The waiter brought his second beer. He picked it up and skillfully quaffed half of it in a single gulp.
A muffled warbling sound emanated from his pants.
Al coughed his second glug of beer through his nose. Eyes streaming, he tried to arrest his choking, struggling for breath while he fumbled for his phone in his pants pocket.
He retrieved the little cell phone, but it was silent.
Maybe he’d hit a button when he’d shifted to swallow the beer.
It started warbling again.
He stabbed at the green call button with urgent anticipation. He put the cell to his ear.
“What kind of trouble?” Mari asked.
~ ~ ~
Al opened the gate, being careful to close it behind him. He approached the front door and mounted the steps. He braced himself and knocked. A few moments later the brightly painted door swung open. Mari stood in the doorway, eyes red, tears streaking her face.
“You miserable bastard. It took me years to get over you, and then you show up here, where I’ve built a life without you, fighting to forget about you every day but also wondering how you were doing...” Mari contained herself. “It’s pretty goddamned selfish of you. Then again, you’ve always been selfish. That for sure hasn’t changed...”
“Mari...” Al started.
She threw her arms around him and hugged him close to her, sobbing. The little girl stood in the living room, watching them from down the hall.
He hugged her back. It felt so good.
After an eternity, she let him go, and smoothing her hair back in place, composed herself. She dried her face with her hands and took a deep breath.
“Well, you might as well come in and tell me what happened,” she said and turned, walking towards the living room.
“Uh, okay,” he replied. As long as he lived, he’d never understand women. He closed the door and turned, finding himself confronted by the toddler, holding a sippy cup in what could only be called a defensive position.
“Cute kid...” Al started, calling down the hall to Mari.
“Say hello to your daughter, Melissa,” she responded.
The little girl stared up at him with frightened eyes.
His were more so.
Chapter 35
“I don’t understand...” Al stammered. He’d been doing a lot of that lately.
“It’s simple, Al. A little friction, a little moisture, bees pollinating flowers...and poof, there’s a baby.”
Al had followed the child into the living room, setting his knapsack down on the floor and then falling into a heavily-padded easy chair.
Al tried again. “No...I’m clear on how that happens. I just don’t understand the rest of it – does she understand English?”
“Not a word.” Mari sat across from him as Melissa played on the floor between them.
“And the rest of it?” Al asked.
“I wanted a real life with you. You didn’t want one with me. I found out two weeks after we split I was pregnant, but your sentiments were abundantly clear so I left Panama and came home. Seven months later Melissa was born. And now here we are...” Mari explained.
Al frowned. “I’m her father? And you never once thought about telling me?” He couldn’t quite understand these new feelings or why he felt so put out by the kid thing. But he was.
Somewhat.
“I thought about telling you,” Mari explained, “about a hundred times a day for the first year, and then only twenty times a day the second year. I was down to maybe once a week, and then you showed up again.” Mari stared at him. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to go through a pregnancy and then raise a child by yourself? Even an inkling?”
Al shifted awkwardly in the easy chair. “Well...no, not exactly...”
“Here’s a hint. In a Latin culture, it’s really, really, really hard. Even with my Mom and sisters to help, it’s really hard.”
“I had no idea, Mari. If you’d have told me...”
“What? What would have changed? Look me in the eyes, and tell me you wouldn’t have thought I was trying to trap you. Just tell me,” she dared. Then she sighed. “I know you, Al. I know how you think. I don’t think it’s right, but I don’t blame you for it, either. You can’t help it.”
Al hated that she was right. “How old–”
“Do the math,” Mari snapped. “She’s two. Actually, twenty-eight months.”
Al sat speechless as he gazed at the fruit of his selfish loins. This new revelation orbited his already overwhelmed noodle. The world had changed shape beyond restoration – that much he knew. He attempted to speak, but all that came out was a choking burble.
Mari gathered up Melissa. “I need to put Mel down for her nappies, and then you can tell me about your crisis and how you want me to help you. Just stay where you are – I’ll be back in a second,” she said sweetly.
Al was left to his thoughts. Mari returned after five minutes.
“Keep your voice down,” Mari said, “She gets really grumpy if she misses her nap.” She studied Al. “At least she looks like me. Not that the egghead thing isn’t attractive,” she teased.
Al rubbed the stubble on his head. “Oh, this. It’s a long story...” Al began.
“Yeah. I’ll bet. When did you start wearing the little fun beard? Halloween?” Mari asked.
“It’s a disguise,” Al insisted. That sounded lame.
“Wow. Man of a thousand faces.”
“Look...” Al protested.
Mari giggled. “I’m sorry. It’s just that you look so...I don’t know. Like one of those big sad dogs – a mastiff!” Mari clapped her hands then put her hand over her mouth, trying to subdue her howls of laughter.
He’d forgotten how funny she was. “I deserve every bit of this, and more. I’ve earned any mockery you want to serve out,” Al conceded.
“Woof!” Mari exclaimed, exploding into more bubbly giggles.
Al couldn’t help himself. He started laughing too. He gave a halfhearted bark.
“Woof...”
Tears of merriment flowed as they both laughed uncontrollably.
