Caged: Reclamation
Chapter 23
When Rolon finally arrived at Pedro's estate, he stopped believing in what he heard on the phone. Couldn't be. It was obviously a prank and boy had he fallen hard for it. He had no idea who called him and he hated being humiliated that way, the trick making him a ball of fury as he stalked past the bodyguard at the front door, passed through the museum-dead opulence of Pedro's home, emerging onto the back lawn that stretched for acres. He glared at the cottages in the near distance he was told to go to. He could have ignored the command to come but no, he personally wanted to face this prankster and kick his culo. So...he marched across the grass, the night sky lighting the green, park-like lights lining a path through the expanse.
"You think I'm an asshole?" he growled viciously at Pedro who waited for him, who smoked a cigar as he stretched out on a recliner in the courtyard decorated by flowering shrubs and tens of terracotta pots and planters. "What kind of joke are you playing?!"
The call from the prankster had been short, the phone passed off to Pedro who directed him to come specifically to the cottages in back and the more he thought about it, the more obvious it became that the whole thing was a trick, that the voice of fake-news Blanco was different than he remembered. That it was more gravelly, rougher. He had assumed immediately it was Blanco because he so wanted it to be true. He needed Todd Manning to be alive. His grief for his old friend and for Téa had taken over. All logic and reason went out the window. He fucking fell for it.
But why was this happening? "Tell me!" He yelled at Pedro.
The old man scoffed and then sighed, "What joke?"
In Spanish, Rolon fired back, "You didn't have to put a prankster on the phone to get me here! Using my sorrow! You bastard!"
Pedro got to his feet and just looked at Rolon as he walked past him, saying softly, "Go inside the last house, number six." And he walked away, leaving Rolon sputtering.
"The fuck, Pedro! The fuck!"
When Rolon turned, he faced Jedediah and his heart jumped. Impossible. No, no… a joke, a prank. "Chant? You were the joke? Pranking me?"
Except the kid, always the kid even though he approached his late twenties, even though he had a daughter, beautiful Rose with late Leticia, Rose who Rolon cared for in her first years of life… Jed nodded… "He wants to see you alone. I'll be out here." He sniffed and plopped down on a garden chair and started scrolling on his cell, hunched over… a kid, just a kid who looked just like his father only less hateful, less torn up. Much more alive.
Right? Because the man on the phone couldn't have been…
"Go on, he's through that door."
Rolon grunted, fully disbelieving now, furious gaze on Jed, wanting to cuss him for this prank… he fucking cried at the sound of Blanco, fell for it. Hook, line, sinker. He tore away then and went ahead anyway, getting shit over with, whatever the fuck this was, opened the door to number six.
And when he peered inside the cottage, another jolt, because sitting at the table, head cocked, impassive face…
Madre de dios.
"Hell didn't want me," the man grumbled in his street Spanish. He got to his feet, all six foot something, head nearly shaved, platinum flecking the buzzed hair and goatee, scar on his cheek seeming deeper than before, tattoos blazing on his neck and arms from beneath a black tee and newish jeans and black sneakers, a visible new scar on that visible scalp. He took steps away from the table, coming closer, close enough for shining, intense hazel-colored eyes to land solid on Rolon who froze in the doorway.
My god. No goddamn prank. No trick.
Todd, Blanco, was alive. Living. Breathing.
"Jesucristo," Rolon whispered.
"I don't think He had anything to do with it."
And at the raspy sound of his voice, at the smart-ass quip, at the absolute confirmation that yes, thank God, yes, this was his old friend… a whole new rage flew through Rolon. With a deep growl, a face scrunching into pure disgust, he took his own steps and, without warning, punched the holy hell out of the fucking Mad King right in the face. Might have gotten a cheek bone or jaw bone.
Todd flew back from the sheer force of Rolon's bulk and power and fell to the floor in a jumble, groaning good from the pain. Abram had jumped off the bed and slammed to a protective place in front of his person. Dog growled at the attacker but didn't do much more because well... Rolon had cared for him for a while there.
