Caged

Chapter 37

Bo Buchanan looked at the death shots of the leaders of Los Serranos; each got one or two bullets in the head. He eyeballed the list of evidence pulled from the motel room: cell phones, laptops, ledgers, a few file folders, and weapons. A real treasure trove. The gang was done, their bloody network finished. Those six men must have been shocked to hell when assassins slammed into that motel room, no time to run, no time to hide anything. No time to fight. So fast that several of the men still clung to paperwork, cell phones. One had a laptop open...

Ballistics would identify how many guns did the job. Ballistics would lead to the kind of guns used. Forensics might show who did it. Bo growled and sat back, snorting angrily. WHO? WHO...would never be found. There was only one witness and she said they were dark haired men with bandanas. She did not see the van or car or other vehicles. One winked at her before hopping the railing and taking off in the early dark. The eyes, beautiful brown, she said. Long eyelashes. Black man? Latino? No idea, she said, but he was beautiful. Jesus CHRIST, a real Robin Hood she seemed to think. Los Serranos… were killing our children. These men saved us.

The motel was lowly: no videos. LPD was digging deep for anything but Bo knew it would be pointless.

Now it was a matter of seeing which organization would take over Los Serranos' network. Would they be as territorial, as hungry, as bloody as Los Serranos? Only time would tell. The phone on his desk rang, taking him out of his study… Tea Delgado. She was returning his call - he had information for her: the DA's decision based on the interviews and evidence. He picked up the phone, eyes on his men working this newest murder case.

"Mr. Manning, can you tell us what happened the night you were shot?"

A whole 24 hours had passed since he'd woken up, nearly 72 hours since the shooting. Pale and bearing a fine sheen from that low grade temp he was running, he still suffered the indignity of various tubes in and out of his body and sensors monitoring his every bodily function. Not in ICU, but obviously still serious. And yet, there was a dog at his side. Funny thing, that Abram, a bored yet devoted pitbull terrier. Everyone knows how dangerous those dogs are, right? Yet there he was, tucked tight against his owner, getting gently petted by Manning. Nobody questioned why or how a dog could be there in the hospital. He didn't seem to be special, not a service dog or anything that Bo could see. Just didn't seem sanitary.

Set against the sweetness of the dog was the hard look on Manning's face. The twitch along his jawline told Bo this interview wasn't something he wanted. An oxygen mask lay to the side of him.

In the room stood two other officers, each recording the events of the day. Manning's lawyer was there, too, and a doctor. Everyone was on the edge of their seat. The tension was palpable. Would he implicate his wife? Would he point the finger at her and play the victim? Would he want her arrested? Bo had a bet with Nora. She said Manning was a scumbag and would want Tea in jail. Bo doubted it...twenty bucks doubted it. And a burger and beer night.

"Just start at the beginning."

Clearing his throat, Manning spoke haltingly, his voice scratchy. He set clear eyes on Bo. "The beginning...I walked in the house. I surprised her. She wasn't… expecting me. She turned, and shot me."

George Strauss smirked, a soft snort. Bo shook his head, never knowing what was in that lawyer's head.

"Where were you when you surprised her?"

Manning grew slightly breathless, those monitors showing heightening numbers. "At the entrance ...of the kitchen. It was dark. I… uh… might have said something, I can't remember." He looked down, pausing. "I moved too fast. She was afraid..."

"What time was it that you... surprised her?"

"Maybe 3? Can't remember."

"Why didn't she expect you to come home? Why would it have been a surprise for you to be in your own home?"

"She told me... to stay away. I didn't. She… did nothing wrong."

Bo crossed his arms. Studying the man on that bed. Looking at that ink on his skin. The hospital gown didn't cover much of it. The snake coiled along his neck, a whole other series running up and down his arms...That jawline kept twitching 'neath the stubble. He was grinding his teeth. Suddenly Bo wondered if Manning was letting Tea go so he could deal with her later. The man had often made wives pay dearly for betrayals.

"You angry at her, Manning?"

"No," he said softly.

"So you think she was jumpy," Bo said, "from Gannon's club incident?"

Manning nodded, closing his eyes briefly, his breathing strained. The doctor suggested he get the oxygen but Manning got agitated, waving the doctor away. Those cold hazel eyes gazed at Bo once more. Those numbers on the screens showed the stress.

