Brent reached the gate, and his motion alone began to agitate the pigs. They poured into a wall of solidarity at the right side of the gate, their anxiety escalating as they emitted grunts of annoyance. Chico stood in front, using his bulky body to shepherd the brood backwards. As Brent threw open the gate and charged at Chico, the giant boar let loose a squeal capable of peeling flesh from a human body. Brent recalled Arnaud once saying that the sound of a jet engine taking off could reach 113 decibels, whereas the scream of a frightened pig could reach 115 decibels.
Chico’s strident cry was the catalyst to unleash the clamor of the remaining hogs. With one last flail of his arms in the air, Brent ensured that the pigs were in a complete frenzy as he left the gate open and raced towards the villa, still keeping out of view behind the tree line.
Brent saw one of the front doors slam open as two men poured onto the porch with their weapons extended. Closing in on the villa, Brent reached the last tree and had a fifteen yard gap between the front door and his hidden location. He waited, urging the men to step off the porch. Go. Go investigate.
The next figure to emerge was one that made his blood pump even more adrenaline. Luis, dressed in white slacks and a blue floral aloha shirt stepped out with a small handgun in his grip. He wore sunglasses and was shouting over his shoulder at someone. Just the recollection of this troll threatening Jill set Brent’s psyche on fire, but a vision of Jill writhing beneath him caused his anger to falter. His gun wavered, and his thoughts were tempered with yearning. He had to reject the image. Beside the need to protect the Petris at all costs−an opportunity he couldn’t seize with his own parents−he had a new motivation to succeed. He wanted to see Jill again. He wanted to voice what he was not able to say on that dock.
Luis shouted again, and this time Brent could hear him. “What the hell is that?” Luis screamed.
To Brent’s surprise, Arnaud moved up behind the men and cried out in anguish, “My pigs.”
Arnaud Petri was looking older. Brent had seen him two years ago on one of the Petris’ trips to watch Al play ball. A large man in stature, Arnaud Petri was once close to six feet, and carried himself on a big frame. He was not a fat man…just brawny. Now he seemed thinner, although he still towered over Luis. Arnaud’s dark-skinned face had always seemed pensive, but now grim grooves at the corners of his eyes and mouth enhanced that image. His short black hair was invaded with white curls. Even from fifteen yards away, Brent could see the man’s large hands shaking. That sight disturbed Brent the most. Arnaud Petri was never afraid of anything. It was how Brent learned to cope with his own nighttime fears−by emulating a man who had none.
As if aware of Brent’s thoughts, Arnaud restored his character by crossing his arms and extending a smug look over Luis’s shoulder. “Well, that’s that. My neighbors will be here any moment.” Arnaud tipped his head. “No doubt with guns.”
Despite the gravity of the moment, Brent suppressed a grin. The Petris pigs were not welcome in this upscale beach community. Brent counted on the neighbors to come running over in protest.
“Shoot them!” Luis screamed, jogging halfway across the courtyard in pursuit of the two armed men who were hiking towards the pen.
“No!” Arnaud stepped to the edge of the porch. “Don’t shoot them!”
Luis waved his gun back towards the front of the house. “Get back inside!”
The tell-tale signs were there. Luis was losing his cool. Perspiration on his forehead glistened as bright as his hair gel. His hands moved in jerky motions and his voice had turned pitchy to the point that he sounded remarkably like Chico.
“No,” Arnaud did not move. “I can silence the pigs. That will stop the neighbors.”
“The goddamn gun will shut those pigs up, and you get inside before the neighbors−”
A telltale plume of dust erupted between the trees, followed by the sound of a motor approaching.
“Ah see,” Arnaud shook his head. “They come.”
Luis didn’t seem to know which way to aim his gun. He pointed at Arnaud and swung back in the direction of the oncoming set of jeeps.
“You get down here.” Luis waved the gun as if he was a traffic cop. “You make them go away or we shoot them all. If you do anything I don’t approve of, we shoot them…and you.”
Arnaud climbed down the two steps with a trace of arthritis in his gait. His gaze shifted over the scene, and for a moment Brent wondered if the man was searching for him. Brent eyed the open front door, but Luis was still in its sight line.
