by Jon Mills
“John told me it was because he helped his mother.”
“And he did but that’s not why he was out here.”
Jack regarded her with curiosity. There was so much that Eddie hadn’t told him and perhaps that was for the best. Who knew what would have happened to his mother if those that he’d worked for had got wind of her existence.
“I don’t understand. Why did you leave us behind and not Noah?”
“Noah was born a year after I left.”
“Eddie’s?”
She nodded, then handed him a few more photos. This time they were of her and Kyle. That pretty much ruled out she was making this up. Jack shook his head as he stared at the image of the man he had grown to resent and detest. He barely ever mentioned his name.
“You know Eddie killed him?”
She nodded but said nothing.
“Why do you keep these?”
“To remind myself of why I left.” She then pulled out a few more and the next ones weren’t as pleasant to look at. They were snapshots of her arms, throat, face and legs. Bruises, cuts and burns covered them.
“He did this?”
“Kyle, yeah.”
Jack’s hand tightened as flashbacks of his youth came to him. The beatings and the shouting, the times he went without food and the nights he escaped to Eddie’s and the final night that saw him beaten so bad he could barely stand. Jack handed back the photos. She then opened the second box. Jack was hesitant to look. He’d seen enough. However, the next batch of photos caused him to stare blankly, before looking at her. They were photos of a younger Jack and Milly in good times. Photos that Eddie had taken as they grew up. Birthdays, Christmas, Easter, and just random days when Eddie had taken time to be with them and treat them the way a father should have.
“He sent you all these?”
“Over the years. Yeah.”
She swallowed hard. He could see tears welling up in her eyes and Jack handed over the photos and got up to get fresh air. Dealing with this was harder than he thought. He’d often wondered what life would have been like if his mother was alive. For the longest time, he assumed she was dead. Out on the balcony, a gentle wind whipped against his face and he held back deep-seated emotions. It wasn’t like him to let them bubble up. He’d spent the better part of his life suppressing his emotion out of necessity. Emotions meant weakness in the eyes of those he ran with, and yet he was human, regardless.
From behind him he heard his mother approach.
“I’m sorry, Jack. If I could turn back time, I would… well…”
It wasn’t like he could fault her. He’d made his own mistakes. Suffered brutality just like her. Walked down the same road. Chosen to turn his back on those who could have helped him and made excuses for many questionable deeds.
In his eyes, everyone was dealt a hand. Good or bad, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was learning how to play it. Some were better at it, others tossed in their hand and cashed out but a few took a gamble. That was him. A man with a gambler’s heart. He’d lived his whole life waiting on the next card.
Jack gripped the white railing. His mind was awash with memories of the past and questions about the future. Twenty-four hours ago, he assumed there was no one left in his life. Now he faced a crossroad. A dilemma.
“Tell me more about this prison,” Jack said.
Five - Capital Murder
Forty-eight hours later, a Boeing 737 made an approach to land at Toncontín Airport in Honduras. It was considered one of the world’s most dangerous landings thanks in part to the mountainous region and short runway. Jack gripped the armrest expecting the worst.
He glanced out the small oval window at the city of Tegucigalpa as the plane banked sharply. The engines roared, threatening to cut out as they made the tricky descent. A maze of shanties and huts surrounded by lush tropical jungle and jagged mountains rose.
Over the period of two days he’d gone back and forth on whether to help or not. It wasn’t a case of not being willing. This wasn’t like just going into a city or country and trying to find someone, or banging on doors and breaking bones to get answers. There were only three ways someone got out of a third world prison before their allotted time: bribery, escape or high-priced lawyers who knew a few loopholes in the justice system. Liz had already exhausted one of those methods. The lawyer she hired was so restrained by red tape that the chances of getting Noah out were slim to none. He’d handed back what she’d paid him and written off Noah. When asked if the prison officials could be bribed, he made it clear in no uncertain terms that while it had worked for some in the past it rarely worked now because no matter what was offered, they would always ask for more. It was true. In their eyes, every American was wealthy. It was the reason so many Americans ended up trapped inside a foreign prison system. It was a nightmare.
Still, the alternative of trying to break him out was a last resort and one he wasn’t even considering. At least, not until he had exhausted other options. Jack figured he would offer fifty thousand dollars, if they wanted more he could go up to one hundred, beyond that he’d have to consider other means.
As the tires touched down and the brakes screeched, making the steel coffin shudder, he jerked around in his seat hoping they didn’t overshoot the landing. It had happened before. There had been several incidents, all of which came down to human error.
“Good morning, this is your captain speaking. I would like to thank you for flying with us. The latest Honduras weather is cloudy skies, temperature twenty-nine degrees – that’s 84 Fahrenheit. We expect to have you on your way in approximately ten minutes. Please remain in your seats as we make the final preparations. Again, on behalf of all of us we would like to thank you for flying with us today and we hope the next time your travel plans call for a trip to Honduras you will choose American Airlines. Have a very pleasant stay in the Tegucigalpa area and a safe journey home.”