Bo then asked, "There was a broken glass in the kitchen. Did you throw that? Were you angry when you surprised her?"

"No! I told you, there was… no time. I walked in, she turned and shot me. She was scared. I could see it…"

Manning's heart rate shot up, blood pressure, too. The doctor put a hand on Manning's shoulder, "Try to relax." He worked at regaining his calm, lying back, a hand on that dog that had turned his head to his owner. Watching him. Bo began to think this was actually a service dog. Made a mental note to inquire.

When he was more settled, Bo continued.

"You could see how scared she was… so time passed…"

"Seconds, Commissioner," George interjected.

"What was she scared of? You?"

"Maybe...maybe me."

George interrupted, "He's not saying he did anything aggressive towards her."

"Why would she be scared of you?"

Manning glanced away, took time to answer. Petted the dog. Said in that same soft voice, "I don't know."

"I think you know."

A little fire in his eyes now, "Look at me, Buchanan… when has anyone not been scared of me?"

Bo nodded, looked at notes, "Where were you before you got to your house, after Gannon's club?"

George spoke up, "Nope. Irrelevant."

"I want to know what Manning's attitude was when he walked into that house. Was he soft and quiet, was he storming in…might depend on where he was."

"Then ask that. His whereabouts prior isn't anything to this matter."

"Fine, tell me how you entered the house, quiet or storming in?"

He shook his head, shrugged, "I don't know. I just wanted to see her. I shoulda called first, I shoulda… been better…"

"Manning, is it your desire to press charges against your wife, Tea Delgado?"

He said raggedly, "No charges. NO. Let her go, Buchanan...she didn't do anything wrong. I won't testify." His breathing got short, stress taking over. Those monitors lighting up. "You hear me, right? You'll let her go?"

The doctor shook his head, a hand pressed on Manning again.

"Yes, I hear you," Bo said. The other officers looked at each other. Bo then added, "But the DA has the final say. He's going to talk to Tea - she didn't want to talk to us until..." He paused. "She needed to know that you'd survive, or not."

That breathing was tough. He turned away, working to calm himself. The doctor had enough. "Interview is DONE. You have your answers, gentlemen. He's too weak. Get out. All of you."

George asked Bo, "You done?"

Bo eyed the patient, "You said nothing to her when you walked in?"

"I don't remember. Even if I did… she was surprised. She was scared. She was...defending herself against me… whoever I was to her."

"And you did nothing overtly to scare her?"

"No."

And there you go. Manning refused to blame Tea. The DA's conversation with Tea had been equally as fast and equally as refusing to cast blame. She told the exact same story that Manning had described. Mostly. She'd been shocked, traumatized. The sight of Manning in the kitchen frightened her and she reacted out of instinct. She had no answers as to why she did not see her husband.

I saw him, but I was afraid and felt I had to stop him. It makes no sense now. I must have thought he was the shooter from the club. Maybe I'm crazy. Maybe I should plead insanity.

Bo told her now that the DA was moving on, declining to prosecute anyone. Bo asked if she was afraid that Manning had his own plans for her, "He's never taken 'betrayal' well and he might see this as a betrayal of loyalty-"

"What do you think, Bo? You saw him, you heard him… did he seem like he had other plans for me?"

Bo looked at the DA's recommendation on Manning's shooting on his desk.

No further action.

Sighing, he had thought about the interview and really couldn't judge. Todd Manning was a mystery. "I can't say, Tea. I cannot say that under all the bandaging, that hate wasn't lurking and that he did not have plans on turning on you in his own time. Fact is, he seemed… " He looked for a word. "He was desperate for me to let you go."

"Of course he was. My husband… has a strange love for me. Bo, I'm not afraid that he's coming after me. I'm okay."

She hung up. Bo didn't trust Manning and picked up the phone. Ordered covert protection of the house. "Just put plainclothes on her house - have him keep an eye on her as she lives her life." Tea Delgado had gunned down her husband and was fully cleared. A near-tragic accident. Just… surprised by a scary figure in her kitchen. Closed case. But a recipe for revenge.

Except he couldn't let go of Manning's one voluntary bit of information: he might have said something before Tea shot him. That means, she'd have known very well who was in her kitchen. Which means… she was very upset with him, or very afraid of HIM. Specifically.

