CAGED: RETRIBUTION

"To take revenge halfheartedly is to court disaster; either condemn or crown your hatred." Pierre Corneille

Chapter 1

La Habana, Cuba

La Casa Particular de Sylvia

The true viciousness of El Diablo Blanco rather took Raquel's breath away.

The soldier was a solid, hulking man and he'd fallen like a stack of cards. She could not fathom the kind of hate-fueled power that single punch must have had to flatten him, here on the second floor of the empty casita. She had seen more than her share of angry men and on some level the Mambo Kings leader was no different. And yet…

Such viciousness… la perversidad.

Raquel had many conversations with him over soup and bread and his favorite whiskey. She grew to understand him as a strong but wounded man, a man with great love in his heart for a lost woman. He would come into the paladar beaten, bruised and cut, but she knew the other man was more likely worse. Gossip assured her of it. He was smart, intuitively so, offering advice on her various businesses. He respected her. He could make her laugh with his shameless flirting, crudely sometimes. And then… he'd take her hand and hold it to his cheek, vulnerable, lost in a place he found there in her warmth. He whispered mama, in those drunken moments. How could she have known what lurked beneath?

She set her jaw tight and watched El Diablostorm down the hall to Rico, his lover, a respite from his hell. She kept her foot on the fallen man to keep him down in case he got ideas to fight. In English, the gun still hanging in Blanco's hand, he growled, "I am done talking. Find the contacts, get me explosives, NO MORE TALKING!" The young man was surprisingly unafraid as he barked more objection. The two went back and forth. The word, innocents, flew about.

"I'm not helping you, puto," Rico had said quietly, in finality, head back, arms crossed across his chest. "We had this conversation. Death is too good for them, too easy."

Coldness flew out Blanco's mouth, "Fuck you then, I'll-"

The soldier groaned and Raquel kicked him, "Quiet, stupid man."

But it was too late. The monster heard him. Gaze shifted hard. He spun on his feet, stalking back down the hall. Raquel watched that hair swing, that ominous limp, an expression devoid of reason, compassion. As if such things couldn't even exist on that bearded scarred face. This side of El Diablo, she did not know. She'd heard the confrontation with Pedro Moreno but… this…

She was unfamiliar and did not know how far he'd go with someone who personally offended him. He'd confessed to already having killed the little girl's rapist. She did not want a death here in the house. It was… bad luck.

"Tranquilo, Blanco…," she urged. Knife at her side but it was useless against the gun. He stopped and eyed her. She swallowed, holding his animal gaze. Tried to break through the new madness even though she did not think it possible. "I don't want blood within these walls." she said. "I don't want the gods punishing me or Sylvia."

He did not move for some seconds. Then nodded slowly. He stuck the gun in his waistband, the front, and again, paused. He put a hand out, "Cigarettes? Lighter? Por favor, para mí?"

Raquel stood and reached across the downed Rolon, handing him her pack and lighter. Like a viper, he grabbed her wrist and Raquel simply raised her eyebrows, waiting for his next move. His lips quirked, a tiny smile, but then he took the gift, releasing her. Eyes roving the ceiling, he shoved pack and lighter into his front pocket, the box crumpling. She observed all the ink on his body, dipped down his muscled chest and belly, landing on the spray of light brown male hair visible above the buttons of his jeans. Cuffs pooled at his bare feet. He'd lost weight. Worried Raquel despite everything.

He sniffed, a hand rubbing his nose. Then he bit down on his teeth, jaw flexing. Hunched and grabbed Rolon's legs in his hard hands. Dragged the man down the hall. Dragged him down the stairs, the poor disoriented and woozy soldier trying to lift his head to avoid more injury, hands stretched up to stop things. El Diablo didn't give two shits about what harm he was doing. He was rough. They passed Rico who shook his head, unsure of what to do. He too seemed to not know the extent of his lion's cruelty. Raquel briefly held the boy's hand and then followed the men down the flights of stairs. Maybe… maybe she could change things.

Blanco huffed as he pulled the soldier out the back door. The empty alley welcomed them, afternoon's light fading already in this dead of winter.

And then it got ugly. Such… viciousness.

Rolon groaned from the pain, now being dragged some feet away from the back door onto the rocks of the alleyway. The soldier held a hand to the side of his head, blood oozing. His shirt had slipped up so cutting gravel had scraped his skin. "Come on," he rasped thickly, "Blanco… what... what..." He grunted at Todd's sudden dead weight on him, legs straddling his hips, some undefined movement happening.

