by Ian Vasquez
“How did this guy look?”
“Young, kinda slim. Spanish. That’s about all I remember.”
“What kind of gun did he have?”
“A pistol. Don’t ask me what type, or how big. It was raining, and it was dark.”
“So you just needed to put Temio and Chino in the boat and then you’re off.”
“Some buckets were still on the pier.”
“So you loaded them in the boat yourself. Shot and bleeding you did that by yourself?”
“Those guys weren’t in any shape to help.”
Israel said, “Hmm,” fingers squeezing and releasing the hook of his cane. “Because when we talked the other night you said the buckets, all of the buckets, were in the boat, and Temio and Chino were untying the lines and you were about to push off when the shooting started.”
Riley took a second to adjust a pillow behind him. “Then it must have gone that way. Obviously I’d be fucking confused over the moment-by-moment occurrences on a night that was dark and rainy when I almost got myself killed, all right, Israel?”
“Slow down, chief,” Carlo said and touched Riley’s shoulder. “Don’t get all upset, you might hurt yourself.”
Israel said, “So you think Chino hurt this guy when he fired back?”
Riley stared at Israel. “What are you doing?” He looked up at Carlo. “Get your hands off me.” Back to Israel, “You know I told you it was Temio who fired back, so what game are we playing?”
In the long silence, Carlo walked away past the sleeping Alzheimer’s patient. He stood at the window and parted the blinds with two fingers and looked out at the wet hospital square. “That’s the question we want to ask you, buddy.”
When he turned around, Riley was standing up, taking off his robe. He had a wide bandage tight around his torso. He fished a shirt out of a plastic bag on the floor by the bed and slipped it on. Buttoning the shirt, he looked squarely at Israel. “You’re accusing me of something, lay it out.”
Israel scooted forward with the help of his cane. “Yes, the six-million-dollar question. You don’t hear me accusing you of working a little deal under my nose with the assistance of a few friends. Like Harvey Longsworth and Miss Rose Robinson. You haven’t heard that from my lips yet but you tell me how this sounds: Harvey gets wind that a shipment is coming in—” He stopped, looked at the other bed.
Carlo glanced in that direction. “Sleeping.”
Israel said, “A shipment is coming in, he gets wind maybe because you let it slip accidentally on purpose. Or maybe it could’ve been you and Harvey set things up. Who will help? Easy. Julius Robinson. Where to hide the stuff? Robinson Caye, of course. An ambush is staged, and you and your friend Harvey, the masterminds, then stand to make significant money. What do you think about that?”
Riley was climbing into a pair of jeans. He paused, then tugged them on and zipped up. “You already answered that question.”
“How so?”
“When you sent me to go retrieve the stuff. You don’t send the man that stole your goods to retrieve your goods.”
Israel cocked his head and started to smile.
Riley stepped toward Israel and said, steely, “But you sent me on a trip to take out Harvey Longsworth and Julius and Miss Rose.” He leaned over, pushed his face closer, almost nose to nose with Israel.
Carlo tensed up. The gall, Riley had better watch it—Carlo wouldn’t hesitate to intervene, hit him in the stomach quick, watch him drop. Go ahead, Riley, test the size of your balls.
Riley was saying, “You put me out there with two killers to off my friends and expect me to be down with that, and you come here today and look me in the eye and say you want me to help compensate grieving families? You obviously have no respect for me, so I’m thinking now it’s perfect we’re parting ways.”
Israel and Carlo watched Riley walk away and fold his robe, lay it on the bed. “This isn’t finished,” Israel said. “We have four buckets missing.”
“I’ll get them.”
“We have a transaction to complete. People are waiting. After we get everything, we’ll need a courier. Are you in?”
Riley faced him. “First, I’d like you to tell me that after I get your stuff, you do not touch Harvey Longsworth. You leave him to me.”
Carlo snorted. “What are you gonna do? Fuck him up? Gimme a break.”