Maybe it was the Gannon incident, but everyone said the killers were unknown local gang members. Not a single witness to the violent fight. Not a single gang member remained on the scene by the time LPD showed up… Manning had been there, but not where Tea was. He was away from her during the shooting on Joe and her in Gannon's office, so where was Manning at that time? It didn't make sense. Maybe Manning was far more involved in that attack that anyone was saying. And maybe… that's why Tea shot him.

Maybe she finally realized Todd Manning was someone to be very afraid of.

He rang up the lead detective on Gannon's club attack. "Hey, you have tapes from that? I'm pretty sure Gannon watches the club. Must be video from that night?"

"Nope. Coinkydink...tapes mysteriously misplaced."

"Where was Manning during that whole thing? Why wasn't he with his wife in that office?"

"Apparently he'd stepped out to see what was happening. The fighting prevented him from getting back in time."

"You believe that?"

"No evidence to the contrary. Everyone there says he was near the office, just avoiding the fray."

"Everyone?"

"Everyone canvassed so far. We got some remaining folks to interview."

Bo shook his head… coincidence, indeed. "Keep me in the loop...I suspect Manning had a lot to do with that fight."

Recovering from gunshot wounds to the chest, in his case, was brutal - Delgado really did him up good. Walking was hard, moving was hard, breathing deeply… was the fucking worst. Everything hurt. He felt stressed and depressed, the whole thing just pissing him off. People did not like him as a patient.

Following a walk around the hospital floor, he climbed into the bed and covered his eyes with his hands. Sunlight landed on him and he just lay there while nurses fussed around him, arguing over something. He felt his body being moved this way and that, things pinching and pricking, and he finally shoved them all away, "Don't FUCKING touch me! Get the fuck out!" He whipped his arm at them, laying back and wishing he could just fucking die right now. The nurses jumped back, said there was just one more thing…we'll do it quick.

Hard part was no regular painkillers. His addiction made the best drugs non grata.

Days and days had passed him by. Rolon had pulled that hit together perfectly, and perfectly fast: the Tribal Street Boys did it. Clean, frighteningly so. Todd hadn't cared too much how it got done - if MK could take care of it internally, he was fine with it. But then Rolon made a suggestion… get the Tribes involved. They'll take over lower-end distribution and the loser gaming territories. They'll turn those losers around. Keeps MK's hands clean. Moves MK more legit the way Pedro wants. Gets rid of Los Serranos. They need motivation, though.

Let 'em know their man, Running Rain Douglas, got caught in Serrano gunfire. They've been hot to know who took him out.

Perfect.

He rolled to his side, dull fiery pain running through his chest, drawing his entire focus. He gasped at the pain and felt that familiar high he tended to get with intense pain. In that haze, he saw his children's faces. God, he missed them. Didn't want them here though. Didn't want to scare them. Didn't want to have to explain to them that their mother nearly killed their father…that he deserved those bullets. And more. Abram was with the trainer today and he missed him, too. That damn dog...

Mewling like a cat...he pressed his face into the pillow and grabbed the sheets up around him, pulling his knees up. A different pain moved through him, his heart seeming to clench inside of him, twisting his insides. She broke his heart, really.

Logically, he understood what had happened. His wife had hit a wall of tolerance, an ocean of reality. To see their life up close and personal, to see what it meant to be in MK for life...to see him...in charge and living that life, to see how easy she could die in crossfire, or their children, or people she loved… maybe even the addiction. She was already upset with him over that… mad that he wanted those smokes, still, just after getting out of fucking rehab… she didn't even know that he'd been ready to hit that shit again...asking Rolon for it...

Yes, yes, he understood deeply why she had wanted him dead in that moment in the kitchen in the dark. Yes, yes, he understood. Bring it on, girl. Kill me. Kill me eighty times over.

And yet… he was broken by her hate of him. He refused all visitors because of it. He even chased Jed away. He just couldn't… talk… or think… or look into anyone's eyes. He couldn't take the pity, the confusion, the suspicion, the sorrow, the shock… couldn't take any of it.

Above all, he couldn't take love. He did not deserve love. He assumed that's why the wedding ring had disappeared - physics, fate, whatever you say… took his ring. He did not ask for it, he simply allowed himself to be absent of any symbolic…love.

No, he couldn't take love.