What he could not see was that while still sitting on Rolon, knees on each side of the soldier and pressed on the rocks, ass resting on thick thighs, Blanco mindlessly set the gun down. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the cigarette pack and lighter. Shook free a cigarette, stuck it into his mouth and tossed the pack to the doorway. He lit up, a hand blocking the possibility of breeze. He tilted his head back and took a deep drag, smoke spilling out around the thing. Hands loosely on his own legs. Rico's Catholic charm chained around his neck glinted in the lessening light. Then he let the cig just hang in between lips, tossing the lighter next to the pack at the door. He picked the gun up again. Stared down at his caught, damaged prey. Face impassive, smoke rising.

Rolon groaned more, the world gray and blurry, hearing Raquel calling for Todd but the devil only snapped, "Get inside, woman. I'm protecting your house. So the gods won't punish you." She must not have moved because then he growled, "Have it your way."

Then yeah, hot metal slammed into Rolon's mouth and Todd bent low, a hand flat on the ground next to Rolon's head.

"Wake up, bitch, wake the fuck up."

Rolon opened his eyes wide, could see Todd smile, an ugly mad side smile. The cigarette threatened to drop out of his mouth. Hazel eyes were glassy, pinned from heroin, a true deadness there. He spoke Spanish. Rolon breathed fast, having no idea if that gun was loaded, or the safety off. He felt death's weight heavy on him. Looking into his friend's eyes, he knew Todd wanted to pull the trigger just the way he wanted to do it to Pedro. Jesus, was all Rolon could think. Jesus. He bit down on his teeth, preventing the gun from moving further inside. Thinking… his last words would be…

Jesus.

"There you are. You are confused. Stay that way. I like it." He pushed the gun against Rolon's lips, his teeth. "Does the gun hurt? It's strange, yes? New? Different? Some thick foreign thing at your mouth. Open up more. Come on. Let me in, little piggy. Comeoncomeoncomeon ..." The voice got low and serious. "Let me in your fuckin' mouth or I'll punch this bitch right through those pretty ivories."

Rolon opened his mouth, some elemental desire to not feel any more pain. Todd pushed the weapon further in, sliding on his tongue. Rolon huffed, hands on now on Todd's arms. He groaned, voice scratching. He writhed, but didn't want that fucking gun to go off. If Todd shot him, Téa would be next. He was not afraid for himself, but was afraid just the same.

"Do you feel it at the back of your throat yet? If I push it in, will you throw up? Imagine a thing like that… in and out, in and out... imagine the violation. Feel the violation. It happened to me, to Rico… and Pedro was in on it. Pedro made it safe for Caro to do it to so many. Feel it, my friend, my long time friend. FEEL IT. Is protecting Pedro where you want to be?"

Rolon gagged at the metal pushed too far in.

"Kinda like that," Todd murmured. "Think about that. Being the innocent confused recipient. What is that, you wonder? What is THAT? You don't know… because you're just a child. None of it makes sense. It's all so fucking confusing."

Todd looked into Rolon's green eyes… open wide, trying so hard to speak with just his eyes. Rolon grabbed Todd's hair with one hand, squeezed his arm with the other. He grunted, giving Todd's head a strong shake. Trying so hard to bring him out of his madness while not jiggling too much. That fucking gun. One slip of a finger...

"You can't talk, verdad? Neither can kids. No voice. No power. Like you right now. I know what you're thinking… why YOU? You're not a pedophile… this little show should be for Caro. Maybe even Pedro. But see… you are protecting all of them. You wanted to talk to me, talk me down. What did you say? Get me on my feet. But see… I'm done talking. I'm all about SHOWING. And right now you need to understand what it is to not have power."

From the door, Raquel stood transfixed, horrified, amazed, stunned. This was a very different man from the one she knew in her restaurant. The one who held her hand sometimes. The one who looked so sad at the loss of love. From her perch, she could see letters on his hand… L. O. V. E. She understood though the source of his madness. He spoke for all child victims. He was rape's rage. Raquel gripped the doorway. All she wanted was to be sure the soldier got out of this alive. She did not think he was an enemy. She kept going over the medications in her clinic. What would work on him? They were always short of everything.

Heroin would not help this. Obviously. But maybe keeping him asleep would delay whatever cruel plans he had. The plans that needed explosives.

