I walked over to Sanchez. "How bad are you hit?"
"Left shoulder. It'll hurt like hell but I'm good for a while if we do this quick. How bad is yours?"
I only realized then that I'd been hit. My right side, waist-high. It was messy, but I felt around and found no holes. "Just grazed. It looks uglier than it is."
"So,” said Sanchez, “What do we do for an encore?"
Twenty-Four
Caroline was on my mind as I sped through the Cozumel streets. It surprised even me, how deep my love for her had become in so short a time. I just wanted to get back to her, hold her and kiss her, tell her everything was going to be alright. That there existed somewhere out there an "alright" for us, I was certain. A beginning rather than an ending. All I had to do was stay alive, but that's where things got murky and a lot less certain. Delana's plan was an ending, not a beginning, and if I wasn't careful, I could be swept up in the riptide surrounding her and washed out to sea. But I had to try to save her. Because of who I was, even after Escobar, and because of who she was, even after all she had set in motion. Delana was a tender, loving, beautiful person whose inner strength had been tested beyond its ability to hold things together, the steel not just bending, as Caroline's had, but ripping apart, cruelly leaving only slivers attached to the solid thing that had once been and was no more, forcing her to pull with all the spirit she had left until the link was completely severed, the damage beyond repair.
Carillo's Cherokee was parked along the shoulder of the road. Thirty feet below us, Stella looked deceptively peaceful. A faint glow from a cabin light told me that someone had boarded her. No other vehicles were in sight, but if Vargas and his daughter planned on killing Carillo, which was a certainty, they could easily have had a taxi drop them off close by. They could have worked their way silently down the slope to surprise Carillo. Only Carillo wasn't there to surprise. Waiting for them was the deadly fate they deserved, but one the planner of the party did not.
Morning was breaking and in fifteen minutes night would take its last gasp and give way to day. But for the moment, Sanchez and I had cover and decided to make good use of it. We made our way down the path, silently, slowly. I heard Sanchez whisper behind me, "You think they took her by surprise?"
I stopped and we squatted behind some bushes. "She's not a pro, but she's smart. She'd have to have figured they weren't going to let Carillo live. She knows the boat. Vargas and Sheila don't. She has the advantage, even if there are two of them."
"You know, if I was certain she'd come out on top, I'd say we stay here and wait it out. Those two freaks need to die anyway."
It wasn't them I was concerned about. "I don't think she plans on coming out of this alive."
Sanchez just stared at me a few seconds. "So, we're going down there, both of us shot and bleeding, to try to save a pretty blonde from offing herself, even though she got you out of the way so she could do just that?"
"Pretty much."
Slowly, a smile formed on Sanchez's face. "Just wanted to get that straight. At least there aren't any windmills close by."
We started down again. We were about ten yards from the boat when we heard a bang and saw the flash from inside the cabin. Something fell. Glass shattering. A lamp? The coffee table?
It got quiet and there was nothing else to do but keep moving forward, toward the boat, toward justice being meted out too late to matter, too late to save anyone; not Nancy, not Rosita, not a goth girl looking for love in all the wrong places, and not Delana.
We were there now, close enough to hear voices.
"Who are you? Where's Carillo?" A woman's voice. An accent. Pissy but controlled. Not frightened but suspicious.
"I've got the gun. Now shut up and sit down on the couch next to daddy. Not on his lap though, it isn't playtime."
Sheila lost control then, spewing hatred so quickly in Spanish I couldn't catch it all.
"Sit down, Sheila. Let's see what this is about." Vargas sounded confident. Too confident.
Sheila apparently did as daddy told her.
"Now, tie this rope around your little girl's wrists, Carlos. I'm sure you've done it before."
More venom from Sheila, interrupted by a slap. Maybe she had turned the tables and had daddy wrapped around her finger in the bedroom, but this was his kind of business and she was going to get them both killed.
"I'm sorry, daddy." Not subjection, just a cool realization of how serious a pickle they were in if daddy was going to slap her face and not her ass, and not because she'd told him to.