“Shoot em,” Arnaud grumbled. “I don’t like them, anyway. Besides, these two are just the closest neighbors. I’m sure they have already made calls to others, and yes,” Arnaud nodded, “probably the Policia too. So go ahead−” he waved his hand at the short Dominican. “−go ahead and shoot them all.”
Luis seemed confounded now as the first jeep pulled up and three black men climbed out, one in a straw fedora and casual clothes, the other two in shorts and tank tops. The two in shorts were shaking their fists, and the fedora-capped man strode right up to Arnaud and Luis.
The little troll crossed his arms and tucked the gun under his armpit to conceal it.
“Petri.” The fedora-capped man shouted over the squeal of the pigs now pouring single file out of the open gate. The two armed men chased after them, but were looking for guidance on whether to shoot them. Luis gave a terse negative head shake.
“What is with the pigs, Petri?” Fedora cap cried. “I told you the last time they got out that I would call the Policia.”
“And I told you that the pigs bother no one.” Arnaud countered.
“And I told you that I paid big money to live here and I resent you bringing in these beasts and devaluing the property.”
“And I told you that I own this land and if I want to farm elephants on it, I will.”
Arnaud and his neighbor continued their debate, but switched to the local Domincanese dialect.
This was Brent’s chance. The front door was still ajar and everyone seemed preoccupied with the dispute in the middle of the courtyard. Sprinting to the corner of the house, slamming his back against the stucco surface, Brent waited for Luis to notice him, but the man’s back was towards him, engaged in a fight about the pigs. Brent skipped the stairs and jumped up onto the porch, entering the front door with his gun extended.
The contrast from sunlight to the dark interior of the house left him blinded for a moment as all he saw were gray spots and corners of furniture. He squinted for acclimation but kept the gun at the ready. Sandy-colored ceramic tiles filled the foyer so that he felt he was walking on the beach. Two cream-toned couches sat facing each other, a glass-topped table between them with a vase sitting on it. Brent heard a gasp towards his right and swiveled with the gun extended.
A robust dark complected woman with graying hair that fell in big waves around her head peered at him through glasses large enough to substitute as airplane goggles.
“Hijo?”
Brent wanted to rush over and hug the woman in the pink house dress, but the black man holding the gun to her head prohibited the move.
“Are you okay?” he whispered.
Maria Petri nodded. The sun coming through the front door glared against her lenses.
Brent stared down the man with the black goatee. He was well-dressed in a gold rayon shirt and tan trousers, his leather shoes polished. Judging from the same attire on the two men now ruining their shoes in the muck, Brent guessed this to be a syndicate rather than some locals looking to make a buck off of Alfredo’s fame.
“Look man,” Brent kept his gun steady. “We’re at a stalemate here. You shoot her…I shoot you. Your amigos are quite busy out there and could probably use your help. You certainly have us outnumbered, and out-armed so you have the upper hand.”
Brown eyes rimmed with a yellow haze flicked towards the open door and the melee beyond.
“For god’s sake, will someone shut those pigs up?” Maria rais
ed her hands to her ears.
The motion spooked the distracted man and Brent closed in fast, taking advantage of Maria’s quick thinking as she bent over. Thrusting his automatic forward, he shook his head, negating the man’s desire to recapture Maria in his scope.
“Drop the gun and go join your friends.”
With the man’s arm halfway raised, he still seemed to debate whether or not to complete the motion.
“Don’t do it.” Brent raised the gun even with the man’s gold necklace.
Mouthing words of condemnation, the man stooped and set the gun down on the sandy tiles, and rose, with his hands half-heartedly lifted.
“Out.” Brent tipped his head toward the door.
As soon as the shadow exited the doorway and Brent stood facing Maria, he still felt tension in his shoulders.
“Are there more?” he whispered.
Maria shook her head, clasping her hands together. “They are all outside now.”
Brent exhaled and with one arm drew Maria into a tight hug. She was a hefty woman that smelled like a blend of spices and soap. Her arms came up behind his back and she squeezed him with enough ferocity to wrestle an alligator. Her glasses cut into his chest, but he was smiling.
“Hijo, I am so happy to see you. This−” she drew back enough to look towards the door, “−this is horrible. These are horrible people.”
“Have they hurt you?”