Rolon shook his head, still holding Blanco's arm, his hair. His eyes would close periodically, trying to breathe. Saliva bubbled up on his lips, spit flying with his hard breaths. Blanco was cruel in his hate, as cruel as he could be. He moved the gun and laughed, the cigarette still hanging out of his mouth. A strange laugh Rolon had never heard before. He pushed the gun in deep once more. Getting another violent gag. He sighed, "Oh yeah... like that."

At that, Rolon and Raquel could see, feel, that there was a distinct sexual quality to Blanco's act. He moved his hips. He licked his lips and then bit the lower one. His short breaths, silent grunts. He opened his mouth the same as Rolon and when he did that, the cigarette fell out. He didn't even move at the loss of it. Raquel was reminded of how a mother opens her mouth when feeding a baby… mimicking the little one's tiny mouth. He was in this place, this blind, mad, raging place. Opening his mouth. The gun being pushed in and out. Sliding in the wetness. The metaphor was obvious.

She couldn't take it, shouting, "Blanco! Think, my friend! He was only here to help you!"

He glanced up, eyes only. Cold empty eyes. That long hair hanging down, stringy… his muscles strained as he held his body up above the soldier. Looked back down at Rolon. Hissed, "HELP? Do you know, mama, that he protects rapists, pedophiles? That he now fucks my wife. Yeah, THAT. I forgot about THAT." He bent low again, got his face against Rolon's, against the blood… breathing in the smell of the man. Whispered, "I can smell her on you. If I really try… I can smell her cunt." He rubbed his cheek against the blood. Breathing in the imagined aroma in the crook of Rolon's neck. "Sweet… with a little salt."

Rolon held him, held what was left of his friend. And in this moment… there was nothing but a body. The soldier groaned again, wordless agonized noise.

Todd sat up. Dead eyes. Gun still in the man's mouth.

"Listen, Lopez, I have two messages for you. One, I will blow your fucking head off the next time I see you. You and I are finished. And the next time you see my WIFE, the next time your big fat cock is in between her legs, tell her I have two bullets reserved for her."

Rolon reacted to that. The last words. He jerked and grabbed at Todd, fighting, fighting. Gun or not. That only served to incense the monster, getting him to squeeze his thighs tighter and push the gun deep into his mouth, getting that gag again, using all his body to restrain his prey. "Getting a little protective of Téa, are ya?" He laughed, huffing with effort. "Ask Gannon about her, ask him about how much her fucking means. In case you think it's love, it's NOT. And one last message, okay, a third message. Tell everyone, anyone, who gives a shit about Caro's victims… to stay out of my fucking WAY."

He shoved off at last, tall and dark and terrifying. He stood there staring down at coughing, groaning Rolon, the gun in his hand unpointed, hanging impotently at his side. Heaving Rolon didn't move now, staring back in complete disbelief, panting noisily like a dog. His face a mask of hate. Finally he spat, "I will kill you, I will kill you… you sick sick motherfucker ..."

Blanco hissed, "Exactamente." Dead cold stare. He adjusted his cock. Contemplated taking a piss here and now. He wiped the gun on his pants, cleaning it. He finally stepped over Rolon and passed Raquel. Said flatly, "I'm going to take a shower now."

Disappeared up the stairs.

Raquel got close to Rolon who was slowly sitting up. Knees up. Hands on his head. Cloaked in shock. She pulled a rag out of her pocket. Before she could pat the blood, the soldier turned and vomited. Saliva dripping, Rolon groaned, "God, woman, get away from him. There is nothing left of him. Jesus, Jesus..."

She said nothing for a moment, two. Rolon took the rag, wiped his mouth. Shaking with hate, humiliation. Anger. "He did not kill you," she then said. "He did not kill this Pedro Moreno either. He does not follow through on his wishes. That is something."

"You're crazy, just like him." He looked back at the house, as if the monster would return.

"Go to his wife," Raquel said. "Talk sense into her. She should return home now that he is keeping bullets for her. He might not follow through but his wish… she should go home."

Rolon growled, "He has outlived his purpose on this earth."

Raquel eyed the house, the open door. Things were very bad. Yes, very bad. The two gazed at each other. She saw real fear on Rolon. Mind working. Next steps. More hate.

"He let you live," she said again. "That is something. He wanted you to learn from his attack on you."

"Learn WHAT? That's he's insane? That he needs to be put down like a fucking DOG! He let me live only so I could send a threatening message to Téa. Well I have my own message… tell him he either becomes a man again, or it is I who will blow his fucking head off."

