The Second Letter

by Robert Lane

  position in ten, four rugs, where are you

  It was from Anthony, and he had coordinates with the message. Plan Q, or maybe it was “Double B,” I’d lost track, burst into focus. I wasn’t sure I wanted to go there, but I wanted to keep all my options open. I texted back:

  delayed a little be there soon

  I sent a text to Morgan. I was crouched low in the bushes at the rear southeast corner when I spun around with my gun drawn. Garrett settled in next to me.

  “Who’s watching the girls?” he asked.

  “Natalie.”

  “Who’s Natalie?”

  “Cute little FBI agent I ran into in the kitchen. Top shelf at a toga party. She’s sitting the two girls. Feds’ already on Escobar for trafficking and she was undercover. They picked tonight for the sting because they got word of another shipment, waiting offshore as we speak.”

  “Escobar’s got two government nets on him at once,” Garrett said, almost with a note of condolence.

  “Makes you feel sorry for the guy. What the hell did you run into out front?”

  “Guys in a white van. Two down but one got through. What happened to your face?”

  “I ate Elvis’s nose and stopped Ramon’s fist.”

  “About time you contributed.”

  “No problem. She’s from Vassar, you believe that?”

  “Who?” Garrett asked.

  “Toga babe.”

  “That’s in Poughkeepsie, isn’t it?”

  “I believe you’re right.”

  “Her plan was to send the girls back to their homes where they would more than likely be placed back into the blender.”

  “Not our two.”

  “She came around to that. But she wants, and I promised, what’s coming ashore. Except it’s been called off at this end, which I suspect she knows. But I confiscated Elvis’s phone and I’ve got the drop-off coordinates.”

  Garrett gave me a small smile, the left side of his lip curling up. “Using both sides of your head tonight.”

  “New territory for me.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “We get the four off the boat and Vassar has what she needs to trap Mendis and less incentive to take our two away.”

  “Our job is to secure the letter,” Garrett said.

  “I know, but we can’t walk away from this. Why haven’t they come out of the house yet?”

  “How do you know about their plan?”

  “I overheard Ramon and Cruz, the only two left standing,” I said. “Ramon’s the guy you let through. They plan to hijack the boat and adios to Graceland.”

  “I stopped two out of three.”

  “Just saying, that’s all.”

  “I suppose a new face was part of your plan?”

  “We’re even. Theater major, believe that?”

  “Who?”

  “Vassar.”

  “She’s in the right place then.”

  “How so?”

  Garrett said, “Our plan turned into a choreographed riot, one level up from smeared shit. Escobar?”

  “I doubt he’ll leave; besides, I promised him to Vassar. But before I turn him over, I need the letter. That’s the new flight plan. Meanwhile we can’t let these guys surface and ruin someone else’s day. You want the front or back?” I asked. “They should have been out by now.”

  “Let’s both hit the back.”

  Two gunshots popped from inside the house.

  Binelli and the girls.

  “I’m going in the kitchen,” I said. “You take the back door and we enter the house on the count of ten. With me.”

  “Ten’s the count. Three, two, one,” Garrett said, accelerating the pace of the words.

  He darted around to the back of the house. I sprinted to the side kitchen door, fighting the visions exploding in my mind. One thousand, two thousand, three thousand. I opened the door with my gun drawn and saw Natalie Binelli with hers arms extended straight and her Glock pointed at the door leading to the house. Maria and Rosa were under the table. Binelli spun when I entered.

  Four thousand, five thousand, six thousand.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “Ramon—I think it was him—stuck his head in. I got off a few rounds, missed. I need to call backup.”

  “No.”

  Seven thousand, eight thousand, nine thousand.

