by Kim Oh
We were far enough away from the party chaos that I could hear the shallow waves lapping against the piers at the edge of the malecón. A bleak expanse of empty concrete stretched out ahead of us, then the black ocean beyond. The lights at the top of the arching steel poles had been smashed so long ago that there weren’t even any remnants of broken glass glittering beneath them. In the dark wrapping around us, I could barely make out the stone pillars coming up to about the height of my head, with the crazy, multicolored hummingbird statues perched on top, that I’d spotted from the balcony of the hotel suite. The one nearest to me had been slathered by its artist in broken ceramic tiles. A yard or so away, a couple of the pillars had been toppled over, leaving those birds lying on their sides, wings broken and long, sickling beaks snapped off.
“So where is this guy?” I kept my shoulder bag slung toward my hip, one hand clamped right at the top of its opening. “This is where we’re supposed to meet him, right?”
“Everybody’s here,” said Umberto, “who needs to be –”
The malecón suddenly lit up red and flaring orange, at the same time the sound of a sharp, cracking explosion boomed across the night sky. I looked up and saw the lopsided fiery chrysanthemums of skyrockets, smoke trails wisping behind them, blotting out the stars above. They were the cheap kind, that barely manage to get into the air before they go off, singeing the hair of anybody standing and watching below. In the distance, back where we came from, showers of white sparks jetted up from the hotel roofs. The party crowd in the street below, their faces illuminated by the sudden, shifting glare of the fireworks, shrieked their appreciation, alcohol-raw voices mingling with the thump and howl of the over-amplified music.
We had been walking slowly forward into the empty malecón, when the blaze of bursting light overhead sent the knife-edged shadows of the hummingbird statues darting and wobbling across the fractured concrete. Umberto stopped as I took another couple of steps. I glanced behind and saw him reaching into his jacket, and I spotted the glint of ugly metal filling his hand, one finger curling around its trigger –
I knew what he was expecting me to do. He thought my hand would dive right into the shoulder bag and come up with one of the CZs, swinging its black muzzle in a quick arc toward his chest. Then I’d be standing there like an idiot, with the gun in my hand doing nothing but going click-click-click, its ammo magazine empty. And he could take all the time in the world to smile at me and take his shot.
That’s what he was expecting. But it didn’t happen that way.
SEVENTEEN
I didn’t reach into the bag – instead, I dived headfirst behind the nearest stone pillar. The sudden move took Umberto by surprise, throwing his aim high. The bullet shattered the tiles of the hummingbird statues, flicking razor-edged shards around where I’d just been. Hitting the malecón’s pitted concrete with my shoulder, I rolled while digging into my bag. I came up with one of the CZs and the box of ammo – that was all I needed. Whipping the bag around by its strap, with the other gun still inside, I flung it as far as I could. The thunk of the bag hitting the base of one of the pillars drew Umberto’s attention – he fired twice, the bullets chipping the stone. I already was running with my gun and the ammo box clutched tight to my stomach, the shadows thrown by the glaring fireworks above jittering in all directions.
Panting for breath, I got my back against another pillar and tore open the box. I yanked the magazine from the CZ and began shoving bullets into it as fast as I could, tucking the gun against my side with one arm. I filled the magazine just as another shot drilled into the stone just above me, the impact shivering against my spine. Loose bullets scattered on the concrete as I dropped the cardboard box and slammed the magazine back into the CZ. I brought my arm out straight in a rapid flat arc and fired once – I knew I hadn’t hit Umberto, but I’d driven him back from the clear angle he’d been taking on me. That gave me enough time to duck my head down and run from behind one pillar to the next.
Now I was closer to the dark ocean water, where the flat concrete paving of the malecón came to an end. I crouched down, scanning the area I’d just sprinted across. The booming explosions overhead kept me from detecting any footstep or other sound by which I might have been able to locate Umberto. But then, he couldn’t hear me as well.
Another pyrotechnic burst directly above, so low in the smoke-filled sky that everything lit up with an eye-stinging shock. I spotted him then – just the edge of his silhouette, gun in hand, peering around a pillar about fifteen yards away.
At that distance, I’d have a hard time sneaking up on him, or circling around to get a clear shot – at least without him spotting me and getting off one of his own. I glanced over my shoulder, to where the water’s low, dispirited waves rolled to the shore. Keeping the CZ raised in one hand and myself hidden in the pillar’s wavering shadow, I slowly backed toward the concrete’s edge.
I wasn’t surprised about what I found when I got there. Umberto had been the one who’d told me about construction work on the malecón having been abandoned. Sure enough, looking over the edge I could see raw rebar, the rusting iron rods protruding from the crumbling cement and dangling horizontal above the water. Oily foam swirled around the barnacle-crusted pilings.
Tucking the CZ into my jacket, I slipped over the edge, bringing my weight upon one of the construction rods. It creaked and bent, rust flaking beneath me, but held. With my fingertips dug into the concrete, I inched myself further along the edge, to where I could stretch and step onto another rebar section.