It was probably the tension being released from the situation. Either that, or he really did look like a hound.
Mari held up her hands. “Okay. Stop. Seriously. Tell me what happened. Why are you here?”
“Well, it all started with me driving a cook to southern Panama,” Al began...
After half an hour he sat back, the saga told. He’d left out some bits to protect her, but the story was largely complete.
“So what’s on the camera?” she asked.
“You really don’t want to know, Mari,” Al said. “Seriously. It would be dangerous for you to know anything more.”
“I see.” Mari considered that, and seemed to accept the logic. “So what do you want me to do?” she asked. “How can I help you? Are you asking to live in the basement for the rest of your life?”
Al slowly laid out his plan, explaining the details and why he felt it would work.
She stared at him like he’d never seen before. “You’ve really lost your mind, haven’t you?” she asked.
“No. Listen. This is the only chance I have to stay alive. Trust me on this – they’ll kill me even if the camera magically appeared in their hands, because I know too much. And they’ll never stop trying to find me. I don’t have any other option I can see,” Al insisted.
“Al. The people you are talking about trying to make a deal with are some of the most dangerous on the planet. They’ll kill you just as soon as talk to you,” Mari said.
Al sighed. “I know, but I can give them something of huge value in return for very little. It’s a win-win.”
“It’s suicide, is what it is,” Mari countered.
“No, Mari. Suicide would be not doing it. I’m not saying it will be easy, just that I think I can propose a deal that would ultimately make everyone happy and keep me in one piece,” Al explained.
Mari was
silent for a long time, mulling it over. It was a bold, ingenious plan, but extremely high risk. “Help me set the table for dinner. You’ll stay and eat with us, won’t you?”
“Uh..of course I will...” Al said. He considered saying more but his new found wisdom recommended otherwise.
Mari got up from the sofa and walked into the kitchen. Al’s eyes followed her.
So he had a daughter. With Mari. He was a father.
Al wasn’t sure how he felt. He’d probably have been more affected if he wasn’t running for his life. As things stood, being his daughter probably carried far more liabilities than rewards. And now he had to worry about anyone ever finding out about her. He’d never have come if he’d known he might be endangering his own child by being there.
Oh, come on. Who did he think he was kidding? Of course he would. That’s just who he was.
It was who he’d always been. And therein lay his biggest problem.
Al had made a career of being selfish and self-absorbed; quick to seek an easy way out rather than taking responsibility for his actions. It was partially what had driven him to always do the seemingly wrong thing – he was always convinced at some level he could beat the system and find a shortcut. This now questionable ethos had defined Al as long as he could remember.
His first marriage had ended in disaster, after he’d taken to drinking breakfast and cheating on his wife. They’d been married since their mid-twenties and Al had undoubtedly benefited from the union – her father had been a high ranking member of the State Department, and Al, the Desert Storm war hero, had been the perfect son-in-law to help into a new career. Al had actually gone to law school before joining the marines, which was one of the reasons he’d been helping defend soldiers during court-marshals – in addition to running the mail service in Kuwait.
He was an educated man, who could be depended upon to innovate more efficient systems and keep the current systems honest, as well as act as low-rent counsel to ill-behaved marines in military court.
That he’d attempted to pass the Illinois bar three times, and failed each time, was left off his resume. In his rendition, he’d been seized by a patriotic desire to make a difference in the war against terrorism, or oppression, or whatever it had been that time, and so signed up to be a marine. In reality, he’d been wasted on gin for several days after growing increasingly despondent over his failure to ever become a lawyer, and during his multi-day drunk had been convinced by a friend that what he really needed to do was become a marine – mainly because they got laid a lot in some of the bars he frequented, and because a stint of military service on his CV might result in favorable treatment when applying for jobs.
So a slightly shaky Al had gone to the recruiting station and filled out the forms, and been enthusiastically accepted by the service.
And thus had begun Al’s bold strides towards the greater good, along with rigging a smuggling operation so he could personally benefit from the theft of sacred icons. That had gone badly wrong, but he’d been decorated for it, which had in turn transfixed the attention of one extremely beautiful, but alas not particularly bright, Susan Brixton, who not only became the one-and-only Mrs. Al Ross, but also badgered Daddy into getting her man a gig with the State Department so they could live in fun places and attend really cool parties.
Thus Al’s parabolic career trajectory was launched. But rather than catapulting to fame and fortune, Al’s limited interest in doing much besides drinking and trying to figure out how to cheat the system kept his options limited. His first posting was to Uruguay, which his wife hated because she was a strict vegetarian, and everyone spoke Spanish, and it was nothing like Chicago, at all. That minor posting lasted six years, during which time Susan managed to accumulate seventy pounds despite her dietary restrictions, and learned to despise Spanish-speaking folk even more than she had when she’d arrived. Al had occupied his time by developing an advanced fondness for Grappamiel – a fifty proof local beverage – as well as for the seductive charms of the local working girls. It wasn’t so much that he felt compelled to cheat on his wife, as much as it never occurred to him not to.