"Hurry up," demanded Delana. "No, in front of her. That's it. Now Sheila, take this rope and tie up daddy's hands, but behind his back."
We waited. Delana had gotten the drop on them. Proabaly hid somewhere and waited for them to pass before she popped out. A double surprise.She could have shot them then, placed slugs in places painful but not immediately deadly. Tying them up confirmed what I'd been afraid of. It was in her letter.I knew how to blow up the boat -- remember,I'm a sailor's daughter.She'd told me what she was planning to do.
"We can make a deal," declared Vargas, as though he were in control. It could have been simple bravado, but I didn't think so. Sanchez's look told me he didn't either. Vargas was just a little too cool. Delana wasn't a pro and would never detect it. Something was very wrong. And then we saw them, on the opposite side of the boat. Three men, armed with some real firepower, waiting at the edge of the jungle.
We had two advantages. The first was that they obviously couldn't see us if we kept the boat between us and them, and secondly they couldn't fire on the boat because they might hit Carlos or his precious daughter. But old Carlos knew they were out there. It was in his voice. I wasn't the only one who realized that if Delana was intending to shoot them she would have already. Vargas had some time.
We'd missed some of the conversation. Delana was talking.
"Have you ever been to Spain, Mister Vargas? It's beautiful this time of year. I was there once, around this time of year. Spain has some lovely corner cafes. Not as many as they used to, though."
You could have heard a pin drop, then. No doubt Carlos wasn't as cool now. He knew the difference between business and revenge, and he knew he was in trouble. And then it got really creepy.
"Let my baby go. This is between you and me. My wife had nothing to do with that."
I turned to Sanchez as we crouched down out of sight. I suspected the expression on my face mirrored the disgusted one on his.
Delana laughed. It was a sad, defeated laugh. "Wife? If you were gonna eat from your own garden I'd have picked the sweeter, prettier fruit."
I heard Sheila spit -- at least I had to assume it was Shiela. But no Spanish expletives. She'd given her word to daddy.
"But maybe you did figure it out? Tried to stick your nasty thing in Nancy? Or maybe she just caught you two perverts doing the nasty and ran? But the little w i f e y here found Nancy before you did, and buried her in the sand to drown. So you sold out one daughter for another. I guess she's got blood on her hands just like daddy."
Delana was getting weary. I heard it in her voice. Carlos would have heard it, too. He'd know that now was his chance, his only chance. It happens to amateurs when they tie people up. They forget the people they've tied up have legs and bodies and are desperate. They relax. And it nearly always ends badly.
It happened quickly. Something fell and there was a scream, and a shot. The men at the edge of the jungle couldn't wait any longer. But they were unprepared when we popped up and began firing. I took out the man in the center before he'd gone two steps and Sanchez shot the man on the right. The third man dove to his right and rolled, came up firing with some real hardware that splintered the wood above our heads and sent us diving, me towards the bow, Sanchez towards the stern. Another shot rang out in the cabin but whatever was happening in there was going to have to happen. The deck splintered inches away from my chest as it was strafed with machine-gun fire. I kept rolling, coming to a su
dden and painful stop when I slammed into the spare anchor. Stationary, I fired at the shooter, and kept firing. I heard Sanchez's gun spitting bullets from the other end of the boat. We had him in a crossfire and he finally went down, riddled with gunshots.
My side was on fire from where I'd slammed into the heavy anchor. I had a cracked or broken rib. It hurt to breathe. I was still bleeding from the wound Carillo gave me on the opposite side. I was a damn mess.
The cabin had gone quiet. Too quiet. I somehow managed to stand and Sanchez made his way over to me. He was limping. He'd either taken a slug in the leg or he'd banged it up trying to scramble away from the machine-gun fire raking the deck.
"No one's coming out. No one hollering to their men. You think they're all dead?"
"Only one way to find out, I guess."
"You're gonna say that once too often, amigo."
"Chicken."