After collecting his one duffel bag, and making it through security, he stepped out into the morning sunshine and glanced at the collection of white taxis vying for attention. Most of the drivers were standing outside their vehicle smoking and trying to coax people to use their service. Jack made eye contact with one and he was over faster than a jackrabbit.
He already had his hands on his bag. “Sir, let me take your bag. Where do you want to go?”
Jack released it and watched as he tossed it into the trunk and then slid around to the driver’s side. He looked around for a second before slipping in.
“Danlí.”
He twisted around in his seat. “That’s over two hours away.”
“And?”
“You have money?”
Jack wasn’t going to flash it. He’d heard horror stories of travelers flashing money only to end up facedown in some dingy back alley in God knows where with a bullet in the skull. Instead, he nodded. The man didn’t look convinced so Jack reached in and thumbed off a few hundred-dollar bills and handed them over.
“Enough?”
His eyes lit up and he snatched them out of his hands like a greedy child. “All right, let’s go.” The engine purred to life, he donned a pair of cheap sunglasses and cranked the tunes. They zipped out into a stream of traffic and began making the long journey east.
“I’m Mario Francisco, and you are?”
“Tired,” Jack replied.
“Ah, long flight. What part of America are you from?”
Jack closed his eyes and tried his best to tune out the drone. The guy couldn’t take a hint as he just went to the next question even if the previous one was unanswered.
“I have a cousin in Florida. Are you from Florida?”
“Close.”
“And what brings you to Honduras?”
“A brother.”
“Ah, what’s he do? Business? Missions?”
“Prison.”
Jack glanced up to see him staring at him in the rearview mirror.
“You want to keep your eyes on the road
,” Jack said noticing that he was about to plow into the back of a construction truck. He turned just in time and veered left without even looking to see who was in the next lane. That was how they drove. There was no road etiquette. No waiting around or giving someone else a turn. It was every man for himself. Drivers pulled their vehicles out into oncoming traffic, forcing others to slow or honk their horns.
“Don’t worry, we’ll make it there alive. The most common accidents occur because people go over the edge of cliffs on some of the narrow roads.”
“Is that so,” Jack muttered trying to get comfy but his voice was beginning to grate on his nerves.
“Yep. No barriers. Our government is poor and can barely afford to repair the roads.”
That was clearly evident by the large potholes all over the road. He bounced several times in his seat. It was like the surface of the moon. Most of the secondary roads were unpaved, nothing more than dirt trails and rock.
“In the rainy season, my job is a nightmare. The government closes a lot of the roads because there are so many rock slides, flash flooding and so on.”
“You heard of Danlí Prison?” Jack asked. If the guy was going to rattle on, he was going to steer the conversation towards something that was useful.
“Who hasn’t? Terrible place, worst one in Honduras,” he said before glancing up at his mirror. “Is that where your brother is?”
Jack gave a short nod.
He shook his head while tapping against the steering wheel. “That’s not good. No sir. That’s not. Inmates die in there all the time.”
“From the guards?”
He snorted. “No sir. The inmates run the place.”
“What?”
“Oh yeah, after a riot a few years back the guards reached a truce with the inmates. They are the ones that now run the interior. Many of them are armed.”
“Armed inmates? C’mon, you’re bullshitting me.”
“No, sir. My sister’s cousin is in there. He says some of them carry batons.”
“How many inmates?”
“Last I heard, seven hundred.”
“That’s not many.”
He laughed. “For a place that is only meant to house two hundred and forty, that’s too many. The compound is as cramped as fuck.”
“How many guards?”
“Why, you thinking of breaking him out?” He snorted and laughed a little before replying. “Twelve.”
Jack’s eyebrows shot up. “Twelve guards to watch over them?”
“No, they employ others but there is only twelve on a shift. They are armed with machine guns but they leave the inmates to handle internal problems because of overcrowding. So there is no need for any more.”
Twelve on shift? He couldn’t wrap his head around that.
It seemed unreal but the system in Honduras was far different than in the States. Arming the inmates with batons would have never been allowed in the U.S. but in a country that had over four hundred deaths a month, spent only a dollar a day to feed each prisoner, and survived on bribes, it was to be expected. It was a defunct government that hadn’t shaken its reputation of being the murder capital of the world.
Six - Gold Teeth
Traveling through the hot spot of danger didn’t make him feel comfortable. He’d had to travel without a gun and after hearing even more horror stories from Mario, he was wondering if he’d made the right decision. Jack leaned his head against the window and bumped around in the back as Mario shared his life story. He thought back to what Liz had said the day before he left to remind himself of why he was doing it.
“He’ll die in there, Jack.”
Jack put his beer down on the small table between them. They were sitting outside on the balcony. It was evening. All along the beach, the glow of lights from homes made it feel like Christmas.
“He stands as much chance as anyone else.”
“You don’t know what it’s like.”
