Yesterday's Darkness

by Carl Henegan

  Most of the sections were dark with winding paths that veered along the edge of brick walls covered in shrubbery. He moved fast taking long strides along the concrete trail trying to pull up ideas on his next move. The ideas would have to come later, for now his mind was too consumed with finding Garcia. No plan B was thought of or necessary.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE

  Just ahead of Mike a well lit populated section of the river walk came into view. When he got closer, a dock with two tour boats floated on the waters. Several bars and clubs sat side by side across from the short boat dock with a large crowd of people scattered throughout the area.

  The thick crowd allowed anyone to blend into its dense presence. Someone like Garcia could easily maneuver within it unnoticed so the group of tourist served as the perfect location for him to disappear, or try at least.

  Mike walked along focused ahead till his foot hit a hard object along the path. The inadvertent stumble pushed the item along the walkway releasing the sound of sliding the metal across the concrete. After a short search, Mike found and picked up a discarded fully automatic handgun. He inspected it carefully and discovered that the weapon was empty but still very warm. Garcia’s, he assumed.

  Mike continued toward the crowded area. The festive atmosphere contained the typical alcohol induced vacationers who looked for bad decision and good times. The group mirrored most of the crowds that gathered along river walk at night.

  The assembly thinned out once the tour boat loaded up with passengers. They stumbled on to the wide flat boat to get their fill of San Antonio’s historic stories as they got transported to the other end of the river walk. Mike guessed that the majority of them boarded to avoid the walk but for whatever the reason, he was grateful that there were less people to sort through.

  Ninety-nine percent of them had no real interest in the historical value of the twenty-dollar ride. Mike knew this because he had to admit that he might have been among the high percentage of visitors with no interest in the rich history of the river walk. Aside from finding Garcia, nothing mattered.

  Even with an obsessed focus solely on ending this battle, self-doubt managed to surface. Thoughts of abandoning his search for Garcia invaded his resolve. He refused to allow the thoughts to surface and in the end any ideas counter to tracking down Garcia was discarded.

  “Hello ladies and gentleman! Welcome to the world famous El Paseo del Rio tour!” The tour guide echoed through his overused bullhorn. “We will pass under just a few of the uniquely different thirty five bridges that cross over the river! Don’t worry folks I haven’t crashed into one yet...not today at least.” The tour guide chuckled as if he had not said the same stale joke a few hundred times a day.

  The boat pulled away from the small dock and Mike turned to the remaining crowd. Ok where do I search first? He moved through the remaining tourist scanning each and every face. None of them resembled Garcia but he felt as if he was closing in on him. His skin tingled with anticipation.

  First thoughts Mike, first thoughts. Second thoughts, Mike would always admit to himself, were his biggest weakness. The majority of the time his instincts were dead on but on rare occasions, drastically off.

  When his instincts veered off the common condition contributed to unbalance. Each time too many issues cluttered his mind to allow and stable line of thinking. The uncertainty created a paused calculation of the obvious and this was one of those clouded moments.

  Just as fast as the dim thoughts grouped together, the clouds parted and in a moment of transparency. He figured it out and pulled his hands on top of his head shaking it in disbelief.

  He turned to watch the boat float away in the distance. It moved further away behind him transforming into a distant shadow. The ongoing description of the river’s history echoed across the area as the tour guide recited the memorized speech through his bullhorn.

  Mike grunted with frustration. He lifted his head to the sky then lowered it just as the tour boat faded around the far turn. This time he didn’t have to search, he and Garcia’s eyes met right away.

  In his grandiose style, Garcia stood from the tour boat’s seat. Just like Garcia did in the Memphis Night club, his taunting stance presented one of total defiance. Garcia stood too far away for Mike to see him clearly but he didn’t have too, it was him.

  Mike’s vivid imagination filled in the indistinguishable parts. He saw the pompous smirk below a set of squinted eyes that peered between the rising cigarette smoke. The small orange glow from the end of the lit cigarette pierced the night as it dangled between Garcia’s lips.

  The small light moved away from his mouth as he pulled the cigarette out then invitingly spread his arms wide apart. The jester caused Mike’s temper to rise. Once again Garcia dared him to shoot.

  Mike’s mind spun with calculations determining the distance between them. I know I can catch them on foot. He yanked off his shoes with his eyes locked on Garcia.

  I’m going after that bastard.

  As Garcia watched Mike prepare to come after him he appeared unfazed. The distant smirk grew wider. Garcia held his cell phone high making sure that Mike could see it.

  Mike paused just before making a full sprint along the concrete path of the river walk. His face contorted with when the sound of footsteps approached from behind him. The confusion preceded complete bewilderment when several hands grabbed him from behind then slammed him to the ground.

  The men forced Mike’s arms behind his back before pushing his face against the cold hard concrete surface. Radio static from the police scanners crackled through the small speakers. Then the sound of the locking metal preceded the sensation of the tight metal handcuffs slapping around his wrists.