  “I missed. He knows we’re in here. We just can’t—”

  I burst through the door into the large foyer just as Garrett flung himself through the back door. Cruz was to my right. I was to Garrett’s right, so I took the right side as he would cover the left. I shot Cruz twice in the torso and heard Garrett’s gun go off, but realized he also shot Cruz. Four bullets. There are guys on death row that won’t be that fortunate. His blue bandana shredded with brain matter. I wondered why Garrett went for the head instead of the body, but he was always a better shot than me. But if Garrett went after Cruz, that meant Ramon wasn’t to be seen. Or Escobar. The house screamed with an eerie silence except for the soaring, closing chords of “MacArthur Park,” which now held center stage. Forty-eight Bose speakers reigning over the smeared shit, choreographed riot. A seven-minute, thirty-second song. Too long for radio, they said. It had been seven minutes since I put Elvis down and then I knew where Escobar was. The big bear had finally gotten it right and followed his heart.

  “I’m going to the study,” I told Garrett. “Escobar’s there. Guy called Ramon’s loose.”

  I took the steps three at a time and, halfway up, looked out through the wall of glass just in time to see Ramon sprinting in a line toward the docks. He pumped his arms like he was on the last lap of a track meet.

  “He’s heading to the water,” I shouted down to Garrett. He spun and ran toward the back door. I ate the rest of the steps and slowed at the end of the hall leading to Escobar’s study. I drew my gun and cautiously entered the room. Escobar was bent over Elvis with his back to me. Elvis’s eyes went wide when he saw me. I quickly closed the distance.

  “Travis,” Elvis said, but his voice was different.

  Escobar spun around while fiddling with a gun in his hand. I kicked it away.

  “I want the letter.”

  CHAPTER 33

  “I can’t stop the bleeding,” Escobar said.

  The curtain I had stuffed and tied in Elvis’s mouth was off to the side. His hands were loosened but still tied, as if Escobar had started in on them but then switched his attention to Elvis’s midsection. A swamp of crusted dried blood rested on his stomach, and Escobar had a damp towel that he was using to clean the wound. There wasn’t that much more blood on the floor than when I’d left.

  “Did you hear me?” I asked.

  “Help me out here.”

  “I want the letter.”

  “For God’s sake, man, he’s dying.”

  “Who’s not? He’s just got the inside lane.”

  “I’m taking him to a hospital.”

  I grabbed a high-back chair that faced Escobar’s desk and spun it around so that it fronted Escobar and Elvis. I sat and crossed my legs.

  Escobar glanced up at me. I didn’t think Elvis was in imminent danger. I wanted to get the letter, take the boat out to intercept the other girls they were smuggling, and then get out with Maria, Rosa, and the letter. It was a tall order, and it seemed that the longer I stayed in the house, the more jobs I picked up. But I figured I was halfway there.

  It was time to end my time with Escobar.

  “Fork over the letter, Raydel,” I said. “And when the human smuggling charge, maybe kidnapping as well, hits the fan, we can put in a good word for you. You can push it up to Mendis, and the feds will show you some leniency.”

  “I had nothing to do to with this.” His attention was now focused on me. His eyes pleading.

  “With what?”

  “Those girls. They were—”

  “Spare me. I found them in your safe room.”

  “Listen to me.” He sto
od and glared at me. “That’s not me. Mendis used me. He knew I had a fast boat. A month ago he asked a favor. Said…”

  “Said what? You want to kidnap a twelve-year-old? What do you play me for?”

  “It wasn’t that. He brought in guys who paid, paid a lot, to come into the country. No girls. Working men. I wasn’t comfortable with it, but he said it was for one time. Then he did it again. When I got in trouble with the IRS, he brokered a deal between us, but insisted on one more shipment, said it would be ‘modified.’ I had no idea until Elvis called me from the boat.”

  “Let me guess, you’re such a swell guy that you couldn’t send Maria and Rosa out into the cruel world, so you held them back.”

  “That’s right,” Elvis said. His voice was thick like when you’re out in the cold for too long and your jaw freezes up. “I called him. He had me take them to the garage. Kept two smallest back.”

  “Touching.” I stood and faced Escobar. “I want the letter.” Elvis was prone on the floor between us.

  “You can’t negotiate, or you would have. You have no authority to drop charges,” Escobar said.