His next posting was to Belize, which contrary to many self-serving descriptions as a tropical paradise, was in fact a fourth world hellhole. The only thing Susan had liked about it was that English was the national language. Her father, had he lived to see it, would have been horrified by the posting, and would have by then recognized that Al was being shipped to swamps because he was a marginal talent, at best. Fortunately, the old man had succumbed to heart disease while they were still living in Uruguay, so he never saw the precipitous decline of his family’s fortunes.
While in Belize, besides indulging a prodigious appreciation for flavored rum and the local Beliken beer, Al had taken up with the underage daughter of one of the large landowners near Belmopan; she had been as entranced with the idea of a diplomat as a lover and probable future husband as Susan had initially been. Al had thought it a splendid idea, but had neglected to tell his new paramour about his still current marriage to Susan.
Unfortunately for Al, Susan discovered the short-lived affair and promptly divorced him for justified and provable infidelity. That had cleaned Al out financially – not that he’d ever accumulated much money. In addition to every cent he’d ever earned, he’d also managed to spend most of his wife’s half million dollar inheritance. It had been a difficult parting – Susan had discovered the couple in flagrant dilecto, drunk and horny in their matrimonial bed on what turned out to be Susan’s last abridged shopping trip to the tax-free zone on the border of Mexico.
In Al’s defense, the daughter had been a very adult-looking seventeen year old.
To say that the incident had left a stain on Al’s resume would be an understatement.
Following this local ‘disturbance’ he was posted from Belize to Guatemala for a few years, and then ultimately to Panama; mainly because State didn’t know what to do with a drunk misanthrope who was also the world’s losing-est diplomat, but who still had his looks and a reasonable level of smarmy charm. It seemed to State that sticking him further into the jungle was as good an idea as any, because State hated firing anyone, even if they deserved it in spades.
Al had spent his whole life dedicated to selfish and self-centered activity, resulting in the destruction of every relationship he’d ever had, including the best one – his year with Mari. He’d always taken, never given, and now found himself yet again needing someone else to behave selflessly to save his worthless ass.
For the first time, as a kind of revelation sparked up in his soul, Al questioned his value on the planet and whether his way of living was worth the price he’d paid. This unusual introspection caused his head to pound and spin, which he attributed to a falling blood alcohol level, but something deep down knew it was disgust at his choices to date.
Now he had a baby daughter he’d never met until he’d shown up expecting angelic mercy and heroism from a woman he’d scorned, and it would be a miracle if he survived the week. He already recognized any possible life with Mari, who was the best woman he’d ever met, was over, but he’d never considered that it might also exclude him from knowing the only child he’d ever had.
So far, Cartagena sucked.
Al padded into the kitchen to see if he could do anything to help with dinner.
After they’d eaten, Mari and Al sat on the couch, Mel having been put to bed. They discussed Al’s scheme, which Mari refined considerably.
“I called a friend, and by tomorrow my brother will have a message that I’m coming to Cali for a day or two. He’ll figure out a way to meet me – we’ve done it before,” Mari explained. “Then I’ll introduce you to him and you can make your proposition.”
“That’s great, Mari,” Al enthused.
“Maybe not so much, at least not initially,” she warned. “He’ll want to gut you like a pig when he realizes you’re Mel’s father.”
“I wonder if we could leave that p
art out?” Al suggested.
“No, I think he needs to know. If he ever finds out later, your safety would be jeopardized – he’d put your head on a stake and feed your body to the crocodiles.”
“I’m sensing there may be a problem in all this,” Al ventured.
“No, I’ll tell him that I left you, which is true. He’ll still want to tie your intestines to a tree and make you walk around it until you die, but over time he’ll mellow. He knows me,” Mari said.
“What if he acts before he’s had time to consider all the facts?” Al asked.
“Well, the worst that can happen is you die, which it sounds like will happen if you don’t see him,” Mari reasoned. “So what have you got to lose?”
“Put like that, how can I resist?”
“Seriously, though, it’s probably best if I meet him first,” Mari said. “If I think there’s any danger for you, we’ll just have to think of something else.”
“Is he really that bad?” Al asked.
“They call him the “Borderland Butcher. He’s one of the top officers in FARC. But I’ve known him all my life – he’s really as gentle as a lamb,” Mari assured him.
Al’s eyes widened. “The Borderland Butcher?”
“Usually, just El Carnicero – ‘The Butcher’,” Mari said. “‘The Borderland Butcher’ is more his official title.”
“So…” Al clarified, “only for formal situations. With family he’s just The Butcher?”
“Exactly. But I think it’s all exaggeration to create fear in the hearts of his enemies,” Mari suggested.
“It’s working on me,” Al said.
“You see? That’s why they call themselves these things,” Mari reasoned, glad Al had finally gotten it.
“Given that he’s a top dog with FARC, isn’t it possible there’s a side of him you haven’t seen, that maybe has developed over time?”
“Al. I’m his crazy sister, and I dumped you, and never told you we have a daughter together. He may be a violent psychopath, but he’s still a man. So let’s hope he’ll see your side in this,” Mari said. “At least he wasn’t around when I was crying myself to sleep every night for a year,” she continued. “I hope Mom didn’t tell him.”
The Geronimo Breach Page 22