by Arno Joubert
He glanced up at her and then grabbed her arm. “I want to see my lawyer.”
Sergeant Thompson nodded as she poured a malt beer into a glass and placed it next to the plate. “You’ll see him soon enough, Mr. Fitch, don’t fret.”
Fitch squeezed her arm and pointed a finger at her. “I pay your salary, Evelyn. You better get me my damn lawyer.” He squinted as a jolt of pain surged through his neck. He would get that bitch back if it was the last thing he did.
Sergeant Thompson nodded. “I’m doing all I can, Mr. Fitch. These Interpol guys are making it difficult. Everything needs to be channeled through this guy called Laiveaux.”
He snorted. “Well, you better get on top of it.” He cut a piece of the marbled meat and popped it in his mouth. “And I need my laptop,” he said as he chewed carefully. His jaw still hurt, but at least he could eat.
“I have it outside,” she said, filling the tray with his empty plates. “Enjoy your meal, Mr. Fitch.” She closed the cell door and left.
Fitch snorted, took a slug of the beer, and then scrunched his nose. It tasted bitter.
He examined the glass and noticed specks of white powder on the rim. He wiped it off with his index finger and then rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. “What the hell?”
He felt dizzy, tried to stand up, and tripped over the table, pulling the cloth with him as he tried to regain his balance. The plate crashed to the floor, and Anderson Fitch fell flat on his face.
Fitch groaned as he opened his eyes. His head was throbbing, and a strong smell of ammonia filled his nostrils; it made his eyes water even though he could hardly breathe through his busted nose. He sat up and instantly knew where he was: the ocelot pen.
He crouched, shifted to all fours, and then scrambled uncomfortably through the passageway to the feeding area. The smell was more bearable here. Bella and Bradshire were sitting in a corner, their chests expanding and contracting rapidly as they panted. It was hot in here.
He limped toward them, trying to shake the grogginess from his head, and then stuck out his hand. “Come to papa, my babies.”
Bella glowered up at him, and her ears flattened against her head. He stumbled back with a surprised shriek as she growled and jumped at him, sinking her teeth into his bottom lip and scratching his chest with her hind legs. He ripped her off him, tasting blood in his mouth as she gouged deep scratches into his lower lip, and then aimed a kick at her, sending her sprawling to the side of the room.
Bradshire pounced on his leg, gnawing and scratching and hissing as he ripped Fitch’s pants to shreds. Fitch managed to pull Bradshire off by the scruff of his neck, but before he was able to toss the cat toward the tunnel, the cat bit into the soft skins between Fitch’s thumb and forefinger. Both cats hissed at him and stood with their hair straight up, tails flicking from side to side.
“Bitch,” he screamed, wiping the blood from his mouth. Bella glared at him for a second, a white foam visible on her mouth. The cats swatted at each other, but then they turned their attention back to Fitch.
Fitch held his injured hand to his chest. “Oh, shit,” he said, examining his wounded hand.
He glanced around the room. A gun had been placed on a table next to the door. He picked it up and aimed a shot at the animals, the booming noise reverberating through the room. The cats hissed and then turned around reluctantly and skulked through the low tunnel, looking back once before they disappeared. Or went to regroup, who knew.
Fitch glanced up as a CCTV camera whirred and clicked above him.
“I’d save my ammunition if I were you, Fitch,” Alexa Guerra’s irritating voice announced over a speaker.
“Screw you,” Fitch yelled and aimed the gun at the lock on the door. Three shots exploded into the reinforced, fireproof steel doors, ricocheting off the walls. It was useless.
Neil Allen chuckled. “Now, now, Anderson. You only have four bullets left. It would be best to save them for the rabid cats.”
Fitch stood bent over, trying to control his breathing, his heart beating in his chest like a jackhammer. He was starting to panic. “Is this your idea of some sick joke, Allen?”
Neil Allen laughed. “You should have taken your pets to have their shots.”
“You can’t take wild animals to the vet, asshole,” Fitch shouted, wiping his lip as spittle and blood dripped to the floor.
