by J. M. Parker
“Money,” said the man.
“We don’t have it.”
The tattooed man said something else and the thug released Alina’s arms, bringing his hand up to his wrist and ratcheting up the pressure. Alina’s face strained with exertion, blue veins swelling on the surface of her skin. She kicked and flailed before the fight seemed to sag out of her body and she hung limply in his arms. The thug lowered her to the ground, bent above her as he increased the pressure again. Bannon tried to yell. He felt the hand clamp his jaw shut. He felt the shank press into the back of his neck as he tried to rise up from the frame. He watched as Alina swung in the arms of the man, a sudden shock cutting the despair as he saw her arm tighten and swing back into his crotch.
The man tumbled sideways and Alina fell from his arms, gasping desperately for air and crawling to the cabinets. Bannon heard the thump of the other heavy’s feet as he rushed after her. He saw Alina drag herself up the cabinets and reach for the kettle, finding her grip as the big man raised a fist above her.
The man let out a hellish scream as she hurled the steaming water into his face. Bannon felt the grip above him loosen as the leader watched the events unfold. He twisted onto his back and shoved at the man above him. The tattooed man stabbed the shank at his face and the blade skimmed along his cheek.
Bannon threw a punch at the man, landing a hard shot and cocking his head to the left. He threw another punch, a rising uppercut, and the Thai wobbled above him, dazed for a second before he responded with a shot of his own, Bannon’s teeth rocking in their sockets as a fist flashed across his jaw.
He dragged himself across the bed frame, the Thai coming after him. Bannon kicked a foot back into his chest and sent him tumbling onto the floor. He reached back to the nightstand, his fingers falling around the ceramic edge of the fruit bowl, and he launched himself at his attacker, bringing the bowl crashing across his face, his nose exploding in a violent crack of glass and bone.
Bannon pushed up onto his knees, thumping into the bloody pulp of a face beneath him. He raised his fist again, priming for a final shot, when the air went out of him and he felt a sharp pain in his side. He looked down and saw blood spreading across his shirt as the shank slipped out of his abdomen and the Thai man drove it back into his ribs.
Across the room Alina stood above a heavy, a blood-stained kettle held like a bludgeon in her hand. Bannon heard her cry out as he fell to the ground, the shank still stuck in his side. He felt blood bubble in his throat as he tried to reply. He saw Alina rushing across the room, saw her raise the kettle and bring it crashing down onto the man beside him.
Alina pressed a hand against his lips and wiped the blood away. She laid him back onto the floor, and tilted back his head, pinching his nose as she pressed her mouth to his and exhaled. Bannon felt his throat clear and his lungs swell. He coughed violently, spraying dark droplets of blood across her skin. “Help me,” said Bannon, reaching up to her face, his fingers brushing her skin and smudging blood across her cheek.
“You’ll be alright,” said Alina, and Bannon felt her arms wrap around him as she dragged him to his feet, his legs barely supporting his weight as the two of them staggered toward the door.
11
Bannon’s eyes stung as they filled with the light of the room. Light shone from its polished surfaces and it seemed to haze his vision. He stared about the place, trying to make sense of the blurred shapes around him. Lines of cages stood above the wall and he thought he saw leashes and muzzles stored on top of them. He heard the door open and he rolled that way.
A pair of figures stood behind the frosted glass of the door and Bannon thought he heard a familiar voice. “What’s wrong with him?”
“Poison,” said Alina. “Poison on the blade.”
The man said something else and Bannon heard an American accent. He tried to lean a little closer, pain ripping through his side as his stiches caught on the sheets. He cried out and the door swung open, the movement of it clouding his vision even more. He saw Alina move in a blur toward him. She gripped him by the arms and rolled him onto his back, the pain still building in his side. He gasped for air and Alina raised a glass of water to his lips, the fluid spilling from the corners of his mouth as he tried to gulp it down. “Shit,” said Alina. “He’s getting worse.”
A dry blanket slid across him and he felt a rush of heat. He tried to twist away and he felt his sutures strain. “Easy,” said Alina, placing an arm across his chest and holding him against the mattress as the familiar voice called out from the doorway. “What do you need?”
“Anesthesia,” said Alina.
Bannon heard more movement in the room and he tried to look that way, his vision blurring again, sweat pouring across his face as someone passed the mask across.
“We’re going to put you back under.”
Bannon tried to answer but Alina was already pressing the mask to his face. He caught the faint smell of gasoline as he took a first breath. He felt Alina’s hand slip into his and he looked up, holding her stare for as long as he could before the anesthesia took hold and his head fell gently to the side.
*
He spent the following days in a terrible fever, the months and years playing back in a torrid run of dreams and hallucinations. He saw snow-frosted hospital windows, the crowds of white uniforms filing along the polished floor. He saw his father, snared in a rigging of tubes and wires.
He watched as the lost diver staggered across the shore, a crown of seaweed strewn across her head, her tight skin showing every contour of her skull. Her naked flesh peeled back in long strips as she stepped out of her skin, her new flesh shining in the sunlight before it burned and peeled away again.
