8:17 AM
The Miami morning had been beautiful with rose red thunderheads broken
up with hot blue scraps of sky. Tired as he was, Sonny could not help but
bask in the heat, it was going to be a real steam bath today. He wasn't
sure if he really missed this or not. But it sure felt nice after the long
chill damp of an Oregon winter. Sonny had picked up coffee on the drive in.
He wished it was a double espresso. Right now he longed for a tiny cup of
the intense bitter Cuban espresso.
When Sonny peeked in Castillo's room, the man was asleep. That
surprised Sonny a little. He knew how light a sleeper Castillo was
from working extended stakeouts with him. The slightest sound or
movement normally woke the man. The room's window blinds were
turned to admit only a yellow glow of the brilliant sunlight
outside. The Latino's color was a little better, no longer so
gray. Sonny was glad to see that all the IV's had been removed,
that was always a good sign. He entered the room's double bathroom
pushing the door almost shut, but not tight. It was old survival
habit. The door to the next patient room was unlocked. The
detective quickly checked and saw that the next room had the curtains
pulled back revealing empty beds. He locked the door anyway and
washed his face in cold water until he gasped and then put his hands on
the sink and slumped for a minute.
Damn he was tired. He
glanced up at the face in the mirror.
Studying it for a minute with a mixture of nostalgia and regret.
The semi-permanent tan was coming back, and his hair beginning the fade
toward gold after a few days in the harsh sun. But the face looked
a lot older then the Sonny Crockett he remembered.
Getting
wrinkled pal. His eyelids felt like padded weights.
Damnit he was tired, so damn tired and punchy he could go to sleep
on his feet.
You just don't have the adrenaline that used to keep you
going for days without stopping. Never thought I'd need it
again.
When
he closed his eyes, he did indeed slip into a light haze of sleep as he
slumped against the wall. It was the voices that jerked him back,
something that rang blood red alarms deep in his subconscious. He
was suddenly painfully awake. Almost holding his breath, body
perfectly still.
"I made sure it was in his last Meds before they pulled the IV's, he
shouldn't wake up for another ten-fifteen minutes."
"Good. I didn't want a fight when I put these on him."
Completely alert in an eye-blink, Crockett listened with a growing sense
of suspicion. Those weren't the voices of anyone he'd met at the
hospital so far, and there was a subtle flavor of 'suit' to them that he
didn't like at all. Holding perfectly still, he made no sound in
the bathroom. Waiting, trying to stretch out every sense to figure
out what was going on in the room without giving himself away. The
rustle of movement and small sounds on the bed, metallic
something?
Belts being buckled? He wanted to move
closer to the door crack and try to see into the room, but it wasn’t
worth the risk of being heard. He kept his eyes on the crack,
watching for movement across the seam of light. Finally two
different shadows crossed the light. Their voices were closer to
the hall door and harder to pick out.
"How soon will the medical team be here?"
"Half an hour, we'll put him under deep sedation with life support then."
"I'm going to see Smith, he's gone upstairs to talk to the Doctor for
some reason. Stay outside the door. No one's allowed in here."
The hall door clicked shut behind them.
Sonny's
mind was racing.
What the Hell is going on?
He knew absolutely that Castillo would rather die than be taken to
some 'Company' facility for 'treatment' of any kind. There might be
people in the world of 'company' business that could be trusted, but he
didn't know any he'd trust farther than he could throw them. He HAD
to get Marty out of here before they came to take him away.
Sonny heard a gasp and the sounds of struggle from the bed. There
was only seconds to come up with a plan.
My God no time to
think of anything.
Where could Marty go? A face came
back, he wasn't even sure the woman lived in the same place, but she'd
been an old friend of some sort to Marty, an iyalochas, a Santeria
Priestess. A person of great personal power. Sonny dug a pen
out of his pocket and found a baggage ticket, he furiously scratched the
name and the address he remembered on the piece of cardboard. Found
some bills crumpled in his pocket. It takes money to run, he knew
that from experience.