The one thing he could do though, was run MK like a fuckin' diva bitch. That… he could do lying down. Rolon would call him on the burner phone, give him updates, the two making mad decisions. Moving pawns where they needed to be. The two had the criminal underworld under their thumbs. People were right where they had to be, doing what needed doing. Blanco healed fast. Blanco was thriving. Rich, powerful, cold-blooded...El Diablo Blanco was perfect. Pedro Moreno was a very happy man.

Todd on the other hand...

He looked at the windows, watched the sun move its inches down until it was dark. He sat up when he saw the respiratory therapist and tears immediately sprung… she'd make him take those deep breaths and he just didn't have it in him this evening. It was going to hurt and he didn't want that pain right now.

He shook his head, no, no, no, and she, Marcy, smiled sorrowfully and gave her speech about pneumonia and all that. Then she let him know… "You're going home next week if you're able to pass these breathing tests, Mr. Manning. What's stopping you is that you're afraid. I can see it. Afraid to breathe. Just relax, and breathe..."

He was. He was afraid to breathe. He looked into her kind eyes, feeling those tears roll down his face.

"Where will I go?"

"Home."

"I don't know where that is."

Breathing…was so fucking hard.

Tea Delgado had finally gotten back to work. Kids were home, life seemingly returning to normal. Seemingly being the key word. The shooting of her husband had faded as news and was now relegated to mere whispers behind her back that she hoped would go away eventually. The DA had let her go. Todd refused to press charges and that had not surprised her. She, likewise, refused to press any charges either.

Closed case.

There was bigger news now. The end of Los Serranos. Tea clicked words on an emergency motion. Trying to get a judge kicked off a case for bias. Click, click, click.

Thing was, she needed to see Todd now. She needed to know what seeing him would do to her. How would it make her feel. Afraid? Sad? Angry? What would she think? Likewise, what would seeing her do to him? What did he WANT? Now? What did he expect? It was time to stop living in the imaginary and move into their new reality whatever that might be. Whatever the steps. One thing she now fully grasped: her husband was the real king of the Mambo Kings. Cold, violent, merciless. He would do whatever it took to keep MK on top, to create a sustainable, wealthy, powerful gang.

A cool eye, watching men die…shoving a soldier back in the game...

Yes, back to work. Click, click, click. Her other client, Abel Acosta, was fully in witness protection with a great lawyer from New York City. The kid was brave, braver than most, testifying against one of the most violent gangs in the state, Los Serranos. When news hit that Los Serranos had effectively been terminated, Abel called her. There were more people to take care of. While thed deaths had been good, the remaining would be taken care of by LPD's gang unit. Yeah, Los Serranos was done. Abel would begin a new life, a better one. She wondered if that MK soldier she met at the Havana would come in. She wondered if he could turn state's evidence.

She did have an ace in the hole, a kind of insurance. She had young Raul Diaz. A young MK soldier, working his way through the criminal system. He'd gotten picked up on drug charges, possession, distribution, weapons possession. Thing was, he had gotten a hold of paperwork. A ledger, actually, fairly damning of Pedro Moreno. Except… it also led to Todd Manning.

She looked up a code section on Westlaw. Typed it into the motion. Click, click, click. She had no doubt that MK had finished off Los Serranos. It left her feeling cold. She swallowed. He was… a monster.

A massive wave of guilt flooded through her, guilt about so many things… her therapist said that Tea had made a judgment call in that very instant… she'd been traumatized and Todd had confronted her in the dark, at a very wrong moment. What do they say? In the wrong place at the wrong time. She'd spent hours and hours with that therapist and was now working on just being herself. Being peaceful. Being a good mother and a good lawyer.

You did what you had to do.

What was I trying to do?

You tell me.

I was trying to stop him.

From doing what?

I don't know. All I remember is thinking...stop.

Trying to stop him. Stopping El Diablo Blanco, is what she wanted. Stopping the killing, the drugs, the MK life. Maybe if Blanco was dead, Todd would emerge in his place. Smiling, loving, whole. Ready to take on his life that he wanted so much before Statesville.

Prison was supposed to be his redemption!

Click, click, click. Prison had created a monster. Blanco was a monster...

