by Sarah Black
Who was the woman who had called? Her voice sounded familiar, but not like someone he knew well. Would it have killed her to give him just a tiny bit more information? He's alive, very dramatic, but not nearly as satisfying as He's alive and well. He's fine. He's not hurt. Diego's screams echoed in his memory. She wasn't going to lie. That's why she didn't say anything else. Because clearly he was hurt. But at least they didn't have him, whoever they were.
Colton wandered into the kitchen, put on a pot of coffee. Maybe he'd walk down to the deli, get a bagel and some lox. That deli had an Internet café in the back ... Oh, shit...
He was out the door in eight seconds. The girl behind the counter stared at him with huge eyes. “I..."
"I need a computer."
"Sure,” she said. “Take number three. You want coffee, Lieutenant?"
"Yeah. Bring it to me, okay?"
"I don't believe it. What they say he did. Dr. Del Rio, I mean. He wasn't..."
"No, of course he didn't do it. He was set up.” He watched her take that in, then went back to the computer and logged onto his e-mail. There it was. He had a message from DrDangerous77.
I must have screwed up the hernia repair. One of the nurses told me you're okay, Colton. Are you?
Yes. How about you?
The girl set the coffee at his elbow, and he picked it up, sat back to wait.
I'm okay. Be careful, Colton. I don't understand what's going on. Are you safe? What's this about?
What was he talking about, I must have screwed up the hernia repair? Did Diego think this was some sort of revenge deal, a dissatisfied patient with a screwed-up surgery or something? That didn't make sense. People didn't go after doctors like that any more. They just sued them, took all their money.
I don't know what it's about. Let me come to you.
No. Too dangerous, Colton. I love you.
I love you, too. I'll make it all right, Diego, I promise.
Nothing else, though Colton sat there for an hour, just in case.
* * * *
I must have screwed up the hernia repair. And who was that woman? Something was niggling at the back of his brain, and he lay in Diego's bed, not sleeping, got up and stood in the shower, looked through drawers full of boxers and T-shirts, waiting for the answer. Nothing. Diego's green card and student visa weren't in the loft. He needed to go get his laptop, plug in here.
But when he woke up the next morning he knew. One of the nurses told me you're okay. And his own voice, You're gonna be sore, botch the hernia, get sued, then you'll end up passing out condoms in a Mexfam clinic in Sonoyta. That nurse, Diego's surgical nurse.
Nothing on the e-mail. He scouted the hospital for a couple of hours, didn't see any watchers. At lunchtime, he made his way to the professional building through a side door. In old jeans and a faded T-shirt, with the livid scar down the back of his neck, he didn't look like Lieutenant Wheeler at all.
The residents’ offices were quiet, and she was there, behind the desk. Colton pulled a piece of paper from his wallet. “Ma'am? I'm not sure where I need to go to give blood."
"Oh, sure, I can give you directions,” she said, her voice a bit louder than it needed to be. She bent her head close to Colton's, pointed down the hall. “Down two doors to the right, then go to the end of that hall.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, lips barely moving. “I don't know if they're watching. Strangers, men, are still coming around, looking for him. There's a warrant out for his arrest.” She spoke up again. “If you're going to the lab, maybe you can take this specimen for me.” She went into the back room, and he heard a refrigerator door open and close. Then she handed him a tiny Styrofoam cooler sealed with red plastic tape labeled “Medical Supplies. Rush. Keep Cold.” The address on the label said “Clinica Mexfam, Sonoyta, Avenida Colonia Centro, #61."
The Styrofoam cooler was empty. Colton peeled off the red medical tape, shoved it into a trash can at McDonald's. He lifted the Mexfam label, stuck it down into his pocket, then broke the Styrofoam into pieces and left them in a dumpster.
When he got back to his place, he thought he felt a watcher. He stayed inside for an hour, then left with nothing more than the clothes he was wearing, his passport stuck in his pocket. He stopped by Subway, had a six-inch Italian, and while he was there he got three hundred bucks out of his credit union account from the ATM.