“No, no.” She pulled back entirely and settled her hands on her round hips. “They sit on the couches and put their feet up on the table. They ask me to cook like I am their damn servant.” She snorted in contempt. “And that little one,” she nodded outside. “We say to him, you have your money, now we are free to go, no?”
“What did he say?”
“He said the money was the first installment. That we weren’t going anywhere.”
Brent crouched down to retrieve the gun. “I’m going to need you to hold on to this.”
Maria took the weapon and lifted her glasses to study it. “It’s not much different than ours. Arnaud taught me to fire it out back. It set the pigs off, and the neighbors came.”
“I bet it did.”
A frown creased Maria’s forehead. “I’m worried about Arnaud.”
Brent clasped his hand on her shoulder. “We’re going out there, and I need you to listen to everything I say. There is a white van parked on the opposite side of the courtyard. Our goal is to get to that van, okay? But don’t go until I say.”
The woman nodded, her brown eyes wide behind the thick lenses. “You are a good son, Brent.” Those brown eyes misted up. “We are so lucky to have you in our lives.”
“Aww, no, no.” His throat constricted. “I am the lucky one.”
Outside the shouts increased.
“We have to go.” Brent took his hand from the woman’s shoulder and said, “You stay behind me.” Admirable words when Maria knew how to fire the gun and he didn’t.
Squinting against the assault of the sun, Brent stepped out onto the porch. The scene before him was utter chaos. Arnaud and the fedora-capped neighbor were chest to chest in verbal combat. Two of the other neighbors were attempting to corral the loose pigs who were squealing like banshees. Luis’s men moved in tandem with the neighbors, using discretion with their guns so as not to reveal their intentions unless absolutely necessary.
Luis’s shiny black hair flashed back and forth between each of the obstacles around him, until with little patience, he shot his gun into the air.
Oh shit. Now it was going to get ugly, Brent thought. He chanced a quick glance behind him to make sure Maria was still there. She looked up at him with big eyes and quivering lips covered with pink lipstick.
He nodded his assurance and turned back to face the debacle.
All motion suspended at the sound of the gunshot, except for the pigs which reacted the opposite and took off towards the trees.
“Dios Mio,” Arnaud cried, slapping his hands against his face.
The fedora-capped neighbor resumed his argument after only a second of hesitation. “That’s just great, Petri. Now they are heading towards my property!”
Luis’s agitation grew as he realized his gun shot had no impact on the melee. He raised the pistol in the air again and screamed, “Enough.” He nodded a signal to his men in the pen and they too drew their weapons.
Luis spun around to elicit the services of the man he knew was still inside and then he saw Brent. His eyes went wide. His face scrunched with disgust as he spat at the ground before him.
“I should have killed her,” he uttered.
That thought made perspiration bubble up on the back of Brent’s neck. He gripped the gun in his hand with menacing tenacity and took a step forward, raising it−unfazed by the weapon in Luis’s hand. “Then you would be dead,” he stated.
“Hijo,” Maria whispered behind him.
Brent did not hear. He took another step and Luis’s hyper glance lobbed between Brent and Maria, each possessing a gun. He looked beyond them at his man sitting on the porch, demoralized and weaponless.
“What the hell is all this?” The neighbor in the straw fedora hat addressed Arnaud, waving his hand at the tableau.
Arnaud sighed. “These people,” Arnaud nodded with distaste at Luis, “are blackmailing my son and holding my wife and me hostage.”
Fedora glanced at Brent and asked, “He with them?”
Arnaud looked at Brent and smiled, revealing a gold-capped tooth. “No, that’s my−” he nodded, “−that’s my other son.”
The neighbor crossed his arms, his legs apart in an argumentative stance. “He must take after your wife’s side.”
Fedora then walked up to Luis, heedless of the gun halfway raised in the man’s hand. He looked the man up and down and his lip curled up in disgust. “You steal from the rich? That’s how you make money?” He tapped his white polo shirt. “I have money. You come steal from me next?”
Fedora continued his lap around Luis who was now sweating profusely, a stain forming in the middle of his floral shirt. “I worked hard for my money and I am supposed to be living the good life in this quiet resort area, but I have to put up with his pigs,” he nodded at Arnaud, “and now I hear that I have vermin like you here trying to take money away.” Fedora looked towards the men in the pen, squeezing his lips as he noticed their expensive attire and jewelry. “Merda.”