“Well, then you shouldn’t keep them as pets, asshole,” Neil barked back.
Fitch swallowed, his throat dry. “What’s the plan, Allen? You going to leave me down here?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll starve to death.”
The gorger bitch chuckled. “I’ve heard that cat food is quite nutritious, and you have more than enough water.”
Fitch glanced up at the camera. “That’s murder, you know. It wouldn’t look too good on your unblemished Interpol records.”
The speaker crackled, but no one spoke. “Who says we’re representing Interpol?” the bitch finally asked.
“Then who exactly are you representing?”
“We’re incognito. Interpol doesn’t even know we’re here,” Neil Allen said with finality. Then the speaker clicked off.
Dr. Klein scanned through the information on the clipboard, flipped a couple of pages, and then nodded and placed it back into a holder at the foot of the bed. He smiled at Bis Latorre. “You’re doing well. How is the shoulder feeling?”
Latorre shrugged. “Been worse.”
Klein turned to Alexa. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine, thanks for asking.”
He pursed his lips, looking unsure about whether he should comment. She guessed she didn’t look fine. The doctor nodded curtly and left the room. Alexa thought he was an excellent doctor, although Bruce didn’t trust him. Trust was something to be earned with Bruce.
She studied Latorre. He looked pale and gaunt, and his blue eyes were duller than she had remembered them. A weak smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Colonel Bryden told me my girl saved the day.”
Alexa smiled. “Yes, she was quite a hero.” She pulled a chair closer and then sat down beside his bed. “Your daughter is brilliant, you know?”
He nodded slowly and then closed his eyes. “Yes, she gets that from her mother.” He opened his eyes and turned his head to look at Alexa. “Why would she think I shot her?”
“After you told me your version of what had happened to Mary-Lou, I contacted Dr. Abbey at the Lyndon Johnson General Hospital in Houston.”
Latorre nodded. “Yeah, she treated Mary-Lou.”
“Your daughter suffered from a condition known as prosopagnosia, or facial blindness.”
Latorre propped himself up by his elbows. “What?”
Alexa took his hand and squeezed it. “It’s a side effect caused by damage to the lower temporal lobe of the brain—the damage caused by the bullet that had penetrated her skull.”
“Will she ever recognize me again?”
Alexa tilted her head from side to side, weighing her options. “The doctor said it took Mary-Lou months to recognize her grandmother. She always thought that Pauline was her mom.”
“Maybe it was better that way,” Latorre said bitterly. “You know, to deal with the pain of losing her mom?” He swallowed and then whispered, “And her dad.”
Alexa squeezed his hand again. “She will learn to trust you again, but it’s going to take some time.”
He turned his head on the pillow. “What about you, Captain?”
“What about me?”
“Could you ever trust me again?”
Alexa tapped her lip thoughtfully. “Why did you break into our room?”
His cheeks turned red. “I never meant to harm you, Captain.”
She smiled. “I know. You couldn’t hit Stade de France if you stood in front of it. I was disappointed.”
He smiled nervously.
“Why, Lieutenant?”
He cleared his throat. “I was trying to buy you some ti
me.”
“Your father ordered the shooting?”
He nodded slowly, averting his eyes.
She smiled. “Thanks, I guess.” She tucked her bangs behind her ear. “You made it seem awfully realistic, though.”
He snorted. “I was fighting for my damn life.”
“Why?”
He fiddled with a tube. “I wasn’t ready to get caught. My dad told me he was innocent, and deep down I wanted to believe him.” He blinked. “I had to do something to make him trust me.”
“Trust you? The bastard tried to frame you for murder!”
His lips thinned into a line and he nodded, closed his eyes, and sucked in a raspy breath. “I guess I’m a sucker for punishment. When I came back here, Pops wasn’t happy to see me. I was still a bastard in his eyes. But I was his only son, so I hoped that would count for something.” He looked up at Alexa. “Pops still hated me for getting Lily pregnant. I loved her a lot.”