  “I’ll do what I can.”

  Escobar broke eye contact. What was he thinking? Did he really think that holding the letter at this point would give him greater assurance of avoiding incarceration? He looked past me at the bookshelves beyond the desk and back to me.

  “I keep it until I talk to my lawyer. I’ll let him negotiate with the authorities.”

  I blew out my breath. I took a step closer. We now stood face to face with Elvis on the floor between us. “I’ll choke it out of you.”

  “If I’m dead, or unconscious, you’ll never get it. Not even Elvis knows where it is. Why do you want it so bad? I told you. I’ll have my lawyer handle it.”

  I didn’t believe the Elvis quip, but if the colonel wanted a private practice attorney to be in possession of the letter and use it as a bargaining tool, he never would have called me. But I couldn’t get that through to Escobar. I couldn’t think of anything he wanted to trade for the letter.

  “Give me the letter.”

  “I’m calling my lawyer.”

  Elvis coughed.

  We locked eyes like we had the night I called him one dumb fuckin’ Cuban. I was wrong. Escobar was one emotional Cuban. Without dropping his eyes, I moved my right foot and put my toe into Elvis’s midsection. He screamed.

  “What are you doing?” Escobar shot Elvis a glance then back up at me.

  “I want the letter.” I twisted my toe. Elvis curled up and moaned.

  “What the hell, man. You’ll re-open the wound.”

  “I want the letter.”

  Escobar’s face contorted like a topographical map. He lurched forward, but I slapped him hard across his cheek. He started to come at me again.

  “Don’t,” I said.

  He hesitated and then dropped to his knees and put his right arm under Elvis and started to move him away from me. I put my left foot on Escobar’s shoulder and pushed. He fell backward and scrambled to his feet.

  “Why do you hold onto it?” I asked, and was surprised at the strain in my voice. I could see where I was going, but I was too far in to turn back. All my scheming, all the effort with Kittredge, and the only thing I brought to the party was brute force. Neanderthal.

  Escobar glanced around his study as if he were trying to answer my question. As if he held some crumb of hope that he could save it all. Perhaps he saw Sophia coming through the door with a bouquet of fresh yellow flowers and inquiring how his day was. Maybe another party played in his mind like a silent film where men in tuxedos and women in evening dresses sipped liquid dreams and pretended, if only for the moment, that everything was fine in their lives. And perhaps for that moment it was, and looking back now, he saw too late what he let get away.

  “I can’t give it to you,” he said. The sadness and disappointment in his voice broke me for just a moment.

  I put my toe back into Elvis before I had a chance to question my action. I would get the letter. Like a horror show, the letter had exploded into grotesque proportions, as if it was calling me and my whole life lay within its contents. I didn’t know what the rest of the night would bring, but I knew I was going home with the damn thing.

  “I want the letter, Raydel.” I twisted and Elvis screamed and rolled to his side, but I kept my foot on him and prevented him from turning fully away.

  “You wouldn’t,” Escobar said.

  I pushed my foot. A low grunt came from Elvis.

  “He’ll bleed,” I said. “He’ll die on the floor while you protect your precious letter.”

  I felt my foot slide as the fresh blood seeped from the wound, but kept my eyes on Escobar. Escobar glanced down at Elvis and then cut me a look.

  “I’m calling the cops.”

  “He’ll be dead. I’ll be gone.” I put more weight on my foot. Elvis howled. “I want the letter.”

  “I’m calling the police.” He moved toward his desk.

  I dug my foot in again and this time left the pressure on. Elvis tried to roll away.

  “I want the letter.”

  “No. The cops and my attorney.”

  “Give me the letter, Raydel.” I pushed.

  Elvis shrieked.

  “You’re insane.”

  “I want the letter.”

  “Stop, I’ll—”

  “The letter. Now.”

  “OK. Stop. Stop it.”

  “Bring me the letter.”

  “Please, it’s down the hall. Just go get it.”