Even unconscious Castillo knew something was wrong, it reflected into
dreams filled with echoes of terrifying memories. The sense of
wrong was like steam cooking through his body, a need to waken so
powerful that it connected to conditioning so deep it could not be
reached by any conscious means. The sedatives changed minutely in
composition, neutralized. The
Latino woke with a jerk, drenched
with sweat, his skin like ice.
Eyes took
in the hospital room, sunlight. A split second later he felt the
restraints, his body fought wildly, shaking the bed. Then he froze
at the slight hissing of cloth across a wall. The bathroom door
opened and the man Sonny slid out carefully, eyes on the door to the
hospital corridor. Without any need to ask, he knew that the blonde
man was worried about whoever stood outside that closed door.
Whoever had made sure Castillo was helpless.
Marty was
under full restraint hands and feet. A sheen of sweat on his thin
face, eyes black and wild with an energy Sonny would not want to face as
an opponent. Sonny spoke quickly in a whisper, stuffing the wad of
cardboard and money into Marty's fist, "They're outside the
door, I don't know how long, a team's coming to take you away. I
don't trust them. This address is someone you can
trust." While he was unlocking the restraints. Backing
away from the bed he whispered, "Go through the bathroom. Turn
left out the next room's door, there's a stairway. I'll try to
distract them." Sonny looked away from the bed as he said
"Lock all the doors as you go through." When he turned back,
the room was empty. He hadn't heard a sound.
Sonny
Crockett stared at the door to the hallway. He knew there was at
least one armed guard outside the door now and more coming. He
needed to slow them down, not start a war.
Okay. When
weapons won't do it, mess with their heads. Sonny quickly made
the bed as neatly as he could. Removed the heavy restraints and
tucked them under the mattress.
Okay, now what? He opened
the bedside table.
Perfect, a Gideon Bible. Sonny
pulled the chair up next to the bed and opened the Bible at random and
forced himself to read.
When I looked, the bed was empty, and
the room was empty. And that's the truth, he grinned with
anticipation.
Fifty feet away Edward Reese watched through a tiny stairwell window at
the far end of the hallway as the "suits" left Castillo's room and one
joined the guard already outside the door. He was not a happy
man. The eyes he was paying for in the hospital informed him of the
Company's arrival almost too late. He had learned about the
sedation and first figured it might just make his task easier. But
now the timing was all gone to Hell.
First Crockett had shown up just as he was ready to enter the scene for a
quiet body removal. Then two Company Agents had shown up. He
knew Crockett had gone into the room a few minutes before them, but there
was no sign of him coming out. That was interesting all by
itself. Was the man hiding under the bed? Finding Castillo
asleep, Reese had expected Crockett to go to Friedman's office
next. What had started out as a simple Snatch-and-grab was looking
more difficult by the second.
Damnit! He hated complications, but this looked like it
would end in bloody chaos. He checked his dart loaded stun gun, and
the TAZR in his pocket. He would have to knock down everyone in the
hallway before snatching Marty, and the eyeball report suggested that old
man Smith was here, and that would make it twice the fun if he got to
stun him as well. Well he really couldn't wait on Crockett any
longer. Reese's hand was on the door when he saw Sidney and Smith
reach it, still arguing violently. Reese caught the faint flash of
hospital scrubs bedclothes beyond the heated argument, coming out a door
farther down the hall. Moving as only those trained to be unnoticed
can slide out of sight.
Reese laughed under his breath with a curse. If only he'd chosen
the OTHER end of the hallway for the snatch and grab.
"Well Marty, you gave them the slip. Just where are you going
now?" Reese clicked his mic, "He's leaving the hospital on his
own. Watch ALL the exits you can. Follow him if you see
him. Don't get near him." Right at this moment Reese deeply
regretted not trying harder to have Castillo's room bugged. He
would just LOVE to hear what was said in the next half hour or so.