He propped himself up, attempted to pour himself a glass of water, and then slumped back into the cushion with a groan. “Merde, I’m such an idiot.”
Alexa filled a polystyrene cup from the pitcher, and Latorre accepted it gratefully. He gulped it down and then shrugged, deep in thought. After a moment, he spoke. “Lily was the sweetest girl. You would have liked her.” He put his hand on his brow. “But Pops was furious. He said she wasn’t good enough to be a Fitch.”
“So he killed her?”
Latorre nodded. “He shot Mary-Lou as well. I rushed her to Lyndon Johnson, but he hunted us down. The only reason we’re still alive is because Pauline managed to make a deal with him.”
“A deal?”
Latorre nodded. “My father’s cronies would make sure that any people that they needed info from would be booked into the Ocelot Inn. And then Pauline would spy on them.” He sighed. “All the places in town are rigged with surveillance cameras. That’s the price you pay to stay in Dabbort.”
“What about your mother, Patricia?”
Latorre shook his head. “My mother was an outsider as well. But Pops needed her skills. Missy had met her at the University. She kept to herself, never mixed with anyone.” He blinked. “Anyone except my dad. And now she’s dead.”
“You think Fitch killed her?”
Latorre nodded. “He set me up, framed me for Lily’s death.” He stared out of the window, a vacant look in his eyes. “And now he’s set me up for my mom’s death as well.”
Alexa stood up and ambled to the foot of the bed. “Why did you hang around Mary-Lou’s bedroom the whole time?”
Latorre shrugged. “I wanted to see my daughter.”
“And why did you try to fake your own death?”
Latorre grunted. “That was Pops’s idea. I phoned him to tell him we were on our way. He then said that we should falsify my passport and create a new identity so that Interpol would think I was dead. He did it decades ago. A woman called Williamson was a Supreme Court judge, and she falsified his death certificate, said she would do the same for me.”
“So what went wrong?”
“I couldn’t go through with it.” He took the cup and held it out to Alexa. “Voelkner was like a brother to me. I knocked him out and took him to the hospital.” Latorre coughed and grimaced. “I asked a nurse to take special care of him until all of this blew over.”
Alexa filled the cup from the pitcher. “But two people were killed?”
Latorre nodded. “Some poor truck driver that had Voelkner’s wallet in his pocket. And that kid from Dallas, he was supposed to be my body double.” Latorre blinked and then looked at Alexa desperately. “How am I ever going to get out of this shit hole, Captain?”
Alexa squeezed his hand. “We’re Legionnaires, Lieutenant. We always find a way.”
Alexa stood on the fairway green of the golf course, inspecting the damage that had been caused by the military vehicles. The grass had been deeply rutted, and huge divots had been torn out of the turf due to all their activity.
“I guess they’ve played their last round of golf,” Neil said with a chuckle.
Alexa nodded and then asked, “You found David?”
Neil nodded slowly, his eyes scanning the horizon, a grim look on his face. “Yes, in Fitch’s office.” He turned around to face Alexa. “Bullet to the brain.”
Alexa closed her eyes and then tiredly wiped her hand across her face. “I guess I should tell Lucy.”
Neil glanced sidelong at Alexa but said nothing.
“You ready for this?” Alexa asked.
Neil nodded and held up his backpack. “Everything’s in here.”
“Let’s go,” Alexa said and slid into the seat of the Hummer.
Neil turned around and jumped into the Hummer. He roared away, leaving an additional set of deep tracks in the already irreparable fairway.
Alexa held Lucy Beck in her arms; the woman’s shoulders were shaking as she sobbed, and Alexa tried to comfort her as well as she could. General Laiveaux and Bruce stood by her side, rubbing her shoulders, trying to help comfort her but looking uncomfortable themselves.
Neil walked to them and hugged them both. “We’ll make this bastard pay, Lucy, I promise you.”
Lucy Beck nodded and sniffed, wiping the tears from her eyes with her palms. “I know. I know you will.”