Rolon shook Raquel off him and got to his feet. Walked down the alley, fuming, angry beyond words. A little broken. He turned at the last minute, "I will kill him, woman, if I don't see a change. You can count on that."

Watching the man turn the corner, Raquel held the knife at her side. Said, "That was his point. Violators need to be killed. No more talk."

She could not say it was all wrong.

Rico had seen the entire thing and at the last second, scrambled up the stairs. He stood in the doorway of the bedroom and just watched Blanco breeze right past him. He grabbed up things from the dresser and then headed down the hall again, retrieving his bag once more, gun in hand the entire time. Not a glance in any direction. The bathroom door slammed shut.

Raquel came up the stairs, looking pale. She had tough skin, but Blanco… well, he challenged her. She reached a hand to Rico, "Estas bien, mí chiquito?"

He found himself quiet, unable to respond really. He saw the man who'd beaten him with that iron fist, who threw him over his shoulder and brought him to the beach house. The same one who'd tied him to the bed for a week after, all before he'd become Rico's lion. He saw a man pushed into madness over his past and wounded over the loss of his wife, and in truth, there was no place in that madness for a whore who had little purpose other than creating fantasy, than being a… thing for others.

A nothing.

"Rico?"

He shut his bedroom door, Raquel's hand on it. She listened. Whispered, "Blanco, Blanco… how you break those that love you. My god."

With such viciousness.

She waited. She could not say why. Who were these people to her? Perhaps it was their raw humanness. Perhaps it was her constant wish to fix things, to sew things, to abut nature by sticking her nose where some said it doesn't belong. Whatever it was, she believed her place was near these people. Today. Tonight. For now. She took her place on the chair at the end of the hall, by the open window. She had picked up her crumpled cigarette pack. Smoked a cigarette or two. She had a bag with her. Unwrapped a sandwich she had never eaten. While she chewed thoughtfully, thinking on the larger pictures, Sylvia had come upstairs and asked if their guests had needed anything. She had run for cover the instant she'd heard shouts. Now that it was quiet…

"Go home tonight, cousin. I will watch after the guests. Come in the morning. Come late. Near ten to prepare lunch. Go."

Not too long after, Rico dressed in black with his favorite purple jacket came out of the bedroom, a bag across his shoulders. He took one look at Raquel and headed down the stairs. No talk. The front door shut. She doubted very much she'd see him anytime soon. She almost wondered if he was leaving… for good. Wondered if he was returning to his old ways after seeing Blanco so distraught over his wife. Wasn't sure how Blanco would feel about that.

An hour rolled by and still Blanco had not come out of the shower. She didn't like it. She knocked on the door, hearing nothing. No water, no movement. She opened the door slowly. She opened the door the rest of the way, the light on. He looked peaceful there on the floor, huddled against the wall next to the tub. He'd long slipped into his heroin-induced sleep. Blood spray next to him, a needle fallen to his side. The spoon, the lighter, a latex loosely hanging from his arm. Hair still damp that fell over his face. Wearing nothing but a towel across his lap. He'd had enough hate for the day. Enough unfulfilled plans. Enough loss. He was so quiet, so still, she pressed fingertips to his throat, checking for a pulse, seeing his chest rise and fall regularly.

"Come, come to your bed," the doctor said, lightly slapping his face to wake him up.

Opening lazy eyes, he looked at Raquel a long while. Searched her face, softness on his own.

"Mama… ," he mumbled, "why do you care? Aren't you afraid of me? What I might do?"

"No, Blanco, I am not the kind of person you want to hurt."

He closed his eyes again and sighed, "You need to run, maybe. Run fast."

"Where will you get your drugs then? Get up, can you do that? Nobody wants to sleep in a toilet."

He chuckled quietly, knowing she was making a joke, a couple. He used her. Threw an arm over her shoulders and used her strong but slight body to get up. The towel fell and she did not care. Neither did he. He let her carry his weight. He stopped in the middle of the hall and just looked at her, slight disbelief. He was a monster today. And yet here she was…

"Come on, my friend… only a little farther."

They made their way to his room. He fell easily onto the unmade bed. Raquel stood and studied his form. How he pulled his knees up and cradled his arm. She covered him. He gazed back at her with those drugged light eyes. He looked profoundly helpless, nothing like the man in the alley. In this state, a person could kill him. She had a feeling if she put a pillow over his face, he would not struggle.