"You fucking asshole!" Rolon roared as Todd inched backwards and struggled to sit back up, a hand out protectively. "How could you blow yourself up! You demolished your family, me, everyone! FUCK! Fuck!" It took everything in Rolon not to continue the assault. He shook with emotion, his fist back and ready. Feet itching inside his work boots to kick the bastard. Honestly, he wanted to kill him for what he'd done in the first place. "You should have walked away!" Emphasis on walked. "Why didn't you walk away?!"
Todd barked a compulsive laugh from there on the ground and then didn't, giving up, lying breathless on his back, a hand on his cheek and working his jaw because FUCK that hurt. Tested a look at his bald-headed friend, a massive concrete block of a man. Hoped no more hits were coming. Then he spotted Jedediah leaning against the door jam, arms crossed. Watching curiously. Of course… his kid made no move to stop anything. Nope. Because why would he? It wasn't like Rolon was wrong.
With an aching huff, he sat up at last, wrapped arms around spread uplifted knees, spitting blood onto Pedro's pristine wood floor and watching the red pool into a perfect circle. Glanced up as Abram sniffed at him to make sure he was okay.
"I thought you might be kinda mad," he said softly.
"I walked that goddamn house. I searched for you! And then I saw your goddamn boots after the bombing. You were dead, you fucking bastard! Dead!" His voice cracked though. Didn't have to add that the bombing had thoroughly broken his heart.
Todd sighed and rubbed his head, "I wasn't myself, Lopez. Téa and my baby girl… died. I had nothing left. Nothing."
Aghast, Rolon roared, "Your kids, you fuck! You had Jedediah and Lucia and Reese!"
Todd had no defense other than madness. Sheer madness. He eyed his son and dropped his head, staring at the blood again, tasting it in his mouth. A million other times he'd swallowed that same metallic bitterness danced in his head. Never good moments… not a one. But this moment was definitely the worst. Mumbling, he repeated, "Wasn't myself. I had nothing in me to continue being alive."
Rolon laughed nastily, a sharp knife of a sound, "Not yourself! Not YOURSELF? Ahhh Manning… the thing is, that was exactly you. You wanted that ending, you bastard, for weeks even though Téa was very much alive so don't fucking LIE."
Ahhh… Blanco… that is true, yes? Verdad? Imaginings of being the King of Hell fed you even as you lay next to Téa in bed, a palm on her belly full of Esperanza.
Rolon turned to Jed, snapping, "You accept that… that… garbage?! For leaving you that way?!"
Yeah, no point trying to explain that day. Indeed the great Lazarus-like Todd Manning, Blanco to some, was every bit a fucking bastard. He swirled the bloody saliva in his mouth and swallowed it down, tongue soothing the cut on his inside of his cheek. "I wasn't myself," he said once more but not in a way that anyone could hear because of course he had been exactly himself that day. He dipped a finger into the wetness on the floor and resisted wiping it away. It took all he had not to stick his bloodied fingertip into his mouth. Instead he just rubbed his fingers until the wetness faded away. Eyed the burnished red on his skin before raising eyes to Jedediah.
"What say you, son?" He asked in a now-hushed voice.
Jed gazed thoughtfully at his father a long minute, seeing him easily put out on the ground, seeing him weaker and diminished in so many ways, but then finding warm eyes peering into his, a look of love he got to know at the convent and Jed gave a small smile to his Pops. No way to explain to Rolon, to anyone, their long walk on a dirt road through a tropical forest to the beach and back, over and over, leading to this very moment, how in the end Jed forgave him. Mercy maybe, love certainly. No desire to waste precious time hating him which wouldn't, couldn't, change anything. His father hadn't died after all, beat the fucking odds again, and Jed knew that sort of luck couldn't possibly continue. He could only hope that love… that forgiveness… would at least keep his dad on that road, that when he finally really would die that it would not be at his own hand.
"He knows he was wrong," Jed said. "Probably gonna pay a heavy price for it on top of what he's already lost. I accept his story of not being entirely himself, meaning… in a way that logic would have prevailed. How can you not accept it? You saw him at the hospital, Rolon."