He chuckled at that. “I spent the better part of four years in prison, most of which were spent in solitary confinement. I think I know.”
“This isn’t any ordinary U.S. prison where people have rights.”
“Rights? Where the hell were my rights? One hour a day in the courtyard wasn’t right.”
“But you made it through. Noah isn’t made for this. Besides… he says there are fights being held there for money. People are dying every week.”
“Fighting comes with the territory.”
“Perhaps, but internal fighting that is condoned by the warden doesn’t.”
Jack shot her a sideways glance. She nodded. “I spoke with Noah a week ago. He’s scared, Jack.”
“So get your lawyer to work his magic.”
“What do you think I’m doing? I’m already paying through the nose to ensure that no harm comes to him while he tries to work through all the legal bullshit.” She shook her head and wiped away a tear that trickled down the right side of her face.
“Hell, I don’t know if he’s even doing anything. I spoke with him yesterday and it’s always the same. It’s slow. It takes time. He has other clients that are in dire situations just like Noah. Even if you could just go down there and check in on him, perhaps you can see what is being done. I need to know there is light at the end of the tunnel, cause right now I don’t see it.”
She got up and took her empty beer bottle back into the kitchen and returned with a yellow package. She set it down beside his beer.
“What’s that?” Jack asked.
“John told me about what you did for a living. There is fifty thousand in there.”
He frowned. “I don’t want your money.”
“Then use it to bribe them. Maybe they’ll turn a blind eye for the right price.”
“Fifty thousand will not cut it. You go flashing that around and they will want more.”
“Then how much?”
Jack slid the package back across the table to her. He shook his head as he looked out at the reflection of the moon on the water. The sloshing of waves against the shore was mesmerizing, almost beckoning him.
“I’ll go see what I can do, but I can’t guarantee anything.”
“I understand.”
Mario slammed on the brakes and cursed some driver that had darted out in front of him. The sudden jolt brought him back into the present moment.
“Get the hell out of the way!” He smashed the horn multiple times, then veered around the truck that had tried to squeeze in between the taxi and the vehicle ahead.
“You have the address for the place in Danlí?”
Jack fished around in his jacket for the scrap of paper that Liz had jotted down the lawyer’s address on. It took another twenty minutes before they reached the destination. When they arrived, Jack expected to find a run-down, dilapidated building that was being used by multiple lawyers to cover the cost of rent. Instead, he was dropped off at a large factory with a sign that read Honduran-Cuban Tobacco Company.
“Are you sure this is the right place?”
Mario picked the paper back up again and gazed out his windshield towards a green sign.
“This is it.”
“Odd. You think you could stick around?”
“Payment first.”
Jack reached in and thumbed off a few more bills. “I’ll park over there and catch a few winks. If I’m not in the vehicle, just check the bar across the street.”
Jack exited the vehicle and headed inside the factory. He was greeted by the sight of seventy or more workers hand rolling cigars. There were close to fifty tables full of piles of dried tobacco leaf. A few of the women looked over while continuing to work. A man seated behind a desk sign that read Honduras Cigars Hand Made caught his gaze before continuing to examine large cigars that he was placing in a box. He was wearing a brown leather cowboy hat, blue denim shirt and white pants. He had a cigar sticking out from beneath his thick black mustache.
“I’m looking for someone by the name of José Breve. Wou
ld you know where I can find him?”
The man lowered his glasses and looked at him.
“That depends, who’s asking?”
“I’m here on behalf of Liz Matthews.”
His eyes lit up and he swallowed. He rose to his feet. “I’m José.”
Jack frowned and José registered it.
“Oh this?” he thumbed over his shoulder. “I like to be involved in the work of my company. Yep, the reason so many good companies get a bad reputation is they grow too fast and the owners distance themselves from the business. I have had this running for over six years and it will continue for another six as long as I take care of the end product.”
He motioned to the table. “Just doing a little bit of quality control.”
“But you’re a lawyer?”
“That I am.”
José could tell he was struggling to understand why he was working for a cigar company.
“There is a saying in Honduras. Everyone needs a lawyer but everyone can’t afford one.” He then laughed and extended his hand. “And you are?”
“Jack Winchester. Liz’s son.”
It felt weird saying it and yet normal.
“Ah, I should have guessed. You look like Noah.”
“That’s what Liz says. I don’t see the resemblance.”
“I can tell.”
José looked past him and then gazed down at his backpack. “Where are you staying?”
“I haven’t selected a hotel.”
“I can recommend a few good ones. Safe.” He turned and walked towards a section of the building that contained offices. Jack stood where he was. “You coming?” José asked.
Jack readjusted his bag and followed him. He closed the office door behind him and pulled the blinds down. “Like I told Liz, these matters are very delicate. You can’t force things here. At least not without a large amount of money.” He grinned and Jack noticed that several of his teeth were gold.
“So you operate your lawyer business from here?”
“No, I have an office three blocks from here but I’m rarely there. Few people are beating down my door, most phone from prison.”