“The cops are corrupt and the gangs own the ghettos. The Butlers and I went to Jamaica, hoping to petition the government for help. The US embassy claimed their hands were tied. The Jamaican government told us we should have come to them first. I had provided gear and support for Nick in the Dominican, Haiti, and Cuba in past years. Like he said yesterday, there were a couple jobs no one would touch, operating without backup. After watching Nick work, I never turned down a job with him. Anyway, I sent a message to his Internet drop. Three days later he was on my doorstep with his infamous equipment bag. He listened to the story and asked if I could land him at a particular place off the Jamaican coast, near Kingston. He slept on the way. I took him where he had requested. He told me to stay moving until he called me. Two days later, he told me to anchor at the place I’d dropped him off at. Nick showed up with a guy tied up and gagged in the raft.”
“Interrogation,” Rachel stated.
“You have some experience with a Nick question and answer session?” Gus asked, somewhat surprised.
“Oh yeah. Enough to know Nick found someone he was sure knew where your brother was. Then he found out the information in short order.”
“Then you do know. Nick went back in with a MAC10 and a bag full of hand grenades. I only have my brother’s version as to what happened. Phil told me he and the Butlers were chained in some dank hole under a bar in Kingston. They heard explosions, screams, and gunfire. The trap door to the hole was opened. One of their terrified captors tumbled down inside with them, followed by a guy dressed all in black with his face and arms blackened. Phil said the captor let them loose and Nick shot him in the head. Nick led them up into what was left of the bar, where Phil claimed the floor was covered in blood and bodies. He told me Nick guided them out, shot anything that moved and tossed grenades at random until they reached the Jeep he’d acquired.
“Nick called me with coordinates to hook up at in the Port of Kingston. When I backed in next to the pier, Nick hustled the three kids on board and we were out of there. The kids looked like hell. They’d been beaten and tortured. Nick helped the kids get cleaned up and their wounds bandaged while I hightailed it home. When we were all safe at my dock in St. Pete, Nick tossed me a bag full of money. I tried to make him keep it. He smiled, patted the other bag he had, and said he’d already acquired his fee.”
Gus laughed. “You should have seen Phil and the Butlers during the trip to St. Pete. After they were cleaned up and doctored, the three of them avoided Nick like he was the devil himself-not even a damn thank you. Nick told me to sneak everyone back where they belonged without saying anything to anybody. He gave the three kids a quick lecture, telling them to forget they ever saw him and how they ended up in St. Pete. They didn’t need convincing. Apparently, the official who had sold us out was one of the first casualties. A lot of the Kingston Posse hierarchy went to hell, too, so the Jamaican government wasn’t all that upset. Phil completed his internship and marred Julie Butler. They have a threeyear-old daughter.
“Nick never mentioned anything to you about it at all?”
“Sure he did.” Gus answered. “He said ‘Piece of cake.’”
Javier Martine exited his Ford Mustang in front of the Solano Vista apartment complex, wondering if he should call his contact at Fletcher Exports to report he had talked with Rene Santora. Although Rene had told him she had taken ill suddenly, Javier believed something else was going on. She had dodged his questions about whether the log had been checked pertaining to the Hunter safety deposit box and why she hadn’t called him. If those idiots, Vertinski and Vega hadn’t been arrested, I’d be by the pool with a beer. If that dork with the beard hadn’t come over when he did and interrupted us, I wouldn’t have to meet Santora later. As Martine closed his apartment door, someone knocked. He checked out the security eye in the door and saw a familiar man.
“What do you want?” Javier recognized the man who'd interrupted him and Rene at the bank.
“Rene sent me over with a letter.” The man held up an envelope.
I will kill that bitch for sending this asshole to my place. Martine flung open the door angrily. The crackling arc from a stun gun was the last thing he heard before the pain and blackness engulfed him.
Javier groaned. His eyelids fluttered open and he quickly realized movement was impossible. Plastic ties fastened his ankles to something solid, pulled tight enough to nearly shut off circulation. He could feel his arms fastened painfully in the same way behind his back. A towel had been duct taped around his mouth and head. From what little he could see and feel, Javier knew he was duct taped to his kitchen chair and his pants were down. Directly in front of him, the bearded guy from the bank watched him with a detached look. Javier grunted in an attempt to get his captor’s attention and show he wanted to speak.
He heard a slight knock. The bearded man went to answer the door as if he expected someone. Javier groaned unintentionally when he saw a woman follow the man into the kitchen. Martine recognized her right away, despite the hair coloring: Rachel Hunter. He saw from her eyes that she recognized him too. The bearded man handed her the stun gun. Rachel leaned down with the weapon, bracing herself with a hand on Javier’s left shoulder, but the man pulled her hand away. He adjusted her slightly so no part of her was in contact with Javier.
“Remember my husband Rick?” she asked him, just before the crackling sound heralded a pain so intense Javier’s shoulder popped out of its socket when he jerked. He again passed out.
When he came to, every nerve ending on fire. The bearded guy grabbed his nose with plastic gloved fingers until Javier’s eyes bulged open, and then released him.
“I’m going to uncover your mouth for a moment. Give me the name of your boss at Fletcher, or Rachel here will tickle your balls with the blue arc again.”
“Max…Max Stoddard!” Javier cried out the moment the man from the bank peeled down the gag. “Please -” he began before the bearded man pulled the gag back into place.
“Just like I did a moment ago, Rach,” the bearded man directed, stepping aside.
Rachel Hunter leaned toward Javier’s widening eyes once again. She gripped his nose shut with her own plastic covered fingers, and glanced at the bearded guy while Javier’s vision turned grainy.
“Like this?” he heard her ask as if from far away.
“Perfect.”
Nick looked over his handiwork carefully. Javier Martine sat on his couch in front of the big screen television mounted on the wall. The ESPN sports channel was selected on the screen at normal volume. Javier clutched the channel changer in his right hand. In his left, a two-thirds full beer can was propped up on his left thigh. The missing third of the beer had been carefully poured down Javier’s throat. Javier’s eyes were closed as if he had fallen asleep watching sports. Nick had cleaned the apartment thoroughly.
“I’ll get the rental first and swing by to pick you up,” he told Rachel. “Slip out of here and lock up as you leave. Don’t exit if anyone is in view of the door. Keep your hat pulled down over your face and don’t look up, just like when you came in.”
“Oh, was I supposed to do that on the way in?”
He growled as Rachel smiled at him innocently. “One of these days, Alice, one of these days,” Nick wheezed through clenched teeth while looking up at the apartment ceiling with cocked fist. “Right to the moon, baby, right to the moon.” He completed his Ralph Kramden ‘Honeymooners’ imitation with a few final shakes of his fist in her direction.