I worked my way around the malecón, shifting from one wobbling rod to the next, the rough cement abrading my fingertips. After a dozen yards or so – I halted on one creaking perch and raised my head above the edge. I couldn’t see Umberto – he must’ve slipped out from behind the pillar where I’d last spotted him. Somewhere in the darkness, interrupted by the caustic glare of the fireworks shooting from the tourist zone, he was stalking me.
Getting my elbows over the concrete edge, I climbed back up onto the malecón and laid flat, head raised and gun pulled from my jacket again. The last thing I wanted was for Umberto to find me stuck out there on those rebar rods – I’d have been at a real disadvantage, trying to keep my balance while firing back at him.
Elbows digging in, obstacle course-style, I wormed forward. Tucking myself into a ball at the base of one of the pillars, I let my breath slow, the CZ raised alongside my head –
I heard the click of metal against metal. Close – too close. The tiny, chilling sound of somebody else’s gun being cocked –
The smile was even worse. I tilted my head and looked up into Umberto’s face.
He had climbed up on top of the pillar, wrapping one arm around the neck of the giant painted hummingbird, so he’d be able to scan the malecón’s area and spot me. And then I’d made it easy for him. If I’d looked up when I’d crawled over the edge, I would’ve seen him there.
But I hadn’t. Like Cole told me one time – It’s not the big mistakes. It’s the little mistakes that kill you.
With his free hand, Umberto lowered his gun straight down toward me. His smile widened as his finger tightened around the trigger –
If I’d swung the CZ up toward him, he’d have had all the time he’d need to drill me between the eyes, before I could fire. And if I’d scrambled to my feet and tried to run, his shot would’ve caught me between the shoulder blades, sending me sprawling dead onto my face.
I didn’t even think about that. Instead, I hit the stone side of the pillar with my shoulder, as if the adrenaline rush in my bloodstream was enough to propel me right through it and out the other side, where I could keep on running –
It wasn’t. But it was enough to rock the pillar where it was set on the concrete. Which was enough to throw Umberto off balance, so that his shot went wide and he then had to throw both arms around the hummingbird statue to keep from falling.
That gave me time – a second, but that was enough – to
dodge around the side of the pillar, one arm scraping against the curved stone. I didn’t want him to have any time at all, to get one arm free again from the statue and bring his gun swinging toward me, so I threw myself backward, the CZ braced in both hands, my shot lined up straight into his chest.
Something else Cole told me, a long time ago –
Luck counts. Especially bad luck.
I was still falling shoulder-first through the air, just about to squeeze the trigger, when suddenly everything got blinding bright. I could see it coming toward me, too fast to do anything about it. One of the cheap skyrockets they were shooting off from the hotel roofs had completely misfired. A smoking trail, smudged against the night sky, described its flat course just above the heads of the party crowd, then arcing down toward the malecón.
It hit the same time I did. And not far away.
Those big chrysanthemum bursts, all twinkling red and gold stars, are beautiful when you’re looking up at them, way overhead. When one goes off on the ground next to you, it’s just hell.
The shock wave was enough to roll me onto one side, my back turned to the multicolored explosion. I squeezed my eyes shut and brought my forearms up against my face. The CZ had gotten knocked away somehow, so both my hands were empty as I knotted them into rock-tight fists. A sizzling wave of fire washed across my shoulder, and I could smell my singed hair.
Even with my eyes shielded, enough of the sudden glare had leaked through my fists to blind me, at least for a few seconds. Through the pulsing white after-image seared on my corneas, I could just make out the expanse of concrete with its hard-shadowed pillars ranged toward the ocean, and a few dying sparks from the skyrocket spinning about. I squinted in pain, just barely able to detect a black, gun-shaped spot on the ground, a couple yards away from me. I pushed myself up and crawled toward it, one hand reaching –
A kick in the ribs rolled me onto my back. My vision had cleared enough that I could make out Umberto standing above, his head silhouetted by the few stars penetrating the acrid smoke above us. He looked banged-up, one arm twisted and held against his chest, the way people do when they’ve just broken their collarbone – he must’ve fallen hard from the pillar he’d been standing on. But not so hard as to lose the gun his other hand pointed down at me.
“Okay . . .” I held the palm of my empty hand toward him. “You’re making a big mistake . . . whoever you’re hooked up with –”
“This isn’t business, querida. This is personal.” His smile turned even uglier, like a knife slit. “Somebody slaps me around, I don’t like it. Maybe I have to put up with it. But when a woman does it –”
I dug my elbows into the concrete, trying to inch back from him. But his boot on my knee pinned me to the spot.
He leaned over me, bringing the gun’s muzzle closer to my face. “Then I really don’t like it.”
Suddenly, his expression changed. His eyes went wide, as though he’d been taken by some infinitely surprising realization. The gun dropped from his hand as he wavered for a moment, then toppled across me.
At first, I’d thought another skyrocket had gone off above. But there had been no burst of light along with the sharp, echoing sound. When I shoved Umberto’s body off me, I saw where someone else’s shot had struck the back of his skull, leaving a broken, red-edged hole.
