And he knew that Mr. Blister was in there.
Waiting for him.
81
BRINGING THE TOMCAT out, Vargas approached the room cautiously, pushed his way inside.
It was dim, lit only by a single incandescent bulb, and Beth was on the bed, naked, staring up at him with terrified eyes. Her hands were tied behind her, her mouth covered with duct tape.
Mr. Blister sat in a chair in the corner, his ruined face hidden by shadows, his gun pointed at her head.
“Your taxi driver deserves a generous tip, Mr. Vargas. He got you here much sooner than I expected.”
Vargas leveled the Tomcat. “Get away from her.”
Mr. Blister smiled. “Please, Nick, put the weapon down. The math is simple. You shoot me, I shoot her. You wouldn’t want to have her blood on your hands, would you?”
“You still die in that equation.”
“Too true. But then so does she. And I have a very strong feeling you do not want that. So, please, put the weapon down.”
Vargas hesitated. If he followed Mr. Blister’s request, he’d be dead as soon as the Tomcat touched the floor.
But if he didn’t do as he was told, he had no doubt that Beth would take the bullet instead.
And that wasn’t acceptable.
Mr. Blister waited patiently. Seemed to be working through some thoughts of his own.
“Tell me something,” he said.
“What?”
“It was you, wasn’t it? In the warehouse.”
Vargas said nothing, but his eyes must have given him away.
Mr. Blister smiled. “Yes, I thought so. It is a shame I had to kill the younger one, but it couldn’t be helped. And it seems I am to blame for this situation as well. If I had merely trusted my instincts that night, you would not be here right now.”
“Since we’re sharing our deep dark secrets,” Vargas said, “tell me about La Santa Muerte.”
“Ahhh. You know about us, do you? I am not surprised. But I’m afraid your stalling tactics will not change anything. So for the third and last time, please, carefully put your weapon on the floor.”
Again Vargas hesitated. Beth’s eyes were burning him now, and she moaned against the duct tape, shaking her head, telling him not to do it. Then her gaze shifted almost imperceptibly, looking past Vargas’s shoulder.
She’d seen something in the doorway behind him, out of Mr. Blister’s line of sight.
Ortiz?
Please let it be Ortiz.
“Shall I count to three?” Mr. Blister asked.
“No,” Vargas told him. “I’m putting it down. Just don’t hurt her.”
“That’s entirely up to you.”
“I get it, I get it,” Vargas said. “You made your point.”
Then he lowered the Tomcat and started moving into a crouch to place it on the floor.
Mr. Blister smiled again, then swung his weapon around, pointing it at Vargas as Ortiz shouted from the doorway, “Down, pocho!”
—and Vargas dove, the sound of gunfire erupting around him. As he turned, he saw Ortiz fall back, bullets splintering the door frame—
—and Mr. Blister was on his feet now, leaking blood from his wrist, his gun on the carpet.
Grabbing Beth by the forearm, he yanked her off the bed, pulling her close, locking his arm around her neck.
Vargas brought the Tomcat up, but before he could fire, Mr. Blister kicked it out of his hand and produced a small, nasty-looking knife, holding it against Beth’s abdomen.
“Keep moving,” he said, “and I spill her intestines all over this beautiful carpet.”
Vargas froze.
“Very good, Nick. It’s nice to see a man who values human life. Especially one so precious.”
Then suddenly Ortiz was in the doorway again, holding his Glock with both hands, pointed directly at Mr. Blister’s head.
“I’ve got a clear shot, puta. So let the lady go.”
But Mr. Blister ignored him, looking at Vargas instead. “Tell your friend to stand down. She will be dead before he pulls the trigger.”
Vargas knew it was true. “Do what he says, Ortiz. Put the gun down.”
“What are you, loco? He’s bluffing.”
“I’ve seen him work before. He’s not bluffing. Do what he says.”
Mr. Blister pressed the point of the blade into Beth’s flesh, drawing blood, and she cried out, the sound muffled against the duct tape.
This was enough to change Ortiz’s mind.
Nodding, he dropped the Glock to his feet, then kicked it aside and stepped away.
Vargas’s heart was thumping. “What now?” he asked.
Mr. Blister smiled again, backing toward the adjoining doorway. “She is my prize, Nick. My trophy. Just as she was before. I considered putting a pillow over her face for betraying me, but now that I see her like this, how beautiful she is, how could I do such a thing?”
The blood from his wrist was rolling down her chest now, snaking a trail between her breasts, working its way toward the dark patch between her legs.
“You’re not taking her with you,” Vargas said.
“Oh? And what will you do to stop me?”
With this, he dragged her backward through the adjoining doorway, moving quickly, Beth struggling against him as they disappeared into the darkness of Vargas’s room.
The moment he heard the door slam, Vargas dove for the Tomcat and scooped it up.
BY THE TIME he reached the hallway, he heard another door slam—a fire exit at the end of the corridor.
Vargas ran, Ortiz emerging from the room behind him.
“This puta madre gonna die tonight.”
“Get your car,” Vargas said. “Bring it around to the front. We can’t let them get away.”
