“I see you’re still as fast as ever.”
Juan screwed up his eyes. His hearing was still too fuzzy to tell if he knew the voice or not. “Paul?”
A laugh. “Nope.”
“Why are you trying to kill me?”
“Kill you? I’m just messing with you. Like back at the witness’s safehouse. Did you enjoy that little lesson? Keep getting in the way and you will be dead, old friend.”
“Quit following me—” Juan started to say, but the line had already disconnected.
He didn’t think it was Paul, which was even worse. It meant he had one more thing to worry about while he tried to track down Paul. Why couldn’t anything be easy?
Turning into an alley, he stuffed his filthy canvas jacket into a dumpster before returning to his apartment a different way than he had come. He kept an especially close lookout the entire way back, but failed to notice anyone or anything out of the ordinary.
Once at the apartment, he looked for Marta but saw no sign of her. He didn’t see any note from her, so maybe she had just stepped out for some air.
Juan was too exhausted to search for her, so he resolved to deal with her in the morning. He showered and collapsed onto his bed. While he waited for sleep to find him, his mind raced over the details of the attempt on his life at the stash house. If it hadn’t been Paul, then who? The only clue Juan had was that the caller had addressed him as “old friend.” That, and the use of a fuel-air explosive. That was a very interesting choice of weapon to be sure, and it conjured memories from his youth, when he was part of a gang. This was back during his wilder days when he closed down bars with the people he considered “friends.”
It was the memory of a heist he had been a part of in which some cases of military-grade weapons were stolen from an armored truck. But it couldn’t be his partner at the time, Zeke Sabate. It wasn’t possible.
He was dead.
WEDNESDAY
14
Morning After
Juan grunted and reached for the alarm clock, but knocked it off the dresser instead.
“Man, I feel beat to hell,” he said aloud after he managed to stand up. His vision and hearing seemed almost back to normal, but his chest and sides hurt, and there was still a persistent ringing in his ears. He would have accepted everything as okay had he been able to locate Marta. There was no sign of her, and it was starting to worry him.
He took a cold shower and drank hot coffee. After that he called a cab, fearing that his beat-up gray car might have a bomb in it after what had happened last night. He could only assume his apartment was being watched by whoever was stalking him.
The fact that he still had no clue who it was disturbed him. Even if Zeke Sabate was still alive, he and Zeke had been on good terms when Juan had last seen him over ten years ago when Juan was living in Getsemaní, a neighborhood in Cartagena just minutes south of the Walled City. The two of them were in the same gang, and Juan almost thought of Zeke as the brother he’d never been able to have after Paul was adopted from the orphanage.
So, was it someone else from his past? It had only been the two of them pulling the armored convoy heist, but maybe someone else in the gang knew about it. Had they killed Zeke and taken the weapons cache the both of them had planned so hard for and succeeded in stealing?
Juan had straightened out his act a little after news of Zeke’s death had reached him shortly after their heist. A rival gang had supposedly lit him aflame with a Molotov cocktail in a city park. The body had been charred beyond recognition, but a ring on the corpse’s finger belonged to Zeke, and his empty wallet was found in some nearby bushes. Juan hadn’t been in the area when it happened, or he’d have investigated. He found it odd that Zeke’s ring hadn’t been stolen but his wallet had, but the police report said that the gang who had done it probably left the ring on the finger so the body could be easily identified. The ring had an engraving on the inside of the band with Zeke’s full name. There was no mistaking the body’s identity, and while Getsemaní is relatively safe and one of the hippest neighborhoods in Cartagena today, the gangs and drug violence there at that time were cutthroat.
Juan could only imagine the agony of burning to death. That had almost been him less than twelve hours ago.
Juan massaged his temples to clear his mind. Nothing good ever came of dwelling on the past, but he was still no closer to solving his problem. Then he had a sudden thought.
Was it Marta?
It seemed almost nonsensical, but he couldn’t deny the coincidence of Marta showing up right before he had been followed at lunch to the hospital food trucks and then attacked while with Boraita. She had spent time in Getsemaní back in the day. Although nearly ten years older than him, she had been friendly with some of the gangs back then. That’s when she had been deep in drugs; her life had been a wreck.
Maybe she was just putting on an act. Maybe she wasn’t high now, but on some kind of nootropic drug that made her reactions lightning fast with the side effect of widened pupils.
That’s just crazy, he thought. I’ve seen too many movies. This is real life—not sci-fi.
“You okay, man?” the taxi driver asked as they waited at a stoplight.
“Fine. Why do you ask?”
“It’s just your face and hair look a little burnt. That’s all.”
“Maybe that’s just how I look,” Juan said.
Thankfully the driver wasn’t in a conversational mood, and Juan tipped him more than he probably should have when he was dropped off a couple blocks from the joint ops center.
“May your day be without surprises or pain,” the driver said as he pulled off.
Somehow, Juan was sure he’d have a little bit of both.
“I see you’re not above eating breakfast from a vending machine,” CG said as he stepped into the break room.
“This any good?” Juan asked, pointing to an egg and sausage patty sandwich wrapped in plastic.
“Aw hell no. Get the one next to it. That one’s money.”