The walls disappeared in bursts of light and he saw the plane of the Frenchman tumbling toward the sea, new shapes breaking from the waves as it crashed into the water: immense skyscrapers, each flanked in a column of faces: the lost diver’s, Kathy’s, Warner’s, Alina’s, his father’s, and his own. All of them shimmering in the flashes of lightning as everything ascended to the largest figure yet. The figure of the Frenchman, the huge panels of his teeth breaking into a fantastic smile as he wrapped his arms around the scene, his wild laughter echoing out above the thunderclaps…
A man appeared in the room, sitting across from him and reclined in a wicker chair. His aged face was shadowed by the brim of his cap, his calloused hands were stained with engine grease. He leaned forward in his chair, drawing back his legs, and his work boots skidded along the floor.
“Sorry,” said Bannon. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”
His father looked away and Bannon watched as he began to fade.
“Say something,” said Bannon. “Anything at all.”
“Son,” said the man, “what would you have me say?”
He felt the sharp prick of a needle in his arm and his father vanished from sight. He heard Alina’s voice. “Bannon, who were you talking to?”
Bannon didn’t answer. He heard the familiar American voice sound out behind him. “Is he going to make it? He’s got a meet to get to.”
Bannon tried to twist that way and he felt the sutures dig into his side. “What did you say about the meet?”
Alina pressed him back against the mattress. “Bannon who are you talking to? There’s no one there.”
“There’s someone there.”
“You’re going to tear your stiches.”
“I’ve got to get to the meet,” said Bannon, twisting against her grip and he felt a wound tear. “Please,” he said, his voice trembling.
“You can’t.”
“Give me my wallet, the address is in there, help me get there.”
He saw Alina hurry across the room and gather up his wallet. She drew out the ink-lettered card and held it to his face. “This?” she said. “Is this the address?”
Bannon looked from her to the card and tried to stand again. He felt a stich pop and he shouted out in pain as the room started to spin. “Yes,” he said, h
is voice trailing off as he fell back into the mattress. “Get me there, then get yourself away.”
*
The fever broke four days later. Bannon sat up in his bed. He placed a hand on his side; the stiches had been pulled free and the wounds had closed. The cages still stood stacked against the far wall, the muzzles and leashes still rested on top. He saw a small operating table set at the side of the room; behind it were glass cabinets full of various bottles of pills. “Where am I?” he said, slipping out of the covers and standing naked beside his pull-out bed. A makeshift hole had been cut into the center of it and a bedpan had been squashed into the gap. Bannon looked at it, relieved to find it empty.
He saw his backpack sitting on the other side of the room. He grabbed a T-shirt and a pair of jeans and stepped out into the corridor. A barred door stood at its end and he moved that way, a hand pressed against the wall for balance. He heard dogs barking behind the door as he moved a little closer. He tried the handle, sparking another chorus of barks. The lock caught and he turned dejectedly toward his room, limping along the corridor, before the door swung open behind him.
Bannon turned and saw a diminutive Thai man standing in the doorway. He was dressed in a set of green overalls and he wore a white medical coat on top of them. “Oh,” said the man. “You’re awake.”
“Where’s everyone else?”
“Everyone else?”
“Yeah, the girl and the others.”
“Oh girl, yes. Gone one day.”
Bannon’s heart fell as he remembered Alina holding the Frenchman’s card. “And the others? There were other people in the room.”
The man looked back over his shoulder. “Only girl and vet.”
“Vet?”
The man nodded. “Girl and vet bring you here.”
“When will the girl be back?”
The question seemed to jolt the man into action and he hurried over to Bannon, grabbing him by the arm and helping him back to the room. Bannon looked at him and he spotted a roll of bills stuffed into the man’s breast pocket. “Come,” said the man. “Rest, I get you food. Girl back soon. She want you to rest.”
“Alright,” said Bannon, too weak to resist.
*
Alina was sitting beside the bed when he woke, a smile breaking across her face as she watched him stir.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi.”
“You’re tougher than I thought.”
“Lucky I guess,” said Bannon, looking around the room. “Where am I?”
“The pound.”
“How did you find it?”
“You remember Henrik?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Henrik bought tranquilizers from a vet the last time he was here. He left me the number. The vet brought us, he said he rarely uses this space, if a dog is sick he will look at them in his own office.”
“Well I guess it fits, one more stray in the pound. You didn’t fancy a hospital?”
Alina laughed. “They would have called the police and I was worried you would have been arrested, you are still a fugitive. I thought I could sew you up myself, I didn’t know you would get so sick.”
“It’s alright,” said Bannon. “This vet, was he an American?”
“No,” said Alina. “Why?”
“I thought I heard an American in the room, but the fella outside seems to think there was only the vet and you in here.”
“It was.”
Bannon’s head ached as he tried to remember. “The voice, it reminded me of someone, I just couldn’t quite…”
“You were very sick,” said Alina, staring confidently at him. “It was just the three of us.”
“Okay,” said Bannon, pressing a hand to his temple. “To tell the truth, I saw and heard all kinds of things, this one just seemed more real than the rest.”
“Just relax. It will all make sense in time.”