"Why did your wife shoot you?"

"She was afraid of what I might do to the world. Thought it best to stop me."

"She broke your heart."

"She ended me."

"Nobody ends a soul. Yours still thrives… and if not here, it will continue into the afterlife. Perhaps you should consider what your wife tried to do… perhaps you should stop that which she believed you needed to stop."

He wondered about her advice. Wondered how to stop… being himself. Because really, that is what Téa had needed. She wanted someone else, another man, a healthy one. Someone unbroken. Clear-eyed. Someone who no longer needed to fight. She needed to not be his queen, yeah?

"Maybe," he said as he drifted deep into his preferred state of being. As he flew home to be with his beloveds.

In his dream, he found Lucia, Reese, Starr and Jedediah, all on a spread of blankets on the grassy space behind his house. He had heard their voices and ran hard to them. He smiled at Téa waiting there, too, and she smiled at him. She took his breath away, how beautiful she was. How beautiful they all were. She said, sit down, mí amor. Sit here. Abram barked at him, happily, rolling onto his back, begging for a rub. He felt whole, complete… happier than he'd ever been in his life. He felt the warmth of the sun on his face when he lay down next to them. Oh god, it felt good.

He heard a smaller voice though, a much younger voice than all of them. Even younger than Reese and he knew that had to be the new baby. The baby cried and cried and cried. The baby was utterly inconsolable. He got up and knew he had to take care of it because Téa said she just couldn't… Reese and Lucia needed her. He walked into the house and saw the baby in the cradle in the kitchen… blood was still on the floor. His blood. Why, why, why didn't Téa clean that up? He picked the crying baby up and held it. Held it tightly to his chest. And the baby stopped crying in his arms. They were naked, bare. The two of them. He was afraid at first but then he wasn't. He was her father, he was everything to her. They were as truthful as two people could be.

He had so much love to give, and that baby… she needed it so badly. She smiled right at him and reached up to touch his cheek. Said…

My name is Esperanza.

The complicated city flowed through Téa Delgado as she walked the perimeter of La Plaza de la Revolución. A beautiful morning in Havana. Here, visitors could admire the great memorial to José Martí and the image of Che Guevara cloaking the side of the Ministry of the Interior building. Beneath Che, his slogan gleamed, "Hasta la Victoria Siempre," meaning "Until Victory, Always." The meaning of the words were debated. She tended to think it meant… fighting always, until victory.

She breathed in the chilled air and the scent of historical revolution. Fidel Castro gave speeches here, shouted his beliefs here, infuriated the monster known as the U.S. of A. So much so that American government continued to keep Cuba in chains via the oppressive embargo, massive economic and other sanctions, punishment that rivaled those reserved for much larger enemies such as Iran and former Russia… such a small island, a pea in the princess's mattress.

Things were changing but very slowly. Her presence here at all was part of the change. The baby kicked and she paused her walk, a hand at her side, a tiny foot in her ribs. Tried not to cry. Tried not to think of… things.

Revolution.

Moving to the farthest edge of the square, she eyed a worker cleaning the concrete pavement, furiously scrubbing. By the time she got to him, he sat back and wiped his brow, glancing up at her. In Spanish she asked, "What are you wiping off the face of the earth?"

The man's face quirked at the strange wording, not recognizing the American reference. He furrowed his brows, "Graffiti. An artist likes to paint the pavement. Foul words. They showed up again."

"What do they say?"

He grunted, "Today, 'Fuck Freedom'. In ENGLISH. The idiot! I have to clean five of them! Other garbage, too. Next week it will say something else, equally stupid!"

Téa tried not to laugh. Couldn't get clearer on the painter's politics - clearly on the side of… wait. Maybe not so clear. She continued her walk and then saw more. She hadn't noticed them earlier. They were to the side, in black. Kind of hidden, but not. This next one said "Castro US Cant," and the next was a star with a smiley face. Looked to be dancing, a certain bend to it, reaching. More walking proved the series was repeated.

Téa wasn't sure of the meaning anymore. Really, the blended words could be that Castro cannot take away freedom…or Castro gives the middle finger to freedom, and is it can't or cant? Us or U.S.? Different meanings. A cant is sanctimonious talk, hypocritical talk. And the star? Hard to say what THAT meant. It was a happy star. Same five-pointed star on the American and Cuban flags. English had to refer to America. Whatever the painter meant, he had sure pissed off the worker. Maybe that was the message. "Look what you have to do now… clean this shit up. At such a low wage. Fuck your supposed freedom given to you by Castro who spews bullshit."