  “Do I look like I prance? Is that what you called it? Prancing? Let’s see you prance, big bear. Bring me the letter.”

  I shifted my weight.

  Elvis again.

  “You’re a madman. It’s just—”

  “The fucking letter.” I extended my open palm.

  “OK, but—”

  “Now.”

  “It’s just—”

  My foot.

  Elvis.

  “Move, man! Move! Move!”

  Escobar sprinted out the study door and stopped in front of the picture of the nude lady with water droplets on her stomach. The picture rested on the floor where I had left it after I took it off its hook and tore off the brown paper on the back as I searched for the key. He paused for just a second, as if considering his actions. He kicked his right foot through the picture. Then his left and then his right again as if the picture was to blame. An 8½” x 11” envelope fell out of the back, but Escobar kept kicking, and his sobs and breath drowned out the music that played on like the band on the Titanic. He hurried back, his face twisted, tears sliding down his flushed face as if the droplets of water from the painting had leapt over to him and found themselves a new home, a new body to tease. He pulled up a few feet from me.

  “Here.” He shoved the envelope into my outstretched hand. “And you can burn in hell.”

  He fell to his knees and tended Elvis with the towel he had when I had first walked in. I wiped my bloody right foot on the wool rug in front of his desk and marched out of the study with the letter in my hand.

  I’d paid my debt.

  CHAPTER 34

  I met Binelli halfway down the hall. Her gun was at her side.

  “What was going on in there?” she asked in a tone that held a thousand words.

  “Escobar had something I needed to retrieve, but we’re square now.”

  “What now?” She made no move to shoulder her piece.

  I had the letter. I could grab Maria and Rosa and be home in ten minutes and Binelli would come up empty. She knew the transfer was off. After all, she had likely tripped over Cruz’s body on the way up the stairs. Tough break for her, but we do all have problems. Nor did she know that I had the coordinates.

  It was decision time.

  I tried to pretend that I wanted to shut Mendis down. Maybe that was part of it. Certainly the girls out in the Gulf would fare better in the hands of the FBI, even if
they did return them to their broken homes. That was getting close to it. But in the core, I couldn’t let Binelli down. I’d wandered into a war and she was in my foxhole. There is no greater cause.

  “Transfer’s still on. I’ve got the coordinates and I’m going out to bring the girls back for you. You negotiate with Escobar to get Mendis. I leave with Maria and Rosa.”

  “Right,” she said, but her voice was low and guarded. My delay in answering her question cost me credibility points with her. “What’s that?” She waved her gun at the envelope. Her eyes never left mine.

  “A document that our government wants returned.”

  “Anything to do with the girls?”

  “No.”

  Neither of us spoke for several seconds and then Binelli said, “I can go either way here. You realize that, don’t you?”

  “I know. Stick with me, Vassar. I’ve got to make the rendezvous so I can get your ‘units.’”

  “Don’t toy with me.”

  “Withdrawn. Give me an hour and we all get what we want. I suggest you re-introduce yourself to Escobar and cuff him. Don’t let him call the cops.”

  “You’re really not fond of the law, are you?”

  “That’s about the size of it. Where are the girls?”

  “I left them in the kitchen.” She paused a few ticks. “You got forty-five minutes.”

  She strode off, toward Escobar and Elvis, her gun at her side. I folded the envelope and stuffed it in my inside jacket pocket.

  “What happens if we’re not back within that time?” Garrett asked me.

  I stood in the Intrepid viewing Ramon’s tangled body in the chain link fence in the shallow waters. I recalled first spotting the fence when Morgan and I scouted the house, and at the time I didn’t know what purpose it served. I do now. Collects dead bodies.

  “We’re not going to find out. But she knows we could have split with our two and not committed to the transfer. Likewise, I thanked her for not taking Maria and Rosa when she had that opportunity.”

  “The letter?”

  “My inside jacket pocket.”

  “Nice. How’d you get it?”

  “I threatened to kill Elvis.”

  “That’s the only thing that would turn Escobar?”