Outside the alley, there was
nothing much to hear. Faint whimpers of human or animal pain.
A sound like a large heavy sack of garbage hitting the side of a
Dumpster.
Martin stood for a moment breathing heavily. No longer in that
empty place. He took no pride in what he had done. That had
been the first lesson in his training. Never take pride in
necessity when you kill or main. He took the weapons that might be
useful and walked away quietly. Leaving the scattered crumpled
bodies in the fine misting rain.
Twenty minutes later the back door of Los Arbolitos opened as the
dishwasher stepped out to smoke a cigarette. He lit up carefully
cupping the lighter against the wet and then heard a whimper. When
he opened the door nervously to let light spill out over the alley, he
saw bodies crumpled at the edge of the light.
"Madre de Dios! What happened here? I didn't hear anything!"
Almost an hour later the scene was still being cleaned up. Now two
police cars, a Coroners Van, and one ambulance still waited.
The alley was brilliant with floodlights and the blue, red, and white
flash of emergency lights. Body bags were being loaded into the
Coroners Van while the kitchen help talked to a Homicide Detective.
The man who called 911 still looked startled as he repeated,
"We didn't hear nothing! Maybe a little glass breaking, but no
screams, nothing like that!"
A Police officer was talking to one punk whimpering on a stretcher.
"Can you describe him?"
"Big! Really big! Like Hulk Hogan!"
He dutifully wrote this down, along with an assortment of vague
descriptions. The punk was loaded in the ambulance and he shut his
notebook as he walked over to the plainclothes detective.
"The other one said the guy had fire coming out of his eyes and about six
invisible friends."
The Homicide detective was cynical.
"I think they bit off more than they could chew with another gang and got
a hell of a surprise."
"Well you got real lucky, one of the DOA's was Richie Bebbo."
"Remind me to thank Hulk Hogan for taking out the Angel Dust kid.
He had three warrants for aggravated murder since summer."
9:20 PM Miami
Martin decided that he had to get to that address. Could he trust the
blonde? Should he trust him? Why couldn't he remember? Why
did his mind feel so disordered? The long back delivery alley let
onto another street, he moved quickly, working his way through the
dripping night toward a better lighted street. Should he simply try
taking a taxi? He knew a book's worth the good reasons not to do
it, but he had a nagging feeling that time was running out. He
needed to get completely away from this area before somebody discovered
the gang and trouble began.
He stood near the mouth of another alley watching the street. It was not
quiet, people walked, venders tried to hawk small souvenirs, and
higher-class hookers blended into this crowd of late night
wanderers. There were Taxies dropping people off and picking others
up. Some of the passengers looked no worse then he did.
Checking quickly in the dim light, he decided that he did not look too
different from the general population here. He rubbed the drying
blood off his hands and stepped into the lighted area, rearranged his
thoughts to blend with this crowd.
9:32 PM Miami
Reese watched in amusement as the little fat weasel paced the hotel
room. He suspected the ex-agent would pay with more than money if
this whole thing fell apart. Menton was haggard, the dark bags
under his eyes were starting to look permanent. Judging by the
symptoms, the toad was taking bad speed to keep going. He noted the
open bottle on the room bar and the Maalox on the bedside table.
The rumpled silk suit must have cost 1800 dollars, now it looked like a
thrift shop reject. Reese found it all entertaining, none of that
showed on his face.
Menton turned and snarled.
"How far can he get? You say he disappeared with no clothes, money,
or weapons. He doesn't know where he is and if he's got amnesia,
there's no one in this city to help him."
"Menton don't be a fool. He's more dangerous stark naked than
anyone you have.
"Well find him then! You're supposed to KNOW what he'll do!
You've got 3 days before the target leaves the city, and only three
public showings."
"I've got contacts out."
"Don't let the Company find him!"
9:29 PM Miami
The taxi sat by the side of the road, the meter signaled
availability, but should he consider this seriously? Several had
unloaded in the past half hour. This was the most recent and it
seemed important to hurry now. He walked casually; exhaustion was
nagging at him painfully, along with the mysterious pain. As he
walked past the cab, a glance at the open window showed an older man,
heavy set with a mustache, thick eyebrows and shaggy graying hair.
A friendly voice spoke softly with an odd jocular familiarity.
"You look like you need a ride friend. I got the Best rates in town."
Castillo stared at the man for a long minute, obsidian eyes trying to cut
a hole deep enough to look into his soul.
For no logical reason Castillo could imagine, he decided to take the
insane chance. His harsh whispery voice said one word.
"Yes." He opened the cab door and got in. Studying the registration
ID on the back of the front seat,
Hank Weldon. It meant
nothing to him. Taking the crumpled note from his pocket, he
hesitated only a second, then passed it to the driver
"This address."
The driver studied it for a moment and then handed it back.
"You might want to keep that. This'll take a little while."
Without another word, he started the Taxi and drove.
They rode in silence for almost 30 minutes. They left the crowded
cityscape for apartments and then houses with yards. The friendly
voice suddenly mused aloud.
"So Marty, you look like you've got trouble after you, you want me to
wait for you?"
Castillo's eyes widened, his hand was on the door handle. He did
not want to jump out of a moving vehicle, but it might be necessary. He
sensed no menace at all from the man. He rasped.
