by Alan Lee
Breathing heavy, bleeding from forehead and ear, he turned to Julio. He tore off the chair’s broken armrest and, using it like a wooden dagger, drove it into Julio’s shoulder. The big man roared. Clutching the jagged shard and toppling.
At the table, Catalina saying something he couldn’t hear.
Manny knelt on Julio’s chest. Hit him in the nose again and shoved the makeshift wooden dagger further into Julio’s meaty muscle. The shoulder looked ruined and would require surgery. “I don’t like warnings. You’re alive for the sake of your cousin.”
Julio, unable to respond, eyes bulging.
Manny got up. Panting. His blood running hot and he’d grown tunnel vision. He retrieved the sentry’s fallen assault rifle. An AK-12. He crouched beside Nicolás and shoved the barrel of the rifle into the sentry’s mouth.
Nicolás gagging. Dazed and concussed. The barrel clicked against his teeth, pressed against his tongue.
“That wasn’t your fight, amigo,” said Manny. “Never hit a man from behind. We’re a civilized people.”
Manny trembling with rage—a rising tide. He pushed off the gun’s safety.
“I kill you, the fight is over. I let you live? Maybe the others don’t get the message. You understand.”
Nicolás’s breath hissed raggedly through his nose. Manny squeezed the trigger.
“Manuel,” said Catalina.
Manny caught a note of warning in her voice. His finger paused and he glanced up. Eight guards—three Hispanic, and five with Hubert—stood in a circle. Weapons trained on him.
“It’s over, Manuel. You won. Get up.” Catalina stood at the table. At the moment she wore the airs of a cartel boss, not his elegant date.
“Outnumbered, eh?”
Hubert gave him a small nod and gestured to the ruined men and broken chair. His face looked hard—he’d ordered guests eliminated before and he’d do it again if necessary. “Indeed. The fight is concluded. I insist.”
Manny stood. The wrath passed like a storm. He set the safety again and laid the rifle on the table. His pozole was still warm. Dipping his napkin into ice water, Manny dabbed at his forehead and ear. Somehow his lip bled too. “Dammit,” he said. “My shirt is ripped.”
Catalina’s anger passed too. Replaced by something else, equally passionate. She took his hand. Her eyes were wide, her skin flushed. She glanced at Hubert. “We’ll take the rest of our dinner in my bedroom. Later.”
“Very good.”
“Don’t forget dessert,” Manny told the steward. “The devil may care, as long as I’m eating carbs.”
Manny grabbed the bottle of Dom Pérignon as Catalina dragged him from the room.
14
Manny inspected his eyebrow and lip in the mirror the following morning. Both were swollen and bruised.
Catalina’s bedroom was at least twenty feet underground and July’s morning sunlight reflected in via a system of mirrors through the ceiling.
She sat shamelessly naked on the bed, reclining against pillows. Desire uncoiled in his chest again, watching her reflection. Their night had been vigorous and consuming, if less prolonged than in their twenties.
Probably not how Weaver envisioned this going.
Catalina’s finger idly traced her phone’s screen, scanning messages. He missed his phone. And his firearms. And his coffee.
She said, “Your agencies must be beside themselves, wondering why I returned.”
“Why did you?”
“To be ravaged by the most handsome man alive.”
He watched her through the mirror. “Part of the service us marshals provide.”
“The last I saw you, you didn’t have this many tattoos. Or scars.”
“I got aggressive. Turns out, neither fill the void.”
“The designs, what do they symbolize?”
“Damned nonsense, I think, looking back.”
Her quarters had the look of a well-furnished Bed and Breakfast guest room, as opposed to a hotel. A large painting of pine trees, probably original and probably stolen, dominated the opposite wall.
She asked, “Do your police lie in wait outside my doors?”
“No.”
“They won’t catch me.”
He chuckled. “They want this done peacefully.”
“They hope I’ll surrender?”
Instead of replying, he grimly eyed the coffee mug set next to the mirror. Without his nutritional additives, the stuff tasted like weak gruel. He’d grown spoiled.
