The Reformed Page 14

  “Really?” Sam said.

  “According to the computer model,” Chris said. “He’ll be in the hospital for a week. Probably will have a problem sitting for a long period of time for a while after that. No career in the truck-driving arts. I’ll tell you that.”

  “And these are nonlethal weapons?”

  “You didn’t kill the guy, did you?”

  “No.”

  “You put anything illegal into the gun?”

  “No.”

  “Then it’s nonlethal.”

  Sam turned the gun over in his hand. “I conceal this,” Sam said. “Any problem with that?”

  “If you conceal a water pistol, is there a problem with that?” Chris said.

  Sam pondered this. “I need a dozen of these,” he said.

  “I’ve got three,” Chris said.

  “How much time would it take me to modify a regular marker to do this?”

  “You got access to a torch?”

  “Sure,” Sam said.

  “About five minutes,” he said.

  This was getting better and better. “Let’s say I needed some CS gas balls.”

  “Let’s say.”

  “You could get a person those?”

  “Where’s the fight?” Chris seemed genuinely intrigued by all of this, which wasn’t a great thing. Sure, the guy could keep a secret, but the less anyone knew, the better, as ever.

  “It’s a top-secret thing, Kick-Ass,” Sam said. He tossed in Chris’ old nickname just to let him know they were back on military ground. You know—Band of Brothers. All that.

  “Bullshit,” Chris said. “If it was top-secret, you wouldn’t be out here buying paintball guns.”

  “You remember my buddy Michael Westen?”

  “Spy?”

  “That’s the one.”

  Chris put up a hand. “Say no more. Whatever you’re doing with him, I want no part of that. You know how many different agencies, foreign and domestic, have come to me, seeing if I’d be interested in relieving that asset?”

  Sam wasn’t surprised, really. A guy like Chris Alessio would be who he’d call if he needed someone to kill a person and do it right.

  “I appreciate your not taking any of those jobs,” Sam said.

  “Well, I value my life,” Chris said, which was a surprise. Anytime an ex-SEAL can admit to being over-matched on anything was cause for a national holiday. “Whatever you guys are into, I’d just as soon put you in touch with someone who can get you some real guns.”

  “Real guns I’ve got,” Sam said.

  “Ah,” Chris said. “I see what you’ve got going on. Like Latvia? Break no laws while breaking someone’s back?”

  “Right,” Sam said. He’d told Michael about the teeth flossing, but really couldn’t remember the meat of that story, though apparently it was a good one.

  “Hold on,” Chris said, “I’ve got something for you.” Chris went into a storeroom and came out with a long, cylindrical box. “I got these when I was thinking about taking the park in more of a historical direction, but, you know, people just want to shoot each other. Nothing wrong with that, right?”

  “Right,” Sam said.

  Chris opened the box, and Sam saw what looked like, well, whips. “Whips?” Sam said.

  “Florida stockwhips. Cowboys used them on cows back in the day. They’re considered farm implements. I got three boxes of them.”

  Oh, Sam thought. Oh. He took one in his hand and walked over to the ballistics dummy and snapped the whip on its knee, opening up a gash at least five inches long. Oh.

  “I’ll take them all,” Sam said. “What can I do in return?”

  “Nothing,” Chris said, and gave Sam a wink. “Besides, I heard from our old friend Virgil that you do people some favors on occasion?”

  “On occasion,” Sam said.

  Chris looked around his warehouse. “Just to say, not all of this stuff was procured by means I like to talk about. Could be I might need some people I can trust one day.”

  “I’m people you can trust,” Sam said.

  “I’ve got five hundred paintballs filled with pepper spray,” Chris said. “Will that suit your needs?”

  13

  When you’re combating an insurgent force on foreign soil, like in Iraq or Afghanistan, it’s imperative that you work hand in hand with the nation that’s hosting you. In a perfect situation, you’d have trained that nation’s military force on your standard operating procedures, and there would be a great amount of mutual trust among the leaders, and the soldiers would consider each other valued assets in the fight for freedom, liberty and the greater good of whatever far-flung nation you happened to be dwelling and/or killing in. The truth, however, is that fighting on foreign land invariably means you can’t trust anyone.