"One of us needs to wait here, why not me? She's your friend, after all."
He was right. On both counts. Sanchez's left arm was just hanging now, useless. Up close I saw that his leg was bleeding. He had been hit. "I'll go in, you cover me."
"Be right here, hero. You go rescue the blonde that isn't even your girl."
I eased down the steps gingerly. Partly to be cautious but mostly because my ribs hurt when I moved. I didn't see Delana anywhere. Sheila lay sprawled across the coffee table, ass-up. It was as sexy as Alegria had said it was, and I didn't see a panty-line. Score two for Alegria's observational skills. Sheila's daddy had a bullet in his gut and was slumped against the opposite wall. He was alive but wouldn't be for long unless he got medical attention. I placed two fingers on the side of Sheila's neck. She had a pulse, but it was faint. I rolled her over. She moaned, her eyes wide from shock. She'd taken a bullet in the face. Her left cheek was nearly gone. I thought about finishing her off right there, for Nancy. But like Delana had described in her letter, I felt Caroline standing next to me, and hesitated.
"Seth."
The voice behind me was soft, but I nearly jumped out of my skin. Delana had hidden behind the sofa and popped up once I passed. I should have checked, but once I'd seen Vargas and his daughter were out of commission I'd relaxed. Delana had a gun at my back. She reached around and gently removed the Beretta from my hand. She knew I didn't want to shoot her and she didn't want to have to shoot me, either.
"Delana. It's finished. You've made things right." It sounded hollow, even to me. She whispered for me to turn around and when I did, I will never forget her smile. It was the saddest smile I'd ever seen, and it felt like someone had reached into my chest and was squeezing my heart. "It's too late, Seth." Those beautiful eyes were drowning in tears and very, very still. She tossed my gun onto the sofa and kept hers pointed at me.
"I have one more thing to do, Seth. You and your friend run along now. And thank you, Seth, for…everything."
"Delana, it…dammit! It doesn't have to end like this. Celia wouldn't want this."
Her eyes flickered with anger for a moment. If I could get her to feel something, anything, even anger, maybe I could save her.
Then her expression became very tender, and the water in her eyes became so deep it was like staring at something too far beneath the water to clearly see. Holding the gun on me, she walked toward me. She placed the barrel against my belly, and looked up into my eyes. Tears poured from her eyes, dripping onto the carpet. A floodgate had been opened and it was never going to close. She was trembling.
She leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. Then she turned me gently and with the weapon pointed at my belly she walked me up the steps, backwards. With my body between her and Sanchez, she had me backpedal over to where he stood. He had his gun out but didn't know what to do. She was a mess, and she was the one we were trying to save, after all.
"Goodbye, Seth. I'm…sorry we didn't meet a long time ago." I sensed her backing up and realized too late why. In the shape we were in, her short running start gave her more than enough leverage to push both of us into the water. We were barely surfacing when I heard the big engines powering Stella away from the dock. My ribs and Sanchez's shoulder and leg made it difficult for us both but we finally crawled up onto the pier, panting from the effort.
The sun was rising now, the sky orange but promising blue. I don't know how far out she got but we could still see the boat when it happened. It was a terrible explosion, destroying Stella in an instant, and finishing off the girl aboard her. Delana finally succumbed to the mortal wound inflicted long ago, at a cafe in Spain. Her spirit joined Celia as it should have then, her body eternally wrapped in the turquoise shroud.
Twenty-Five
Much of what happened immediately following the blast I can only relate from the account of Sanchez. I remember him calling Marquez and then handing me the phone. I remember informing Marquez that Vargas and Sheila were dead, and he could move in. I also remember telling him that Sanchez was clean, and could be trusted. It was Carillo who had double-crossed him. As I handed the phone back to Sanchez, I remember thinking it was pretty amazing that it still worked after everything that happened. And then a whirlpool opened and I went into free-fall.