“Come with me, Manuel. I no longer traffic narcotics. I’m a power broker now.”
“Did you help destabilize the Honduran currency in 2017?”
She smiled, pleased. “I did. And I bought a large percentage of the banana exports, which, believe it or not, helped us influence the Brazilian election. You can’t imagine the power that crop yields.”
“Honduras is a mess.”
“A disaster.”
“Because of you,” he said, fighting off a sense of vertigo. That girl on the tarmac at the airport in Los Angeles. What the hell happened to her?
“Partly. But I profited, the American equivalent of seventy-five million.”
“Impossible.”
“The amount of money surging through the world still takes my breath, Manuel.”
“Why are you in America, Catalina? What’s worth the risk?”
She held his eyes in the reflection. “I told you. My nights are dark and cold. Often I hope I won’t wake. I’m here for the only man I love.”
“That’s not all.”
“It is. I will make you rich.”
“I have enough.”
She crossed her arms over her stomach. “Last night, you beat Julio and Nicolás in an unfair fight. Professional hitmen. I see the rage in you, Manuel. You need this. And I know dozens of men who need to be killed with dining room chairs. Or anyway you prefer. I’ll pay you a million each.”
“Catalina, you…a million?’’
A glint in her eye. “A million. Each. We’ll watch the video tapes of your work and you’ll carry me to bed after.”
“Wow.”
“Yes.”
“Do you think I’m a fool? You didn’t come for just me.” Although, even as he said it, he wondered. He knew the power of loneliness, of loss.
“Why else would I return to this forsaken part of Virginia?”
“Kentucky.”
“Who cares. My husband died years ago. I’ve been alone since.”
“What country do you plan on destroying next?”
“If I tell you, will you inform your government?”
“I might.”
She laughed, a warm and mocking sound. “Stay with me. We’ll fly out in a few days and I’ll tell you everything. Please, Manuel. Your life can begin again. But right now, there is only the immediate.”
He turned from the mirror. Picked up his mug and sipped the coffee. Yuck. He pointed at her with the hand holding the cup. “I like them, by the way.”
“Like what?”
“Your surgical enhancements. You asked if I wanted to insult them, earlier. I don’t.”
Her mouth twisted in a tight smile. “I’m glad you approve. Very little about me is authentic. A price I pay for wealth.”
“There is no price worth your soul.” He set down the coffee. “But you sold that already, I think.”
“I’ll buy another.”
“Mine?”
Her toes pushed at the sheet. “We’ll share. Now take off those pants and return to my bed.”
“I have to go.”
“My guards won’t let you.”
“It’ll take all of them to stop me,” he said, but it was pure bravado. He didn’t take much convincing to stay. Just the sight of her. He wasn’t proud of his weakness and he imagined she used similar methods to weave her webs in Central America. The thought twisted his stomach with hurt.
She said, “One hour more. Then you must go, and tell your agencies how wicked I am. But I
bet you’ll leave a few details off your report.”
He approached her side of the bed. “How dare you. I am a professional.”
“Not for much longer, my love.”
15
Ten Years Earlier
In the backyard of a small ranch on Palmer Street in Compton, Manny and Catalina sat at a picnic table. There was no lawn, only a dirt patch scoured by large pit bulls. The chain fence needed replacing, held together in spots by bent coat hangers.
Two charcoal grills sizzled near the house and ten of Catalina’s extended family milled near the stereo. Angry music thumped, forcing them to raise their voices.
Manny and Catalina chatted with Scotty, the owner of the ranch. He said, “I heard you bust my neighbor.”
Manny inclined his head, which was shaved. “Maybe. Who?”
“Little Kevin. Little Kevin with only one foot. Three houses up."
“Sí. I forgot. Little Kevin beats up kids, migo. And does worse than that. Then makes them sell crack at Tucker Park. Felt good, busting his ass.”