  “You know what I don’t understand, Mikey?” Sam said. It was just before ten thirty, and we were walking across the Honrado campus—Fiona had been instructed to arrive after Junior and his men, so she and Barry were watching us from her car across the street—en route to Father Eduardo’s office. “Why did it take so long for the bad guys to stop wearing matching uniforms? Life was a lot easier when the people who wanted to kill you all coordinated their dress.”

  “All evolution is slow,” I said.

  “You’d think George Washington would have looked across the river and realized it would be a lot easier to beat the British if they just changed their clothes into something less identifiably American. Like, you know, a red coat or something.”

  “There were rules for war back then, Sam,” I said. “It was much more pleasant.”

  “You know the only time the Americans really got their asses handed to them on American soil? Right where we’re standing. The Seminoles opened up a can on the Americans right here in Florida. And you know how they did it? They came at them from all angles, and they weren’t wearing stupid uniforms. You’d think we would have learned something from that.”

  “You might have noticed during training that we weren’t given a lot of information on key losses in American history,” I said.

  “Which is why we’ve spent the last several years getting our asses handed back to us in Iraq,” Sam said. “All this time, and no one gets that you don’t have to have a uniform to kill someone.”

  Sam was particularly agitated this morning. It might have been a direct result of it being morning, or it might have been related to the fact that he set fire to his favorite Tommy Bahama shirt while we were welding the paintball guns—of which we both had two pistols each at present, while Fiona was planning on making a grand entrance with her whip—or maybe he just didn’t like the idea of going into battle with a faceless opponent.

  “Sam,” I said, “Father Eduardo knows who in his employ works for the Latin Emperors, or at least did. We’re not stepping into this blind.”

  “I dunno, Mikey,” Sam said. “I feel like this is a situation outside our comfort zone. Who knows how many moles are in that place? We could be walking into a slaughterhouse with paintball guns and Fiona’s buggy whip.”

  It was true. I had to trust that what Father Eduardo had was more valuable to the Latin Emperors with him alive—and with us alive—than dead.

  “A bunch of dead bodies is not good for anyone’s business,” I said. “We’re not disposable people. Junior’s going to realize that as soon as he sees my face. I have a feeling that will change the way he does business.”

  Gangsters and terrorists are used to dealing with people who are scared of them. When you traffic in fear, you expect people will bend to your threats, and thus you’re able to get things done by reputation alone. The difference today would be that Sam, Fiona and I wouldn’t exactly be shaking in our shoes. Barry might have some problems, but we’d already made a plan for that.

  When we reached the office building, I placed a small bug on the stucco wall adjacent to the door and then leaned down to tie my shoe. I didn’t bother trying to make the bug look any more indistinct t
han it was already—it was the size of a flattened marble, but flat like a magnet—since it had only one purpose: to record Junior’s conversation coming in and out of the building. “If you can hear me, Fiona,” I said, “honk twice.”

  From across the street, two quick beeps rang out.

  “Let’s go to work,” I said to Sam.

  I pushed the double doors in and walked up to the reception desk while Sam stood still by the door. Leticia was on the phone, but when she saw me she hung up abruptly. “Hello,” she said, just another day of her life. “It’s nice to see you again, Mr. ...” she looked at her appointments, but my name wasn’t on there.

  “Solo,” I said. “Father Eduardo is expecting me.”

  “You’re not on the calendar,” she said.

  I looked down at her calendar and saw that Junior Gonzalez had actually been penciled in. I had to hand it to Leticia. She was good at her job.

  “He won’t mind,” I said.

  She swallowed hard. “He’s got an appointment at eleven,” she said. “You should come back later.”

  “Sweetheart,” I said, “do you see my friend back there?” I stepped aside so she could see Sam.