No lie there.
Rolon grunted, remembered fighting Todd to keep him from leaving that night, his crazy on full display. Even that bastard FBI cop Juarez tried to stop him from leaving by attempting to arrest him. He could still see el pinguero crying and hunched over in that bleak waiting room, equally as powerless as everyone else to change things. Because the Mad King was an animal, impossible to bring back to earth. Téa had died. So had her undelivered baby. The doctor had said so.
Growling like a dog, Rolon shrugged, pulled back his fury a tad in deference to Jedediah. "You did eliminate twelve or whatever pedophiles, child traffickers."
"Wiped off the face of the earth," Jedediah added. "Kids got found and sent home, rescued. That bomb… unpacked a hell of a rat's nest. Can't deny that."
What went unsaid hovered like a storm cloud above the three men.
Sick fucking shit that Pedro Moreno helped cover up for years. A seriously loose end.
After another minute of leaden quiet, all the truths on the proverbial table as he chewed his lip over Jed's obvious forgiveness and rationalization, Rolon stepped over to his downed former partner in crime and growled in Spanish, "Look at me."
Blanco after a second dragged hazel eyes to his friend, returning Rolon's gander with a level of clarity Rolon hadn't seen for ages. Well, well, well. There in that face looked like an unspoken plan, something from way back in Statesville. When a look across the yard or the cafeteria or outside the cells was a signal to take action…
Run.
Get the boys.
Draw attention.
Do something.
Get him.
Rolon's abiding love for his friend weakened him, tears suddenly in his eyes, his heart cracking open once more at the very fact that Blanco had not died, that God had saved him against every odd possible. "You goddamn bastard," he said quietly before holding out a hand. "Get up."
"You gonna hit me again?"
"Dunno."
With a grunt, taking the risk, knowing he deserved more than a few blows but holding Jed's love close to his heart and hoping like hell Rolon understood that Todd needed him to fix things, he took the massive hand and let himself be dragged upwards. The two men just looked at each other. The world had flipped and twisted and unwound itself a hundred times over since they first met on a weedy dirt prison yard. Thousands of miles under their dusty boots. At that mutual awareness, he felt Rolon's heavy hands clap down on his shoulders, a grizzled face gentled now.
"I'm sorry, hermano," Todd said, truthfully, his whole body showing the remorse, voice ragged and thick with emotion.
"Claro que sí," Rolon said gruffly, squeezing Todd's shoulders. "And so the King lives."
"Do I?" Todd asked, equally as rough. He didn't feel much like a King, didn't feel like any kind of leader at all, due to his not being on terra firma. How could he be in this austere cottage on Pedro's property, locked away from almost everything he loved? And yet… maybe he could claim the crown since all the markers of El Rey were present and accounted for: still conflicted as ever, guilty for all the shit in his past, hungering for a life he couldn't have. And Rolon was probably only one of a hundred others who wanted to kill him on sight.
Story of his life, yeah? Some fuckin' king.
No… exactly a King of Hell.
"I am looking at you, brother. Definitely you. You cut that stringy pelo, someone cut into that thick head o' yours…" He looked Todd up and down… "Don't know what else got cut… but motherFUCK… here you are."
And before he could take a breath, Rolon pulled him into a monster hug, a hug that rivaled Tim's in that for a moment in that breathless hold, Todd felt like maybe, just maybe, he could get his life back.
He finally pulled away from Rolon with a nod of assurance, promising with a gaze that he wasn't going to disappear any time soon, and returned to the kitchen table. Sat heavily on the stylish hardwood chair. Without asking, he poured Rolon three or four fingers worth of rum into a crystal glass that the big man took up quickly, practically chugging the dark liquor. Offered his beautiful brave son a glass, too, Jedediah taking him up on it.
The three men sat at the table now, quiet, drinking rum from Pedro's collection of Cuba's best. Abram had taken up guard of Blanco. The dog wavered between Rolon and his person. Jed finally got to the floor to pet him and talk softly to him, the dog finally relaxing and getting onto his side for a belly rub.
