"We're here."
Two words. Two simple words. The whole time they'd been driving he'd been in and out, his thoughts a tangled mixture of the current situation and memories, so jumbled he wasn't quite sure which were real.
Reality was that Mari was dead. Reality was the anger that had continued to simmer after his awakening this morning, his new returning memory as painful and infected as the wound in his arm. Reality was him in a strange car, in a strange place, wearing the strangest of clothes.
He had awakened with his chin tucked into his chest, staring down at the t-shirt he was wearing. Black with jagged lettering. NIN, only the last letter was backwards. Looked like something Greg would wear.
He set the gun down in his lap and wiped a hand down his face and cleared his eyes. The car had stopped moving and was currently parked at the end of a long drive. So long it may as well have been a road.
He blinked a few times and looked over at the driver.
"Thanks."
It was the only word he could think of at the time. What could he say? Thanks for driving me to the home of the psycho shithead that killed your sister and most likely your brother, too. Thanks for breaking me out of the hospital so I could wreak some kind of Biblical vengeance? Thanks for letting me be a part of your family for the last month, a family almost utterly destroyed by the actions of one man?
Thankfully, Berto was a boy of few words and apparently deeper wisdom than he had given him credit for, because the teen just nodded his head while he toyed with the keys hanging from the ignition. It seemed that thanks was enough for him. For now.
He turned in his seat to better face the boy and looked at him til the teen's eyes reluctantly rose to meet his.
"Berto. Listen to me. You have your phone?"
The teen just nodded and pulled out one of those cheap pay by the call phones you could pick up at Walmart. A new thing to stare at; he began to idly play with the buttons.
"Berto?" The eyes rose again. It was as if the boy was putting off hearing what he wanted to say.
"I want you to leave here after I get out. I want you to call 911 after you get about a mile away. It'll be Clark County Sheriffs responding. Tell them you want to talk to Captain Jim Brass in Vegas. You got that?"
The teen nodded at him.
"You tell Brass," he continued, "where we are and have him coordinate with the Clark County deputies to send men here. You tell him who your cousin is. They'll know why they're wanted."
He paused as the teen's eyes slunk away again, this time to stare through the windshield at the drive in front of them. "You really going in there, T?"
"Yeah, I am. You know, he told me he was untouchable. After …what he did to Mari. I can't let that rest, Berto. I need to make him see he can be gotten. Before his father and high paid attorneys get a hold of him.
You understand?"
"Yeah. But Mari wouldn't want you to go in, T."
Nick sat back in his seat, tried to put into words why he needed to do this. But the need was unexplainable. It simply was. It was the only thing he had left to cling to.
"Maybe you're right. But I need to do this. You just call in the cavalry when you get outa here, okay? Everything is gonna be fine."
The words sounded hollow even to him. How was everything going to be fine? Alberto's family had been decimated. And he was walking into the lion's den, with one working arm and a head full of scrambled memories.
Before he lost his nerve he put his hand on the car door handle. Took a final look at Alberto, and gave the kid what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Don't forget, Kid. You make yourself scarce before you call, okay?"
"Yeah, take care of yourself…Nick."
He found the use of his real name touching and saddening. Grounded the situation in more of that hated reality. He just nodded and shut the door behind him, patting the car on the fender in the way people do, a sign of 'drive carefully and take care.'
He waited until the car pulled off, leaving a trail of sandy dust as the rear wheels spun on the side of the road. The car hit the blacktop and was gone from view a minute later, headed back towards Laughlin.
He put his gun in the back of his borrowed jeans, pulling the flannel shirt out over it and started the long walk up the drive.
… … … … … …
The house was monstrous. Two floors of gleaming white plaster, dark wood, and terra cotta, hacienda style. High wide-open archways covered the front, the lawn lush and green, a testament to the sprinklers running full speed in various points all over the grounds. Citrus fruit trees lined the drive as it turned to white concrete about a hundred yards from the house. Bushes in full bloom flanked large picture windows set on the front wall. The flowers were the same pink as Mari's favorite nail polish.