So yes, working on peacefulness. Inner peacefulness. Don't judge, just BE. She tried to sleep that way. Listening to music in her bed, practicing sleep-inducing yoga...but she'd hit those pillows and there he'd be. Blanco pacing the corridors of her dreams like a black broken panther. Dark, dangerous, with that unintended swagger. He appeared to her in the shadows, in the light, bloody knife in hand, eyes of the devil. Blanco. She'd wake up with a scream caught in her throat. Sweating from terror.

She was afraid of him and everything he brought with him. For the first time, she was truly afraid. She jumped when she heard a truck backfiring. Her heart raced and she breathed...settling herself. She drank a glass of water.

And yet, she worried about him. Not Blanco, but Todd. Jed saw him cry from the pain he was enduring, that breathing therapy was so hard. All the muscles and ribs would strain and Jed said he'd cry. Those bullets had torn through the core of him…it was a lot to get over. A lot of healing to do. Sometimes she wanted to just crawl into his bed at the hospital. Wrap her arms around him and let him know, everything was ok.

She angrily wiped at the tears on her face. Shook her head...where would that knife be? Imagination was a bear. Fear was killing her.

He hates breathing, Moms.

When hasn't he hated breathing? Todd has always hated breathing.

But Bo told her he was recovering well. He'd be home next week. Home? He'd looked death in the face and in just over two weeks he was ready to get up and walk again. Face the world again. She looked at his wedding ring on her necklace. Jed had brought it to her when Todd's fate was still hanging in the balance.

I don't care what happened, Moms. Just hold it, okay?

She agreed. When he was ready, he would come to her. She'd be ready, too. She'd be… herself. She'd be peaceful. She'd be compassionate. But she'd be firm. Ready to live her own life, on HER terms. She was not going to compromise her values any more. Not one bit. She would not be his queen, she would not be the monster's whore.

Click, click, click. She printed the motion out. Read through those papers. All good. She made copies and marched out of her office. Confident, strong, peaceful...

She knew everything now. She knew exactly… everything.

Do you regret learning about him? Regret getting him to tell you the truth?

Yes. I miss not knowing. I had a family. It was beautiful.

But it was a lie.

I was safe in that lie, we all were. We're done, now. I can't pretend, I can't just stand by, now that I know everything. He's lost me.

Don't judge, don't decide. It's all too fresh. Let the peaceful light of a later day guide you. You'll know when that is. For now, breathe, Tea, just breathe.

Breathing...is so fucking hard.

"Mi hijo bastardo."

Todd heard Pedro Moreno's voice and opened his eyes. The room was bright, beautiful, heavenly. He put a hand up to block the light. Bacon, eggs... and the smell of the sea stirred him further awake. He sniffed, rubbed his face, squinted at the summer sun pouring into the room. Massive French doors opened onto a white sand beach. He turned to Pedro. The man's rugged face cracked into a warm smile. He'd brought his son home.

Havana, Cuba.

"You in pain, mijo?"

In Spanish, Todd groggily said, "Only when I laugh."

Pedro laughed, "Breathe in the salty air. You'll be fine. Nothing like my home to heal you."

Todd sighed, not believing Cuba could ever heal him. He was unhealable. The trip had happened fast. He was awakened and told that he was being released early to Pedro's lawyer, Cornelius Bravo, Esquire. He didn't want to leave. Fuck you, you sonofabitch…

That lawyer, though, he got close to Todd's face, had a hard hand on Todd's head, and breathed, smelling of rum and cigarettes, "Where you gonna go, Manning? You got no home no more. Your wife tried to fuckin' kill you. Maybe she'll finish what she started, ese?" Todd had objected...and the lawyer laughed, pointed out a sad truth. Talked rough, like low soldier, "What, you think she's gonna open her legs for you? It's been two weeks. 'mano...has she tried to see you? Asked for you? Has she sent you a fuckin' bouquet o'roses? You have no home. Tu padre Cubano, however, he wants you. He is...your only home. MK is your ONLY family, bitch. Do not ever forget that we own you."

Fuck...you? Fuck me. He...had no home. That was true. He belonged nowhere except with MK. He was being called to his...only home because he truly was a monster. He belonged with his padre Cubano.

A concerned nurse helped move him gently into a limo. Gave him antibiotics, medicated cream for his healing wounds, meds for his seizures. She had kneeled down, tucking a blanket around him. If you start coughing blood or running a fever, she said, get to a hospital immediately. Strangely kind. Strangely sad. He had no idea why she gave a damn what the fuck happened to him.