Ortiz turned on his heels and sprinted as Vargas crashed through the fire exit, just in time to see Mr. Blister and Beth on the landing below, pushing through the first-floor doorway.
Vargas vaulted the steps, nearly losing his balance as he landed, using the walls to hold him upright as he threw open the door and stumbled into the street.
But Mr. Blister was already on the opposite side, shoving Beth onto the backseat of a Jaguar XJ. Shutting her inside, he moved around to the driver’s door and swung it open as Vargas raised the Tomcat.
But Vargas knew he was out of range and if he fired, the chances of hitting anything significant were slim to none.
Then he heard the squeal of tires and looked up to see Ortiz’s taxi tearing around the corner as—
—Mr. Blister reached inside and brought out a semi-automatic handgun. He fired at the oncoming cab, decimating a side mirror, puncturing the left front tire, and—
—Ortiz swerved, struggling to control the wheel, heading straight for Vargas as—
—Mr. Blister slid into the Jaguar, fired up the engine, and tore away, laying a long patch of rubber on the road.
Jumping clear of the oncoming cab, Vargas ran, chasing after the Jaguar with everything he had, bringing the Tomcat up again, ready to fire—
But it wasn’t enough.
And as Ortiz came to a screeching halt behind him, the Jaguar careened around a corner and disappeared from sight.
Gone.
With Beth tied up in the backseat.
Vargas stopped in the middle of the street, his chest heaving, his shoulder aching, his head throbbing…
And a cold, dark tide washed through him.
82
“YOU MUST HAVE many questions,” Rafael said.
They were driving along the coast road, several miles out of the city. Beth lay in back with her head against the armrest, staring out at a black ocean lit only by the moon.
She had no idea where he was taking her, but she had managed to quell her panic for the moment. She just wished he’d had the decency to cover her with a blanket. The last thing she should be worried about was being naked in front of him, but she felt embarrassed and humiliated.
And the thought of his bloo
d drying on her body made her sick to her stomach.
“Do not worry, my love. I meant what I said back there. I will not harm you.” He paused. “And if you promise to be good, I will remove the tape from your mouth. You would like that, sí?”
Beth nodded but wasn’t sure if he saw her.
“Come closer,” he said.
Beth hesitated, then readjusted her body, doing as she was told, and he reached back, ripping the tape away. She let out a long breath, then immediately backed away from him, returning her head to the armrest.
“What about my wrists?”
She was lying on top of them and her hands were starting to go numb.
“Not yet,” he said. “But soon.”
“Can’t you at least cover me?”
“I wasn’t expecting you to be like this, so I am afraid I have no way of granting such a request. You can thank La Santisima for the heat.”
“Don’t you have a blanket in the trunk or something?”
“No,” he said. “But there is no reason to be ashamed of your body, Beth. As I’ve said many times, you are a beautiful woman.”
“You disgust me.”
“There is little I can do about that at the moment. But it will change. I promise.”
They drove in silence for a while, Beth quietly working on the rope around her wrists, trying desperately to loosen it. But he’d tied it too tight, and she wasn’t having much success.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked.
“Back home, of course. Where you belong.”
“What do you mean? I’ve been there before?”
“Ahhh, yes. We have many memories together.” He paused. Shrugged. “Well…I have many memories. What happened to you is unfortunate. But those who sin against La Santisima rarely go unpunished.”
“What do I have to do with La Santisima?”
“Much more than you know. You are a child of the Holy Mother.”
“Oh? And what about Jen? Is she a child of the Holy Mother, too?”
“We all are,” Rafael said.
“Where is she? What did you do to her?”
He paused again. “We’ll save that question for another time.”
He was silent for a moment, and Beth stared at his face in the rearview mirror. The entire right side was a mess of mottled, blistery flesh.
He caught her looking at him.
“You must be wondering how this happened. The last you remember of me is our encounter in Playa Azul.”
“How do you know that? How could you possibly know what I remember?”
He smiled. “There is someone in your life, Beth, who is not who he seems to be. He has been apprising us of your progress—although not quite as faithfully as I had hoped.”
“Who? Dr. Stanley?”
He laughed softly. “Your doctor knows nothing about us. No one at the hospital does.”
“Then who?”
Rafael said nothing, letting her turn the question in her mind.
Then it hit her. There was only other person she’d had contact with since the shooting, besides the police.
“Oh my God,” she said. “Peter?”
“He has been working with us for quite some time now. Long before you and I met. He has managed to facilitate many of our business transactions, while diverting attention away from us. At a price, of course. He is a valuable asset.”
“I don’t believe you,” Beth said. “Peter may be a lot of things, but he’d never get involved with people like you.”
“You think you know him, do you?”
“I was married to him for nearly four years.”
“Then you must know that he was sleeping with your sister.”
83
IT TOOK BETH several moments and a considerable amount of effort to recover from Rafael’s bombshell. What helped her was to allow herself to slip into a state of complete denial.
“Bullshit,” she said. “Jen would never do that to me.”
“Jen is a creature of impulse, Beth. You know that better than anyone.”
