by Blake Banner
“The other thing I want is to make you pay for all the misery and suffering you have caused, and to remove one more murdering parasite from the world. Sorry, pal, you lose.”
I shot him through the back of the neck, which was more merciful than he deserved. Then I took the keys from Carmelo’s pocket and carried the bags of cash out to the truck. I stashed them securely under the back seat and crossed the lawn to the garages. They were huge, big enough to double as a hangar for a small plane, and a hundred yards to the east, out toward the cliffs, I could now make out the airstrip.
The doors opened automatically at the press of a button, and inside I found a dozen forty-two-gallon barrels of gas. Ten seemed to be aviation fuel, the others were for the cars. And up against the far wall there was a different kind of stash. It was twelve feet long, four foot high and four foot deep, composed of plastic packages of either heroin or coke. I hazarded a guess there was anything between five and nine hundred packages, but I didn’t need to waste time counting them. I doused them with gas, then drove a few cans back to the house to douse the bodies and the living room.
I left a trail of gasoline from the garage to the house and then to the truck. I lit the fuse and hightailed it out of there, kicking up a trail of dust as I went, smiling and thinking of the colonel. Ten barrels of aviation fuel make one hell of a bang. I actually felt the ground shake through the truck’s suspension. I would have to phone her that night over dinner, and tell her I was making progress.
Eleven
I rattled back toward Jackstown, taking the back roads that wound through the tall, spindly pinewoods and the huge, white sand dunes, and stopped occasionally to watch the chopper circling over Gonzalo’s house—or what was left of it. At one point I stopped in the woods and listened as a couple of patrol cars and a fire truck sped past on the main road. After they were gone I joined the main road and headed for Jackstown. On the way I took one of the burners from my jacket and called the brigadier.
“Harry, good to hear from you. What news?”
“We have a small problem, and some incidental good news.”
“Why does that worry me?”
“It shouldn’t. First, of all, sir, I imagine you have friends in MI6, DEA and other related departments, people you can trust?”
“I’d say so, yes. Why?”
“Bloque Meta were setting up a base here on St. George, opening up a Caribbean passage via Barbados into Florida…”
“Let me stop you there, Harry. In the first place this has absolutely nothing to do with your assignment, and also, most worryingly, what do you mean, they were setting up a base?”
“I know, sir. I said it was incidental information that you might want to offer to your friends at MI6 and DEA. They had local law enforcement and the administration bought and terrorized. The operation was not huge, but it was big and growing.”
“Harry, why are you talking in the past tense?”
“Well, sir, my search for information regarding Colonel Kostas Marcović led me to the two local crime lords. I figured, sir, that in an environment as corrupt as this one has become, there could be no refugees from the Hague without the say-so of the ruling crime family or cartel.”
“I see, yes. That makes sense. So, what happened?”
I befriended Gonzalo Herrera, the Bloque Meta representative who ran the show here, and asked him about the Serbian who had settled here some years back. To be double sure, I also asked Luis Aguilera, the rival gang leader. They both gave me roughly the same information, that Colonel Kostas Marcović is now plain old Constantino Marcos, has lived here for a good fifteen years.”
“How sure are you that this is right?”
“I was pretty sure till today, sir.”
I rounded a bend and the rooftops of Jackstown came into view over the pines and the banana groves. I slowed and came to a halt at the roadside, killed the engine.
“But chatting with my new pal Gonzalo today, a second candidate cropped up. One Kostadin Milojević. Hasn’t been here as long. Nobody seems real sure how long he’s been here. The point is, he could just as easily be our man. Gonzalo tells me, however, that he is certain Constantino Marcos is the guy fleeing from the Hague.”
There was a soft grunt on the other end of the telephone. “There’s not much we can do from here. You’ll have to look into it as best you can. I know you well enough to know you won’t hurt innocent people. That is not our business. Can you get any more out of any of these crime lords you are befriending?”