  “Yes,” she said. “Mr. Teriyaki?”

  “Kuryakin,” I said. “Mr. Kuryakin. Mr. Kuryakin is going to shoot you in the face if you don’t let me in to see Father Eduardo. It’s not personal. It’s just what he’s been told to do. You can understand that, right? Doing what you’ve been told to do? You do what you’re told, don’t you, sweetheart?”

  She swallowed hard again. “You don’t understand,” she said, her voice a hoarse rasp. “People are coming who will kill you.”

  “I admire that you want to save my life,” I said. “But don’t you want to save yours?”

  “No,” she said. “I let you in, I’m good as dead, anyway.”

  “What about your son?”

  “How do you know about my son?”

  “How does anyone know anything these days? It was on TMZ.”

  Leticia slid her hands beneath her thighs. It was something a small child might do when nervous, and I realized Leticia wasn’t that old, really. A sad remnant of a life lived too quickly. “I can’t go,” she said.

  “Leticia,” I said, “isn’t there another building you could visit right now? You don’t need to leave the state. You don’t even need to leave campus. Just put up a note that says you’ll be back in ten minutes and transfer your calls to voice mail. I’m here to help you. I really am. If I wanted you to be dead, you’d be dead. I don’t want that. I just want you to let me in, and then I want you to disappear until you think you should come back. I think you’ll know when that is. Won’t you?”

  Leticia nodded slowly, and then I saw something dawn on her. “That girl?” she said.

  “That girl,” I said.

  “You really don’t want to hurt me, do you?”

  “I really don’t,” I said, “but my partner will unless you leave.”

  It was important that Leticia not know precisely what to believe, but also that she should believe me. She wanted out. We knew that. But I didn’t want to give up too much. Not yet, at least.

  Leticia grabbed her purse and started to get up. “Wait,” I said. “Give me your cell phone.”

  She reached into her purse, fished her phone out and set it on the desk. She kept her eyes on me the entire time. Not scared. Interesting.

  “You like what you see?” I asked.

  “Why aren’t you wearing a mask?”

  “Because I don’t care who sees me,” I said.

  “You’re not a bad person, are you?”

  “No time to find out,” I said.

  “That scar on your face,” she said, “you get that shaving?”

  Testing now. Even more interesting.

  “You have five seconds,” I said.

  Leticia stepped around her desk and walked past me. Sam opened the door for her, and she never once looked at him.

  “Tough girl,” Sam said.

  “Let’s hope she’s not stupid,” I said.

  We walked down the hall toward Father Eduardo’s office. There was a conference room on the right, followed by three offices along the left-hand side of the corridor before you reached Father Eduardo’s office at the end. I stuck my head in the first office and saw a young man of maybe twenty-five holding a Bible in his lap talking to a boy of no more than sixteen. The young man was dressed in a crisp white shirt with a tie. The name on the slider outside the office said CLIFFORD TURNER on it. Up the hall, I saw Sam enter another office and introduce himself as Chazz Finley, as we’d planned.

  “Excuse me,” I said, and Clifford looked up at me.

  “Help you with something?” he said. He didn’t seem annoyed, but clearly he was in the middle of a conversation and wanted to get back to it.

  “Mike Michaels from the mayor’s office,” I said. I gave him the toothy smile every city employee with an ounce of desire to be a state employee can employ at a moment’s notice.

  “Okay,” he said.

  “I’m going to need you to clear out of your office for the next hour,” I said. “The mayor is coming in for a meeting with Father Eduardo, and we’re going to need your office to set up the media.”

  “What?” he said. “I’m in the middle of a counseling session here.”

  “I see that. I see that,” I said, “but it’s been a change of plans. Leticia just found out, the sweetheart, and so she’s busy trying to find us some space elsewhere. But when the mayor says jump, you know how that is.”

  Clifford looked at his young charge. It would be imprudent to fly off the handle in front of the kid, particularly since the kid had a monitoring bracelet around his ankle.