Colton drove to the grocery store next. There was a small Wells Fargo branch inside. He roamed the aisles a bit, picked up a couple of sodas, then went to the teller and got six hundred dollars out of his savings. He took it in cash, left it in his pocket. He called Sanchez on his cell, and they met at the Wal-Mart down on Highway 86. Colton left his truck in the parking lot, climbed in with Sanchez.
"Where we going, boss?"
"Gringo Pass."
"You're going across the border. Are you coming back?"
"Yeah. I'll call you when I'm coming."
"I got a boy, he knew Marti. Said he liked smoking his glass. Was using more and more all the time, getting desperate for it. He was from Nogales, moved back and forth across the border. My guess is some law caught him with a pocket full of meth, and then he was a little blackbird ripe for the picking ... Mierda."
* * * *
The border crossing at Lukeville, south of Ajo. The locals called it Gringo Pass. Colton bought a bottle of Excedrin Migraine and a cheap straw Stetson at the store, then sent Sanchez back to Tucson. Chan was going to stay in his place, and Sanchez in the loft, to try to confuse the watchers into thinking he was still in town.
Colton sat down on a bench outside the Stop-N-Ride, and waited for a van to Puerto Penasco. The vans made a stop in Sonoyta at the bus depot to pick up more passengers, the woman told him. He could get off there and find a cab.
Colton was too big, a beefy blond Americano. No way was he going to slip into Mexico unnoticed. But he'd grown up speaking Spanish, and anybody could sit in the shade on a wooden bench with a hangover, their hat tilted over their eyes. Maybe if he was quiet enough, people would forget about him, or just ignore him a bit.
He wished he had a hangover. The dull, hollow thump from inside his skull was as bad as the first few days after he'd been cracked over the head. The doctor had warned him, said everybody was so busy trying to repair his broken neck, they might forget he had a concussion. But the neck and concussion together were giving him some monster headaches.
He chewed three Excedrin Migraine, then washed the bitter powder down with a bottle of water. He could take the headache as long as he didn't get dizzy, start staggering around and black out. They'd throw him in a Mexican drunk tank, which actually was a more civil place that an American drunk tank, if he remembered correctly from a wild weekend when he'd been nineteen. But you definitely wanted to stay on your feet in a drunk tank, either side of the border.
Colton pushed his hat up, tried to squeeze his head a little. That didn't help much, but when he looked up, he saw a Mexican man watching him with narrowed eyes, talking on a cell phone. He had a small mustache and he was wearing a D-backs ball cap. That wasn't anything, he told himself, trying to control the flare of hope. Lots of men besides Diego were crazed Diamondback fans. But not all of them could have been his lover's little brother, a face so like Diego's ... Colton squeezed his eyes shut. It was just wishful thinking, dreaming or something.
He kept his eyes closed when he felt someone sit down next to him. “Man, you look like shit."
Colton opened his eyes and looked over at him. “I feel like shit, too. I'm going down to Sonoyta. Get me some medicine or something. Maybe I need to see a doctor."
"Yeah, looks like you do. This is some fucking rescue mission, man."
Colton felt his stomach clench down into a hard knot of ice. “He's hurt? Don't worry, I'll take care of it. I'll take care of him."
The man made the softest possible hissing noise between his front teeth. “Yeah, right. You took real good care of him already, man."
Colton turned his he
ad, stared down at him until the other man dropped his gaze “Sorry, man. It's just ... Well, you'll see."
"Who are you? He doesn't have a little brother."
"I'm his cousin, man. We close as brothers. We..."
"Oh, wait. Wait a minute. You're Ramon, right? Yeah, Ramon. I know about you."
"You do? What you know? What he say, man?"
Colton didn't say anything else, just leaned back and tilted the hat back over his eyes. What had Diego said? My cousin Ramon, he's just young. He's screwed up but he's okay. His mama loves him.
"Ramon, just remember this. I may feel like shit, but I can still snap you like a twig, boy, so don't even think about fucking with me."
The kid was quiet. “You don't have to be like that, Colton. I'm just supposed to..."
"What?"
"Show you where to go. He said help you, ‘cause you'd been hurt."
"What happened to him, Ramon? And you better tell me the truth."
"His eye, man."
"What, his eye's hurt?"
"It's gone. Those fuckers, they cut out one of his eyes."