  He strained his head against the callous riddled hand placed on the back of his head. Mike managed to lift his neck up just as enough to see Garcia’s tour boat drift around the final turn.

  Garcia’s shadow coolly pulled the cigarette in and out of his mouth. In a malevolent twist of irony, Mike put it together. That bastard called the cops on me.

  Like a menacing mirage, Garcia’s silhouette faded into the night. The flat bottom tour boat floated out of view serving as the last time that he saw Martin Garcia.

  Epilogue

  On the one-year anniversary after the events from their San Antonio experience. They welcomed the milestone with a unanimous decision of a simple celebration. Danny’s birthday party would include a lot of cake, games, and a family themed movie.

  Mike and Danny’s minds churned as they landed in the mist of a competitive chess game. Normally Mike would easily defeat his son, except for the occasional thrown in white towel to allow Danny some sense of confidence. This time Mike didn’t have the luxury of backing down. Danny had some expert assistance.

  The Whiz sat by Danny’s side guiding him along with advice that Mike realized bordered on brilliant. Through a succession of moves they cornered Mike’s key chess pieces placing him in very tough predicaments more then once.

  “What is this two against one?” Mike laughed.

  The game went on longer then expected running right into snack time. Kelly called from the kitchen. “Hey boys, everything is ready!”

  The meal for the evening, if you could call it that, consisted of items personally requested from the birthday boy with the advisory committee of his two buddies of course. Hot dogs, hot wings, and hot popcorn were the requested items and all prepared by Kelly.

  Mike studied the last move made by the Wiz and Danny with John looking on anxiously bouncing in place. John, when he didn’t cheat, was a pretty good chess player himself but this time assumed the role of the spectator. He rocked on the edge of his chair routing them on.

  John could not play the part of just any bystander. He became the irreverent spectator who played the character to Denzel Washington perfection. The squeaky voiced red head, made Mike feel as if he were playing at the opponent’s unreceptive stadium and a virtual visitor among
the hostile environment of the home team.

  “Damn Mr. Andrews why did you do that?” John would say after every other move. This sneer would be followed by, “Ooooh you needed that piece! It’s...so...ova...now!” Then came the obnoxious nerdy butt dance. “Game time!! Game time!!”

  Clearly the audience leaned to his opponent’s side. Between the badgering and trying to hold in his laughter, concentrating on the game proved to be impossible.

  John tossed an air punch over the game board. “Smash!! He just took yo queen Mr. Andrews! Yoooo Queeeen!! Oh my God it’s so ova, it’s soooo ova! You can tell that king to bend ova and kiss yo-”

  “John!!!!!” Kelly shouted from the other room. Mike stifled his chuckle but Danny and the Wiz rolled on the floor holding their stomachs, wailing with laughter as well as the pride of their moves. John turned a beet red between his multiple freckles.

  Kelly leaned back into the living room with a stern glare. Mike hunched his shoulders and smiled just before she vanished back into the kitchen.

  She felt as sense of calm when she was around. Soon they would be official. For half of a year now they reveled in the ongoing wedding plans. He couldn’t wait.

  He couldn’t speak for her; she had her hands full with four men. But Mike knew she adored it almost as much as he adored her. Danny had to give his stamp of approval and he did. A year after they returned from San Antonio the relationship with Kelly had progressed to a peek level. The next step had to be a wedding.

  The boys seemed as happy to hear the news as Danny. The Whiz went with the flow but it was clear that he wanted to marry Kelly. As for John, Mike doubted that he ever actually saw Kelly’s face since he couldn’t stop staring at her chest. Mike understood that problem because he still did it.

  A text message popped up on Mike’s phone from his good friend Eric. “Big Mike, I am back in Mexico this week, Tell Danny happy birthday and I’ll have a gift for him when I get back!” The message made Mike smile.

  He thought about how he met Eric years ago and how their friendship evolved from him being a regular customer to becoming someone he considered as part of the family. He made Mike laugh every time. That Eric is a damn clown, he smiled to himself.

  Time truly raced along because it seemed like it was only recently that he met Eric at the Memphis bar. Now he was the unofficial Godfather to Danny. Seeing his buddy was always a treat and upon each returned trip, Eric would have stories about the beautiful sites and places that he visited. No matter how much Eric would rave on about the joys of traveling, Mike knew that he longed for something more secure, like a family of his own.

  Each week after Eric returned from one of his trips, he came straight to the bar. Last time he saw him he had a new story of his travel adventures. Eric told Mike about an extended Mexico trip that he took in Manzanillo, Colima.

  The conversation didn’t take its usual course. More times then less, the escapades consisted of scantily dressed model like women fully filled with exotic drinks. This time he spoke of a man he spotted on the beach in the small picturesque town.

  The man, he said, was flocked by several beautiful women all vying to gain his attention. At least five bodyguards stood near him. Eric confessed the he could only see the back of the person’s head but swore that the man was none other then Martin Garcia.

  Mike thought about the possibility and had very little doubt that it was Garcia. From what Mike discovered some time ago, Garcia was from the small town.

