Reverse

by Steven Tandberg

  I sat down, stunned.

  “See, Coyle. Even our Doña understands the seriousness of our current predicament. When will you?” He took another bite of his eggs, placed his napkin on his plate and pushed back from the island. “Thank you, Doña for another fantastic breakfast. Time to plan,” said Manuel as both he and Tigre stood.

  I threw a few bites into my mouth and followed Manuel and Tigre out of the kitchen. The Doña’s eyes met mine as I stepped into the hallway. They seemed concerned, as if something else was bothering her.

  We met in a smaller, windowless room off the main hallway, guarded by a single man at the entrance. Stacked on the shelves along the wall lay hundreds of maps in cardboard tubes. Also hanging on the wall was an array of cell phones and chargers. White labels on each of the phones clearly showed their numbers. I took a mental picture of all of them and stored them away.

  “So, you searched the place, right?” I said as I stepped up to the table in the middle of the room behind Manuel and Tigre.

  “Yes, and came up with nothing. Now it’s your turn, brainiac.”

  Manuel rolled out another map of Denver onto the table and pointed to the location of the warehouse. “Ah, Commerce City. My old stomping ground. Many a criminal calls it home because of the bounteous industrial parks and dumps. If someone had the time and money, many bodies could be found there among the crushed cars, dumps, and incinerators.” Manuel glanced at Tigre. Tigre narrowed his eyes and shook his head ever so slightly. Manuel rolled his eyes back down at the map. “Anyway, our scouts saw her enter the south side through a ground-level hatch. But, when we sent one of our men to follow her he reportedly couldn’t open it. Even with a winch and a truck, it wouldn’t budge. It was as if someone had sealed it from the inside but had anchored it as well with something very heavy.”

  My mind started racing. Who did Roxanne work for? Why was she out in the open living in that house before if Somatotech knew where she stayed and monitored her activity? Why was she not careful then? She probably wanted it that way, so she could keep an eye on them and record their activity as well. What did she gain from our operation in Somatotech’s basement? I understand the secrecy now, she kinda outed herself with the infiltration. Is she someone I could trust? And what was up with that kiss?

  “Coyle?” said Manuel, waving his hand in front of my eyes.

  I shook my head out of the meditation, “Sorry, just thinking.” I looked down at the map. “What about the other entrances? Where do they lead?”

  “Checked ‘em all. They all lead to the central open area in the warehouse. We couldn’t find any door or stairway that led down to a subfloor. We also checked the building plans, and they do not include a basement.”

  “Secret lair. Sweet.” I said, letting my Aedanness come out. The men glared at me. “You have to admit, it’s pretty cool, right?” They maintained their stare. “Well OK. I’ll need to see it.” I placed my finger down on the spot.

  The door flung open with a shot and crashed into the wall. “What are you doing in here?” The Doña stood in the doorway, her eyes ablaze with anger.

  I jumped up, swung around to face her, and then cowered behind Manuel when I saw the fury. The startle reminded of when my mom had found me lighting firecrackers in my room. I needed to hide, to escape her gaze. Manuel dropped his pointer on the table, and Tigre hid his face.

  The Doña cocked her head to meet my eyes and changed her tone. “Wouldn’t it be better to use the large island in the kitchen rather than clutter up this storage room?” The rage in her eyes calmed.

  “Uh, right, that will do. Let’s move back to the kitchen,” said Manuel with a conciliatory tone. Tigre grabbed the map and rolled it up hastily.

  “Just a suggestion,” she said, eyeing Manuel. “I’ll clear space.”

  We all walked back to the kitchen with our tails between our legs. I didn’t really understand the chastisement; it was only one map. When I thought of clutter, I imagined my room with all my skateboard parts, clothes, and mementos of my mom. Good thing the Doña couldn’t see that place. But maybe it wasn’t about clutter, maybe the Doña hadn’t wanted me or the other men in there for a different reason.

