Caribbean Fire

by Rick Murcer

  “Late for what? Where are ‘we’ going?” asked Manny.

  “Damn. For a profiler, you ain’t too bright. You do need a vacation.”

  “Answer the question, Lee.”

  She exhaled. “We’re going to Cozumel with you and Chloe. We haven’t had a honeymoon either, not that old Dean here hasn’t had the time of his life the last few months, but I’m not waiting to get as old as you. So, we got reservations at the same resort. Cheaper than you, by the way. So did Dough Boy and Barb.”

  “Dough Boy” was Alex Downs, the chunky, balding, bespectacled Senior CSI assigned to the BAU, who doubled as his long-time friend.

  “How did you know where we were going? We didn’t tell anyone. And I thought Alex was going through testing this week on his new prosthetic hand.” Manny tried to decide how he felt about most of the BAU accompanying him and Chloe on a romantic getaway.

  “Didn’t you know I’m close with the tech department? I got to see a couple of your emails. Buzzy Dancer and I are tighter than white on rice, and besides, women talk,” Sophie said.

  Manny quickly looked at his wife.

  Chloe shrugged. “I didn’t really say that much. I was just, you know, sort of excited.”

  “I’ll deal with you later.” He turned to Sophie.

  She stepped back, but the spark never left her eyes. “Whoa, Williams. I don’t want to know about you dealing with Chloe, get me? I mean that’s just wrong to talk about your sex life in front of people. For crying out loud, your daughter’s standing right there.

  “To answer your other question, Josh got Alex’s appointment changed. Josh also said he’d stay and hold down the psycho-killer fort, as long as we realize that we’re on call. You know, in the event a case pops up. Besides, you know damn well Josh has a backup BAU crew if he needs to put one together fast.”

  Moving quickly, Manny grabbed Sophie with both arms, lifted his diminutive friend from the floor, and brought her face next to his.

  “Let me get this right. You manipulated my wife, busted into my emails, got our boss to change Alex’s testing and approve your vacations, talked Alex and his wife into tagging along, and then reserved your honeymoon in the same resort as Chloe and me? And I’m sure, booked the same flight?”

  Sophie kissed him on the cheek. “Yep. That covers it. See, you’re already getting back that cognitive trance stuff you do. I was glad to help. We’re a team, ya know? You can thank me later. But right now, we’ve really got to get our fannies in motion.”

  Manny set her down and glanced at Dean, who shrugged, wearing a tiny grin. Chloe, his daughter, and his mother-in-law were grinning in various degrees. Even Ian let loose with another energized coo.

  Having the whole crew on the same island wasn’t what he’d imagined as a nice quiet time away with his wife, but there weren’t many people on the planet with whom he’d rather spend time. Besides, apparently he had no choice.

  Know which battles to pick, Williams.

  Sophie was gazing at him like a child who’d just submitted a well-thought-out Christmas list for parental review.

  Manny sighed. “Okay. You can come with us under one condition. You don’t know our room number, got it? If you break that sacred rule, I’ll file your missing-person report myself. And I hear the Mexican authorities are very busy these days. You’ll never be found.”

  It was her turn to grab him. “It’s a deal. I can live with that.” Sophie tilted her head. “Seriously, Manny. Are you mad?”

  “No. I don’t get mad, I get even.”

  “I know. Listen, we can get a refund and sit here in this Michigan spring weather and become even more depressed. If that’s what you want. No pressure to save us from committing suicide or anything, just saying.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Come on, let’s go. I suppose you’ve got the FBI SUV loaded, and Alex and Barb are waiting in the driveway, right?”

  “Damn. You are good. You know, that chicken shit Dough Boy wouldn’t come into the house. Dean and I had to do this alone.”

  “He’s a smart man,” said Manny.

  They hurried out the door, and Manny suddenly felt more at ease. He and vacations hadn’t exactly been on friendly terms since the horrifying Ocean Duchess cruise three years before. Obviously, two serial killers on the same ship was hardly a typical Caribbean vacation.

  He was due for a good one.