  The FBI’s investigation into the San Antonio shootings placed Garcia on the country’s top ten most wanted list but that was only in America. Everyone knew that he had skipped the country but any attempt to enter the US would be impossible and essentially, a death wish.

  Marsha Garcia, the murdered federal air marshal and ex-wife of Garcia was key in Garcia’s top 10 listing. Her involvement in the case gave the FBI some valuable information so Martin Garcia no longer possessed the freedom to fly under the radar. Saddly she never saw the fruit of her efforts.

  The government buried her in Arlington cemetery with full honor. First lady Michelle Obama gave the eulogy.

  The peaceful times Mike now enjoyed, made the San Antonio ordeal seem as if it occurred a lifetime ago. Every so often when time sores by, it’s a good thing.

  A lingering annoyance remained from the verity that Garcia was still breathing the same air; it would take time for the hatred to totally fade, immeasurable time.

  “Check!! Dad, earth to Dad! Come on, your move dad!” Danny said.

  Mike pulled his attention back to the chess game. The boys were giving each other high fives and beaming proudly at their recent moves. They had every reason to celebrate. The boys placed Mike’s king piece in a very tight spot and at first glance, getting out seemed impossible.

  He studied the board hard to see if there was a way to avoid the pending checkmate. It took some doing but Mike pulled out a miracle. In a few moves he managed to slip out of the trap set by the boys. A few plays later, he gained an advantage and soon the two kings were the only remaining pieces left on the board.

  John reacted first, “Damn!”

  Danny held out his hands palms up. “So what do we do now, who won?”

  Danny never reached this point of the game. His youthful face frowned with confusion.

  “Nobody won,” the Wiz answered dryly.

  Mike reached across the chessboard then laid both kings on their sides.

  Kelly rounded the corner with a large plate of hot wings. John and the Wiz jumped up to help her then dashed around the corner to see what else waited in the kitchen.

  “Don’t hurt yourselves boys!” Kelly yelled back.

  Mike looked across the chessboard at Danny. He gave his son a smile laced with fatherly pride. He palmed Danny’s head, running his hand through his son’s hair. His thoughts mixed with enjoying the moment and realizing how close he came to losing him.

  “Good game son,” he said.

  “So dad, you saying that nobody won?” Danny could not pull his eyes away from the chessboard.

  “No, no one won. But no one really lost either. We live to fight another day, for now it was a stalemate.”

  After a long night of more games and movies everyone had finally tired out. One by one they drifted to sleep in a shared onset of exhaustion linked to the long evening. Nearly everyone fell into separate compartments of secluded dreams.

  The one exception often found the peaceful conditions of REM sleep evasive. Mike stared at the ceiling above his bed. By now he had every crevice and indention of the surface counted. Even the number of rotations the ceiling fan completed per minute was calculated within 1 to 2 turns. Kelly slept next to him with the most peaceful expression he had ever seen across her face.

  Outside of the window another Dallas night spread across the city with skies so clear that every star was visible. The same timeless starry skies hovered above the great men and women of the past. They gazed at the very same skies, the very same stars, where time only affected the existence below the sky above.

  No matter how beautiful, Mike knew that somewhere beneath that same dusk dwelled another kind of existence. That night hovered over iniquitous intentions where the volume of morality was balanced by comparison.

  Mike never had any illusion that it wasn’t there. Just like the past, the future, and today evil was definitely alive. It existed because it has to exist. The reality of the other kind of night balanced the scales just out of reach, but never far away. It also had the potential of tilting its way.

  A walk through the purest garden could be filled with the most beautiful music and still drowned by dark footsteps. Happiness can always change on a dime. Sometimes it is caused by the problems of the present. Other times it is just the reverberation from a past that would not go away, like a dormant plague, like yesterday’s darkness.

 

  Do not miss the mind blowing sequel to Yesterday’s Darkness! Author Carl Henegan takes a li
terary quantum leap with his next installment in the Michael Andrews series.

  Read on for this sneak preview of Darkness Left Undone!

  Coming out July 2012!

  Prologue

  Tehran, Iran

  January 11, 12:45 p.m.

  Mostafa Ahmadi Roshan stumbled as he rushed into the back seat of the dark gray Peugeot 405. Agonizing thoughts pressed large amounts of sweat through his pores to the surface of his tanned face. Moisture seeped from his scalp, trickling under the frame of his wire-rimmed glasses till dripping through his neatly cropped jet-black beard. He wiped the condensation away more then once, lifting the thin frames then patting a small handkerchief on the drenched areas just below his baggy eye sockets.

  Time - in the extended seconds after leaving the office - towed in a sluggish tempo. The entire environment felt off beat and dark. He stole a glance at his watch and could have sworn that the second hand tick to the left instead of to the right.

  More sweat followed the lead of his forehead by rising through the skin across the rest of his body. His pure white cotton shirt clung to his slim frame as if it were glued to the epidermis. The clammy palms of his hands were much like the back of his neck and felt like warm water had been slashed across it.