Still chuckling he turned and headed down the stairs. He remembered
Castillo's skill at evasion, it would take sheer luck to catch him before
he left the Hospital complex. Reese had studied layout maps of the
place as a matter of craft. He was well aware that what he’d
managed to get was simplified, and a lot was left out. It would be
more luck than anything else if they caught up with him on the run.
Reese prepared to check every floor on his way out of the building
complex. It was probably a waste of time. He was already planing
ahead, 27 years ago he had known Martin Castillo quite well.
In the hallway Reese had left unmolested. Friedman was ready to try
slugging Smith. His voice was tight through gritted teeth.
"You
can't do this!"
Smith
smiled faintly, it was amusing to see Sidney so concerned.
"Give over Sidney. It's a done deal. My people will be
here in five minutes, we'll administer a heavy sedative and pack him
out. The Agency has far more resources than you do. Just
admit that. We've got a much better chance of saving him and
learning something about the Cowboy's techniques."
The truth of his remark stung, but Friedman bit back at him.
"You don't care about Marty, all you want to know is how the Cowboy did
it!"
"There is that." Smith answered cynically. They both turned
as the elevator doors opened and the Company medical team entered the
floor with the full life support necessary to remove a patient drugged
too deeply even to breath on their own. Smith smiled at Friedman and
opened the door to Castillo's room.
Smith took in the room in a single white hot blink. The bed neatly
made. No sign of the full restraints that were supposed to be
holding a patient IN that bed. An athletic blonde man in his forties
sitting in a chair reading a book. A Gideon bible. The blonde
was armed, the faint marks of a shoulder holster rig were visible to
Smith's knowing eyes. No sign of emotion crossed his leather
creased face. Cold gray eyes tightened on the cheerful face the
other man raised. Smith's voice came out clipped and tight with
frustration. This should not have surprised him. With
Castillo weird shit always happened. Always.
"Who are you?"
"James Sonny Crockett. Who are you?"
"Where is Martin Castillo?"
Eyebrows suddenly drawn together forming a deep line, there was no humor
at all in Sonny's changeable greenish eyes. His voice was mildly
baffled.
"That's what I was going to ask
you."
Thursday 10:22 AM Miami
The late morning was hot, with scudding clouds and brilliantly blue
sky. The ocean was postcard perfect and so were the girls on the
beach. Marco Zules sat at a table in the hot morning light watching the
pretty people play and flirt on the beach. He sipped a tall cold
glass of something faintly blue, and put it down to watch beads of
moisture creep down the sides. Rico Tubbs adjusted his sunglasses
as the decorative human scenery flowed around them, stirred his drink
and sighed. They sat at slight angles to each other, allowing them
to watch everything.
"How much longer you want to wait?"
"Give it another 15 and we'll cruise to the next meeting spot. This
guy is always slippery about talking."
"It's HIS skin." Rico agreed.
8:45 AM Bayshore hospital
Martin Castillo moved quickly, silent as a shadow. His body felt
so stiff it was just strange. Flitting down the hall he found the
stairwell door.
ESCAPE, it was the only important thing right
now. He knew how to escape. A central portion of training had
been devoted to escape under any circumstances. He had no idea who
had been planing to take him from the hospital, he wasn't sure who this
Sonny was, but Sidney seemed to trust him and that would do for now.
Sonny had given him a chance to escape and he trusted Sidney's judgement.
At each door in the stairwell he stopped to look through the tiny window
into the hall. He needed clothes of some kind. Two floors
down, there were doors on each side and he moved to a different portion
of the building and down a long hall to another stairwell. This one
had doors on each side and he chose a level at random once he was sure
that the hall looked empty through the tiny window. He found a
locker room. He searched for something to put on his feet and found
someone's personal bag in a corner with a worn pair of strange looking
shoes, they were soft with very thick soles made of odd rubber with a
deep pattern. They fit well enough. He found a faded blue
work shirt with long enough sleeves to cover the bandages, and noted with
curiosity the pale mark that signified he had been wearing a watch for a
long time.