"Do you know who I am?"
The taxi slowed down to a crawl, finally pulled to the side of a
street. The Cabby turned to look carefully at Castillo.
"Yes, I know who you are. The question is, do
YOU know who
you are?"
Castillo went very still. All at once aware of the feel of the
cracked seat beneath him, the scent of disinfectants, tobacco smoke,
stale odors. The space around him and what it meant if he had to
move suddenly.
Was this someone he worked with? Someone who knew who he was
supposed to be? Someone who expected to be recognized?
The man cocked his head to the side marginally like a parrot considering
a snack.
"Well, enough pleasant conversation. This is your stop, it's been
real. Have a nice day."
Castillo got out of the Taxi. Not at all sure what to make of this,
he reached in his pocket for some of the bills the blonde detective had
given him. The Cabby smacked his forehead theatrically.
"Darn! I forgot to turn the meter on. Maybe next time."
He sped off into the darkness.
Martin
Castillo stood on the street for only a moment before moving into deeper
shadows. This was the address. No one seemed to be
home. It was a very quiet neighborhood and the house looked modest
and well kept. He moved carefully closer to scout from the shadows,
and discovered a strange thing.
Magical Wards surrounded the house. He could feel them as glowing
signatures in the dark. He found one carefully concealed in a
flowering bush, a tiny bundle of plant materials wrapped around a
fragment of bone and sealed with clay. To the untrained eye no more
then rubbish tied together by weather and chance. This woman was an
adept of some kind. The flavor of the energies was Santeria.
He circled the house twice before entering. Somehow, the wards were
not set against him.
10:02 PM Miami
Chata arrived home, uneasy. The stones had warned for days that
something was coming. It had sides of dark and light, death
walking, death disguised, death averted, no great danger to her. Someone
close to her in great danger. Someone close to her dead and
alive.
A tall
stately black woman, she wore a colorful head turban as homage to her
Caribbean ancestry, and also because it made her more imposing.
When she entered the house, she felt it, a dangerous presence, yet not a
danger to her. Only the front hall light was on. A woman of
great resource and knowledge, she felt the edge of the other realm around
her. Softly she closed her front door, dropped her bag while
crossing in the darkness to the worktable where curious bits of natural
things lay, not at all casually scattered. she sat in the chair and
gazed at the rocks laid out there, gathered them into one hand and let
them slid onto the table top, a light musical clatter. Again, and
once more as she felt and tasted and sifted the atmosphere in the
house. Sitting straighter she spoke.
"Come out of the shadows, I cannot help you if I cannot see
you."
A faint slither of cloth against wood answered her, and she turned slowly
to gaze at the apparition standing just out of the darkest shadows in
silence.
"Martin? What is wrong?" Concerned, puzzled.
She studied the man she had known for decades, dressed in clothes so
unlike the black and white he usually wore. Scuffed and dirty,
there was something faintly wild about him. And then she knew.
"No, you are not that Martin, my friend. You do not know me at
all. Who are you?"
8:45 PM Miami
After all the time Tubbs and Marco spent slowly tracking Marco's
source. When they found him, they actually got a tiny bit out of
him. Reese was in town, had hired some local specialists for a job
that seemed to be mostly surveillance. When they asked specifically
whether Reese had hired pure muscle for a kidnapping, the source named
someone else who had brokered Muscle for a kidnapping. As the
Muscle had so far all turned up dead, the broker had split town with no
forwarding address.
After tracking Marco's source, they went to the hospital. That was where
they learned that the Company had come to collect Castillo and Sonny had
probably helped him escape. The Company had taken Sonny away after
that. Dr. Friedman was anxious but did not seem to think the
Company would keep Crockett, Rico was not so sure. Friedman had no
idea where Castillo might go once he left the hospital, except possibly
Little Havana. Once there, he could disappear completely. He
warned them both, "You have to find him, and be careful, once the
methadone starts wearing off he may get hard to deal with." That
was when they learned what Sonny had not wanted to tell them, that
Castillo had been heavily drugged and that Friedman had kept him on
methadone to avert the withdrawal. They made no mention of Crockett
neglecting to tell them this and left. Marco was driving and
finally muttered "What a cockup."
Rico agreed, "You got that straight."
"Why didn't he tell us?"
"Would you? If you didn't have to?"Marco thought about it for a
sour moment and grudged, "No, I wouldn't. Friedman was trying to
bring him off it, can't argue with that." They drove in silence
until Marco sighed,
"Where do we go from here? OCB or Little Havana?"
"Let's try OCB and see if Crockett's there." They were within a
block of the old Gold Coast building when Tubbs' cell phone
chirped. He put it to one ear.
"It's me." He said cheerfully, taking no chances. There was a
long silence on Tubbs' part and then Marco listened to the black
Detective's voice pass through a string of conflicting emotions.
"You are kidding?! Where? Okay. Have fun.
See you soon."
Marco casually asked without taking his eyes from the road,
"Is it Sonny?"
"Yeah."
"What happened?"
"They drove him out about 50 miles and left him on a gravel road.
He's been walking all day and just made it to a phone. Damn, they
kept my cellphone too."
"Let's go get him."
Rico looked ahead toward the next street sign, "Turn right, we got a ways
to go." He opened the glove box. "I hope you got a map in here."