She felt the frustration of the worker AND the painter. Felt like the dancing star. Fuck everything! Wheeeeee!

The nightmarish truth lapped at her, like the ocean's waves. What a glorious sickening mess she was in, all of them. Rolon had stumbled into the hotel's lobby last night, blood on his face, a good hit to the side of his head. Jed and Téa had been waiting for him and rushed him to Ken's room. Ken took one look and said, "Well, Rolon wasn't the way in."

The whole truth about what set off El Diablo Blanco didn't come out. Téa pulled that information out later. When she heard Todd called her his wife…

He's still in there, Rolon. Todd is still himself. Deep inside…

Rolon wanted her to go home. He KNOWS, he agonized. He's INSANE. WOMAN! She refused. What does he know, Rolon? He makes assumptions, always has. He smelled perfume? So what?

He has two bullets reserved for you, his words! GO HOME!

Still she refused.

Don't cry then… when I kill him. If and when he doesn't normalize.

But then he just sat there on the bed, his head in his hands. Eyes closed. There was more.

"I feel raped," he said quietly, more to himself than her. "I have never felt such a thing in my life."

Téa listened as he summarily explained but he did not give details other than sticking a gun in Rolon's mouth. He wanted to kill Todd. Simple as that. But he was quiet in his anger… he shooed her away. Suggested she go home again. He had closed the door. She then said she would get her own room. He didn't like it but she was firm.

Maybe she was as insane as Todd with his two bullets saved for her. She imagined he kept them in his pocket.

Rolon was still on board with Operation Touchdown. Yes, he'd do what he could to close it up, to turn over Caro. See what negotiation was possible with Pedro. But he was different.

He was… affected.

And so here she was, walking the revolutionary plaza decorated by dancing smiling stars. Fuck freedom. Revolution. Cant. Castro. Todd wanted explosives, Rolon told her on the sly. He did not share that with Ken. What would Blanco do with explosives? Blow up… what? Where Caro might be, so would children. He'd never risk such a thing. But then he was out of his mind.

I swear, mamita, he had a hard-on when he stuck that gun in my mouth. He had no soul, no light in his eyes. Like a dead man.

Ken, Rolon, Jedediah and she agreed… they were back to Rico as the voice of calm. In that casita, Rico did try to get Todd to listen to Rolon, said something about how maybe Rolon was saying the same thing he was. No idea what that meant but it sounded hopeful. And they all needed a little bit of hope. But then Agent Benicio Juarez got on the speakerphone… said, "I know you all want to save his ass. Do it fast. I will be down there and I will be taking him into custody, MY personal and illegal as hell custody. He's out of control and a major risk to life and limb of innocents."

Vague on the time frame.

The hotel seemed oppressive to her. Rolon was there, Jedediah and Ken down the street. Pedro Moreno at the beach house. Gloria there, too. And she and Esperanza… everywhere. Todd and Rico at a house in the red light district. She walked the perimeter again, thinking, thinking, of what to do. Wondered what Todd was doing today there in that house, if he was there at all. The small white house, la casa particular… with the long hallway… and the two men noisily fucking in the room at the end.

A dead man, Rolon had said. Like with Pedro at the clinic. Like with Jessie Horenda, how like a wild animal, stabbing Horenda, growling as MK men pulled him off. He did not stop growling and fighting until he was on the ground, beaten down. TWO men, mamita, it took. Bigger men than me. That crazy he was today.

When Téa glanced up, she saw Rico. He did not see her. He was sitting on a bench and smoking a cigarette, purple hoodie. Legs apart, Converse tennies. He watched the man continue to curse and clean the writing and then he looked away, puffing and very subtly smirking. It looked like he was laughing at the man working so hard. Suddenly it dawned on Téa, that maybe… just maybe, Rico was the artist. He stood after a bit and began walking away.

Téa followed. She wanted to see if it was true, that Rico could make headway. Truth was he fascinated her. Curiosity was rather killing her. Sometimes she wondered… what he did in bed with Todd. Stupid unworldly jealous musings. There was no room for such idiocy when lives were on the line.