"How?" Rolon asked in a grim voice. "I saw your fuckin' boots, you fuckin' hijo de puta. The house was destroyed."
Boots.
Todd nodded and drank some swallows of rum, being sure to swirl the liquid to anesthetize his cut cheek. No doubt a bruise would greet him in the morning. He then eyed the black sneakers the sisters had bought for him.
Black, steel-toed boots.
Thought of that day he blew up the house. He'd taken them off to follow Rolon like a… a… cartoon cat, an evil fairy… tiptoeing behind him as the man searched the empty rooms. Caught him crying before he left the doomed premises. He remembered feeling almost nothing at the sight of Rolon's agony over Téa. At least, he'd assumed that was the case. Todd remembered that he understood the pain but he himself didn't cry. No, he was dead in his soul without Téa. Without Esperanza. Felt nothing. No pathway to making wise decisions, decisions that wouldn't fuck everything up.
Utterly and completely MAD.
So how, Todd, how did you survive?
God saved me. That's what Beatrice thinks.
"I can't tell you exactly what happened," he said, pulled back to the table again, back in the cottage. "I survived the… um… the, the bomb… and someone in Havana PD recognized me and pulled me from the…" He paused, the word wreckage flitting away into the ether, settling on, "the collapsed house." He sipped the rum. "I got sent to a…" He paused again, not from a loss of words this time but because he suddenly wasn't sure he wanted the sisters to be exposed. They depended on anonymity to do what they did. "I got sent to some people Pedro knows. To heal. I was… asleep for a long time."
Jed added a specific detail… "The theory is, he went into the basement and that's why he survived the bomb."
Where the Canadians were killed, Rolon thought as Todd gave him a quick glance.
"Hmmm," Rolon grunted. "Where did you end up? Where en La Habana?"
"Nowhere near. Got sent to the other side of the island."
"Fuckin' incredible. So… you woke up… and remembered you had a family." That anger stirred again, Rolon tightening his jaw.
"Something like that," Todd said in a tight voice as he studied his fingernails, fingers on the smooth glass. Somehow Jedediah figured out Todd didn't want to share openly about where exactly he'd been so didn't expand on the story. And that… that psychic connection, the closeness that allowed Jed to understand without Todd saying a word, pushed him to drift the convent's hallways as Rolon drank and offered spitting commentary. Todd remembered the pain of learning to walk again, his relief at Raquel's holding him when he'd cry…he thought of the songbird and the bread and the chickens in the garden, the idyllic days getting better with Jed, hours at the beach and walking the trails of the convent's tropical forest.
Mostly though he thought of the wish, the deep desire, to give everything up to just stay there, to be a devoted servant. He had wanted that. He had thought of that.
But of course he hadn't seen Jed yet when he decided to stay forever. The commitment to the convent disappeared the moment he set eyes on his beautiful son. The commitment disappeared but not the desire. And he knew it was an ancient call. From way back. Sitting in front of Rolon made him think of prison, MK days after he got out. The convent was just another Red Baron airplane hanging from a ceiling fan, yeah? Another escape from a rotten life swinging above, round and round, high beyond the fray, miles over the hell.
He felt Rolon's iron-like hand on his head and he gazed at him, at green eyes full of secrets, history, re-grets.
"Hey… you are here… let's get you home, yes?"
A pause, a shrug away from Rolon's affection.
"Gonna have to wait."
"Why you say that?"
Jedediah answered for him. "Prison for a bombing."
Rolon sat back and huffed in exasperation. Gave Todd a nasty look. "Well no shit..." A whole lot of Spanish cursing followed. "If you walked away… assholes would be dead and nobody woulda connected you to it!"
Todd sighed, "Doesn't matter… it happened," looking pained, eyes on Jed because in this room his son was the one who mattered most in this regard and even though he'd forgiven him... the complex reality was nevertheless weighty and difficult. Jed noticeably avoided his father's gaze. "So…yeah, gotta wait before going public with my... um… rise from the dead."