Huh. A worn pair of jeans sat in the bottom
of one locker and that finished his disguise. Minimal as it
was.
He HAD to get out of this building before too many people were after him.
This was a huge complex of buildings that had mushroomed around each other.
This might be to his advantage in escaping. The more people who worked
here, the less any one person would be noticed.
The larger the building complex, the better his chances of leaving
unseen. Thinking for a moment, he searched the area and found a
laundry bin filled with dirty labcoats and shrugged on a relatively clean
one. Uniforms create expectations, people see the uniform and
forget the face. He ran a hand through his hair and hoped it wasn't
too long. What he really needed now was some sort of mass of papers
to carry, no one ever wondered about people hurrying with papers
somewhere. Looking through all the unlocked compartments, he found
what seemed to be abandoned folders of papers in the bottom of one.
Class notes? It didn't matter. He scooped up a respectable
pile and left the room.
Castillo
had an excellent memory for directions. Even the Hospital’s
multifloored maze was not a hindrance. Experience told him that
certain sections always related in any hospital complex. He was
headed away from the most traveled areas. He needed only to look
purposeful in his movement and no one would question his presence.
While the
search began to boil like an overturned anthill, Martin Castillo left by
an exit toward employee parking. Rather than steal a car
immediately, and careful that no one was watching, he dumped the papers
and white coat in a trashcan and walked as briskly as possible away from
the area. He needed to know where he was. What city this was,
and why he was here. It was afternoon.
1:53 PM Tony's, Miami
Switek
looked at his watch again. It wasn't like Sonny to miss a
meeting. Gina and Trudy had finished their sandwiches and Arnie was
crunching down french fries in a way that made Stan jealous. He
sighed. Tubbs had called Trudy's cellphone to report that he and Marco
were so far away they couldn't make it to Tony's before 2:30. "Did
that Nam's Day stuff amount to anything?" he asked Gina.
"Not so far. I've gone through all the groups I've got names and
addresses for. Now I'm trying word of mouth."
Trudy spoke up then. "No big name Politicians, or Mafia in
town. There's some tv/movie people here for the Asian Fair.
But nobody who's ever been threatened as far as we can tell.
Arnie stuffed several french fries in his mouth at once, which made Stan
wince a little, and then announced. "There is that new Rapper
Badass Bellybomb. He's had about a hundred death threats, but he's
got enough armed guards for the President. We checked to see if
he'd gotten any specifically for Miami. Nada, but I can't see
anyone paying a million bucks to have him killed no matter how crazy he
makes people."
Trudy looked unhappy, and Gina asked Stan, "Maybe you should try calling
the party headquarters for the local Nazi Party and politely ask who
they'd like killed."
Stan raised his eyebrows, "I am not embarrassed to say that I DID take
advantage of my good old Aryan Brotherhood Membership and call some good
ol' Aryans to see if anyone high on their hate lists was going to be in
town."
Trudy said hopefully, "Maybe Tubbs and Marco have learned something."
Stan spoke for all of them.
"God, I hope so."
Thursday
When Reese finally called Dale Menton to update him, the man was
ready to chew on the furniture.
"What the HELL has screwed up now?!" The little man listened in rage, the
acid bile taste was in the back of his throat again. The shock was a stab
of pain in his gut.
"FIX IT. I don't care what it takes. Don't let the Company
get him. He can't get far, can he? I don't care WHAT it costs
now! The company will be searching for him."
Reese answered calmly, "Alright, don't have a coronary Menton. It's
your money. Or I guess it's Chinese and Corporate money."
Menton hissed, "It's none of your business, this is for the continuation
a good trade relations with China. Corporate interests don't like
the public outcry in America every time that man shows up."
Menton was nearly foaming at the mouth by now, "They told me you could give me
someone for this, now do it!"