  The Doña had indeed cleared the island, now spotless. I didn’t see her anywhere, and I couldn’t pick up on anyone else’s breathing nearby. Tigre rolled out the map.

  “Anyway, we will drop you off at the hatch with Tigre. I will scope the perimeter myself.”

  Oh goody, more time with Tigre, I thought.

  “But first we have a small side mission. We need to teach some punks a lesson.”

  “And what did they do?” I asked.

  “It doesn’t matter. We’re paid to do a job,” Manuel said while rolling up the map.

  “Oh, so you’re now so desperate for work you will take anything? What if these ‘punks’ are innocent?”

  “We are not the judges; our employers are.”

  “Oh man, get me the freak outta here,” I said under my breath. Manuel shot me a glance but held his tongue.

  “Bring in Samuel and Juan,” Manuel said to Tigre.

  Tigre left the room and promptly returned with two of Manuel’s men.

  “OK, here is the plan. These punks hang out at the Dave and Buster’s in Denver near I-25 on Thursdays for lunch. Samuel and Juan, you are the draws. Provoke them, and they will respond, I promise. I know these types of punks. Bring them out to the grassy area on the north side of the building; the trees are there for cover. After that, we, specifically Coyle, will take it from there.”

  “Um, what? And how many are there?” I said.

  “Three, unless they have friends with them.”

  “And what am I supposed to do with them?”

  The men grinned to each other with lifted brows.

  “Teach them a lesson they won’t forget. As a gift for participating, I will arrange some time for a little reunion with your friends. OK?”

  “How long?”

  “A good twenty minutes, I promise.” He crossed himself.

  Somehow I doubted that little move meant anything to him.

  “Whatever,” I said.

  8 Operations

  We took two cars, a Cadillac with dark tinted windows and a pretty nondescript Toyota Camry. Manuel and I rode in the back of the Cadillac with Samuel as the driver. Tigre and Juan rode together. I heard Tigre speaking with Manuel just before we jumped in the cars, probably asking to ride in a different car than with I. Despite not understanding it; I memorized their conversation.

  “Podemos deshacernos de ellos? No darian mas dinero,” said Tigre.

  “No, ella sabe demasiado de esta misión.”

  “¿Cuando vamos a estar a cargo?”

  “Con tiempo.”

  I didn’t mind if Tigre didn’t want to ride with me; Manuel is much less jumpy. Although, I am always looking for the opportunity to get into Tigre’s head.

  We pulled into D&B’s parking lot at 11:30 p.m. and found a spot near the grassy area. Tigre opened my passenger side door.

  “Move over.”

  I scooted to the middle seat between the men. Juan jumped into the passenger side seat up front.

  “OK, here are the punks.” Manuel handed out a few photos of the guys. “They should be by the horse race monitors.” They looked to be in their twenties, and one of them had a fraternity shirt. All of them looked like they could crush rocks with their bare hands.

  “Frat boys on steroids, great.”

  “You can handle them, just don’t give them a hug and let them kiss you.” They all laughed. My cheeks went red.

  “Samuel and Juan, ready?” asked Manuel.

  “What did they do?” asked Juan.

  “What did I tell you about stupid questions?” said Manuel. “It doesn’t matter what they did or did not do. We have a job to do.”

  Juan looked at Samuel. He shrugged in response.

  “Otra vez. ¿Ya listos Samuel y Juan?” yelled Manuel.

 
They again looked at each other. “Sí, vámanos,” said Samuel.

  I made a mental note of the Spanish words and what I assumed they meant. It sounded as if Manuel repeated himself. Samuel obviously affirmed with “Sí” and I had heard “vámanos” and knew it meant “let’s go.”

  Both men exited the vehicle and beelined for the entrance. We watched from the tinted windows. Only five minutes later our “punks” pulled up close to the building and went in. They looked more imposing than their photos implied. My mind took me back to the first time I had met Aedan at the skate park. I imagined these frat boys hurling shaving cream-filled balloons at unsuspecting dorks like myself. My fists clenched. Maybe I could teach these punks a lesson.