Rolon heard all the colored torment in his words, got the entire story. Had to hide because of cops coming after him. "One day at a time I guess… so… when are you gonna show your ass to La Reina then?"
"I can't."
"The hell are you... why not?"
"If I'm going back to…. Statesville or, or, or some other prison? What's the… what's the goddamn…" Word flew away and he groaned… "...why put her through anything only to watch me get carted away?"
"Wait… you serious. You're not gonna tell Téa you're alive?"
"Can't."
"Coño! Come on! You have to let her know! We have work to do!"
"I'm gonna fix things! Just… not in a way she can see… not now."
An exasperated, disbelieving Rolon turned to Jed, expecting a partner in this but realizing suddenly that Jed had been entirely silent through this little back and forth. He stopped cold, seeing clearly... Jedediah drinking his rum, completely unmoved.
"You know about this, Chant? What the fuck?!"
Jed stretched his body in his seat, a childlike show of tiredness that almost made Todd's heart crack, and then said heavily, "To use my dad's words…to the same effect… she ain't herself. You know that." The comment was like cold water on fire.
Rolon saw the grim expression on the kid's face and groaned voicelessy, "Awww goddamn…" and held his head in his hands, elbows on the table. "Ain't that right..." More Spanish cursing.
Jed looked at Todd. "Truth is... you going to prison isn't my reason for you staying hidden. If that happens, we'll deal with it. I don't even think it's a guarantee. Feds are gonna have to prove you did that and just you being there, in the house… means nothing."
"So why should I hide then?" Todd asked, taking in Jed's drawn features.
"Like I said… Moms ain't herself." He sipped the rum. "I can't say for certain that she wouldn't shoot you dead if she saw you. Definitely would call the cops. In fact, I'd bet she's written down, got some secret file, of every instance you implicated yourself in that bombing before it happened." He finished the rum and scoffed. Eyes hard on his father. "I'm not ready for that. I need time."
Todd could only shake his head and laugh quietly, that laugh fading into emptiness. He wasn't surprised… Jed had already said something to that effect… and he had experienced her hate, first-hand. How far she could go with it. Had two scars on his chest from her bullets. But he also knew, deep inside of himself, that she'd regret it later. Which only meant he really did need to save her from herself and soon.
"Yeah…that's true, except it's kinda…" Rolon wanted to say love and hate were two sides of the coin except he could hear her hate when he tried arguing with her about the shit she was doing and could see the deadness when he showed her the burning corpses. "Eh...fuck it. You're right… she might shoot you if she sees you."
Todd gazed at Rolon thoughtfully, thinking of Téa, thinking of her fuck-you decision to get Rolon in bed in La Habana, still sort of surprised that she'd decided not to involve herself with him at this point in time. She chose Gloria instead, according to Pedro. He wondered…
Why?
"Exactly," Jed snapped, "so I'm definitely cool with waiting this shit out." He fixed his gaze on his Pops. "I'm hoping she'll come around while you help behind the scenes. Clean up this mess. Get her out of the gang war she's in the middle of. I think the time will warm that ice cold heart she got right now."
A cold heart? Not that cold. Heated enough to get in bed with Gloria… but why her, of all the women who would happily get in the sack with you, Delgado? Why her?
Rolon NOW had to agree. Months spent wishing Blanco could rescue Téa and now… it was going to have to be in stages. Fucking hell. Todd looked at Rolon helplessly, Rolon shaking his head sadly. "This is on you, asshole."
Todd leaned back on the chair, rasping, "I know…I know. So what now?"
"Tell him what's going on from your end," Jed said.
The glasses got filled again, Rolon topping everyone off. "I gotta drink more to conversate on this shit." He chugged it for real this time. Sat a moment in the sudden slight high. "MK was dead, just like you. The men wanted legitimacy, tired of everything…so went with Téa's company… devoted to legal marijuana, dispensaries, growing, marketing, investment… and when that happened, Los Muertos took over the streets, messing with the peace and the other orgs. Now it's a fucking war zone. And all those former MK soldiers? They re-formed and been taking back territory… all for La Reina. In her name. With her approval."