  “This is unusual,” Clifford said. “But what are we as humans if we cannot adapt, right, Milo?”

  The kid didn’t say anything. He just stood up when Clifford did and made his way to the door with him.

  “Real sorry about this,” I said.

  “I didn’t vote for the mayor,” Clifford said. “Don’t expect my vote next year, either.”

  “Noted,” I said.

  Down the hall, another young man and kid with an ankle bracelet came shuffling out of the office Sam had entered. They didn’t look happy, either, so when they passed me I said, “The mayor thanks you.”

  “The mayor will be hearing from me,” the young man said.

  “All letters are appreciated,” I said.

  Sam opened up the third office door and then stepped back abruptly.

  “Problem?” I said.

  “Mike, this isn’t good,” he said. I peered into the office. It was filled with bookshelves. On each of the shelves were approximately twenty Bibles. “That’s a lot of judgment right there, Mikey.”

  “You’re on the right side of the law,” I said. “Generally.”

  “We’ll keep this door closed,” Sam said. “I don’t want Fiona to walk by and burst into flames.”

  “Good call,” I said.

  When we reached Father Eduardo’s office, I rapped lightly on the door and he opened it and, yet again, surprised me. Instead of the shirt and tie I’d grown accustomed to, Father Eduardo was dressed as the priest he was, collar and all.

  “Jesus,” Sam said.

  “That’s the idea,” Father Eduardo said.

  It was nice he still had a sense of humor. Even still, it was going to be hard to hit a man in a collar, which Father Eduardo had likely banked on. I’d done worse, and I had a feeling that Father Eduardo, at some point in his life, had done so, too.

  Once we were in the office I said, “I emptied out the floor. What’s above us?”

  “Nothing until tonight,” he said. “What did you do with Leticia?”

  “Gave her a choice,” I said. “We’ll see how that works out.”

  Sam peered out the window. “Company’s coming,” he said. “Should we get out the nice china?”

  I walked up behind him and looked ou
t, too. Junior Gonzalez: his eyes were covered by black wraparound sunglasses, but his tattoos and scars and muscles, however, were on full display. He’d given up the pretense of pleasant businessman so well cultivated in his suburban home that I had to wonder how silly he felt changing into a wife beater, Dickies and white shoes. The lieutenant walking with him was a massive hulk of a man. Maybe six foot five. Close to three bills. He had on shorts and white socks pulled to his knees, and wore a button-down shirt opened up to reveal a plain white T-shirt. It always surprised me how these guys had such white shirts. Didn’t they ever spill a Coke on themselves, like regular people?

  “When was the last time you saw your brother?” I asked Father Eduardo.

  “Nine months,” he said. “Maybe a year. Maybe longer.”

  “You ready to see him again?”

  “I am,” he said.

  Out on the street, a Miami police cruiser came to a stop at the corner. I called Fiona. “You see that cop?” I said.

  “Hard not to,” she said.

  “Get his plates. He gets out of the car and starts heading toward the office before you make your move? Shoot him.”

  “Really?”

  “Really,” I said.

  There was a pause. “You mean with the paintball gun?”

  “Yes,” I said. “How’s Barry doing?”

  “He’s sweating through his pants,” she said. “He’s agreed to get my car cleaned so we won’t have a problem.”

  “That’s just great,” I said. “Let me know if you hear anything important when Junior and Killa walk up.”

  “That’s Killa?”

  “Doesn’t look the part?”

  “I guess I imagined he’d be smaller,” she said, and hung up.

  Out the window, Junior and Killa were making slow progress across the grounds. Every person who walked by got stared at. “Not trying to be too inconspicuous,” I said.

  “Not Junior’s way,” Father Eduardo said.

  “Open up your office door and stand there,” I said. “Let your brother see you and let Junior see you.”

  “Should I look worried?”

  “Are you?”

  “No,” he said. “I have faith.”