He was soon swept into a private plane. He slept all the way. Given meds at the beach house, the black coming fast and gratefully. And now...Cuban paradise.

A dog barked. He smiled at Abram hopping onto the bed. Surprised. "Dude...how did you get here?" Abram licked his face, cuddled tightly. As always, Todd felt a definite easing of stress. They shared the bacon. The warm eggs, buttery, salty. "Save some for me, brother."

Pedro sat quietly, then said, "Rolon said he helps you with your condition, the epilepsy?"

Todd rubbed the belly of the dog, stared at the rolling waves. Breathed. Said, "Yeah, he'll protect me best as he can if I'm out...try to get help." Shrugged, "Time will tell."

"Rolon said he attacked Baby Joker...tore at that bastard's throat because you were in danger." Todd said nothing, closing his eyes a moment, a memory he wished he didn't have. A memory Blanco loved.

"I'm proud of you," Pedro said.

"Why? For surviving a fuckin' Glock?"

"For taking care of Los Serranos."

"Had to do it." Todd glanced at Pedro. "You were right. Should have taken them out a long time ago, when you first asked for that information."

"No,you waited like the snake you are. You've always known...the right time." Pedro chuckled. "But apparently you did not know to anticipate your woman's wrath. She almost did what no one has been able to do...she almost killed you, the man who cannot die."

Ouch. Todd sat up, tenderly moving, but stressed all of a sudden. "You'll leave her alone, or I will fuckin' kill you."

Pedro leaned forward, grabbing Todd's face with both hands, warm, rough hands. Looked hard into cool eyes. "She is safe, my son. Don't be afraid. Nobody will touch her. Domestic conflict is all yours!"

Todd turned, pushing him away. "How long you planning on keeping me here?"

"You're not a prisoner. Stay until you're well. Stay until you can walk through the door of your home, a strong man again. When pain no longer weakens you. Enjoy my home. Get to know Havana. She will warm you, heal you. She will embrace you and fuck you to heart's content!" He laughed heartily.

A woman stood at the door, one he recognized. Gloria, the woman who had tamed him when he first met Moreno. She was dressed in a white sundress, showing her perfect ivory-brown skin.

"Is that your Havana?"

Pedro grinned, "Yes, she is. I brought her for you. She'll help you move around, get you back on your feet. She will...ease you back into your regular life. Let my Havana heal you. Then go back and claim your family again. You'll be healthy, strong, the way you were born to be. I have grown to love you...I hope you know that. I want what's best for you. Here, my home, is best."

Pedro stood, nodded to Gloria, turned to Todd. "One thing she does not have, my son, is heroin. Learning to live without it is part of the healing." He nodded in punctuation, and left.

"No heroin?"

Gloria smiled, "No heroin. But I'm here for you, Blanco. Whatever you need." She sat on the bed. Moved the sheets off his legs and gently tried to pull a foot onto her lap. He jerked at her touch, her hands flying back.

"Don't touch me," he said, his eyes, though full of need and sadness.

"This won't hurt you, Blanco. It will relax you. Move the blood." He thought about it, them relented. Once more, gently, she took his foot, moved her fingers deftly along his bones, his arch, his toes. "See?" She reached into her pocket, poured lotion on her hands. Returned to his foot.

He found himself relaxing, listening to the birds, the ocean. Wondered why he never brought his family to such a pretty place… She moved to his legs. She touched him firmly, moving up his thighs. He grabbed her hand, "Please...nothing else."

She looked him in the eyes, assuring him, "I know your limits. I won't cross those lines. I will never cross your lines, not unless you ask. I am here because you know me and Pedro wanted you comfortable. If you want my body, or you want that kind of touching… you ask. I won't offer. I won't do it without asking."

He let go of her and gave into the gentle touch. He reached for the tray, poked around and then decided on the milky tea. He drank it slowly, feeling warm. In a delicious haze, he resigned himself to his MK home for now. He was fucked seven ways to Sunday, yeah? He ached for Tea's touch. He closed his eyes and imagined it was her. Gloria continued her work, moving to his hands, to his arms and shoulders. Careful not to touch anything he didn't want touched. Soon, the cup of coffee fell off the bed, crashing to the wood floor, his hand loose.