Bannon eased back into his pillow and gently placed his hand on top of hers. “You alright?” he said.
“Me?”
“Yeah, after everything?”
Alina smiled, “Yes, I am okay.”
“You sure? They put us through a lot.”
“I’ll be fine, I had plenty of time to heal.”
“Good,” said Bannon, a long pause passing between them as he twisted his hand in hers and he let his eyes drift closed, about to fall asleep when Alina spoke again.
“Bannon,” she said. “I found him.”
*
Footsteps echoed out into the corridor and Bannon saw a familiar figure appear behind the frosted glass of the door. The door swung open and the long shadow of the Frenchman stretched out into the room, light bouncing from the pressed white fabric of his shirt. He smiled as he saw Bannon laying on top of the bed. “Bannon,” he said. “How will I find you next?”
Bannon lifted up onto an elbow. “Jean.”
“How are you?”
“I’m healing alright.”
The Frenchman clapped his hands together. “That is good news,” he said, wandering over to the side of the room and grabbing a chair. “Quite a relief to me.”
Bannon didn’t answer.
“So,” said Frenchman, “are you feeling strong enough to move? There is work to be done.”
“Work?”
“Yes, mon ami. You have not forgotten our deal?”
Bannon looked across his frail body. His once muscular arms looked thin and weak, he could see his ribs clearly in his side. He thought about the Chinaman, dead in his opium den, before he thought about Alina, the life going out of her as the heavy wrapped his arm around her throat. “Maybe I’m reconsidering our deal.”
“Reconsidering, you understand what that means? You do not hold up your end of the deal and I cannot hold up mine. No safe passage, no clean slate. What about your fresh start? Your precious diving career?”
Bannon sighed. “I guess there’s a right way and wrong way to get all that.”
“You will do time.”
“Well, maybe that’s better than ending up dead. Maybe that’s better than peddling candy-wrapped drugs to kids.”
The Frenchman stood up and Bannon flinched, half expecting a blow, but the Frenchman just smiled. “Okay,” he said.
“Okay?”
“Yes. If you will not do the run, then the girl will take your place.”
Bannon sat upright in his bed. “Alina?”
“She is a fascinating creature, no?”
“She wouldn’t. You don’t have anything over her, she shouldn’t even still be here.”
“I have access to the drugs she is looking for,” said the Frenchman, his smile widening, “and, I have you.”
“Me?”
“Perhaps she wants your fresh start more than you do, perhaps she understands what I am really capable of when crossed.”
“You’re lying.”
“But she has already offered, my friend.”
The Frenchman turned for the door but Bannon called him back. “Wait.”
“Yes?”
“I’ll do your run. Just don’t drag the girl into this.”
“That it is very noble of you, but the girl will remain with us for a while. In case you have any more second thoughts.”
“You son of a bitch.”
The Frenchman stepped toward him and Bannon felt his muscles tense. “You have played your hand and you have lost. If you want to protect yourself, if you want to protect the girl, then you will do as I say. It never was a negotiation and it never will be. Do you understand?”
Again Bannon didn’t answer.
“I will ask you once more,” said the Frenchman, taking another step. “Do you understand me?”
“I understand you.”
The Frenchman smiled. “Good,” he said. “Get dressed. I will meet you outside.”
*
The two men sat silently as the car turned into the hotel drive. The Frenchman killed the engine and turned to Bannon. “I will give
you a few days to recover fully. Then we move.”
“Alright.”
“If you do not want the girl to know she is collateral, I suggest you act as if nothing has changed. We are simply helping with her search and you are completing the favor that is owed.”
“Alright.”
“Is there anything else?”
Bannon felt a sharp pain in his side and he ran his hand across the wound. “Who were those men who attacked us?”
“A rival cartel.”
“They the same people who got the Chinaman?”
“The net is closing in,” said the Frenchman, staring intently at him. “We find ourselves at a point of great turmoil and our enemies have taken great heart from this. You and the Chinaman were the victims of a hungry new aggression but that, and only that, is the similarity between your cases. Wang Ping was a target, the men who assaulted you were opportunists, nothing more.”
“Okay.”
The Frenchman continued to stare toward him. “He was a good friend, he will be sorely missed.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Bannon, pushing the door open and stepping out into the sun.
The Frenchman leaned across the passenger seat and called him back. “Stick to the plan,” said the Frenchman. “Stick to the plan and everything will be alright.”
*
They found Alina on the balcony, reclining in a deck chair as she sketched the skyline of the town. A half-drunk bottle of wine cooled in a bucket of ice and Bannon saw a pair of glasses sitting beside it. The Frenchman slid the balcony door open and she jumped to her feet, wrapping her arms around Bannon and planting a big kiss on his check.
Bannon smiled. “Nice to see you too.”
“Sorry,” said Alina, “I’m a little drunk. Your friend, he can really pick a bottle of wine.”
The Frenchman bowed his head and threw up a hand in faux embarrassment. “Mademoiselle,” he said.
Alina laughed. “We should sit out in the sun. It is lovely out there. Bannon, are you up to joining us?”
Bannon looked from her to the Frenchman. “Sure,” he said, “I could join you for a while.”