“No really, sir. The club that had been Aguilera’s base of operations burned down last night and they were all killed in the fire. And Gonzalo Herrera’s country house, out on the cliffs, also burned down, not half an hour ago. Apparently some ten drums of aviation fuel ignited and exploded, destroying something between five hundred and a thousand kilos of dope. Gonzalo and all his boys died in the fire. If the Colombians were aiming to open up a Caribbean corridor via St. George and Barbados, that plan seems to have been temporarily shut down. But the cops here need boots on the ground to help keep it shut down.”
“That was not your mission, Harry.”
“Sir, I was just making inquiries pertinent to my mission and happened upon some intel I thought your friends and allies might be able to use.” I couldn’t help adding, “I think Colonel Harris would be proud of me, sir.”
After a moment he chuckled. “Fine, I’m sure she will. But, Harry, can this come back on us?”
“No, sir, no way.”
“Good, so what about the job?”
“I am on my way right now to speak to an ex-cop, Helen Wilberforce. She owns a bar in San Fernando and I think she can get me some lowdown on Kostas. She owes me…”
“Already?”
“Long story. I think I can count on whatever she tells me.”
“All right. Burn this phone. Keep me posted.”
Burning a cell phone isn’t that easy, but I dug a small hole beside the road, put the phone in it, spilled some gas on it and set it alight. When it was little more than a twisted, molten plastic mess I kicked sand over it, climbed in the cab and headed back toward San Fernando, and the Trade Winds.
It was a fifteen-minute ride, and when I got there I swung down from the cab and walked into the bar. A few people glanced at me, but most were too mellow and laid-back to give a damn who I was. They were drinking cold beer and wine, and watching the day slide by.
Helen was at the bar and watched me approach without saying anything. She didn’t look mellow or laid-back. Her features were tight, and her eyes kept darting over my face, like she was expecting me to pound the bar or smash something. I smiled at her instead and slipped her keys discretely across to her hand. She took them and I said, “Now you owe me, for real. Give me ten minutes and come up to my room.”
She glanced around. Nobody was paying attention to us. She spoke under her breath, but her breath was thick and hoarse.
“What the hell have you done now?”
“You’ll thank me in time. Be there. My room. Ten minutes.”
I walked out, pulled the two bags from the truck and carried them up the stairs to my room in Old Joe’s next door. The room was small and basic, with a small balcony overlooking the pool and an en suite bathroom. I slung the bags under the bed, stripped and stepped into the shower, letting the water run scalding hot and then cold, scrubbing myself clean with soap and shampoo, as though I could wash away all the blood from my hands and body. I knew it wouldn’t work, because the blood was not on my hands and body, it was ingrained in my mind, but I still had to try.
Eventually I turned off the water and stood a moment looking down at the white, tiled floor, seeing Gonzalo lying facedown on the sofa, weeping, as I put a slug through the back of his neck. What, after all, made me better than him? What gave me the right to judge that he should die?
I stepped out and grabbed a towel, and walked into the bedroom drying my hair and my face as I went.
Helen was there, s
itting on my bed, watching me. I transferred the towel from my head to my loins.
“Some people knock,” I said.
“You said ten minutes.” She showed me her watch. “It’s twelve minutes now. You’re late.”
She stood and went to my wardrobe, pulled out a clean pair of jeans and tossed them to me. She didn’t look embarrassed, but stepped out onto the balcony while I dressed. When I was done I went out beside her. She turned to face me, pulled a pack of Camels from her pocket and lit up. I watched the smoke trail from her nose and lips and said, “Gonzalo is dead.”
She looked away. “Jesus Christ…”
“I can’t tell if that’s fear or relief I can see in your eyes.”
She glanced at me but didn’t answer, just looked away again. I went on.
“All his men are dead, too. Ten in all. That includes the boys he had here and the reinforcements he called for. With Luis Aguilera and his boys gone, as of right now, there is no crime syndicate left running this island.”
She narrowed her eyes at me and shook her head, trying to form words with her lips. I waited a moment, ran out of patience and added, “And, what you really wanted, your friend Maria is now free from Gonzalo. You got everything you wanted.”