“Leave him to me,” Riley said, voice rising.
“We’ll think about it,” Israel said.
“I don’t want to hear ‘think about it,’ I need to hear you’ll do it.”
“So now you’re giving me orders, Riley?”
Riley stepped close again and said through his teeth, “You sent me to assist in knocking off my friends, Israel. Why? What did I ever do to you?”
Carlo had had enough, rushed over and got in Riley’s face. “Fuck that. We are your friends. We are the ones that pay you. We are the ones got you where you are today, pretending to be respectable, Mr. Big Deal business owner, so do not imply that we owe you a goddamn thing. If not for me and my brother, your ass would be under the jail, motherfucker, and you know what I’m talking about.” He jabbed the air with a finger and said, “So watch your step and come with more respect when you talk to us.”
Riley wiped flecks of saliva off his face and rubbed it on his jeans. He said, “So I take it that’s a no.” He turned away and slouched over to the window. He said, softly, looking out the blinds, “I’ll get your stuff. Don’t worry.” He looked over a shoulder. “And then that’ll be it between us.”
Israel breathed hard through his nose and lowered his head, a tired man. He said, “That loan I gave you, that’s also financial aid to your business partner. You’re asking me, in effect, to help someone who’s trying to screw me over. You’re asking for plenty, son. You must’ve mistaken me for a Christian.” He shook his head and pointed his cane at Riley. “But you know something? I’m gonna go along with it. Only this one time, and only because it’s you, Riley. Because you won’t last long without me. You’re going to come back to me one day after your business fails and you need some fast cash, you’re going to come back and beg for a job. Because this work we do, that’s what you do best, so don’t fool yourself. And if I hire you again, I want you to know: It’ll be on my terms. You’ll take whatever I give you and you’ll kiss my ass and thank me. I promise you that day will come, it will. So I’m not worried. Have your little freedom, but I want you to do something. Tell that piece of shit, Harvey Longsworth, we know. We know. And we will have our eyes on him, and he better not fuck with us again. Now, as for our friend in Mexico, I can’t vouch for him, but I’ll talk to him.”
Riley chewed the inside of his cheek. “It’s you who is running things here, Israel.”
“It was the Mexican’s goods, and he considers this partly his channel. But he takes my counsel, so you may be in luck.”
Carlo said, “When can we expect the stuff?”
“As soon as I get discharged.”
“That doctor, Gonzalez?” Carlo swirled a finger by his head. “Off with the fairies. I asked him what kind of bullet it was went through you, you know? Hear what he said? ‘A big one.’ ”
“I’m expecting you’ll have the stuff in less than forty-eight hours,” Riley said.
“Then we’re back on,” Israel said and pushed himself up to his feet with his cane. “Happy to hear this. Let me leave you now. Call me as soon as you come through. We don’t have much time and we need to make arrangements.”
Riley said all right, he’d call, and sat on the edge of his bed as they made their way out the door.
Carlo stopped and popped his head back in. “If you don’t find the stuff, then it’s me who’ll be visiting Harvey, and you know what that means, right? Talk to you soon, Riley.”
The long hallway was crowded with nurses and plastic bags of linen outside room doors and a couple of patients hobbling along, pushing IV walkers. Carlo had to help Israel navigate the traffic, a han
d occasionally on his elbow.
Carlo said, “You know he was lying his ass off.”
“I don’t know that at all. He might have been, but I don’t know it.”
They started down the stairs. Carlo said, “I know you see what I’m seeing, only I don’t know why you can’t admit it.”
Israel didn’t say anything, clacking down the stairs.
Carlo said, “Jesus Christ, I hate the smell of hospitals. Smells like medicine. Like dead people.” He hurried ahead of Israel, through the lobby and out the door. Once outside, he sucked in some fresh air and stuck his hands in his pockets and waited for Israel.