  Samuel and Juan made quick work. Only a few minutes later the frat boys led our men out of the building. One of the frat boys practically pushed Juan through the door. Juan regained his balance and stood up to the man, holding back his fist. They gathered near the front door, and I could see Samuel pointing to the grassy area.

  “Wherever you want it, vato,” the frat boy with blond hair yelled at Samuel and shoved him back.

  Samuel lost his footing and slammed down on the ground. He jumped up as fast as he fell and rammed into the man’s chest. The blond-haired man tumbled backward but held onto Samuel causing both of them to fall into the front doors. One of the other men sucker-punched Juan in the jaw, sending him to the rail at the top of the stairs.

  “Uh oh. Looks like the party started a little early. Coyle, you’re up,” said Manuel.

  Dang.

  “Throw this on and make it quick,” said Manuel, as he tossed me a hooded sweatshirt. “Oh and tell them they better throw the game on Saturday. If they don’t, this will happen again, but next time to their families.”

  “I have to beat these guys down because of a game?”

  “Competition pays the bills,” Manuel winked.

  “So we aren’t protecting anyone, just fixing bets? And their families? What’s up with that?”

  “We are protecting our clients’ interests. You better get out there before they kill Samuel and Juan.”

  I turned my head to see the scuffle. Juan and Samuel were on their backs taking quite the pummeling. Juan was already KO’ed, and Samuel would join him soon. I threw on the baggy sweatshirt, flipped up the hood, and jumped out the car, running toward the fight.

  “Hey, punks! Lay off them, or else!”

  The men stopped for a second, laughed at the sight of me and then resumed the barrage of fists and kicks.

  I needed to work on my threats, maybe work on a more imposing voice. One of the men, who wasn’t actively kicking the crap out of them, turned to face me. I leaped into the air, ascending the twenty or so stairs in one stride. His surprised look was short-lived as I landed four punches to his face before he could react. He crumpled to the ground, knocked out cold.

  “You’d better let them be, dudes, or you’ll be a bloody mess like your friend.” That sounded better.

  The two remaining men charged me, both dropping their shoulders. Too easy, I thought.

  Just before they collided with me, I pushed off, rising a good eight feet off the ground. Their forward momentum carried them down the stairs, tumbling head over heels. They landed on each other but quickly untangled themselves and charged back up the stairs at me. The taller one made it to me first, swinging a wide arching punch toward my face. I leaned back, allowing his fist to pass an inch or so from my face. Then I grabbed it and pulled hard. The frat boy had made the mistake of throwing all his weight into the punch, allowing me to use his weight against him. He fell forward into the railing as I pulled him down. Blood exploded onto the ground from his crumpled nose.

  The other guy reached me and decided to kick instead of punch. His leg made contact with the back of mine before I could release his bloodied compatriot. My knees buckled with the strike, sending me to the ground. I rolled to the left before the punk could get off another one. He followed me toward the edge of the stairs. I hopped up and flipped over the railing, putting it between us. He took a stance and jabbed at my face. I would have been knocked out with just a few of his punches if it weren't for my increased reflexes. My muscles reacted instantly to the trajectory of his punches. His eyes widened, and his upper lip curled. His fists came faster, once grazing my face but never making contact. He stopped for a split second and then swung hard at my face. I grabbed the rail and swung under it, extending my feet in front of me. With him leaning forward and my feet making contact on his legs, he flipped forward over the rail. His face smacked against the concrete step. I continued my rotation and flipped over the top, landing on his back as he struggled to his knees. My force brought his face back down on the concrete, and he groaned. He didn’t fight back. The tension in his back eased. He had given up, or at least his battered brain finally took over and shut it down.

  I leaned down and whispered in his ear, “My boss wants me to tell you to lose this weekend or else.”

  “Screw you!” he managed to say, with blood-tinged spittle spraying onto the concrete.