He was right, but Beth refused to believe that her sister would betray her like that. It was true that Jen didn’t seem to care much about who she slept with, as long as she got the rewards, but there’s no way she would have taken on Peter. He was off-limits.
But then, the concept of off-limits wasn’t one that Jen truly understood, was it? She’d proven that more than once, like the night she’d flirted shamelessly with the newlywed, right in front of his wife.
Could Rafael be telling the truth?
Was Jen the woman Peter had been cheating with? The reason for their divorce?
As if he were reading her mind, Rafael said, “It’s a sad, unfortunate tale, Beth. But it goes well beyond an unfaithful husband and a sister’s betrayal.”
“I don’t understand.”
“How do you think Marta and I met you? Do you think it was an accident?”
“No,” Beth said. “I think you and your little fuck buddy were on board that ship trolling for victims. You saw us in the restaurant and liked what you saw.”
“Yes,” Rafael told her. “We did like what we saw. But we met Jennifer long before that cruise.”
That didn’t make any sense.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I told you, Beth. Your ex-husband and La Santa Muerte have long had a business relationship. A little over a year ago, Marta and I were visiting Los Angeles and we held a private party for our friends. A way to say thank you for their service to La Santisima.”
“What does this have to do with Jen?”
“Your sister was Peter’s guest at the party, and quite a popular one at that—with both the men and the women.”
“Shut up, you disgusting pig.”
“I know this is painful for you, but I think it is important that you know the truth.”
Yes, Beth thought. The truth. Not these horrible lies.
She tried again to work the rope free but still couldn’t get it to budge.
“Marta took quite a liking to your sister that night. But Jennifer was so high on alcohol and drugs, I doubt if she remembered either of us. Marta, however, did not forget. And when Peter later found himself in a bit of…difficulty…Marta offered him a tempting solution.”
“What kind of difficulty?”
“He fathered your sister’s child.”
Beth felt her skin go cold; her mind was suddenly crowded by the image of the baby smiling up at her.
Jen’s baby.
Peter’s baby?
“Andy,” she said, almost involuntarily.
“Yes,” Rafael said, sounding surprised. “You remember him?”
“Only a face. A face and the name.”
“Unfortunately for Jennifer, Peter had no interest in being a father. Especially out of wedlock. Especially when he was trying to win back his ex-wife.”
Beth remembered all the phone calls from Peter in the wake of the divorce, begging for her to take him back. The excuses to see her at the office. But she had rebuffed his advances every time. She’d been hurt enough, and she wasn’t interested in giving him a chance to hurt her again.
“I still don’t understand,” she said. “What does any of this have to do with us meeting you and Marta on that cruise?”
“The whole thing was prearranged. Peter booked passage for Jennifer and her guest as a gift to her. A chance for her to get away and think about the pregnancy. But what she didn’t know was that she was the gift. To us.”
“He was setting us up?”
“Not you,” Rafael said. “He was not expecting you to be her guest.”
That’s right, Beth thought. She’d been a last-minute substitute when Jen’s best friend, Debbie, flaked out.
“Yet there you were, sitting in that restaurant, then later, standing at the ship’s rail. And I knew I had to have you.”
Beth felt a ball of bile lodge in her throat. The thought that she’d let this guy even come cl
ose to her made her want to projectile vomit.
“But Marta wouldn’t hear of it,” Rafael continued. “You were not part of the deal.”
“That’s what you two were arguing about in the bar.”
Rafael nodded. “When Peter found out you would be there, he made a personal appeal to El Santo that you be left alone.”
“But you didn’t listen.”
“I tried, my darling. And despite your rudeness toward me when I saw you sitting in that café in Playa Azul, it was very difficult to walk away.”
“How flattering. And Jen?”
“We had already taken her by then. But before the day was done, my prayer to La Santisima was answered. And we took you as well. Just as you were leaving the police station.”
“But why? Weren’t you disobeying a direct order from your precious El Santo?”
“Yes,” Rafael said. “And that is why I have this.” He gestured to his ravaged face. “An offer of flesh as penance for my sins.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
“Oh no, my darling. We call it a cleansing. It is quite painful—but without pain there is no glory before God. You will see.”
Beth stared at his face in the rearview mirror again and renewed her effort to loosen the rope, a deep, dark well of dread bubbling in her intestines.
She had to get the hell out of this car.
84
VARGAS COULD BARELY contain himself. “Come on, Ortiz, we’re wasting time. We have to get moving.”
He was standing in Ortiz’s toolshed, looking down the steps into the hidey-hole. Ortiz was moving around down there and taking forever.
“If we’re going to kill a man, pocho, we’ll need the right tools to do it. And not that popgun you bought from me.”
“All right, fine, just hurry it up.”
A moment later Ortiz climbed up the steps carrying an armload of weapons, then dumped them onto a workbench.
“A couple of these should do the trick.”
Vargas looked down at them, a variety of handguns, the makes and models of which he couldn’t even name.
“Pick your poison. But I got dibs on the SIG.”
It was a classic case of overkill. They already had the Tomcat and the gun Mr. Blister had left on the hotel room floor, and Vargas just wanted to get on the road.
Down Among the Dead Men (A Thriller) Page 24