A second smaller building sat behind the house, set back in its shadow. Large doors at the front showed it to be a large garage, probably held at least a half dozen vehicles.
No sign of life. No guards. No gardeners. Quiet but for the click-clack of the sprinklers. The house was miles away from its nearest neighbor and a half-mile from the road.
He continued his survey of the property and made his way around to the back. An Olympic sized pool surrounded by more white concrete took up a large portion of the back yard. A Jacuzzi was tucked in next to its bigger brother.
On the back wall leading in from the pool was a set of sliding doors. Currently wide open. As he approached he noticed a towel sitting beside the pool, still dripping wet. A second towel had been draped over a piece of ornate white-lacquered patio furniture. Water was puddled in front of the stairs leading out of the shallow end.
He walked up to the open sliding door and took a furtive glance in to see a terra cotta tiled sunroom. The décor was high-end. Large potted plants framed the outside of the room, the interior filled with more white lacquered furniture. Wet footprints led further into the house and he followed them, up a short flight of stairs and into a well-appointed kitchen. Appliances equally high-end. Chrome gleamed from a double- doored fridge-freezer, a wine refrigerator, and a massive double oven stove combination his mom would have given her eyeteeth for.
The points of light reflecting off the highly polished metal gained those now familiar halos and he wavered a moment, leaning against a counter while he rubbed at his eyes. He averted his gaze back out of the kitchen and tried to find the footprints he'd been following but their maker must have lingered in the kitchen too long as there wasn't any further sign of them.
He continued through and out of the kitchen and came upon a set of dark wooden, highly polished stairs that led up to the second floor. His CSI senses hadn't been completely taken as his practiced eye caught a few water drops on the third stair. As he planted his foot on the bottom stair he hesitated as he heard voices coming from above.
He pulled his gun out from his jeans and held it down and out at his side, ascending the stairs slowly, the voices growing louder.
One voice sounded like his quarry, the other a female voice. Both speaking Spanish.
He reached the top of the stairs. The landing was open and allowed a view of the living area below. Another white plaster and dark wood archway opened at the end of a short hallway.
He kept his back to the hallway wall and approached the archway with trepidation. The voices continued to grow louder, but he still couldn't pick up what they were saying. Sounded like common quiet conversation.
Adrenaline had his heart pounding so hard he could feel his pulse beat in his head and his arm throbbed in counterpoint. He wiped away the sweat on his brow with the sleeve of his flannel shirt and entered the room.
Ramón sat on a bed, clad only in black silk boxers, his back to the door. A woman lay on the bed, naked but for a pair of black silk panties, a glass of wine in her hand. Her face was turned towards the door and at his entrance she gasped and spilled the wine, a red stain spreading across the cream-colored bed linens. Ramón whirled around and saw Nick standing in the archway. An icy grin slowly spread across his face and he threw his arms open in a parody of a warm welcome.
"Back to play some more, Pig?" he said with a laugh.
But Nick's eyes were stuck on the girl. She could have been Mari's sister…she could have been Mari. Same long curly brown hair, same light coffee skin. Same bright pink on her lips…
The girl, unaware of the reason for his stare had pulled a sheet up to cover her nudity and her face was stricken with terror. The same look Mari had on her face that night…
Ramón turned his head and recognized the reason for Nick's thousand-yard stare. His grin grew broader.
"You like her, Guero? You want her?" He gestured at the girl with both hands. "You want a new Mexican chica to fuck?"
The girl looked at Ramón, horrified at his words. She scuttled crab-like backwards until her back hit the headboard, still clutching the sheet to her chest.
Ramón laughed at her and turned his attention back to Nick. The gun had been raised slightly out into view.
"Ahh, you brought a new toy to play with, eh, Guero? Or did you come to arrest me? Huh? Where's your uh, backup? You gonna read me my rights, huh?"
The gun continued to rise. Almost of its own accord. Nick tore his eyes from the girl and brought them to face his prey. Mari's killer.
"Where's Rey?"
