Stuff to Die For (29 page)

What the hell was the deal with Vic Maitlin? I tried to picture a scenario where he would be in a position to order someone not to kill me. This from a guy who’s finger had been severed and was being held for ransom. A ransom of twenty million dollars in shares of Café Cubana. It made no sense, but my head hurt, I was dizzy, and my best friend was next to me, unconscious and barely breathing. I wasn’t thinking clearly.

I wondered if the truck had arrived yet. I don’t know how long I was out, but if people were still in the warehouse it would appear that they were still waiting to load the guns on a truck. I glanced at James and there was no change. Sweat and blood soaked his shirt where his head hung down on his chest and his rough breathing didn’t sound good.

Footsteps and Spanish-speaking voices approached the office and I closed my eyes. Let them think both of us were unconscious until I knew what they wanted.

The door opened and several people walked in.

“You guys have got to stop with the Spanish.” A different voice. “It’s been too long, man. I can’t follow you.”

I didn’t recognize the voice.

“They have been nothing but a thorn in our side. This entire part of the operation would have been trouble free without these two.”

“Not altogether true, Israel. What about the grocer and his gay friend?”

“Castro’s spies. There is no doubt.”

“They caused problems.”

“And they were dealt with. But these two—”

“These two are here, under our control, and we can now get rid of them.”

Only two voices speaking and one of them was Carlos.

“Maybe there is another alternative.”

It was Vic.

“Maybe we can keep them tied up here in the office. Jesús is staying here and he could keep an eye on them until our operation begins.”

Everyone was quiet for a moment. Finally, Carlos spoke. “Keep an eye on them? What the fuck are they, children to be watched? Listen, Victor, we talked about collateral damage. People will die. Some innocent, some not. It will happen. It’s a necessary part of war. Are you losing your courage?”

“I was born with more courage than you’ll have in a lifetime!” There was venom in Victor’s voice.

“Then show some. Here is my pistol. Shoot them both, and we’ll throw their bodies in the water. Casualties of war, Victor. Here, take it.”

It was time to open my eyes. I wanted to have some say in the matter.

“Vic.”

He looked down at me. The same good looks, dark skin and eyes, and big hands, one of them wrapped around a pistol. There seemed to be five healthy fingers on each one. “Hey, Skip.”

Carlos stood in the doorway, smirking. A third man watched with wide eyes and an unhealthy grin plastered on his face. He seemed to be eagerly awaiting my demise.

“Vic, I’m really glad to see you have all your fingers.” Vic’s fingers. One of the main reasons I was in this predicament.

He gave me a vague smile. “Yeah. That was never for your benefit.”

“Jackie?”

“Jackie. She was supposed to open the envelope, realize my father was being blackmailed, and stay out of the way for a while.”

“But she never opened the envelope. I did.”

“I’m truly sorry you got involved. Ironic isn’t it?”

I ignored the comment. “But, whose finger was it?”

He glanced at Carlos, who was leaning against the door frame, amused at the story Vic was telling.

“There was a Cuban grocer and his significant other who stumbled onto our little plan. We took them to the Cuban Social Club and—”

“We talked to them.” Carlos laughed. “And then we cut off the finger of one of the men when they refused to tell us what we wanted to know. He squealed like a baby.”

The third man spoke. “But they told us everything. They were reporting back to Cuba about our plans for invasion. It’s very simple really. You just remove body parts to get a full confession.”

I was trying to put it all together. “You decided to send the finger—”

“And Victor’s class ring.”

“The finger and the ring to Jackie?”

Vic nodded. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

James was wheezing, his chest almost jerking with every breath he took.

“Vic, James doesn’t sound good. He could use a doctor.”

I saw the indecision in his eyes. He glanced at Carlos, then to James, and back to me, and sighed.

“Saving someone’s life once in a lifetime should be enough. It should be more than enough.”

I didn’t mention that he’d saved my life again by stopping the guard from strangling me.

Vic pointed the pistol at James, held the pose for a moment, then swung the barrel so it was aimed directly at my head. He cocked the hammer and a chill went down my back and I shivered in the stifling heat of the office.

Then he turned and handed the pistol back to Carlos. “I am responsible for this man’s life. While I may not save it again, I cannot take it. It has nothing to do with courage, but everything to do with the laws of life.”

Carlos stared at the pistol in his hand, then shrugged, released the hammer and stuck the handgun in his belt. I breathed a sigh of relief and said a silent prayer. I’m not a religious person, but sometimes you just feel that someone upstairs is watching out for you.

Carlos put a hand on Victor’s shoulder. “You think what you did was admirable. You would like to think everything you do is noble and well thought out. You are no better than the rest of us. You do this not just for
Los Historicos
. You do it for your own greed.”

Vic shoved his hand away and glowered at him. “I do this for the people of Cuba who beg for freedom.”

“And people will die. Innocent people will suffer. It’s like your explosives expert who made one small mistake on the bomb that was meant for Castro. It brought down the Cuban Social Club—killed the two spies
and
your bomb maker. You have already been responsible for lives, Victor, and the war has yet to begin.” Carlos spun around and walked out into the warehouse.

The third man, I guessed his name to be Israel, just stood there, giggling. Vic looked down at me, a scowl on his face. “Maybe there’s a lesson here. The life you save may come back to haunt you. Don’t haunt me, Skip. The greater good is that I am successful in this mission. Don’t stand in my way.”