Juan’s eyes moved over one. It was a cheesy omelet biscuit. He waited until CG turned around and punched the button for the first sandwich.
“Whoa, what happened to your hair?” CG asked, spitting out some coffee. “And your face. Jeez, man, you in a fire last night?”
“Nope.” Which wasn’t exactly a lie. He hadn’t been in it. It had been a close thing, though. Too close.
“You hear about that explosion on 27th Street?”
“No, I didn’t.” Which wasn’t a lie either. He had, however, seen it.
“Really? Damn you must have been sleeping like a baby. That’s not too far from where you live.”
“I slept,” Juan admitted.
CG shrugged. “That’s good. How’re the eyes?”
“I can see again. It’s like a miracle.”
CG laughed and turned his cell phone around so Juan could see the screen. On it was a picture of Juan in what looked like an elevator wearing double eye patches. Juan had to admit, it did look rather . . . pitiable.
“Pretty gangsta,” CG said, raising a hand and high-fiving Juan. Then, “Ew, I told you to get the cheesy biscuit.”
Juan looked apologetically at the plastic-wrapped cold sausage patty in his hand. “Must have hit the wrong button. Oh well.” He walked over to the microwave, surprised there wasn’t already something inside cooling off. “How’d you get the picture?”
“Oh, Cali Snapchatted it.”
“What? To how many people?”
“Just us. Me. Sam. Agostino. I think that’s all. Wouldn’t want to get fired or something.”
“No,” Juan said. His phone started ringing. “I’ll see you in the command room,” he said as he brought the phone to his ear.
“Diego?” a voice said before he could even say hello.
“Marta? What the hell—”
“I need to meet you today.”
“What? Where’d you go last night?”
“Back to Barranquilla
. It’s an emergency. I need to meet you.”
“I can’t right now.”
“It’s an emergency. It’s really important.”
“What’s it about?”
“What you said last night after you got back from your midnight walk.”
“Huh?” He was fairly certain she had not been at the apartment last night after the explosion, although he had been feeling wonky. Maybe she came in after he’d fallen asleep and he had talked in his sleep.
“You know. What you said.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I never even saw you last night. I . . .”
Marta sighed. “You told me you’d say that.”
“Marta. I swear I didn’t talk to you last night.”
“Look, you’ve just got to meet me. We’ve got to figure this out.”
“Figure what out? You’re not making any sense.”
Unless . . . Unless Paul had swung by the apartment while he was visiting the stash house . . .
Juan looked up as Cali walked past him to pour a cup of coffee. Her hair was mussed up, and there were bags under her eyes. She didn’t look like she was in a pleasant mood, so he didn’t say anything to her. He also realized he hadn’t caught the last part of what Marta had just said.
“Can you say that again?”
“Fuck you,” Cali said, and walked past him again, coffee cup in hand.
He realized he’d missed what Marta had said the second time. From her tone, he assumed she had just rehashed the urgency of the situation.
The microwave beeped as a thought came into his head.
“Is this about the . . . snake people?” Juan said, his hand covering the mouthpiece as if to muffle his words or conceal his lips from an unwanted lip reader in the empty break room.
He heard Marta swallow on the other end, but she didn’t say anything. Was this all an act? Was she trying to lure him out into a trap? Had the snake people gotten to her?
There was one way to find out.
“Where do you want to meet?”
“How about halfway?” she suggested in a robotic voice that almost sounded rehearsed.
“From Barranquilla?”
He thought about it. From Cartagena, it was about a two-hour drive northeast along the coast. There really wasn’t anywhere he could think of that they could meet in between except . . . “How about that rest stop off Road 90? The scenic overlook. You know it?”
That was on the most direct route from Cartagena to Barranquilla. Marta had to have passed the spot countless times when driving between the two cities.
“Yeah I know it. Sounds good. Can you come now?”
“How about after lunch? Say around 1 p.m.?”
He heard Marta swallow again on the other side of the line. Then, “Okay.”
Before Juan could say anymore, the line disconnected.
“Bro! This your sandwich?”
Juan turned. Agostino had the microwave door open as wide as it could go. Juan’s stomach grumbled, and he was in an irritable mood.
“Yes.”
Once everyone was seated around the command room table, Captain Aguilar wasted no time in starting his daily update regarding the Teodoro Vaquero trial and the witness protection situation.
“I want to extend my sincere appreciation for Boraita and Ramírez’s dedication to the job yesterday in keeping the witness safe while a hit was attempted in broad daylight. Excellent job. In fact, the governor called earlier to thank you for your service.”
“It was mostly Paul,” Boraita said. He looked fine, so the hospital must have released him.
“Yeah, shot a bad guy from forty yards with his eyes closed, from what I hear,” Agostino said. “Hell of a shot.”
Aguilar gave Juan a cautious stare.
“I wish I could have seen it,” Sam said.
“I still don’t know if I believe it,” Sanchez said. The bags under his eyes seemed worse than Cali’s after their midnight witness protection shift at the hospital.
“They found blood at the scene,” Agostino said. “And one bullet was unaccounted for. Paul hit the bastard.”