  After all, what could go wrong on the sleepy little paradise island of Cozumel?

  CHAPTER-3

  Spinning slowly in his leather chair, Samuel Rozen gazed through the glass of his full-sized bay window. The eastern side of his expansive office possessed a view that most would consider incredible. They’d be correct.

  The teal, iridescent Caribbean Ocean worked its way to the beach in slow, rhythmic waves that served not only as scenic eye candy, but as calm for the most despairing of souls.

  He appreciated these moments. Nothing soothed his internal conflicts, of which he had many, like the sounds, smells, and pulse of the ocean.

  He never really tired of the view. Familiarity might breed contempt, but that wasn’t the case for him, at least in the beauty of Cozumel’s white sand beaches and, of course, the ocean. Coming here as a young man and then making a way for himself had been a challenge, but like everything else in his life, determination had taken him where he wanted to go.

  The island tour excursion business had done well, particularly after he partnered with three different cruise lines to offer his services to the never-ending stream of cruisers who wanted to taste the exotic flavors of Cozumel, if only for a day. For a nominal fee, guests could tour the Mayan ruins, snorkel, scuba dive, ride a Segway, or simply visit beaches like the one outside his window. He’d provided a means to that end. In fact, no one on this island did it better.

  Standing, he moved his large frame closer to the window and caught a reflection of his shaved head and tanned face.

  “One must look the part too, yes?” he said out loud.

  Something else reflected in his peripheral vision: a translucent view of the antique cabinet that displayed his affinity for Mayan culture and artifacts.

  The ambiance of Cozumel and successful business opportunities hadn’t been the only promises that brought him to the island. Yes, he’d followed a dream, but in the course of that action, he had discovered something else, something far more valuable than all that he possessed. More than he’d aspired to be. More than mere words could describe.

  He had found purpose. He wasn’t sure about divine interventions or destiny or even how his heritage played into his future. But he was sure of one concept. No single thing, event, or person would get in the way of what was promised to him.

  Turning back to his desk, he leaned over and shut down his computer, making sure certain files were password protected, changing each one for a second time today. He would call it a day in this world and begin another when he reached his home.

  Glancing at his Rolex, he was a bit surprised to see it was after six. His staff would have been gone for over an hour—except for Rico. His driver and self-proclaimed bodyguard would be waiting for him in the outer office. There was comfort in that. While kidnappings of affluent citizens had slowed, and he had some extra vigilance from the local police, one couldn’t be too careful these days.

  Lifting his locked briefcase, he stopped to enjoy his personal collection of Mayan jade, gold, and silver again, then continued to the door. As he left his office, he turned to key the lock and was interrupted by a loud thump that echoed from the hallway.

  “Rico? Is that you, compadre?”

  No reply.

  “Rico.”

  No answer. Frowning, he walked boldly around the hallway corner.

  He stopped in his tracks, his mouth dropping open at the scene.

  Big Rico was on the floor, blood rushing from his throat, his head resting at an unnatural angle. His friend and protector had been almost decapitated.

  He wished that were all. A
man wearing face paint and full traditional sacrificial clothing of a Mayan priest was standing over Rico, arms folded, staring directly at him.

  Fear had entered his life a time or two, especially given his hobby, yet he’d never felt such an intense skip of his heart and out-of-body sensation.

  “Wha-what have you done?” he managed.

  The Mayan priest was on him before he could take a step, pinning him to the floor with a strength he didn’t believe possible. His struggle against his attacker was rendered completely useless.

  The attacker bowed low, his warm breath kneading his face. “What have I done?” he asked. “What have I done? I’ve simply torn a page from the book of life, as I’ve learned it. And you have been a teacher, Samuel Rozen. A very good teacher.”

  In the next instant, Sam felt the moist cloth cover his mouth and nose. A sickening-sweet aroma filled his senses. As his struggle slowed and stopped, it occurred to him as he faded into the comfort of darkness that he recognized his attacker’s voice.

