Down Among the Dead Men (A Thriller)

by Robert Gregory Browne

  “No seafare card,” the man said in broken English. “No seafare card, no enter.”

  “I told you, I lost it. Now, if you can’t—”

  “Beth.”

  She turned, saw Vargas approaching. Squinted at him. “Yes?”

  “It’s me. Nick.”

  She just stared at him. “Nick? Nick who? How do you know my name?”

  He gestured to the guard, said in Spanish, “It’s okay, she’s with me.”

  The guard nodded and turned away, going back to his booth.

  “What did you just tell him?” Beth snapped. “Who the hell are you?”

  Vargas moved in close, took hold of her shoulders, but she jerked away. “Let go of me!”

  He reached for her again. “Beth, it’s me. Nick.”

  “What the hell are you doing? Let me—”

  “Stop. Listen to me.” He grabbed her shoulders and held firm. “You didn’t just get off that ship. You haven’t been on it in months.”

  “Get the hell away from me, you fucking perv—”

  “Listen to me, Beth. You’re not well. Your head was injured and you haven’t been thinking straight. We came to Playa Azul to try to help you remember.”

  “What are you talking about? Remember what?”

  “Concentrate,” Vargas told her. “Look at me and concentrate. I’m Nick Vargas. I’m writing a book about you and your sister, Jen.”

  At the sound of her sister’s name, Beth’s eyes came into sharp focus and she stared at him. He could almost see her mind trying to put it all together.

  Then there was a sudden shift in her gaze, a look of recognition, then realization, and she stopped resisting.

  She was back. “Oh my God…,” she said. “Oh my God.…”

  “It’s okay.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “I can’t believe…I…”

  “It’s okay,” he said again, then pulled her into his arms, letting her cry against his chest. “Don’t worry about it. I’m here. You’re gonna be fine. We’re gonna be okay.”

  And as she continued to cry, he wondered if that would ever be true.

  74

  “I’VE NEVER BEEN so embarrassed in all my life,” Beth said.

  They were back in her hotel room now, and she didn’t seem to be able to look him in the eye. She stood by the window, staring out at the courtyard, silhouetted against a darkening sky.

  She looked waiflike, vulnerable. But now that her headache had cleared and she’d regained her mental faculties, she sounded exactly like the hardened prosecutor she once was.

  “I’m lucky that poor guard didn’t have me arrested.”

  “It’s not like you jumped up on a table and did a striptease,” Vargas said. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

  “That’s easy for you to say. You weren’t the one wandering the streets like a crazy woman.”

  Vargas sighed. She had a point.

  On the walk back, he’d been trying to figure out the best thing to do—what was best for her—and he’d come to only one conclusion.

  “Listen, Beth. Maybe I should take you back to the clinic.”

  She turned, looking at him now. “Forget it.”

  “You’re not well,” he said. “And as much as I hate to say it, you need supervision. God knows what would’ve happened if I hadn’t found you.”

  “I won’t go back. You can leave me here if you want to, but I won’t go back.”

  “You aren’t safe here. Besides, I’m not leaving you alone. Not again.”

  “I’m alone in that clinic, aren’t I? My parents are dead; my sister’s gone; my cheating bastard of an ex-husband cringes every time I call him.…I’ve got no one, Nick. Do you know what it’s like to have no one?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do.”

  “Then don’t make me go back there,” she said. “I’m getting better. I can feel it. And if a headache starts to come on, you can lock me in the goddamn bathroom. I don’t care.”

  He moved to her.

  “Look,” he said. “You barely know me. I’m not good at being responsible for people. I’m not even good at taking care of myself.”

  “You found me, didn’t you? You kept me out of trouble.”

  “I got lucky. We both did. But how can I pursue this thing if I always have to keep an eye on you?”

  She paused. “So then I’m a burden, is that it?”