Fedora waved his hand above his head in a brief circular motion. The men that had come with him rushed back to the jeeps and materialized a bevy of assault rifles.
To counter their attack, Luis’s men raised their weapons. As their eyes darted around, they realized they were outnumbered.
“Now,” Fedora addressed Luis. “You and your men will leave Juan Dolio, and you will never return. Isn’t that right?”
Luis’s lips curled up like they had been caught on a fishing line. “This goes much higher than what you see here.”
“No doubt,” Fedora nodded, arms still crossed, legs still combative. “We’ll be waiting if you ever return. Now, you can get in your van and leave, or we can shoot you, stuff your bodies in there, and drive you out of here.”
Luis stood his ground, engaged in an ocular battle. Finally he nodded and motioned his men towards the white van. Brent saw the guy with the gold necklace pass by him, and the two other men trudged out of the pen with mud caked on their loafers, impeding their pace. They reached the van in silence and someone lifted the man Brent had tied up into the back of the vehicle. To the tune of doors slamming shut, the van pulled away and a spiral of dust trailed after it.
“Now,” Fedora returned his attention to Arnaud. “About these damn pigs.”
Chapter Eleven
Jill leaned over a butcher block workbench in the photographer’s lounge at Tropicana Field. Her laptop was open and she was adjusting the contrast of an image of the Grouper’s mascot clutching a baseball bat in its fins. Granted, it was not an illustration that would garner awards, b
ut it, along with others would provide a steady income.
She reached up and fingered the blue stone dangling below her throat and squeezed her eyes shut to block out the happy fish. It had been twelve days since she stood on that pier with tears streaming down her eyes, watching the man she loved walk away towards danger. Every day that went by without a word drove her deeper into panic. Two missed calls from the Dominican Republic did not register on her cell phone until she reached the Port of Tampa. She called the number every day, but it would just ring and ring. She tried to locate information on the number, but it was not listed. She tried to locate a number for the Petris, but it was unlisted. She tried to reach Alfredo Petri, but her attempts were deflected. Jill searched the news online to see if she could locate any reports of violence in the Dominican Republic, but nothing mentioned Brent’s name.
One of two things had occurred−either something terrible had happened to Brent, or he simply did not want to see her again. Jill opened her eyes and released the necklace, trying to clear her blurred vision and focus on the monitor. She was passing the time on this image, awaiting the first game in the World Series. She was one of the lucky ones to be contracted for this game, and if she couldn’t talk to Alfredo Petri, at least she could take photographs of him bringing the Groupers to a world title.
“Still moping, I see.”
Jill ignored the voice and used her mouse to adjust the image.
“Well, I have just the cure for your pouting.” Tyler stepped up and rested his khaki-clad rear on the corner of the workbench.
His arms were crossed, a motion that allowed him to pump a muscle beneath his purple polo shirt.
Jill was in too much turmoil to listen.
“Hello!” He leaned over and waved his hands. “I’m talking about a photo op here. The Groupers are coming out on the field in a few minutes for a pre-game warm-up and they are letting all the photographers down…not just the team staff.”
Her head snapped up and caught Tyler’s smug smile. He wasn’t bad looking. He had dirty blond hair worn in a style that might have been more suitable to a teenager, and he had dimples that grooved the side of his face when he looked as smug as this. What he didn’t seem to understand was that she had no interest in him, and it didn’t even have to do with the fact that he nearly killed her. It had to do with the fact that he disregarded the fact that he nearly killed her. He chose to not even address it. After the accident, she was away from the stadium for a lengthy period, recovering, but as soon as she returned, Tyler carried on as if it was business as usual. Of course he did the dimple-flashing muscle-pumping routine for pretty much anything female that crossed his path. Why she didn’t bear more animosity as her mother preached, Jill didn’t know. Perhaps it was because she just found Tyler to be pathetic now. Before the accident she could claim she didn’t know enough about the man to form an opinion, but now his personality was stamped across his bronzed forehead. LOSER. It pained her to think of Brent and the contrast of character. She touched the necklace again and could still feel the trace of his fingers there, just before they slipped behind her neck and his mouth claimed hers.
Emotional Waves Page 14