Her cheeks colored. “This is not what I wanted! Murder, blood everywhere… This is a damned massacre!”
I shrugged. “If you let the trash accumulate, there is that much more to take out.”
“That is not the way to do things, David!”
I nodded. “OK, show me a better way and I’ll do that instead, but it seems to me that what you were doing before was not that effective. I say that because there was enough trash accumulated here for me to turn it into a massacre. So meantime, while you think of a better solution, I’ll stick to what works. What you wanted was Maria free from Gonzalo. You got it. You also wanted your island free from those sons of bitches. Well, you got that too.”
She put her cigarette in her mouth and sucked hard. Her hand was shaking. “This is madness. They will come looking for you.”
I shook my head. “No, they won’t. I have that covered. But now I want something from you. Something serious.”
“What?”
Her eyes were wary and I got the feeling she knew what I was going to ask. I shook my head again.
“I don’t want vague perhapses and maybes. I want hard, concrete facts. Do you understand?”
“Only too well.”
“Who is Constantino Marcos…?”
“I told you…!”
“Shut up, Helen. Who is Constantino Marcos, and who is Kostadin Milojević? I want facts, dates, documents—everything. And you need to deliver.”
“How do you expect me to do that?”
“Because this island is so corrupt it makes Italy look straightlaced. Because you have contacts, and because you know who you can go to and who will be receptive.” I paused a beat and added, “If you need money, that is not a problem.”
I went back inside, reached under the bed and pulled out the two sports bags. I dumped them on the bed and unzipped them. She stared at the contents and her jaw sagged open.
“What in the name of God…?”
“I don’t know how much there is, but there’s enough. Don’t offer too much, a few grand at most. Big sums will attract too much attention. Like I said, you know who to talk to and who will be receptive, but I can tell you that Gonzalo had direct access to the mayor’s office via his secretary. Now Gonzalo has dried up as a source of extra, tax-free revenue, so maybe she’ll be receptive to an approach by you.”
She spat her answer at me. “It’s people like you who perpetuate this cancer! You say you want to take out the trash, but you foster corruption while you do it!”
“Yeah? And what do people like you do? Hide from it? Pretend it’s not there? Is that how you cure cancer? I’ll tell you how I cure it, Helen. I cut it out, and then I sear the wound!”
She scowled at me but did not answer. I pointed at her. “You had better get this straight, Helen. You are going to talk to the mayor’s secretary at the town hall, and you are going to get the information I need, with documents and the works. And you had better not screw me over.”
“Or what? You’ll come and shoot me?”
“No, I’ll tan your pretty ass for you! Now get wise! Take five grand and go do it. You want to see all hell break loose on this rock? Ignore me and don’t do as I ask. You want all of this quietly resolved, get me that information, today.”
She stared at me for a while before pulling her cell from her pocket. She scrolled through her contacts and made a call. While it rang, she turned her back on me and stepped out onto the balcony.
“Oh, Stella.” She forced a smile into her voice. “It’s Helen… Oh, you know, surviving. Listen, I have a somewhat odd favor to ask of you.” Some witty rejoinder made her laugh, but it was a strained laugh. “Nothing that interesting, I’m afraid. It’s, um…” She paused, struggling to think how best to phrase it. “It’s an inquiry that has been passed to me. I’m not really at liberty to say who. Let’s just say an old colleague. Between you, me and the bedpost it’s actually worth a fair bit…” She laughed, more easily this time. “No, to both of us, Stella!” She waited, listening, then shook her head briefly. “Look, why don’t I drive over? Can you take a break for coffee? We’ll have a chat…” She sighed. “More than you make in a month. Or probably two. I really don’t want to have this conversation on the phone… OK, twenty minutes.”
She hung up and turned to stare at me with real reproach in her eyes.
“What do you want with Constantino?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“But it is my business when you want me to spy on him for you!”