Catalina smiled at Manuel, clinging tightly to his arm with her free hand. Manuel, her boyfriend. Soon to be fiancé, she hoped. She’d fallen for him immediately last year, the quiet brooding man, angry at the world—for all of his hurt and rage, he softened when he looked at her. True, he was a cop, but a cop she could control. Plus, never had a man been so perfectly crafted.
He saw the smile. Winked at her.
Scotty was high and he turned red eyes onto Catalina. “You dating a badge, huh. Gettin’ that bacon.”
Her back stiffened. At twenty-five, she was the pinnacle of health and cash and privilege. So breathtaking, thought Manny, looking away took discipline. She didn’t belong in this backyard. Or this life.
“I date who I want to date, Scotty.”
“Does Raf know?”
“He knows I’m dating Manuel.”
“But does he know? Does Raf know your boy’s bacon?”
Catalina paused. Her older brother ran their enterprise since the death of her father. Not a man to trifle with. She set down her bottle of Coca-Cola—she insisted the American recipe was superior to the Honduran. “Rafael is meeting Manuel today.”
“Oh shit,” said Scotty. “In my backyard? You gonna kill a cop in my backyard?”
Most of the guests eavesdropped on their conversation. They represented various levels of drug distribution throughout Compton, locally affiliated with MS-13. Catalina’s boyfriend was an issue. They knew he wasn’t a Boy Scout and that he looked the other way for Catalina’s sake. But he wasn’t in their pocket either. The rumors surrounding Manuel Martinez were legendary—one of the cops gangsters truly feared.
Scotty had a complex situation brewing in his backyard and he didn’t like it.
Manny grinned. “Killing me in your backyard gets you some street cred, Scotty.”
“I got street cred, mang.”
“Not the streets I work. Mang.”
Catalina squeezed his hand. “Manuel, we are his guest. Behave.”
Overhead, a perfect blue. Sunlight streamed in, fresh and golden.
Scotty leaned back. Relit his joint stub, inhaled, and held it. When he spoke, green smoke leaked out of his nose and mouth. “What’cha gonna do, cop? When your girl leaves?”
“Leaves?”
“You can’t hear? Yeah leaves.”
Manny glanced at her. “Qué? What’s he talking about?”
“He’s…I…” she said, caught off guard.
Scotty cackled. “She ain’t told you!”
“I…I haven’t yet. Because, well, I don’t know what will happen.” She was turning a shade of red.
“You’re leaving?”
“No! Maybe. I don’t know. Rafael says we need to return to Honduras.”
A muscle in Manny’s jaw flexed. “For vacation.”
“Or maybe longer.”
“Longer.”
The earth tilted under Manny’s feet. Foundations, firm for months, suddenly quaked. The photograph he kept in his pocket seemed to burn. He tried to speak and couldn’t. His heart ached and fingers tingled.
Could old fears spark this quickly? Was his past buried so shallow? All his training, years spent fighting, his strict disciplinary regiment, his meditations, his diet, his military education, his career, his hard work, all of it suddenly powerless at the first sign of abandonment.
He cleared his throat and tried again. “You’re leaving.”
“I want you to come with us. I was going to ask you.”
“You didn’t.”
“But I will! I’m not like the bitch in that picture you carry.”
He didn’t believe her. Couldn’t believe her.
Manny stood. Grabbed the table for support. The world blurred. Scotty laughed at him and so did the woman in the photograph.
She was abandoning him.
“I have to go,” he said.
“But you haven’t met Rafael yet!”
Manny was already moving toward his car, lost.
16
Manny asked, “When do you leave?”
Catalina smiled. They stood at the top of the stairs, near the entrance. She took hold of his jacket by the lapels and tugged. “I’m only kicking you out because I have business calls to make, death warrants to sign, that kind of thing. Otherwise I’d look at you all day. Such a handsome man. They don’t make men like this in Honduras. I leave soon. And you’re coming with me.”
“To where?” He took her hand and kissed it.
“Manuel. Quit playing games. You’re going to lose me again. Do you understand? I’m not staying. Your police cannot catch me. I’ll be gone. You won’t know where. And you’ll be alone once more.”