Alexa strolled outside and then addressed the men standing on the makeshift parade ground. “Our mission is complete,” she said with finality. “Gentleman, thank you so much for your help in this matter.”
They stamped their feet in unison and then saluted smartly.
Neil, Bruce, and Laiveaux joined her outside. “Colonel, General, would you mind assisting us in our final duty before we leave?”
They nodded.
Alexa ducked inside the mess tent. “Lucy, you ready?”
She sniffed and then nodded and stood up, following Alexa, Neil, Bruce, and Laiveaux as they marched to Dr. Joseph Ryan’s tent.
Laiveaux unzipped Dr. Ryan’s tent and then entered without asking for permission. The doctor was sitting on his bunk, resting his chin on his hands. He looked up in surprise, his eyelids teary and red.
General Laiveaux nodded curtly. “Dr. Ryan, would you mind joining me outside?”
He smiled uncertainly and then stood up. “Why certainly, General.”
Ryan stepped outside and then shuffled back a step or two then he saw the people gathered outside. He frowned at Alexa, his lips pressed flat. “Captain, what’s this all about?”
Alexa studied him for a moment. Then she asked, “You stay up at the ranch, right?”
His eyes narrowed. “And you stay in a tent, so what?”
Laiveaux stepped forward. “Answer the question.”
Ryan nodded, his jaw set tightly.
Neil held up a white Stetson and a bolo tie. “I found this in your study. Funny, I’ve never noticed you wearing a hat before.”
Ryan laughed. “So what? Lots of people in Texas has a Stetson.”
Neil studied the doctor. “I searched your cabin. I suspected that you weren’t telling us everything you knew.” He held up a thick wad of papers. “We found the cancellation codes beneath a floorboard in your study.”
Ryan looked at the papers and then shrugged. “They must have been planted there somehow.”
“There were blood splatters on some of the pages,” Bruce said. “DNA analysis confirms that the blood belonged to Patricia McBride.”
Ryan studied Bruce for a second and then shrugged again. “As I said, they must have been planted.”
Lucy Beck stepped closer and unrolled the Wassily Kandinsky watercolor painting that had hung in Ryan’s cabin. “Remember this?”
Ryan’s eyes flitted to the painting and then back to Lucy Beck. “Yes, David gave it to me the day before he was arrested.” His voice raised an octave. “It was a gift, I didn’t steal it. What’s this all about?”
Lucy Beck pursed her lips and said, “He gave it to you for a reason, Doctor.”
“It was a fine painting, so what?”
“Yesterday, I paid your cabin a visit and removed it from the frame.”
Lucy nodded grimly. “David wrote a note on the back of the painting.” She turned to face Alexa. “Captain. Do you mind reading the first half of the message?”
Alexa unrolled the piece of leather inner and then read:
Refatex recruited me, David Beck, under false pretenses, to ascertain the dolomite content of earth samples they had taken. After I signed a nondisclosure agreement, Dr. Joseph Ryan disclosed information to me relating to Refatex’s underhanded dealings. When I threatened to approach the authorities, I was beaten up by the Refatex guards. They threatened my wife, Lucy, and said they would kill her if I ever disclosed any information. I request witness protection and guarantees that my family
Lucy unrolled the painting, turned it around, and read off the back:
will be safe. Dr. Joseph Ryan has converted the refinery to be able to refine the sweet crude beneath the ground, and all shale oil is being refined and sold to the Chinese; he mentioned that a certain Judge Williamson was the go-between. The refinery is causing catastrophic pollution, and it will only be a matter of time before the groundwater in the state is affected and poisoned as the shale-wells are not being properly insulated. By my calculations, catastrophic groundwater pollution will take place within a couple of months. I urge you to act in taking this madman down before it is too late.
Ryan fidgeted with the seam of his pants and then shrugged. “I want to see my lawyer.”
Alexa continued. “We also searched the contents of your PC up at Refatex. We found the blueprint to the refinery. You had already refitted it to refine the premium shale, and you were doing it right under Andy’s nose.”