I remembered the last person who had asked me to get the hell out of the way. Ricardo Fuentes, Vic’s father. Only he was asking me to step aside so his son could live. I wondered what Rick Fuentes would think now.

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

“T
RUCK’S HERE,” someone shouted from out in the main room. Truthfully, I’d had about enough of trucks. I could hear the overhead door rattle as it raised up, and the sound of a diesel engine as the truck pulled inside. The door closed and the choking smell of diesel exhaust filled the area.

James coughed.

I tried stretching my arms to see if there was any play with the rope. There was no feeling at all in my hands. I stretched again and thought maybe there was a slight easing of the tightness. Not enough to make a difference.

“Skip.”

I jumped.

“Skip?” James’ eyes were
almost
closed, droopy at best.

“James. Man, I’m glad you’re back.”

“Man, what’s happening?” His head still hung low, his chin resting on his chest.

“You took a pretty good beating.”

“You think I don’t know?”

“James, I tried to get out. Took two of them out with my pitching arm and a couple of oil cans, but they stopped me.”

He was quiet for a moment, still drawing short, raspy breaths. “You’re gonna have to pay for that oil, pard.”

“Vic is here. Alive.”

“No shit. They’ve got him too?”

“No. He’s got us. He’s one of them, Vic and all of his ten fingers.” I filled him in on the rest of the story. Half way through my CliffsNotes version his eyes closed and I thought I’d lost him. “James?”

“Yeah. I’m listening. Trying to block out the pain.”

When I finished, he lifted his head, looking at me with one eye open. “They were going to kill us?”

“Oh, I think they intend to kill us even now. But they’re loading the truck at the moment, and we’re not high priority.”

We could hear the sound of the forklift sliding under the boxes, then loading them into the truck.

“So if everyone is busy with the truck, now would be a good time to escape.” James even managed a weak smile.

“I agree. Let’s get out while we can.”

No plans, no chance of any escape.

“I think they may have cracked some ribs. My right side aches and when I breath it feels like something’s sticking me.”

“Man, I wish there was something I could have done.”

“You tried, amigo.”

I hadn’t heard them approach, but someone was turning the door handle. They shoved open the door and stepped inside and I got a glimpse of a shoe before I raised my head to see the rest. Heavy wax coating on a black shoe. I looked up. Buzz cut and open-collar shirt. Krueger from the CIA.

“Jesus, am I glad to see you.”

He smiled. “Told you boys to mind your own business. Remember I said it might come to this?”

I smiled back. “I should have listened. Mr. Krueger, I can’t tell you how glad I am. I believe James and I are on a list to be shot in the not too distant future.”

He laughed out loud. “Yes, I believe you are.” Someone walked in behind him wearing a shoulder holster with a wooden handled revolver inside. “Mr. Moore, Mr. Lessor, let me introduce you to Mark Spense. Mark’s with the Agency as well.”

“Thank God. Listen. James is in pretty bad shape. They beat him up and he thinks he may have some internal injuries. Can we get these ropes off and get some medical attention?”

Krueger laughed again. A jovial guy. “Mr. Moore, I’m afraid you’re mistaken about my reason for being here. Actually, there are several reasons, but right now my primary business is to attend to your death. And you can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

I
WONDERED IF MY OLD MAN would ever find out that I’d been killed. Collateral damage. My mom and sister would be busted up, but my dad? He might shrug his shoulders, but you can’t miss something you don’t claim as yours. And James’s dad? Now, like his father, James was never going to amount to much in the world of business, and he certainly wasn’t going to be driving that new Cadillac.

“Mark, get ’em on their feet, and bring in their friend.”

My heart jumped into my mouth. Jesus, they couldn’t have Em. Oh, Jesus Christ, please, not Em.

Jackie Fuentes walked into the sweltering office, a quirky smile on her face. “Hi, boys.”

James raised his head gingerly. I watched Jackie flinch when she saw the damage done to his face. James wasn’t so cute anymore.

“So you’re in on this too?”

“Not so you’d notice.” Mark Spense followed, the gun out of his holster and pointed at Jackie’s back. He pulled me up with his free hand, then eyed James. There was no way James could stand on his own. “You two,” he motioned to Jackie and me, “pick him up. We’re taking a little stroll across the street to the water.” Agent Spense untied my hands and I worked the circulation back into them. Then he untied James’s hands.

For the first time I saw panic register on Jackie’s pretty face. “They’re really going to kill us, aren’t they?”

“We are, little lady. We are.”

I gently took James under one arm and Jackie lifted the other.

“I don’t care if you have to drag him, we’re going outside.”

I stared hard at Krueger. “Before we go, tell me one thing.”

“Oh, Jesus. This is just like the fucking movies. ‘Please, tell me how all this happened before you kill me.’”

“This isn’t the movies. It’s my last request. I just want to know. Is Victor in charge of this little band of malcontents?”

“No. Now shut the fuck up and move.”

“One more question?”

“Move.”

“Are you and your partner really with the CIA?”

Krueger had pulled out his gun and was waving it at me.

“Yes? No?”

“Yes. Get moving.”

James grunted as we helped him stand, but he was able to put one foot in front of the other.

We entered the main area and I could see the large box truck being loaded with the crates of guns and ammunition. The yellow forklift was working off one of the pallets about half way down the wall. Carlos was driving the lift and Vic and Israel were inside the truck helping load the boxes. Juan, his arm in a cast, stood off to the side. All things considered, I figured he would rather be helping. A handful of workers were busy with other projects, two of them carrying the metal canisters that I’d hid behind the other night.