This question was not what Ramón had expected. He laughed again and raised a hand to scratch at his head as if he was making an effort to come up with the answer.
"No need to worry about Rey any more, Guero. Rey es muerto. Entiende?" he asked with a cruel laugh.
"Where is he?" Nick asked again.
Dark eyes hardened and met Nick's gaze. "He's with his sister. Care to join them?"
"C'mon." Nick gestured with the gun. He shot another look at the girl cowering in the bed. "Let's go downstairs where we can talk."
"Yeah, okay, Man. You wanna talk, huh? What? You wanna share warm memories of Mari with me? Cuz I got some memories I can share with you." He licked his lips, the grotesque display causing a shiver to wrack thru Nick's body. The point of the gun wavered a bit.
"You don't look so good, Guero. You wanna sit down?" His eyes were appraising Nick's physical condition and it was just dawning on him how sick the man in front of him was.
Nick ignored him and gestured again with the gun. "The sheriff's deputies are on their way. We're gonna meet them. Downstairs. Let's go."
Ramón put up his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. You don't wanna play, that's okay."
He slowly rose from the bed and walked towards Nick. Nick backed up and held the gun on him. Ramón reached over to grab a pair of pants from off a nearby stool causing Nick to thumb the safety off and put his finger nervously on the trigger.
"Easy, Guero. Just putting my pants on. Can't bring a man in in his boxers, can you?" The cold smile never left his face.
Nick just nodded and watched him carefully as he pulled on a pair of dark slacks. "Lemme see the pockets."
Ramón chuckled and pulled the pockets out to show they were empty and Nick resumed gesturing with his weapon, anxious to get the man out of the room and away from the girl in the bed.
He backed up further to put himself between Ramón and the bed and began walking forward, following as Ramón left the room and entered the hallway. He continued to follow as Mari's killer walked slowly down the stairs, his hand trailing down the banister in a display of nonchalance.
They descended together and walked out into the living area. Luxurious white leather furniture. Thousands of dollars worth of electronic entertainment. One wall of the room was covered in display cases filled with Mexican pottery and more Day of the Dead figures. A large white stone fireplace covered the whole back wall. Cream carpeting as lush and thick as the lawn outside covered the floor.
Ramón walked into the room and sat down on a large leather armchair, his whole demeanor showing his total lack of concern at having Nick's gun pointing at him. He reached over to small silver box on a glass-topped coffee table and pulled out a cigarette and small silver lighter.
"You wanna smoke, Guero?" he asked with a laugh, raising a cigarette towards Nick, who remained standing near the bottom of the stairs.
Nick ignored him. He stood as steadily as he could. Raised the gun to wipe the new sheen of sweat that had collected on his forehead with the back of his hand.
"W-why did you kill her?" The words came out with a slight stammer. He cleared his throat and started again. "Why did you kill Mari? You know we never would have said anything. Mari couldn't risk getting sent back."
"You know what, Guero? That bitch had been at me from the time we were kids. Always holier than fuckin' thou. Her mama and her papa and her little brothers," he said mockingly. "Working away on their little cactus farm. What a waste. Her father always so self-righteous. Like he was fucking proud of how goddamn poor they were. Nothing to be gained from poor, Guero," he said, shaking his head. He threw his arms out to encompass the room they were in. "Who wants to be poor? In America, everyone is rich, right? Car in every garage? Wide screen TV in every living room, right?"
Nick shook his head. "People work hard to make money. They have jobs. They try to be a benefit to society. They don't profit by selling poison."
"So why you got a job then, huh? You're a cop. No job for you if everyone's trying to be a 'benefit to society'," he said, throwing Nick's words back at him.
"The benefit we provide is ridding the world of pieces of shit like you."
"Ahhh, you think you got it all figured out, huh? You know what? You don't have shit figured out."
Ramón's grin widened, sending another chill through Nick's body. He heard a familiar click behind him. Turned his head to see the girl standing midway down the stairs, still naked from the waist up, but holding a very large gun pointed at his head.