"Is she… succeeding?"
Rolon gawped, "What you say, puto?"
"Maybe there's nothing to fix. Maybe she needs... more manpower."
Jed chuckled, giving a "maybe yeah" wag of his eyebrows and smart-ass glance at Rolon.
"The fuck is wrong with botha you? We need to get her OUT."
"I saw her today. She didn't look likely to be taken down," Todd said softly.
Both Jed and Rolon spat, "What?!"
"Passed her by on the Boulevard. Didn't seem like she… um…" The word disappeared and he stretched his neck in aggravation, rocking onto the back legs of the chair. "She didn't see me. Back of a bullet-proof SUV? Masked guards?"
"Yup," Rolon groused. "Her idea, those masks. Wanted to make a show if she had to have 'em. She hates the security crew but likes the power of them—" He interrupted himself with a sudden silence, gazing at Todd with an expression of surprise. After a second or two more, Todd eyeing him back curiously, Rolon turned to Jed, raising an index finger. "Chant… could he pass for Mark… with the balaclava? He could get a real good look at shit if he's her bodyguard."
Jed looked at Todd a moment and then laughed and then… "Whoa… I never saw it before…that's fucking brilliant Rolon."
Both men were now apprising Todd… up and down.
"Pops… get up, stand up."
"What...?" He asked suspiciously.
"Just stand up."
Todd grumbled, "Whatever." Got to his feet, and so did Jed. He stared at his dad… walking around him. Rolon, too. He felt like a lab rat.
"He could," Jed said quietly. "Right height, coloring… they even have a similar neck tat."
"Might work," Rolon said. "I mean… just to get inside, to get a feel for her, for what's going on."
"Um…." Jed scrolled on his cell. "Mark's scheduled to work tomorrow. Meaning he's free now. Let's get him over here, to have a chat. He'd have to be in the know, to be able to pop in when Pops can't be wearing the mask." Jed chuckled, "Just like Superman andClark Kent."
"You're both bat shit crazy," Todd said thickly, getting on his bed, smashing himself up against the pillows as Abram hopped up to join him. There wasn't anything more in this world he wanted right now than to see her. To run to her. Too much Téa talk. He bit down on his teeth and drew up knees, forehead hard on his kneecaps. He didn't care that she'd shoot him, that she'd call the cops… hiding from this bombing was really a coward's way to act. A guilty man with a conscience, with a soul, would walk into Bo Buchanan's office and offer himself up.
God… fucking… damn it.
But a growling arrogant chuckling voice popped up inside of him right along with the click click click and whoosh of a lighter lighting a cigarette...
Ahhh hahaha, she wouldn't shoot you, motherfucker! No goddamn way. Why you think she's playing around with Gloria, Gloria bonita, Gloria preciosa? Of all the pussy in the world…? Because you fucked Gloria and Téa knows that. Just the same as when she attached herself to Rico… she wants to love those who YOU love. Even Rolon, you might say, same story there, too, if you think about it. She still loves you, cabron. You'll see. She's gonna play along… but she's gonna know… she'll feel you... and THEN she'll come back to herself. Show her the King… and she'll make that throne ready… right next to her.
El Rey y La Reina.
He chuffed to himself...
Sorry… no, no dice. That's some kinda wishful thinking there, Blanco. Fucking make-a-wish bullshit.
The bed sank a little. A hand on his arm. "I think this is really gonna work. You can get the up-close lowdown, start playing your usual chess game, I'll find out where the investigation sits and start dropping hints to Moms. You'll help ease her out of this war… and by then, no shock when you pop up alive, the kids too, 'cause they'll be ready."
He shrugged like a child, not looking up. Wishing fucking Blanco would shut the fuck up because right now, love sure felt far away. His family seemed as far as the moon. Getting shot dead on the other hand... now that felt much more likely.
He heard Rolon on his cell phone outside the door. There was a night sky, the air only slightly cooler. He'd be in bed at this time back at the convent and his body thought he was still there. His stomach knotted up, wishing Jed hadn't mentioned the bastards who died in the bombing. That only opened the door to Pedro and his role in Caro's empire. They had yet to really talk about that shit. And in the meantime...