The last time he’d been in a hospital it was because Israel insisted. They’d come to visit a guy Carlo hadn’t meant to stab, but his temper had taken over, a guy who’d been skimming bagfuls of marijuana from shipments, back when the weed pulled crazy profits. Carlo had told Israel this morning how much of a coincidence it was, one of their guys in the hospital and them paying a visit under strained circumstances. He asked Israel if he thought this was a similar story, someone skimming shipment—Carlo wanting to hear Israel admit to doubts about Riley, his blue-eyed boy. But no, all Israel said was, “We shall see.”
Well, what did they see now?
Israel came out and they walked together to the car, Carlo opening the door for him. Behind the wheel, before he started the car, Carlo said, “Know what? You don’t want to say it, I’ll say it.”
Israel breathed through his nose and stared out the window.
Carlo said, “It was Riley shot those guys. That’s the only story, the only one that makes sense. It was fucking Riley.”
Carlo waited for his brother’s reply. Israel’s silence said a lot, but it gave him hardly any satisfaction.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Roger Hunter rolled into the room without knocking and stopped to look at Riley lying on the bed, one foot on the floor. He had a hand over his eyes and was breathing evenly. Roger cleared his throat.
Riley didn’t move. He knew the man was there but he needed a moment to get over the last visit. Eventually, his hand slid away from his eyes and his head turned on the pillow. “Hey, Roger.”
Roger wheeled closer and pulled up next to the bed. “How’re you feeling this morning?”
“Not too bad. Eighty percent. And you?”
“So-so. You look good, like you’re recovering. Slower than you want, faster than you expect.”
“Indeed,” Riley said, sitting up carefully. “No sudden moves, nobody gets hurt.” Roger was wearing the kind of smile Sister Pat would call beatific, a priest’s smile, all patience and kindliness. Riley said, “Let me ask you something. Last night I didn’t tell you I was shot. How’d you know?”
Roger shrugged. “Maybe a nurse told me?”
“Did a nurse tell you?”
Roger just smiled. “News gets around.”
Riley thought about that, then something became clear to him, something that had been hovering in the background found words. “I have a good friend, an older lady I’ve known for years. She has a friend she’s been visiting in a hospital who’s very sick. Sick with cancer. This lady used to be a nun, and years ago there was a rumor that she was having a romance. With a certain Jesuit priest. Only a rumor, far as I know. But here you are—former Jesuit, in a hospital. Hmm, makes me wonder…”
Roger removed his Cardinals cap and put it in his lap, smiling. “Yes, I know Patricia Pierce very well. We’re longtime friends.”
Riley nodded. “It’s all coming back to me now. So I guess you know who I am?”
“I certainly do. You’re the young man she used to take care of, way, way back. I’m glad I’ve gotten the chance to finally meet you.” Roger appraised Riley, like seeing him for the first time. “You’re like a son to her, Riley, one of the anchors of her life, I’ve always thought.”
“And I’m glad to meet you. Well. Little did I know the Father Hunter they said used to fight with the rebels is the same priest from those long-ago rumors about Sister Pat.”
“Revelations abound.”
They grinned at each other. Roger brought the wheelchair closer to the bed. “If you think it’s none of my business,” he said, his expression turning somber, “just say so and I’ll shut up. Those two men who just left here—are they your friends?”
The question surprised Riley.
Roger reached out and clutched Riley’s forearm, surprising him even more. “I mean, real friends. You know, as in good for you.” His grip was clawlike.
“I wouldn’t necessarily say that.”
“Are you in trouble?”
The old man was so close Riley could smell his stale breath. Could smell the talcum on him, see the veins in his eyeballs, the deep blue irises, and Riley felt no need to lie. He said, “You could say that.”
Roger let go of Riley’s arm. “I know those men. Don’t know them to talk to, but I know who they are. I know what they do.” He reversed the wheelchair, folded his hands in his lap and regarded Riley from a distance. “When I lived here, I used to run a youth summer program on the south side. I learned a lot from those boys in the program. Who they respected, who they feared, who was—the Mac Daddy, is that how they used to say it? I’ll tell you something, over the years I heard an awful lot, too much, about the Monsantos. Quite powerful, aren’t they?”