Thinking about it later, Colton couldn't remember much about the trip into Mexico. He must have gone through the border crossing, climbed on board one of those vans, but all he could remember was the pain, the way every bump in the pothole-filled road felt like a spike of pain into his eye, his stomach twisting and filled with acid. And what had it felt like for Diego?
Ramon had his elbow when they stepped out of the van into the ferocious sun of Sonoyta, and Colton leaned against a mud brick wall and tried to empty his guts. He couldn't see, his vision tunneling to black—was he going blind? No, that was Diego. He'd lost an eye, they'd cut out one of his eyes, and Colton could feel it, it felt like it was happening to him, something sharp and cold digging into his eye, then the tearing, the hot spurt of blood, over and over, so when Ramon pulled him through a doorway into a cool dark room, he could see nothing. He stretched his hands out in front of him and fell hard to his knees. But it was okay. He was okay. He could hear Diego's voice.
"Shit, Ramon, what did you do to him? I told you not to tell..."
"What? He was like this when I found him!” Then Colton's face was pressed against the cool dark concrete floor and he reached out and touched Diego's foot, wrapped his hand around his ankle. Diego knelt down, his quick doctor's hands feeling Colton's face, his neck. His fingers stopped, traced the scar.
"I'm getting up. Don't worry, baby. I'm here now. I'll take care of everything."
Diego's low laugh, tears in his voice, but laughter, too. “I know you will, Colton. I never had any doubt."
* * * *
"My tears, I think they come out on my tongue now. Everything tastes a little salty."
Colton was lying on a bed, an old-fashioned iron bed with a feather mattress and soft linen sheets. The shutters were closed, but the windows were open, so the room was cool and dark. Diego was bathing his face with a wet washcloth. Colton turned his head a bit. Diego was lying next to him, propped up on an elbow. He looked thinner, gaunt, and he had a black eye patch over one eye. But he was alive.
"Did you give me an Excedrin? The headache's better."
Diego's laughter bubbled up. “I gave you a shot of morphine, Colton. Can you see now?"
"Yeah, it's better. Thanks, baby."
"There was a reason they told you to go home from the hospital and go to bed."
"Yeah? And who gives a shit what that reason might be?"
Diego sighed. “Not now, Colton. Not yet. Just a day, okay? One day. Or a few hours. An hour. Can we please just have an hour, please? To lie here together? I don't want to talk yet."
He reached over, and Diego crawled into his arms, curled up with his head in the hollow of Colton's shoulder. They held each other, tighter and tighter until they couldn't move, couldn't get any closer, and their tears were wetting the pillow. When Colton kissed him, he tasted the same, just like Diego, with a tiny bit of extra salt, like he'd said. “I'll never give this up, Diego. I'll never give you up. Whatever's going on, I'll figure it out, don't worry, and I'll make sure it's safe for you to come back. Don't worry, baby. I'll take care of this. I don't know what's going on yet, but I think this is about me, not you, Diego. This is my fault. My work, I mean, best I can figure."
"Seven minutes, Colton. Can't you just relax for seven minutes?"
"No. Diego, I know you left me. I know you left me and ran. It was the right thing to do. They might have killed you. I'm not gonna have you feeling bad, or feeling guilty or..."
Diego was shaking in his arms, sobs wracking his chest, and Colton pulled him over until he could wrap his arms and legs around him.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. You were breathing, Colton. I didn't know about your neck. I heard them say they were gonna call 911 for you. You weren't supposed to be there. They all talked together, then they went downstairs to get...” He started choking, the breath wheezing in his throat.
Colton put his mouth over Diego's mouth. “Hush, baby. Hush. Go slow. I've got you."
Diego rushed on. “I think they went to get plastic bags. To put my body in. They weren't expecting you. They were just gonna beat me up, I guess, beat me up and leave me there with that boy. They weren't expecting you, and they didn't know what you'd seen. So I ran and left you there. I was afraid, Colton. I was so fucking afraid I couldn't breathe."
Colton put both hands on Diego's face, held him still. “Thank you."
"What?"
"Thank you for being smart enough to run. So I can hold you right now, and next year, and twenty years from now. Diego. You're my life. And I won't ever give you up. I'll figure it out, I promise."