Rico was much more alive than dead, very little like Brandy in that way. She had seen it when he danced in the club, rocking his body and lost in the sound. When he stopped at a little restaurant, stepping through the door, Téa went inside. This paladar was pretty, tables around a courtyard. He sat in a corner and drank a beer. Téa did not waste time.

She sat heavily on the seat across from him.

He gazed at her, unsurprised. Deep brown eyes, oh so haunted, the little coffee in his fair skin. Dark circles under his eyes. He was tired. He needed to sleep. A handsome face. How funny that he was so beautiful, that Todd would choose such a beautiful man. In Spanish, he said, "The lioness, come to see the doomed rabbit."

"Is that what you are, a rabbit?"

He shrugged, tipping the bottle back, eyes on the door. Like he contemplated running. Téa could see his hands, blackened fingers. He put the bottle down. Ran a fingertip on the condensation of the bottle. Said, "He is hitting the heroin hard. He does not eat, he hardly drinks water. You must be familiar with that state. He has a lot of marks on him. From a long time ago."

"Yes," Téa said. "I have seen him like that. He's been an addict for ten years. He tries to stop but… she always finds her way back to him. Is he using needles?"

A quick nod said yes. This she'd known. Instinct, the look of him. She asked the waitress for water and a sandwich. She and Esperanza were hungry.

"Do you want to eat?" she asked. He shook his head. Who was he to talk about Blanco not eating? He wasn't either. Rico couldn't take his eyes off her. She was beautiful, steady in her talk. Dry-eyed. She loved Blanco. He could hear it in her voice, see it on her. The fact that she was here told him that. He had heard the threat Blanco had issued to Rolon. Two bullets. And here she was. He wondered if she knew.

He glanced away, finally. He had a sensation of not quite being on the ground. He hadn't slept. He had done his work and then went back to la casita. Raquel was asleep on the downstairs couch. He sat on the bed watching Blanco for a long while, shaking him to make sure he was still breathing because he sometimes would just stop. His body would become so frighteningly still. Rico would shake him in a panic. So many times his lion had murmured, "Delgado, stop it."

At the last Delgado, when Blanco groaned her name and asked her not to leave him, Rico got up and hit the plaza again. He'd only done about half but then said fuck it. The rest of the way around called out to be done. Sprayed his heart out. Sneaking in the shadows. Getting high off the smell and the nerve to spray such a sacred place. Paint was hard to get but he'd squirreled a can away for such a night.

He came out of his thoughts at Delgado holding his hand, and asking gently, "Does he listen to you?"

He dragged his eyes back up to hers. His features frozen in whatever place he'd been. Téa sighed at the truth on his face. He was so open, so broken. She'd been right. This one had given everything he had to give… to Blanco. Oh baby, she thought, what has he done to you?

"I don't know," he rasped, pulling his hand out of hers. He drank the rest of the beer.

"I'd like you to try. Can you try?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"Get him to cooperate with us. Me, Rolon, his son. Cooperate with the police rather than do his own revenge."

He chuckled dryly, "You did not see him yesterday. He will kill Rolon if he sees him again."

"Let a few days roll by. Encourage him to back off the drugs a little."

"At least if he's high, he's not trying to go after Caro." Eyes on hers. Brow knitted.

She sniffed at that certain reality. Being unconscious would keep him off the streets, keep him from getting his crazy hands on explosives.

"Does he treat you okay, Rico? He doesn't hurt you, does he?"

He glanced away. Lit up a cigarette with a shaky hand. Téa smiled at the waitress who set down her food. She ate slowly, deliberately. Drank down her water. Grateful. The two were quiet. He asked for another beer. When she studied him, she saw he had a terrible mark around his neck and she thought her question had been answered.

He suddenly shook his head, said softly, "He beat me once. Just once. He cannot hurt me. He CANNOT." He swallowed. The hurt on his face revealed too much of himself but he didn't or couldn't reign it in. His eyes watered and he studied the people at other table. Swallowed down more beer.

"Why do you talk to me, missus…. Manning?"

"Because he cares about you. Because he… cannot hurt you. Maybe that is what we are looking for. Someone who can deliver a message without inciting him to kill the messenger."

He licked his lips and chuckled, a sad laugh. "I am nothing. I am… nobody to him." He looked at her too deeply. He looked at the exit. He was going to run and she wouldn't get her chance to talk, to convince him.

"He might call me his wife… but he is very angry at me. Rico, he has chosen you to travel with on this part of his journey. Who is anyone to question it? I don't."