  He didn’t want to tell her “yes.” He didn’t even want to be thinking it, but the answer must have been plain on his face, because her eyes grew hot and she pushed past him.

  “Fine,” she said. “Screw you.”

  He grabbed her arm as she passed. “Beth, wait—”

  But she pulled away from him and spun, her eyes burning now. “For what? I don’t need you; I don’t need anyone. I’m sick and tired of everyone coddling me. I just want…” She paused again, trying to control her anger. “I just want to remember. Why can’t I fucking remember?”

  Then the tears came again and Vargas moved in close, once again pulling her into his arms. He’d only just met this woman, yet he felt as if he understood her better than anyone he’d ever known.

  He felt sorry for her, but it wasn’t pity that drove him. He wasn’t sure what it was.

  And before he could catch himself, he placed his hand on her head, against her scar, wanting more than anything to draw the pain out of her.

  Then he bent down and kissed her cheek.

  “I’m a fool,” he said. “I shouldn’t even have suggested taking you back. We’re in this together now. And I’ll help you remember. I promise.”

  She brought her arms up around him then and turned her face toward his, pulling him into an embrace, kissing him. And as he felt the heat of her breath, Vargas thought: This is it; this is that magical movie moment I’ve been waiting for all my life.

  Only it was real.

  And the next thing he knew, they were pulling their clothes off and climbing onto her bed, and Vargas felt exhilarated and guilty at the same time, thinking he shouldn’t be taking advantage of her vulnerability, her illness, but not wanting to stop.

  She didn’t seem to want to, either. Pulling him toward her, she gently touched the bandage on his shoulder, then kissed him again, using her tongue this time.

  And there was an urgency in the kiss—a need—that neither of them could or wanted to fight.

  75

  Beth and Vargas

  SHE COULDN’T EXPLAIN it, wasn’t sure why now and never with Peter, but the moment Nick pushed himself inside of her, his strong hands cupping her thighs, she felt something she’d never felt before.

  It was as if his every kiss, every caress, every flick of the tongue had prepared her for just this moment—yet she wasn’t prepared, and the rush of pleasure that consumed her was unexpectedly exquisite.

  All the muscles in her body seemed to tighten and she had this sudden, intense urge to pee. And when she let it loose—couldn’t stop herself from letting it loose—a wave of electricity rolled through her, triggering tiny implosions inside her head, followed by a bigger, all-consuming burst of pure ecstasy.

  And as she came, a long, guttural moan rose from inside her, and all at once she understood what Jen had been talking about so incessantly for so many years, had constantly been in search of.

  Why it had eluded Beth for so long was anyone’s guess, but this new sensation surely had a lot to do with the man who was inside of her right now.

  Not just her body, but inside her mind.

  It had a lot to do with how she felt about him. But how exactly did she feel?

  He was right; she barely knew him. But a connection had been made, and why should she try to analyze it?

  As he worked his way toward his own burst of ecstasy, she helped him along, moving her hips and her muscles, squeezing him until he finally came, throbbing inside her, releasing himself, then collapsing against her as the last of his energy drained away.

  Neither of th
em spoke for a long moment, listening instead to the soft syncopation of their beating hearts, their ragged breaths.

  And all at once Beth felt as if she wasn’t alone, that she’d never been alone. That this man had somehow been a part of her for as long as she had lived.

  A part of her heart. Her mind.

  Her body. Her soul.

  VARGAS LAY STILL, not wanting to spoil the moment, wanting to stay inside of her as long as he possibly could. But after a while, he had no choice, so he pulled away and lay beside her, reaching a hand out to stroke her, brushing his fingers across the scars on her chest.

  She didn’t flinch. Didn’t protest.

  The wounds were completely healed, yet they looked so painful. So raw. And he suddenly remembered the pain in his own shoulder, which had miraculously disappeared as they made love.

  Beth turned to face him then, a drowsy smile on her lips, and as he looked into her eyes he wondered how anyone could be so achingly beautiful.