The same person kicked away the gun Umberto had dropped, before I could make a grab for it. I looked up and recognized the figure that now stood above me. I had seen him in the security camera video, the one with the squat, jowly face and the drooping eyelid.
“You were right.” Keeping his gun pointed at me, he turned and spoke to somebody in the shadows next to him. “About her.”
Lynndie stepped forward, where I could see her. Her blond hair was tucked down into her jacket collar, turned up against the cold night.
“I tried to tell him.” She smiled at me. “That they should’ve taken care of you.”
EIGHTEEN
We all went back to the hotel. Seriously.
Drove there, in fact. César – the guy with the droopy eyelid – had a nice black Mercedes sedan, exactly the sort of cliché ride you’d expect some big-deal criminal type in South America to have. It didn’t matter that it was walking distance from the malecón to our destination – I was feeling a little bushed after all that running around while getting shot at. It’s not just the aerobics, you know; there’s a tension element, too. Then taking a near-hit from low-flying pyrotechnics – makes for a long night.
Which wasn’t over yet. Both Lynndie and this César fellow, on either side of me in the back seat of the Mercedes, were being all sorts of enigmatic and close-mouthed about what we were going to talk about when we got there. Maybe the discussion would end with a gun being held to my head again, with the trigger being pulled this time – I didn’t have a clue. So I just let myself sink into the cushy black leather upholstery. An oddly relaxed feeling – besides the fatigue – settled over me. One, there wasn’t anything I could do about things now. There were two more thugs in the front seat, one of them driving, and I knew they were completely strapped. And two, if they were going to blow me away, they would’ve saved themselves a lot of trouble by doing it back at the malecón, making it look like something had gone down between me and Umberto. So maybe there was something else on their agenda now. All I could do was wait and see.
“Here – let me help you.” What a gentleman. César actually extended a hand back into the car, once we’d pulled up in front of the hotel entrance, to help me out. He must’ve figured I still was feeling a little wobbly.
Out on the street, the crowds were audibly simmering down. The fireworks show had been the climax of the party. A few exhausted revelers had straggled back to the hotel, but they stayed slumped on the lobby chairs and couches, gazing numbly in front of themselves with that look of people deeply reconsidering their life choices. Nobody paid any mind as our little group crossed the lobby and headed for the elevators. César kept his grip on my elbow the whole way – to keep me from falling or to prevent me from making a break for it, I didn’t know.
The elevator doors opened, and we got off on the same floor as the suite where I’d left Donnie and Mavis. But we walked right past that door, heading for the one at the end of the hallway.
“So you were here all along?” I glanced around as César closed the door behind us. It looked just like the other suite, except for different paintings on the walls and a view from the balcony that looked toward the ocean rather than the pool area below. “You never even left the hotel.”
“Why should I?” Lynndie slipped off her jacket and threw it on the couch. “This is a nice place. Well, nice enough. Maybe it wouldn’t be five stars back in the US, but when you travel, you gotta make allowances for that sort of thing.”
“Yeah . . .” I nodded. “That’s the kind of broad-minded attitude that makes us so popular with the locals.”
“Don’t worry about it,” said César. He brought over a bottle of inexpensive blended Scotch and some glasses from the wet bar. “Americans with money are loved everywhere.”
“That wouldn’t be me.”
“Discúlpeme. I forgot – not all of Miss Lynndie’s friends are as rich as her.”
“She’s actually an employee.” Lynndie took the drink César poured for her, then settled back into the couch. “Of my dad’s.”
“I’m more of a freelancer.” I shook my head when he offered me one. “This is a one-off gig. Believe me.”
“Suit yourself.” He set the bottle and the remaining glasses on the table by the balcony window. His two thugs, sitting on either side, helped themselves. “As for me – I like to think that we are all friends.” Drink in hand, he lowered himself down into one of the chairs by the coffee table, then pointed to the other. “Please – be comfortable.”
I was grateful for that much. Still felt a little woozy – when I sat down, I put my fingertips to my head, just past the hairline, and they came away pink
-tinged. Which meant I’d started bleeding again, where I’d first gotten hit, but at least it wasn’t streaming.
“I hope, Miss Oh – or may I call you Kim?”
I shrugged. “Either’s fine.”
“I hope,” continued César, “that you are not . . . um . . . en inglés, apprehensive? Is that right?”
“Oh, come on.” Lynndie smiled and shook her head. “She’s paid to be apprehensive. That’s how she protects people. That’s what my father hired her for.”
“Yes, but I am certain things seem different now.” He gave a thoughtful nod. “It must have appeared to be much simpler, when you took the job. Sí?”
“Look.” I rubbed my eyes with one hand. “I’m kinda tired. And I don’t feel like making a big production out of whatever it is you want to tell me. And really –” I dropped my hand. “I don’t need explanations.” I looked over at Lynndie. “If you just wanted to go out and have whatever kind of fun you like, and you thought I’d get in your way . . . you could’ve just talked to me about it. We could’ve worked something out. People like your father – I don’t have to tell them everything that happens.” I gestured toward César and the other two men. “You didn’t have to hire this bunch to jump me.”