“Catalina—”
“No. Don’t speak. Think. You have a few more days to decide. Clearly I cannot stay in America. Your agencies track my every move.”
His mind scrambled for other ways to get information. Any way to stall his departure. “If I join you, what would I do? I’m no man of leisure.”
“I have enemies. As I said, a million for each head you bring me. I’ll tell you more once we’re in the air. Hasta luego, mi alma. ” She turned and went down the hallway. He steeled his nerve, forced himself to feel nothing, to say nothing, and he slowly descended the staircase. Alone.
Hubert met him at the bottom. “I hope you enjoyed your stay, Mr. Martinez.”
“More than I thought possible.”
“May I show you one more thing, before you go?” Hubert turned without waiting and led him through the house to rooms off limits before. Past the vast kitchen and into the utilitarian wing. Manny’s steps faltered, only for a half second, as he caught sight of an armory. An imposing room, inlaid neatly with assault rifles, and rocket launchers, and ammunition, and explosives. He also saw barracks, two long rooms with bunk beds.
Manny was being shown this intentionally. Sending a message to the entirety of the American law enforcement—don’t try it.
He brought Manny to a northern window wall, overlooking Kentenia State Forest. An undisturbed carpet of green trees to the horizon.
“A beautiful view, don’t you think?” asked Hubert.
Below them, two dozen men drilled under the careful eye of a sergeant. Three helicopters were visible from this angle, covered by a retractable roof.
Manny noted, “Very impressive, yes.”
“Vistas like this bring me peace. Assures me that the world is wide and clean and properly ordered.”
“That reminds me. Thank you for repairing my shirt. The seam is perfect.”
“Of course, Mr. Martinez.”
“The shirt is American, you noted.”
Hubert smiled. “As Ms. Catalina says, nothing but the best for you.”
“Your staff is larger than I thought,” he said, nodding to the yard below and the men currently doing push-ups.
“This house serves many functions. One of which is rehabilitation. When members of the Ame
rican military are discharged without honor, and done so unjustly, we sometimes reach out to these soldiers and offer them a place to live. In exchange for their services, of course.”
“I understand.”
“I hope so.”
“Where is Catalina going, Hubert? When she leaves here?”
“Honestly, I have no idea. That is not my business. And to be frank nor is it yours. I hope you’ll visit again, Mr. Martinez.” Hubert turned from the window and bowed, saying goodbye. “Give us a day’s notice and we’re happy to accommodate you.”
Manny shot Hubert with his finger. “You got it.”
“The security detail will return your items as you depart. Have a pleasant day.”
Manny went back the way he came, his head buzzing from the unofficial deal he’d just struck; keep your mouth closed about this place and there will be no trouble. And potentially, he thought, some of the underworld’s services were just availed to him.
He passed the barracks and down the intersecting hallway he noticed Nicolás. The sentry from last night—he saw Manny and moved out of sight quickly, and Manny continued walking.
He expected this. Catalina’s security retinue had a bone to pick. Julio was humiliated and couldn’t simply let Manny walk.
From his pocket, he fished out Beck’s tube of Chapstick. He twisted the bottom and the device clicked.
A nearly useless tool, he’d told her.
However…
As he approached the front vestibule, Julio himself stepped out of the kitchen. His right arm held by a sling. In his left fist, he gripped a pistol.
A duel to the death then. He planned to kill Manny without a word spoken.
Clearly Julio was right handed. He held the pistol unnaturally and his aim was slow. The half second delay he required to bring the pistol to bear saved Manny’s life.
He stepped into Julio, beyond the barrel of the man’s pistol. Pressed the Chapstick tube firmly into the fleshy crease where jaw met throat, above the Adam’s apple. Aimed upward at the brain. Pressed the button.
The tube flashed and partially melted, singeing Manny’s fingertips. Sounded like a weak firecracker. Julio stiffened and his eyes went cross, gazing faraway.