  So perfectly fragile.

  This is all happening too fast, he thought.

  But it felt right somehow. Like it was meant to be.

  There is no luck, Mr. Blister had told him. Only destiny.

  Maybe he was right about that.

  After a while, Beth said, “That was unexpected. So what happens now?”

  “I think we got something wrong. We may have to try again.”

  She laughed. “That was about as right as I’ve ever gotten it. But practice makes perfect.”

  “So they say. But I have a feeling that isn’t what you were asking.” He paused. “I meant what I said about not taking you back.”

  “I know. Thank you.”

  “Unfortunately, that creates a dilemma.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He told her about his upcoming meeting with Little Fina and Ortiz’s promise to pick him up at eleven forty-five.

  “No dilemma,” Beth said. “I’ll just go with you.”

  “Probably not a good idea. These aren’t friendly people and they won’t be expecting you.”

  “You keep forgetting what I used to do for a living. I was surrounded by people who weren’t very friendly.”

  “But always in a controlled environment,” Vargas said. “This isn’t the same.”

  “Then I guess we do have a dilemma.”

  He could sense that she was starting to get angry again, so he kissed her.

  She kissed him back, holding it for a while, then said, “Nice try, but it’s not gonna work this time.”

  “Then what do you want me to do? If you were to get hurt, I’d never forgive myself. And as much as I hate leaving you alone, I think you’re safer here. The only other alternative is to cancel the meeting.”

  She shook her head. “If there’s a chance this Little Fina woman has any information on Jen, I want to know about it.”

  “Then please, Beth, stay here. You can go over my notes, look at the photos again. And if you start to feel another headache coming on, just call me and I’ll come right away.”

  Beth sighed. “All right. Fine. I don’t want to fight about it. I’m exhausted anyway.”

  Vargas smiled. “Too exhausted for a little more practice?”

  He was expecting a quick rejection, but she didn’t even have to think about it.

  “Nothing wrong with the pursuit of perfection,” she said. “I think I’m about to make my sister proud.”

  76

  ORTIZ PULLED UP in front of the hotel on schedule, driving a souped-up blue and white Volkswagen Beetle, the words baja taxi painted on the side.

  “No comments, pocho. I gotta make a living.”

  Stifling a smile, Vargas climbed in. “The way Tito described you, I thought you were some badass gangster.”

  “Who says I’m not? These are tough times, amigo. Man’s gotta feed his family. You’ll never see Yolanda lift a finger to help, so somebody’s gotta do it.”

  He put the car in gear and pulled out, then turned to Vargas, a quizzical look on his face.

  “Something different about you.”

  “How so?”

  “I don’t know. You’re smiling a lot more. If I had to guess, I’d say you just got laid.”

  Vargas had no idea how he’d managed to figure that one out and didn’t really want to know.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “It wasn’t Yolanda.”

  Ortiz laughed. “You better hope not. She’s done with a guy, she cuts off his privates and hangs ’em on her trophy wall.”

  “It’s nice to meet a man who has such love and affection for his family.”

  Ortiz laughed again. “You’re a funny man, pocho.”

  “I do my best,” Vargas said.

  TEN MINUTES LATER, they pulled up to the curb on a dimly lit side street. There was no sign of any whorehouses or bars in the vicinity, just a row of dilapidated buildings—nondescript businesses that were either closed or no longer operating.

  “Where are we?” Vargas asked.

  “Little Fina’s place is just down the street. I wanted to come a little early so I can make sure you understand the rules.”

  “Rules?”

  “I told you. Fina makes my cousin look like a prom queen. You gotta be careful how you act around her or she’ll have you gutted in about two seconds flat.”

  “That’s comforting,” Vargas said.

  “Just remember, I’m the one bringing you to her, so what you say and do reflects on me. Understand?”

  Vargas nodded. “So what are these rules?”

  Ortiz held up three fingers and started counting them off.