Diego was crawling up his body until he could reach his mouth, and Colton couldn't remember ever tasting anything so sweet. “Diego, did you know them? Who were they?"
"No. Not now."
"Baby ... I've got to know what you know. So I can investigate. So I can bring the fuckers down. Diego, what's..."
"Colton, you can't investigate. All you're gonna do is make things worse."
"Make things worse? Diego, the fuckers cut out your eye. They broke my neck. Don't you think we need to figure out why, and put them in a shallow grave out in the fucking desert?"
"You're gonna do something stupid and reckless and end up running, and I'm gonna be alone, I'll be alone, Colton, and then I'll never be safe, and..."
"Diego, Jesus Christ! What are you talking about? What did you see?"
"They were cops, two of them."
"Cops? What? You sure? Which one took your eye?"
He was silent then, and his hand crept over until Colton reached for it, twined their fingers together. “Not those two. It was him, Colton. The sheriff. Your uncle. He did it with his pocket knife. It was quick, so fast, I thought, he's done that before. He said something, about I shouldn't have got near his family, then he just put the knife in my eye, and I must have fallen, I guess, because I was against the wall. He spit on me. That's when I heard you come in."
* * * *
Colton stared up at the ivory plaster ceiling. Diego was curled up, warm and sleepy, next to him. The emotional firestorm had worn them both out. But Colton couldn't sleep. He couldn't stop picturing it in his head, that fucking bastard taking a knife to Diego's face. “I'm going to shoot that stupid, twisted fuck in the eye,” he promised the ceiling, and the Virgin of Guadalupe looked down on him from the wall next to the bed, her calm face and sweet gaze seeing everything, accepting everything. “I'm going to press a Glock machine pistol into his eye, hold it there long enough and hard enough that he has time to feel it, know what cold steel shoved against a tender eyeball feels like. Then I'm going to put a bullet through his wasted fucking head, and..."
"And what?” Diego's voice was sleepy. He curled closer, slid a hand across Colton's chest. “I hate to interrupt. You're enjoying your fantasies of revenge so much. But what are you going to do then? Run for the border? Hide out? Then keep runn
ing?” His voice turned bitter. “I can see you living like that, like some stupid Western movie. You expect me to climb on a horse and follow you into Sonora? Live out with the rocks and the snakes and the scorpions?"
Colton wouldn't have minded some camping out in the desert. It was clean and real and simple, and he understood that land. But it probably wasn't Diego's thing. “What I'm going to do then is come get you and take you home. Let you get back to work, finish your residency. Go do that heart thing you were talking about. What we're going to do after I kill the fucker who maimed you is live the life we were going to live before it happened. That's my plan."
"That's your plan?” Diego's voice was a little tired, disbelieving. “Okay, Colton. I don't want to argue. And I'm not maimed."
"Okay, baby."
Diego's slender body was thinner. Colton stroked a hard hand down over his rib cage, felt the winged bone of his hip.
"Are you frisking me? I don't have any hidden weapons."
"You sure about that?"
Diego let his hand slide down Colton's chest, over his flat belly. Colton could feel his cock start to fill and rise, and Diego's fingers slid through his curly hair, wrapped around the base of his cock.
"I'm happy to see this boy still got his groove on,” Diego said. “This little cowboy looks ready to ride. You were in a Stryker frame, huh? What was that like?"
"Fucking miserable. And I think the nurses were watching how many times I got hard. I couldn't help it, it was like this spontaneous deal. But it was so fucking obvious, Diego. Plus a couple of times..."
"What?"
"A couple of times I had dreams about you."
"What, like sex dreams?"
"Yeah. Your mouth on me, like velvet heat on my skin. A wet tongue, rough, licking me like a cat, then you'd hold my balls in your fingertips. Work your tongue into that little slit. And you'd suck me down when I came."
"Maybe one of the nurses was giving you a blow job in your sleep.” Diego was trailing a line of kisses down Colton's chest, stopped to suck a nipple between his lips. “You got that big sexy body, Colton, and you act like such a badass all the time, walk around like your dick's twelve inches long, and there they got you tied up in a Stryker frame and you can't move. That would be nearly irresistible to most of the nurses I know."