Riley wasn’t sure where Roger was going.
“I’ll just leave you with some information, and you can do with it as you please,” Roger said. “I may know someone who knows someone who may be able to arrange a trip for you with accommodation to a Central American destination.”
Riley said, “Okay,” meaning, go on.
“This place wouldn’t be the Hilton but it would serve as a getaway, if you will, a quiet retreat for someone in—in a spot of bother. An isolated village far from any major city. Cold and colder running water, electricity sometimes, yet there are amenities like a dependable propane stove, a kerosene refrigerator. Mosquito nets, blankets. Books on socialism and Catholic theology for your entertainment. It’s a place not even our dear Lord would find.”
Riley pretended to consider.
Roger said, “Don’t let me presume that you’ve even imagined leaving. But if it’s assistance of this kind you need, only say the word.”
“I can’t go anywhere,” Riley said. “Not immediately anyway.”
Roger picked up his cap and inspected it, turning it around. “If it’s something along the lines of protection you need…”
Riley met the old man’s eyes. There was no joke in them, not a twinkle.
Then he smiled. “As you can see, I’m still very much a fool for adventure.” He sat back and groaned, fanning himself with his cap. “Listen to me…” He trailed off, squinting at the light in the window. “But you know something? I lived in a different world once. So maybe I can understand your problems. There’s this world we live in every day, then there is another world below it,” Roger making chopping motions, “and another below that one. That bottom one, I’m familiar with it. I think you are as well.”
Riley felt like he had nothing to hide. “You’re probably right.”
“I think I can tell you this.” Roger leaned in. “When I was in El Salvador, I knew the gun routes. One from Chalcuapa, or the one from Santa Ana, I knew them well. I drove trucks to transport arms for my friends. It was a thrilling time, scary, oh sure, but worthwhile. Guns would flow through Mexico, sometimes they made a stop right here in Belize. Even till today, I sometimes get word from old traders and former associates that M4s or Glocks or bullets are available down south in some village in Punta Gorda. Can you believe that?” He shook his head. “Different world … Not healthy, but exciting. I wish I could feel that way again, the exhilaration I used to feel when I was younger.”
They sat and listened to the sounds in the hallway. Riley poured two cups of water from the ice bucket and they sipped and talked some more, the conversation turning to St. John’s, th
e other place they had in common. But it had changed, Riley said. The Jesuits had put up new buildings on campus, broad walkways from the high school to the junior college.
In a little while, Roger Hunter’s eyelids drooped, and a minute later when his chin sank to his chest, Riley reached over and took the cup before it spilled, and he sat watching the old man, who had reminisced so much about excitement, dozing peacefully in the quiet.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Three hours later Riley received his third visitor of the day. Miles Young stood at the door with his handsome smile and said, “You ready?”
Riley took the pen and notepad he’d asked Miles to bring. He scribbled a note to Dr. Gonz, explaining why he couldn’t stay (because he had better things to do than stare at hospital walls, and thanks for the special attention and why didn’t Gonz come on over to Lindy’s one night, to the cigar/poker room, which was officially closed but could be unofficially opened for certain VIPs?)
Riley left the note on his pillow and slipped out the door with Miles.
Two hours later, Riley was sitting behind the wheel of Miles’s old Camry, alone, observing a tall concrete stilt house on the other side of an unpaved street. All the windows were down, but he mopped sweat off his face and neck yet again, and yawned, thankful that at least he wasn’t on any pain meds stronger than Advil or he’d be taking a siesta here in this heat.
A truck rumbled by, dust billowing. The truck rattled and bumped through potholes and disappeared around a curve. The stilt house with the turret on the roof was three lots south of the curve, and from where he sat, he could see the iron scrollwork gate closed and the carport empty and a glimpse of the canal shimmering behind the backyard.