Sanchez told me later that I passed out and my breathing was so labored and shallow he wasn't sure I was going to make it. He called for an ambulance. He hadn't gone directly to the hospital with me. He had a uniform officer drive him to the station where he explained that we'd had to kill Carillo in self-defense.
The official story was that Sanchez had gone there to arrest him after finding out from a private detective working for Mr. Fernandez that Carillo had been taking bribes from Vargas. Unfortunately, evidence against Carillo and Carlos Vargas had been on my boat when it exploded. Carlos Vargas's private number was found in Carillo's wallet, and in his closet a stash of cash too large for any honest cop to acquire. It all added up, supporting Sanchez's report, which I later corroborated after a head's-up from him.
Sanchez lied about Delana, I don't know why, but I was grateful to him. He'd stated in his report that Delana was an innocent bystander who had the sad misfortune to be on my boat when Vargas showed up. He had come to get rid of evidence tying him to narcotics crimes in Florida. He had probably killed Delana as collateral damage and then taken the boat out to sea. What had gone wrong Sanchez didn't know, but the boat had exploded.
Because Vargas was a major drug kingpin it made national news, but would have quickly faded if not for Delana. Once the press discovered she had also lost her husband in Iraq, and a young daughter in an explosion in Spain, it touched hearts all over the globe. It was heartbreaking that one person could be so haunted by tragedy. They would never know that Delana really died a long time ago in Spain, with her daughter Celia.
Caroline's face was the first thing I saw when I woke up in the hospital. She was holding my hand. "Hey sleepyhead," she whispered through happy tears. Behind her in a chair sat Harry. "See, I told you he was too ornery to die, Caroline." But there was relief in his old scratchy voice, as if he hadn't been so sure at all.
I could feel that my ribs were taped. I had a different bandage where Carillo's bullet had taken its pound of flesh. I took a fuzzy look around the room. The bright Cozumel sun was streaming through window blinds on the far wall. A small television was attached by a metal brace to the wall facing the foot of the bed. The room had that sterile scent of cleaners. Hospitals were the same in every country, apparently. I asked, still groggy, "How long?"
"You've been asleep for two days, Seth, but you're gonna be okay now. They had to do surgery. A broken rib punctured a lung. It was touch and go for a while." More tears came, but she was smiling. I tried squeezing Caroline's hand and think I managed it. I crooked my finger, motioning for her to come closer, and when she did I kissed her lightly on the lips. And then I was gone again.
Once more I dreamt of Nancy. But this time the dream was different. Vargas and Sheila were no longer there. I had a shovel and I was digging Nancy out of the wet sand.
It was hard work and I was sweaty and dirty. Once I had her out of the hole, she hugged me and kissed my cheek. Then Nancy turned and walked across the sea, toward the horizon, and disappeared into the bright Cozumel sun.
Sanchez was leaning on one crutch at the foot of the bed, grinning, the next time I woke up. Sonny and Katarina were there, too. And of course, Caroline. I was told Florencia had twice been to check on me but I had been asleep both times. I checked myself out of the hospital three days after Sanchez had. He ribbed me -- no pun intended -- about how much longer it took gringos to recover than Mexicans.
We held Nancy's funeral the next day. It was a quiet affair, with only Caroline and myself and Harry, Sonny, Katarina and Florencia attending. And Sanchez, of course, who brought his mother. A dignified, striking looking woman who had kind words about our loss. How much Sanchez had told her about Nancy and how she fit in to all the recent events making headlines I didn't know.
The next two days were a blur of Caroline and Katarina and Florencia coming in and out of the hotel suite. Marquez had arranged it for us as a courtesy for helping him expand his marketshare. I played cards and bullshitted and lived off room service with Harry, Sanchez, and Sonny until the day of the wedding.
When the big day arrived it was another bright, beautiful, Cozumel morning. Caroline had wanted to wear a new pair of jeans she'd bought so it kept us all from cramming into monkey suits. She wore a dressy white blouse with the new jeans. Florencia arranged for flowers which were all over the little church in San Miguel. The same church which had been in the news quite recently.
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