Thursday, Miami
Castillo walked for hours, staying casually on the edge of
things. Until the blazing afternoon sun began to fade as clouds
moved in. He hurt all over. It made him wonder how many days
he'd been in that bed. It felt like at least a week to his
muscles. He needed to find a place to rest for a while. An
hour or two, no more.
What city was this? He'd never asked. There was nothing familiar
about it. The money told him this was the States. It must be
summer was his first thought. But the scent of the ocean came to
him eventually. Was he in Puerto Rico? That would explain the
heat. Florida? Even with clouds it was like a steam
bath. His weather sense said it would rain soon. Should he go
to the address written on the scrap of cardboard? He needed
information desperately. Walk, information will find you. The
rule in any city. He was a creature of the shadows, drifting along
on the edges without drawing attention.
He found a slightly shabby corner store that reminded him strongly of
Hong Kong's crowded districts. The shop clerk was French Moroccan
and very helpful when Martin spoke to him in excellent French. He
found a phone book not so destroyed as to be worthless. Miami,
strange that it did not seem like Miami.
How much time had passed? He needed to figure out where he was in
the city, and chart a way to this woman's house. How did you
know this is a woman? That gave him pause. It wasn't
clear to him why he was so sure of that. The partial city maps near
the start of the huge phone book gave him no idea where the address might
be. He needed a city map. The price was almost
unbelievable. Checking the map told him it would be a very long
walk with the chance of being seen and he had no clear idea how serious
his pursuers were. The prices of everything astounded him, but he
treated it as any foreign exchange rate. It certainly felt like a
foreign country. He bought several packages of salted peanuts and
an odd plastic bottle of water such as he had watched people carrying and
drinking. It seemed strange, and he wondered if in the time elapsed
there were ongoing problems with water purity? Martin's excellent
French made the shop clerk quite friendly, and the man kindly
offered the key to the shop’s bathroom. Suggesting obliquely that
he might want to wash his hands.
It felt good simply to be off the street and completely out of sight.
He relaxed slightly and realized he was nearly shaking with exhaustion.
It was strange, he should not be this tired. Martin washed his face at the
basin. The cool water was refreshing.
Straightening up he looked into the dusty mirror and stared.
What?! All Wrong. Putting fingers to his face in
shock, touching the deep sagging wrinkles at the corners of his
eyes. Age. The sagging lines told of years passing.
Scars that told of injuries he could not remember. How?
Why can't I remember? He rubbed his aching arm where the
bandages itched, suddenly he looked at his arm and pulled the long sleeve
up and ripped them off. Staring at tracks following the veins up
his arm. The deep purple bruises of blown out veins that marked it
from wrist nearly to shoulder. Rage flashed through him like
fire. Who did this to me? For that matter why did his
mind seem so disordered?
He needed to find a spot secure enough to rest and think for a
while. See if he could clear some of the fog that seemed to
separate him from clear thinking. But when he stepped out of the
bathroom in the back of the building and looked toward the front door a
policeman stood talking to the shop clerk. Instantly he withdrew
back into the short hallway, turned and found a locked back door.
Unlocking the three deadbolts he slid out the door without looking
back.
11:20 AM Miami
Smith
considered the blonde detective with real dislike. Hours of increasingly
rough questioning had gotten nothing. Crockett looked rumpled, a
few bruises showed on his face from the times Smith had left him with
other Company agents. Still the man showed no signs of folding, and
with all his experience, Smith was not completely sure the younger man
might not be telling the truth. He debated bringing in a real
interrogator, and knew it might just lead to more serious fallout.
Remembering Castillo, it was also just as possible the man had done a
Houdini on his own. Smith's mouth puckered as if he'd just tasted
something sour. Once he got outside the room, and outside the blonde
detective's hearing range, he quietly ordered one of the other agents,
"Tag him, I want to be able to find him once he starts moving."
He gestured to one of the junior agents. "Blindfold
him. Take him for a ride. Some place outside town with fresh
air, let him walk home. If he's got a cell phone, take it."