  “Dude, I’m serious. My boss won’t stop at you and your buds. He will target your family. Lose the freakin’ game. It isn’t worth it.”

  He rested his bloody face on the concrete. I stood up off him. A crowd had started to gather inside the glass doors. That’s when I noticed my hood had flipped down with my little loop de loop. A few of the people pointed at me and whispered to their neighbors. I couldn’t make out what they said due to the doors and the ambient noise. But I knew. Someone had recognized me.

  I ran to Samuel and Juan and threw them over my shoulders, their heads dangling behind me. As I turned to where the car was, I saw Manuel and Tigre driving toward the exit a couple hundred yards away.

  “What the …?” I yelled and ran toward them.

  Manuel honked the horn as he exited the parking lot. His blinker indicated he was turning to the left. A six-foot concrete block fence surrounded the parking lot. Another honk and I knew his intentions. I sprinted along the wall toward the honk. Another honk came near where I ran so I stopped, slipped Samuel and Juan over the fence and hopped over. Tigre had already exited his vehicle and started dragging Juan toward his car.

  “Sloppy work Coyle. What the hell were you thinking?” Manuel said as he pulled Samuel by the arm toward his car. “Help me!”

  I picked Samuel up by the legs and with Manuel rested him in the back seat.

  “Separamos!” Manuel yelled to Tigre before jumping into the car. I plopped down into the passenger seat. Manuel pulled out into the street, but not with the speed I would have thought. He pulled out cautiously and brought the car to the speed limit. Tigre’s car screeched out, flipping a U-turn and honking the horn.

  Manuel pressed the Bluetooth connect button on the steering wheel and called Tigre.

  “Llévalo a la casa de seguridad numero uno. Voy a llevarlo a la numero dos.”

  “Él esta despertando, no será necesario,” said Tigre.

  “OK, nos vemos ahorita en el almacén.”

  I listened intently, understood a few words, and learned a few new ones by deduction. Manuel tapped the button and turned his head toward me.

  “You couldn’t have just punched the guys? Instead, you created a scene, a very dangerous scene.”

  “I… ” I almost told him someone recognized me but thought better. He would be even more livid.

  “Did you deliver the message?”

  “Yes, they got it loud and clear.”

  “You fail once, and now you almost fail again. Our arrangement may change if the outcomes are not different in the future.”

  “It won’t happen again,” I said and stared out the window. My heart beat fast, not because of the run with two men draped over my shoulder but my growing hatred for Manuel and Tigre. The thought of escaping this man consumed me. I could have knocked him out right then and there, but what then? Tigre or one of his men would retaliate before I could get b
ack to the compound. Aedan and Jamie would be dead. I had to play along, for now.

  9 The Fall

  We dropped Samuel off at a house on East 17th Avenue just as he was coming to. A woman helped him to the door, slinging his arm over her shoulder. Manuel lingered by them as they struggled and then gave the woman’s arm a light squeeze. She smiled, and he walked away with a slight skip in his step. This house was important to him. I memorized the address and glanced at the windows. A young girl perched herself in the upstairs window as Manuel entered the car.

  “Let’s go,” Manuel said, turning the ignition. I didn’t ask about the house. Maybe now, I had something on him. We drove out of the small streets of Denver and got on I-25.

  “Manuel, what changed? I mean, when I left you to rescue Jamie you were all gracious to me. Now you don’t trust a word I say. What gives?” I had to ask him. We had been almost friends. They’d souped up my car, for crying out loud.

  Manuel stayed silent for a couple of minutes before speaking, “I told you I would contact you.”

  “Oh, so I should have let Aedan die rather than risk your operation? I had to take him somewhere-”

  He interrupted me, “That was your choice and…” He paused. “And I would have likely done the same, but you broke my rules and have brought a serious liability to our operation. I can’t trust you again.”

  I didn’t have a response. Nothing I could say would change things. His explanation didn’t merit a response anyway.

  “Do your job, and we both will get what we want,” he finally said and put on a look that this discussion had ended.