle,” said FBI.

  “And haven’t already handled institutionally before,” added CIA.

  Tommy shrugged, jingling the cuffs in front of him. “Go ahead, then.”

  Neither answered him.

  Tommy glanced around the room. They’d been looking for evidence or some specific piece of information, he couldn’t guess which.

  “So where’s Diego García?” he asked casually.

  The two looked at each other. Quantrell said quietly, “We don’t know. And we would like to know.”

  Tommy cursed silently. He believed this woman. They needed to take García out any way they could and the sooner the better. Especially since they’d learned of the María Elena kidnapping.

  “I’ll open with a couple of cards,” said CIA. “He could be anywhere. He’s not here and there are no signs of a quick and final exit to a country with no extradition treaties with Uncle Sam.” She paused to think. “Given what you told us, I suspect he was fairly comfortable here and in his role until this morning when he obviously learned of your and Ms. García’s presence. That would trigger him to find out what she knows so he can evaluate his own personal safety. So he needs to be collocated with her and, at the same time, have the ability for a quick getaway.”

  “What was the name of the boat she was taken on?” asked FBI.

  “CUBAN BEAUTY,” said Tommy.

  Linda pulled a cell phone out and hit a quick dial preset. “Sandy? Listen, we need an immediate BOLO on a boat called CUBAN BEAUTY, slap a national security priority on it.” She listened. “I dunno, just a sec.” She looked at Tommy. “Describe it.”

  He did.

  “All right, thanks, you can look it up in the data bases, too.” Landover closed her phone.

  “Good, that cabin cruiser will be parked somewhere around, even down in south Florida where it can run up a channel or two inland.” Suzie Q reached for her laptop. “And if García makes a run for it, it’s likely he’ll use that boat for his getaway.”

  “Maybe you-all could see your way into releasing me and letting me go after them,” Tommy said hopefully.

  CIA shook her head. “No can do. I don’t trust you. Your goals and ours are not the same. You might also screw things up for us. You’ll stay with us so we can control the situation.”

  Tommy’s voice became harsh. “Let me go and I will solve your problem. Period.”

  “You might solve your problem by taking us out,” Quantrell pointed out.

  Actually, Tommy was thinking about doing that in order to escape. “I told you I don’t kill women.”

  “We are going to keep you honest in that endeavor, Mr. Atkins. You might well prove useful to us later on.”

  Tommy fumed.

  CIA fiddled with her laptop. FBI watched Tommy closely, her weapon maintaining its target.

  “This is where they have to be,” Quantrell said, pointing to the screen. Tommy looked and only later wondered if she wasn’t just priming him and aiming him at the problem. But he didn’t care now or then, he simply had to get going. The sun was almost down now and time was elapsing. He might have a slight margin because it would take time for García to move from one location to wherever they were holding María Elena, or it would take a lot of time if they went down through the keys around into Florida Bay and lose themselves in the ’Glades or one of the thousands of islands dotting the coast around to Naples. He wondered if they’d take her to the training area they were using when they originally killed the old man and he’d interfered. García might
also be hesitant to kill María Elena because of Tommy’s warning; likely he now knew about Tommy burning down the house as a message and might be heeding that message: use María Elena as bait. And he needed her healthy to bait the trap. Might being the operable word. For all Tommy knew, Diego García might well just kill her right away and lure Tommy in any way.

  CIA found a south Florida map and called it up. “Likely they’ll repair to their own headquarters and their training ground over by the border of Dade County and the Cypress National Preserve.” She played with the touch pad. “See, you can drive to it and you can moor a boat anywhere and drive right to it.”

  Tommy tried to memorize landmarks, but she kept getting her shapely hip in the way.

  Linda was looking at the screen, too. “That’s got to be it, Suze. The permanent cadre there are not the original 13 members; they have to be Don Diego’s men. The old guard all have jobs and families. So anyone on that base would be sworn to García.”

  CIA scrolled and clicked. A topographical map came up. “We leased them a ton of acreage for a dollar, way back in the day when the cold war was hot and we needed them to distract Castro and his Soviet bosses.”

  “I’ve never been there,” said Linda.

  Suzie Q expanded the map point. “I have. A few thousand acres in the middle of nowhere. They even have a landing strip for choppers and cargo planes. We landed there once in an executive jet. Over here are the headquarters area and storage and supply buildings. This one, if I remember, is some kind of barracks. Farther along, this is the actual headquarters building where they run things and where the senior officers live.” She was using her finger to touch the screen, a habit Tommy hated. But he was paying close attention. He still didn’t know exactly where it was. Far to the west of Miami; he thought he recognized the Tamiami Trail. He thought only in passing that they were playing a game here to feed him info. It didn’t matter as long as they had him under guard and handcuffed. Maybe the blonde was priming him in case he in fact did escape or they turned him loose. On the final hand, perhaps she was simply thinking and planning aloud.