He handed Crockett's weapons to the agent. "Leave these on the road
for him." Smith knew he was being spiteful, but right now he really
didn't care.
6:12 PM Miami
Martin Castillo was looking for the sort of area that had empty
buildings that were not attractive. A place difficult for most
people to enter and worthless inside. The boarded up, fire scarred
remains of a warehouse was his choice. The roof was mostly gone and
lakes of puddles covered much of the inside. All he wanted was a
reasonably dry spot for a few hours at most. Perimeter check showed
the place had been entered several times after it was boarded up, but as
he had surmised, the ruined roof put off most people seeking
shelter. He found a spot under a section of fallen roof held up by
a stack of pallets, the smell of fire still sharp and acrid, but it was
dry and the debris under it had dried out rather then stay sodden.
Castillo created a distraction wall of rubbish and then a spot where he
could curl up for a catnap. All he dared at his time. He ate
two of the packets of peanuts and drank all the water. Then settled
down to rest.
It was a light meditative sleep. The meditation kept the mind on
the edge of awareness and able to respond. He slowly relaxed into a
deeper sleep, onto the edge of dreams. Something about
Jack....
3:34 PM Florida
Sonny
Crockett ripped off the blindfold and spun around in time to watch the
car speed away with a grinding roar down the gravel road. At least
they'd stopped the car before pushing him out. A few hundred feet
away he saw his weapons fly out a window and bounce across the
road. He began to curse. Insects chittered and sang by the
roadside. Out of the air-conditioned car, he was already
sweating. The sun was still high, he had no idea where he was, his
brand new cell phone was gone, and it looked like a very long walk
ahead. Sonny headed for his guns, wiped the dirt off and holstered
both securely. He looked around at the large expanse of tall swamp
grass and occasional trees, wondered how many trillion mosquitoes were
going to drink his blood, and how many tourists had been eaten by
wandering alligators this year. He looked up the long gravel road
where the white dust was already settling. "Today SUCKS!" he
yelled sincerely, and started walking.
Otherwhere
The perfect Japanese Teahouse sat on its perfect hill overlooking the
coming dawn that never arrived. A path led down that side of the
hill toward the dawn, and another gate stood there. A gate that
could only be opened by the dead. There was no sense of time
passing. Each moment was the first moment. The pot of tea
still steamed fragrant in the predawn air. Castillo caressed the
fine textured cup in his hands, still half filled with steaming green
tea. He looked at Jack's smiling face.
"I don't understand."
"Marty, you wanted to die. It was the only way to escape.
Once that happened you came here."
Castillo looked out over the changeless grove of flowering Bamboo.
"I don't remember."
Jack smiled
"Emil the Cowboy had you."
Obsidian eyes widened at him.
"The plan."
"Yes."
8:39 PM Miami
It was after dark when the pain woke him completely.
A slow burning pain as if the veins under his skin were on fire.
And with the pain came the whisper of a voice. Telling him there
was a mission unfinished, a job he MUST complete. Someone to
kill.
It made no sense, and he damped down the pain, placing layers of control
over it. Not sure what was causing it, and having no time to deal
with it. He remembered he had been dreaming, something about
Jack. The dry corner he had found was protected from casual
intruders, but he needed to move on. He moved out slowly and gently
into the fetid gloom. Smells were stronger now, char, rot, and
burned plastic. He made his way out into the night.
Rain slashed Miami in torrents that night. Squalls swept in from
the gulf tearing across the city leaving shiny wet darkness reflecting
neon in watery magical flares. In other places it was the hot slick
wet darkness of blood on black vinyl. Martin made his way through
Miami like an escaped panther. Wary and suspicious of everything
around him. It WAS an American city, yet it was another
planet. The cars looked bizarre and futuristic. Clothing and
hairstyles varied from fantastical to mundane. He kept to the edges
of things. Always on the farthest edge away from lights, from
people. Sinking into shadows.
When it crossed his mind, he took the money from his pocket and looked at
the dates by reflected streetlight. 1994, 1996, 1989. Was it
REALLY 1996? Almost 30 years since.. . Since what?