“Yes,” Aguilar continued. “Luckily no further attempt was made last night at the hospital. I thank Sanchez and Echevarría for their time.”
“How’s the witness’s condition?” Rockwall asked.
“He’s awake. The bullet wound was a through-and-through so that was fortunate, but he’s rattled. The plan is to get him moved to a different safehouse before he’s called to testify on Friday. The judge wouldn’t accept a deposition, so hopefully the testimony doesn’t get delayed. Agostino and Sam have the watch this afternoon. Vaquero is sure to try again. I need you both on high alert.”
Agostino and Sam both nodded.
Aguilar looked questioningly at Juan.
“Yes?” Juan asked.
“What happened to your hair?”
“I don’t follow, sir,” Juan said, feeling his cheeks flush slightly.
“Looks like you got burned.”
“Trying out a new style,” Juan said.
Aguilar wrapped up the talk by mentioning the explosion on 27th Street. He said it looked to be a gas leak, and commented on the strange things happening in the city of late.
As everyone started to get up, Juan walked over to Rockwell. They waited until everyone left the room.
“Someone tried to kill me last night,” Juan said.
Rockwell glanced at the burn marks on Juan’s face and nodded. “Figured as much. What happened?”
Juan told him about Marta and the explosion.
“So, you were trying to withdraw money from a stash house?” Rockwell asked. “You not making enough at your day job?”
Juan looked around to make sure a computer tech hadn’t stayed behind before answering. “It wasn’t about the money,” he said. “I was trying to figure out what’s happening to the lieutenants and couriers in my smuggling organization. The ones that haven’t wound up dead have just vanished. I think whoever is responsible for trying to tear down my organization stole all the stash house money that was supposed to go to the orphanages and shelters.”
Juan looked at Rockwell.
“Yes. I know about your saintly endeavors,” Rockwell said. “Aguilar knows Juan Santiago is the one funding the new shelters. If he knew who you really were, he’d have a field day. He’d crucify you publicly.”
“The city would turn against him, then,” Juan said. “They love Juan Santiago. They trust him.”
“Apparently you haven’t been looking at what the kids are writing on the city walls these days.”
“Don’t you feel a little bad about taking me out of the smuggling game?” Juan asked. “Those people I was helping . . .”
“At the expense of American lives ruined by your product being sold in the streets. Do you ever think about that?”
“Hey, I did what I had to with the resources available to me. I don’t have to justify my actions to you.” He stared at Rockwell sitting on the table’s edge with his arms folded over his chest. “How else was I supposed to make enough money to take care of my people? I came from nothing.” Juan gestured at the floor to emphasize his last point.
“Does that make it right?”
“Right is relative. Besides, I didn’t have any parents to guide me along the path of light.”
Rockwell clenched his jaw, then relaxed it. “We don’t have to have this conversation. I’m not judging you. You made it to the top. I know the feeling.” He sighed.
“Then you know what it feels like to fall?” Juan asked. “To be a star one moment and a nobody the next?”
Rockwell’s face grew dark. “You probably won’t believe me, but I know how just one mistake can change everything. There are a couple times in my life that if I could go back to and do things differently, I would. But you know what? Things usually turn out for the best if you keep fighting.”
“And if they don’t?” Juan said.
“Then
you die. And it ceases to matter to you at that point.” Rockwell slapped Juan on the shoulder. “Keep fighting. You’ll find a way.”
Juan looked at Rockwell. “Sometimes I don’t get you.”
“Well, I think I get you. You’re not the hardened criminal you want me to think you are.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” Juan said as he turned away.
“You really have no idea who tried to kill you last night?”
“No.”
“Could it have been one of Ricky Serrao’s sicarios? He said to watch your back.”
“I don’t think so. Why would they attack me at the witness’s safehouse in daylight but not kill me? I think it’s someone related to Vaquero, but don’t ask me who or how or why. I don’t know. I’ve never had a run-in with Vaquero. Maybe it’s someone with a grudge from Paul’s past, and he wanted to get some cheap shots in before trying to finish the job last night.”
Rockwell considered this. “Do you think it could have been Paul trying to kill you last night?”
Juan didn’t think so. He filled Rockwell in on the Marta situation and how he thought Paul was involved. But if Paul had stopped by the apartment, what had he told Marta that was so important? Why did she have to meet him today at the rest stop? To pass on a message from Paul?
“It’s definitely a trap,” Rockwell said. “I know how Paul thinks. You need to take someone with you.”
“I’ll be fine. Once I get some information out of her, then I’ll call for backup. This is personal.”
“It’s foolish.”
“It’s Paul. I’m not involving the rest of the team unless I have to.”
“Still, with a mystery person trying to kill you, you shouldn’t go alone.” When Rockwell saw that Juan wasn’t about to change his stance, he added, “I outrank you. I can have you locked up temporarily. Maybe we could draw Paul to you instead of walking willingly into his trap.”
Juan just looked at the man. “It seems to me you had the same idea when it came to luring Ricky out. Tie me to a tree in the jungle like bait. Well, if you really knew anything about me, you’d know I do things my way.”
The Colombian Rogue Page 9