  CHAPTER-4

  The 767 bounced ever so slightly on the tarmac of a Cozumel International Airport runway and settled into a smooth, powerful slowdown. Manny had a clear view of Sophie’s alabaster face as she quickly pulled out the white barf bag and snapped it open. Dean was rubbing the back of her neck, trying to help ease her nausea. The low whine that escaped Sophie’s lips told him her new husband wasn’t having any luck.

  He shook his head. They’d hit two pockets of turbulence, both just as the jet had begun its descent. That was all that was required to put Sophie virtually under her seat. The woman simply couldn’t catch a break. No wonder she hated to fly. Her motion sickness was bad enough, but invariably, her flights ran into stomach-wrenching air pockets or the turbulence from hell.

  Dramamine, for some reason, had little or no effect on Sophie. She’d even tried a couple shots of spiced rum after they’d taken off. That had seemed to help for a while, but reality had the trump card.

  “It’s not nice to enjoy someone else’s misery, Manny,” said Chloe, trying to stifle a grin of her own and not quite pulling it off.

  “True. I’m not really enjoying her sickness as I am the irony. She can be tough as nails but can’t handle a flight on a plane as big as three or four busses. It’s fifty-fifty whether she fills that bag or not . . . and I saw that grin, Irish woman.”

  “I wasn’t grinning at her, but at . . . well, ah, your smile. You have that effect on me, don’t ya know.”

  “Nice try, but it was a good answer,” he said, kissing her and experiencing a certain awe at the feel of her lips. The jet slowed more, approaching the terminal and the unloading door. His excitement rose. Hot weather, white beaches, pina coladas, and his wife sporting a small pink bikini were going to be hard to beat.

  It was going to be a hell of a five days.

  He turned Sophie’s way again.

  She locked eyes with him. “What the hell are you staring at?” she moaned.

  “Some things just never grow old.”

  Sophie put her hand over her mouth, closed her eyes, and then swiped at the perspiration on her forehead. “Yeah? Well, when I can stand without the thought of falling on my dizzy ass and puking all over this damn contraption, we’ll see just how old you get to be.”

  “Why Agent Lee, was that a threat?” he asked, grinning.

  “A fact, Williams, a fact.”

  “I’ll watch my back then.”

  “What about me? Do I have to watch my back?” chided Alex from two seats behind Sophie and Dean.

  “I’d need a wide lens for that, Dough Boy. And if you say another word . . .”

  “You’ll what? Hey, want a fat, greasy bacon burger?”

  She started to speak again, stopped, quickly opened the bag, and stuffed half of her face inside. Manny expected that the next moment would find passengers and staff alike groaning at the sound of Sophie’s lurching ejection.

  It didn’t happen. His partner somehow controlled the rising of her gorge. That was probably a good thing for both Alex and him. If she’d purged her stomach, she might have been ready to dole out a little pain. No one wanted a pink throwing star imbedded in a butt cheek.

  Fifteen minutes later, Manny, Chloe, Alex, and Barb stood in front of the luggage carousel waiting for their bags to show. Sophie had made her usual run to the women’s lounge, while Dean, as faithful as always, waited outside the restroom for her to emerge.

  “I know you three go back forever, but that wasn’t very nice, ragging on her like that,” said Barb, flipping aside her long, platinum blond hair, trying to mask her grin with a compassionate, deplorable tone.

  Manny thought it impossible for Barb to climb on Alex’s case with any real conviction. She loved him with all of her heart. After twelve years, Manny still wondered exactly how the two of them had ever hooked up.

  Alex was shorter than Barb, balding, a bit heavy, and not a partier by any stretch. Barb Downs was almost a prototypical Los Angeles model—tall, piercing blue eyes, and in great shape.

  Love is what love is, and these two were poster children for that fact.

  “Sophie needs me to do that,” said Alex. “That’s how she knows I care.”

  “Care, huh?”

  “Well, in a loose, brotherly sort of way,” he answered, his smirk growing wider.

  “And what about you Manny? That was a bit heartless,” said Chloe.

  “Hey, I get my punches in with her when I can. Don’t worry. She has the memory of an elephant. I just hope one of us doesn’t end up in the emergency room.”