Part of his mind worked on that, so many questions.
A dim lit
alley with a sheltered spot and some ragged newspapers reminded him that
he was in Miami. But the city was unrecognizable so far. He
needed to find some landmarks and decide where to go. Little Havana
if it still existed, was a place where he could disappear. Martin
Castillo was certain of that. There was that other question.
What was going on? The blonde man, Sonny had given him an address
and a name.
Amnesia could not remove the deep streak of stubborn curiosity that
demanded he learn what was really going on. Without any conscious
change of intent, Martin was set on finding the address and then working
his way back to Sidney. Sidney must know what was happening, but
after what had happened at the hospital he was not sure he could or
should trust Sidney not to be blackmailed in some way. He had found
a bus stop and observed it long enough to know he needed more pocket
change, nothing had changed in all these years. Buses still did not
take paper money.
Martin
moved silently down another long wet dark alley. The smells and
cracks of light told him there were bars and restaurants behind the
closed doors and barred windows. Midway he heard the noise of a
group entering the alley and stepped into the shadows. Counting
five, young men. He could sense and smell the wild energy that
spoke of alcohol mixed with drugs, hormones, and violence. A
volatile mixture looking for an excuse to explode. He drew farther
in to the shadows. The way they were clustered together, there was
a chance they would not notice him. Martin Castillo did not believe
in chance. The nominal leader walked in the center front of the
group keeping up an obscene stream of banter covering sex, drugs, and
violence interchangeably. To Martin Castillo's eyes, they all walked
outlined in the glowing signatures of their violent auras. There
was no place for him to go, and no place to hide. He did not move
and he drew in deep silent breaths. One becomes invisible in the
dark by not moving.
They were
almost past him; a split seconds difference in time, One of them flicked
a lighter and the sudden small glare of flame exposed him to the leader's
roving twitching eyes. The young man jumped as his overcharged senses
picked out the man shape on the edge of darkness. Instantly
covering his fear with a surge of destructive energy, he gloated with
satisfaction,
"Lookie what we got. Where's your money man? Hand it
over and maybe we won't hurt you."
The others snickered with anticipation, drawing closer.
They were looking for amusement, and blood. Martin said nothing,
only watching as they approached.
It was palpable in the air to Martin. A testosterone amphetamine
fueled madness looking for amusement in absolute power of life and
death.
"Hey old man, ask me real nice and maybe we'll party with
you." Coarse laughter followed that.
"He's too scared to squeak, must be a mouse."
They circled him in the dim light,
"Ever see a cat play with a mouse old man?" One of the group
snickered. Then hurled his bottle against a brick wall with a
shattering crash. The old man didn't move and it jangled
already overcharged nervous rage.
Martin heard the sound of two switchblades and a snaplock knife.
With that sound a part of him touched another place, filled with the
stillness in the center of the Hurricane. Thinking was too complex
and slow; emotion had no place in that space occupied only by necessity.
Martin relaxed imperceptibly. Even hyped on drugs they were unable
to perceive their danger. As the first one laughed wildly
and lunged at the older man, he moved so fast the eyes could not quite
follow as things happened. For Martin Castillo time slowed
down and there was no darkness. He reached under the first
knife-wielding arm to take the wrist and elbow and twist sharply in
directions none of the joints of the human arm are meant to go.
Torn nerves released the knife as the man began to collapse, stunned by
the onslaught of so much damage. Before the horrid sound of breaking and
tearing even became audible to the others, Martin was turning and
dropping low to bring a hand sharply pointed up onto the edge of a
ribcage breaking several ribs before his open fist popped under the man's
chin. The leader was so hyped on drugs that he almost reached
Castillo with his blade when a kick broke one knee cap and a hand crushed
his larynx. Before he could begin to realize he was dying, a snap
twist broke his neck. Methodically, without anger or rage, Castillo
disabled all of them.