"What...was in that...en el té con leche...," he murmured.

"Nothing strong," she said. "Pedro wants you calm. That's all. To heal."

"He said no... opiates..."

"It's only Cuban herbs. It affects you much because you're still recovering."

Gloria knew him well, from the other MK whores. She remembered his fury when he was forced to have sex with her. She knew everything had to be on his terms. She made sure to respect his privacy, keeping him covered but his body was still exposed. She'd never seen his scars on his arms up close and in the light and she was moved. They were deep and well-intentioned. This man had tried very hard to die but someone saved him. Over and over, fate saved him. Then she noticed he had burns on his wrists and she knew that he continually fought the fates that demanded his presence, here...

She saw him give in to the calm, his eyes closing. There really were no drugs in the tea. He simply wasn't well yet. He drifted with the ocean's waves. She hummed and whispered, "Breathe, Blanco, breathe."

When he was out, arms and legs spread, completely relaxed, Pedro walked in. "You're very good with him, Gloria. I knew you would be the right person to bring for him."

She did not mince words. She'd been Pedro's lover for many years so could speak freely. "He needs to get home, Pedro. He needs to get to his wife. He needs his family. Did you know he tried to kill himself? The scars are old but deep. Men who try to die, need love. He will lose himself if you deprive him too long." She looked hard at Pedro, "He will not love me. He will love no other woman. Sex will not fill his broken heart, it never has. This I know of him."

Pedro breathed deeply, crossing his arms. "Yes, I know his history. He has weaknesses. But he survives. He is sent by God, Gloria. He might grow to love you, through the sex."

Shook her head. "God or not, he needs his woman. Even if she is angry, he needs to feel the possibility of her. He will not love me no matter the fucking, Pedro."

"Maybe. But he also needs to get schooled in Cuba. He has become my blood son...he will go home stronger, healthier, more deeply committed to Los Reyes del Mambo. He must."

Todd heard every word from far away, wondering what all that meant. Wondering what getting schooled in Cuba meant. Wondering when the hell he'd get back home.

Tea...Tea...forgive me my trespasses...

Many hours later, dressed and refreshed, thanks to Gloria's respectful help, he walked into the living room. Moved slowly, tenderly. Abram walked at his side. The dog didn't need a leash anymore. Abram refused to leave him except to piss and shit.

Todd wore traditional Cuban clothing, a solid black Guayabera roomy enough to accommodate the wrap still holding him together. He wore fancy slacks and loafers without socks. Gloria had prepped him. Just make an appearance, she said, don't grow tired. Eat, drink water, be gentle. He had appreciated her soft touch, her quiet voice. Before he left her, she kissed his cheek and gave mock instructions to Abram. He felt like a schoolboy. He felt like a child. Tears came easily at her kindness. He could not handle it easily.

"You'll get home, Blanco, te prometo."

People milled around and ate food from a grand spread. When Pedro saw him, he laughed happily and came to him. He grinned, like a proud father. "My lieutenant, El Diablo Blanco, named for his fearlessness. For his strength. Come, come..."

Names flew, places, industries...and one man stood aside. Pedro took the man's arm, brought him to Todd but got called away. Todd met the man's gaze head on. He knew him. The man smiled broadly, shaking Todd's hand. He was tall, his face badly pock-marked. His clothes were fine, tasteful. A thick ring stood out on his left hand.

"My name is Manuel Caro," he said, "...it has been a long time, my friend. I heard we still share...interests. We must catch up, sooner rather than later."

Todd nodded, looked down at Abram. Let go of the sweaty hand. Swallowed the thick choking sick in his throat. Manuel Caro was the child pornographer from Statesville. Manuel...was high up...Manuel Caro...was close to Pedro Moreno.

Closer than Todd had ever anticipated.

Manuel whispered in Todd's ear, "I heard you are still interested in young buds, before they bloom. I have something for you, and you alone. Yes?"

He stepped back, waiting for a response.

Todd heard himself say, "Sooner, perhaps." The man grinned and nodded and disappeared into the crowd. Abram growled and Todd moved to a chair, to pet Abram, to quell his stress. His breathing caught, straining in his chest.

Shit, shit...And so it begins. Just breathe.

To be continued...