  “Rule number one,” he said. “You don’t disrespect Little Fina. Rule number two: You don’t disrespect Little Fina. Rule number three—”

  “I’m sensing a pattern here.”

  “I mean no offense when I say this, pocho, but you strike me as a bit of a smart-ass. That’s something you want to avoid in front of Fina.”

  “Duly noted,” Vargas said. “So when do I get to meet her?”

  “You see that red door up the street?”

  Ortiz pointed and Vargas looked toward the buildings and found the door he was referring to. The paint job was splotchy, but there was no missing it.

  “Yeah, I see it.”

  “When that door opens and a cholo in a white suit steps outside to smoke a cigarette, that’s our signal.”

  “Why the cloak-and-dagger?”

  “Because that’s the way Fina likes it. And don’t be asking dumb questions like that in front of her.”

  “I’m starting to get the feeling,” Vargas said, “that your friend is into a lot more than the skin trade.”

  “That’s not something you want to be talking about, either. Just stick to the business at hand.”

  “You’re really afraid of this woman, aren’t you?”

  “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t.”

  “So then why are you helping me?”

  Ortiz shrugged. “You’re a paying customer. And I believe good customer service is the cornerstone of a successful business.”

  77

  BETH LAY IN bed for a long time after Vargas left. For a moment there she was worried that a fresh new headache might be coming on, but it was a false alarm.

  Truth was, her entire body was throbbing. They’d made love three times before Vargas had gone downstairs to meet his contact, and each new orgasm had been stronger than the last.

  Which was saying a lot.

  Beth almost laughed at the thought. Less than a year ago, she would have said you were crazy if you’d told her she’d ever experience anything like this. And while she’d like to give the credit to Vargas, she had to wonder if the bullet fragments in her brain were somehow affecting her libido.

  All of which made her think of Jen again, and Albuquerque, and the House of Death Vargas had told her about.

  Climbing out of bed, she padded naked across the room and sat at the small desk where Vargas had left his netbook a
nd cell phone. The cell phone was programmed to dial his contact Ortiz at the punch of a button.

  Lifting the lid of the netbook, she pressed a key to take it out of sleep mode, then spent the next several minutes going through Vargas’s notes, which seemed to be more of a random jumble of thoughts than anything else. Certainly not the organized case files she was used to. Even her own journal had made more sense than this.

  How he ever managed to assemble a cohesive narrative out of this stuff was beyond her. But she’d never been inside a writer’s mind, and if this was any indication of how they worked, she’d just as soon stay out.

  Flipping to the file index, she found the crime scene photos he’d shown her at the clinic.

  She hesitated before opening them.

  Did she really need to see them again?

  Yes, she decided. While she knew she had to be patient and wait for her brain to heal, she didn’t think it would hurt to give it another little nudge. One last try before she labeled herself a basket case and called it a day.

  The first one she opened was the wide shot. The entire room, blood on the walls, the floor, the mattress. The bodies frozen in motion, leaking fluids.

  Her body. Sprawled across the mattress, eyes wide, staring at the ceiling.

  No wonder they’d thought she was dead.

  The next shot was closer, a high angle, shooting in a diagonal line toward the mattress. Nothing new here.

  But in the third one—this one shot from directly above—something had changed. It was a subtle change, but she saw it as plain as can be.

  Her mouth had been closed before, but now it was slightly open. And her eyes didn’t seem quite so vacant.

  She could imagine the Mexican crime scene photographer staring down at her, noticing the slight movement, maybe even hearing a soft moan, then shouting to his fellow investigators.

  “She’s alive. This one’s alive.”

  Then that bastard Rojas—a name she’d never forget—taking her all the way up to Albuquerque and shooting her point-blank, all because he was afraid her presence at his crime scene might ruin a good thing.

  She hoped to God Detective Pasternak and the FBI would be able to get something on the guy. Because she’d love to be sitting in the courtroom when he went down.