I shook my head. “No, it’s not your business then, either. That’s just something that can’t be helped. If it would make any difference I’d say I’m sorry, and mean it. But that’s just the way the world is. I need that information, and you are the only way I have to get it.”
“Jesus! You’re sick!”
“Maybe so. Now take the money and go. And don’t screw me over. That would be a big mistake.”
Her eyes went wide and her cheeks colored with anger. “Threats, now?”
I shook my head. “No. Not threats. Just take my word for it.”
She snatched a handful of money from the bag, counted it, stuffed it in her pocket and stormed out of the room.
I gave her a moment, then called down to reception, which was the bar, and Maria answered.
“Good morning, Mr. Friedman.”
“Yeah, hi. I need a rental car. Can you arrange that?”
She was quiet for a moment. Then, “Yeah, of course. You planning on staying for a while?”
“Maybe. Maybe I’ll rent a house. I don’t know.”
Her voice became quiet. “What happened…?”
She trailed off and I waited. “Maria?”
“You took Helen’s truck… Wait. Stay in your room. I’ll bring you the papers for the car.”
I zipped up the bags and put them in my wardrobe. By the time she knocked at the door I had my shirt and boots on, and the clothes from that morning in a bag, ready to be burned.
She closed the door behind her and stood staring at me.
“Where did you go this morning?”
“I borrowed Helen’s truck to go exploring.”
“Where did you go?”
There was something in her eyes I couldn’t face. I turned away and went to the balcony, echoing Helen’s movements just a little earlier. I spoke to the glinting pool down below. “I went to see the White Hills, the dunes by the big lagoon. I had a look at the sugar plantations too.”
“Did you go to Gonzalo?”
I turned to face her. “Why would I do that?”
Her bottom lip was curling in, growing wet. Her eyes were welling with tears and I was feeling panic. She said, “What you did to Luis Aguilera… How can you be so brutal?
”
I shook my head. “I am not brutal, Maria. Do you know what people like Aguilera and Gonzalo do?”
She rushed at me, her hands made claws, the tears spilling from her eyes, making her cheeks shiny. But her claws didn’t tear at my face or my eyes. They clutched my shirt instead, as she pulled me close to her, and her face stared up into mine.
“Of course I know!” she shouted. “Why do you think I escaped to this forsaken, fucking island? All my life, since I was fifteen, I have been running, trying to escape from that animal! He killed my sister! He killed my mother! He killed my father! And now he says he owns me! He owns me and this fockin’ island prison!” She gripped my collar in hands like talons, pulling my face down toward hers, her lips practically brushing mine as she spoke, as she pleaded with me. “Is it true what they are saying? Is he dead? Please tell me he is dead! Did you kill him? Please tell me you killed him!”
I pulled her to me and gripped her hard in my arms, crushing her face into my chest, and whispered in her ear as she sobbed, “I can’t tell you this. But he is dead. Him and his gang of bastards. They are gone, forever.”
We stood like that for a long while. Gradually her arms slipped around my chest and she clung to me harder. After a while her face came up to stare into mine.
“I am bad, I am wicked to want him dead. I am so confused, David. He has been good to me too. He has helped me, and given me money. But I hate him so much.” Her crying became convulsive. “I hate him so much, and now he is dead. I am bad, I am evil like him…”
I held her close, stroking her head, feeling her tears soak through my shirt. Eventually she looked up again, into my face. “You saved my life. I can’t believe he’s gone. You saved me…”
Her body was warm and close, pressing against me. I shook my head. “Don’t do this, Maria. I would only…”
“Are you bad, like him?” Her eyes were huge and dark, searching mine to find the human being inside. “Would you do the things he has done?”
“No…”
“Then…?”
I had no answer for her. Her lips were full and moist, and suddenly my belly was on fire, and a voice was roaring in my head, demanding to know why I was only allowed to kill, but not to make love. I crushed her to me again, my mouth seeking hers. She came easily and we stumbled back toward the bed, while she tore at my shirt, and I tore at her blouse.