"He loves you. He is crazy with love for you." He smiled and sat back. And his broken heart tore at Téa despite everything. God, that man. That bastard of a man. Todd was breathlessly selfish in his use of people, in his desperate need for connection… Rico was anything but nothing. He was exactly what Todd had needed. But he had been wrecked through and through. In this, he and Brandy were similar. In the end, neither had the inner strength to put the brakes on Todd Manning's kind of love...

"Come to my hotel," she said. "You can rest there for the afternoon. Sleep without him near you. Safe. Let us… share space, talk, maybe you can tell me about your artwork."

He eyed her and drank more of his beer. Said quietly, his voice cold and closed off. "What artwork?"

She got equally cold. She grabbed his wrist and his eyes snapped hard up at her, distinctly unsmiling.

"That artwork," she said. "The work that has marked you. I rather insist you come to my hotel. I'd hate to report you for carrying illegal spray paint… and I bet a million to one… a sketchbook is in your bag, and there, an officer will find the exact same artwork...in pencil."

He pulled out of her grip, a VERY hard yank. He was angry. And Téa then drew yet another conclusion about why her husband had latched onto this man, other than finding a willingness to give up his soul. Rico's strength. He was no weak effeminate man. Not by a long shot. Oh no… he would give Todd.. such brutal physical love. He would hold Todd together, he would press on him so he could hardly breathe. The way he so often had needed Téa to do, a hold she did not have the physical strength to do. She could hear him, tighter… tighter… tighter… and there was no possible way to make her embrace any tighter than it was. And still he needed it.

Hold me tighter because I'm going to fly apart, Téa… Téa… don't let me come apart.

Téa almost cried right there in the paladar. Thank you, she wanted to say. Thank you for holding him… so tightly.

Rico got up and walked right out of the eatery. Shit. She'd overplayed her hand. Téa threw the money on the table and ran after him. He did not run, he just needed air. She grasped his arm when she caught up and said, "Please… come with me. I want a chance at you helping him. He is dangerous. Rolon told me everything. I get it. He didn't listen to you yesterday when you suggested he talk to Rolon, but maybe… if you have MORE information. Real information. Maybe… you can get to him. Get him to talk to US. Before he sets his plan in motion. And now, while he's high and asleep… maybe NOW is the time for you to learn what we all can do to get to Manuel Caro."

She smiled…

"And I'd really like to know why that damn star… is smiling and dancing its way across the Plaza."

An hour later, Rico slept on her bed in the little hotel in downtown, Havana. Téa stood on the balcony above the noise in the wintry air and while leaning on the cool railing, watched the man who was responsible for keeping Todd alive… just a little longer. He slept fitfully. She recognized dark dreams when she saw them. She did not dare touch him. He could hurt her. Same as Todd. They were similar in their deceptive slenderness. In their nightmares, they fight victimizers as adults, with all their grown-up strength. She knew a little of his terrible past… what a big 'star' he'd been as a child and teenager in film, in pictures. Caro's favorite beauty. To see him on her bed, so… vulnerable. So resigned when he walked into her room to whatever might happen behind a stranger's closed door… it hurt the mother in Téa. He had walked in and sat on the bed, just waiting for her to accost him.

He had said, "I have sex with women, too. If… that's really why I'm here…" Téa had nearly gasped at the obvious. Of course. He had no idea who she was, what sort of weirdo she might be to be insisting he come to her room.

He was so tired when he got to that bed. The beer had pushed him into exhaustion.

Just sleep, she had assured him. I'm going to just watch the city. And make sure nobody comes in. You're safe, Rico. It's okay. Just sleep. We'll talk later. I don't want anything from you other than talk. I am not going to touch you, or hurt you. You're safe here, with me.

He'd then lay down on the bed, never taking off a thing. Kept his eyes on her, until those browns finally shut beyond his control. Téa had found herself weeping. At too many things. Too many truths. At his trusting that if a person wanted him alone, it was to use him.

Ken had then told her, oh it's far worse than you might think, if 'worse' is a way to describe all hellish abuse. Rico is a primary witness in a real live murder case. Possibly several of them. Snuff films. Kids died, Téa. Murdered, brutally, right in front of him. He's the star of like… four or five of these sick, sick films. He knows a lot of truths. Far more than he has been saying.

Tonight… there was a little hope in the air. And a hell of a lot of questions.

What do you want the explosives for?

Retribution, Rico, RETRIBUTION!

To be continued….