  “Good thinking, you jerks, ’cause this ain’t over.”

  Turning, Manny saw Sophie holding hands with Dean. The color had returned to her face, and the get even glint in her eye danced like a fine gem.

  Yep. Fur was going to fly.

  “Wow. What a transformation. You look almost normal,” said Manny.

  “I’ve never been normal and don’t start with the friendly shit. I’ll let you know when that’s an option.”

  Alex saluted. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Just then the red indicator light began to blink on top of the carousel to announce the arrival of luggage. The wide, black belt began to turn, and Manny felt his excitement rise once again. Picking up the luggage was a sure-fire sign that this vacation was ready to kick in.

  Good God, he loved how that felt.

  Nine suitcases later, the six friends went through the double doors to board the Caribbean Resort’s shuttle bus to their exotic home away from home.

  The humid heat and eye-squinting light was both immediate and welcome. Michigan in April possessed no such ambiance.

  Cozumel. The Caribbean. The recipe for paradise. They were here, finally.

  As they waited for the bus, he noticed three men and three women adorned in full, traditional Mayan dress on the wide sidewalk to his right, stepping in sync to the rhythm of beating drums—an ancient ritual dance perhaps. Bright greens, teals, yellows, and reds covered the dancers from head to toe, making the show a mesmerizing form of entertainment.

  Manny had taken the time to do a little research on the Mayan influence in Cozumel, as was his geeky custom, according to Sophie, whenever he traveled.

  He was looking forward to seeing firsthand much of what the Mayans had left behind. Providing he could pry any of his friends away from the beach and ocean for more than three minutes.

  The Mayan dance group finished in a flourish that prompted scattered applause and the usual passing of the tip hat.

  “Good start to this vacation,” said Dean, clapping his hands. “This is what I’m talking about.”

  The group moved farther down the outside of the terminal and began their show once again as the resort’s green and blue diesel bus arrived.

  “Well, this resort is what I’m talking about,” answered Sophie, kissing Dean like she meant it.

  “Yeah, that works too,” he answered.

  “Damn, get a room,” said Alex, shaking
his head.

  The driver emerged from the bus and began loading the suitcases. His and Chloe’s bags were last. Manny tipped the driver and then walked around the bus to the join the others. He stopped. He raised his head and listened. He stretched his hands toward the sky, then ran his right one through his hair.

  After a few more seconds, he searched his cluttered mind—the mind that was always in full work-mode. He did his best to turn the switch to off. It worked. He felt relaxed, almost. A true miracle for any workaholic, let alone an FBI profiler.

  There were no open cases. No dead bodies to examine. No people murdered in such a way as to add to his already-full dance card of nightmare material. No bizarre crime scenes to process or psycho-ass killer to profile. No threat to him, his family, or to his friends, or to his precarious sanity.

  Could it be true? There was simply nothing for the Guardian of the Universe—his daughter’s nickname for him—to contemplate? No single thing?

  Gratitude is one of those overlooked states of mind, but not for Manny. Not this time.

  Reaching for the amber sunglasses in the pocket of his red-flowered shirt, he climbed in the bus behind Chloe, taking her hand.

  She smiled and squeezed. He returned her gesture.

  A hell of a week indeed.

  CHAPTER-5

  “ Come on, Harry, I want to be the first one to that part of the ruins. You’re slower than that fat lady we just passed. That old, fat lady, Harry. Move it out, or I’m going to leave your skinny behind in my dust.”

  Harry Sleep looked at his wife Gloria and shook his balding head.

  What in God’s name did she think they were? Young? He just celebrated his seventy-fifth birthday on the cruise ship last night, and today, after a few adult beverages and listening to his wife bitch about how tight the slots were in the casino, he was feeling most of those years. He simply didn’t understand where the woman got her energy. She was a few pounds overweight and sagging in all of the wrong places, but she moved her seventy-plus body just fine. Especially when she was as excited as she was to do this excursion to San Gervasio. She was obsessed with seeing the place where the Mayans supposedly performed human sacrifices.