"You want me to spend hours next to her, without her knowing it's me," he said quietly.
Jedediah sighed, realizing suddenly, stupidly maybe, that his father was not actually behind the idea of hiding. Well… shit. The monster didn't really like being one. "Oh Pops… Look. You don't have to hide. I mean it. I don't think the FBI has any evidence at all that you caused the bombing. You didn't set it, definitely no recordings of you making it happen… no MK soldier is gonna go up against you unless they have a death wish—"
"I wanna wait until that story is THE story. It's fine. It's just gonna be… hard."
Petting Abram, playing with the pup's ears to his delight, Jedediah said… "Yeah, I know. But Pops, you got no goddamn idea what you're gonna see. You'll be more than fine to keep some distance. I promise you."
Thirty minutes later and Mark was sitting on a garden chair in the courtyard next to Jed with Rolon shaving his longish hair to about the same length as Todd's with a clipper. Mark was easy, cool, curious about this little game he was being brought into. He trusted Rolon and Jed, though, confident that they meant well, so no reason to argue.
"So our friend is gonna take your place because we need his up-close study of the situation," Rolon explained. They'd already driven home the point that this was to help Téa. That was key.
"There… there. Take a look, brother."
He handed a mirror to Mark who then studied his reflection beneath the patio lights. He ran a hand over his cut hair and nodded. "Think you missed your calling, Lopez."
"Eh, I spent enough time in Statesville giving cuts. All done with that."
"So do I get to meet him or what?"
Rolon sat heavily on another garden chair next to Mark, eyes on Jed. The question was… could they trust Mark? Everyone over the last months said Mark was authentic, and loyal. RJ especially. He had promised he was the real shit. That hands down, once committed, Mark would throw himself in front of a train for Téa Delgado.
Jed gave a nod, "You bet. You need the whole picture."
Mark sniffed, glancing around, looking into the shadows of the cottages at the end of the courtyard. Jed had gone in that direction. He tapped the door and it opened. Then a man emerged… tall… following Jed. He walked with a very slight limp.
Hmmm...
And then… the mystery man moved into the light and caught Mark's attention, the bodyguard gasping a little and shooting to his feet. "Oh… oh shit," he huffed, eyes widening and breath speeding up. "Oh fuck me….," he groaned. "You're… you're… Blanco…"
In an instant, Mark recognized a very-much-alive Todd Manning and couldn't hide it all. Yup, he knew of him alright, knew the whole goddamn tragic tale. Mark had grown up a part of the Posse but over the last couple of months had become a Téa Delgado loyalist, becoming good friends with all the MK converts, and above all… learned the mythology of the unkillable Blanco, the Mad King who ruled from behind Pedro Moreno, a man with vision and hope to pull up all the members…
And he knew too… that step wrong and Blanco would cut you down like the lowest goddamn dog on the planet. MK soldiers laughed when they said that, laughed and looked over their shoulders. Practically did rituals at the mere mention of him.
"Well… fuck," Mark cursed under his breath. He was in it now.
"Yup," Todd said softly.
"I take it you really don't want anybody to know you're alive, right?"
"Yup."
Mark cursed again… because he'd just been handed information that he had no doubt would get him killed if he revealed this. He was sure of it. And he had no interest in dying any time soon.
Rolon growled, "I trust you to keep this quiet."
"Swear on my life, man. Won't say a word. Just tell me when and where you want me to go." It was strange to see this man in front of him. Todd was studying him in return, standing with arms crossed and feet solid on the bricks. He wasn't husky like Rolon, nothing at all like him. But he was a wall just the same. Cold light eyes met his. A nasty scar on his scalp and an old one on his cheek.
"Lucky the balaclava that Téa asks us to wear covers your head," Mark said. "She won't see that scar you got." He motioned to his head when he said that.
"That's why I think it'll work," Jed said.
"Except…" Mark got visibly uncomfortable, dropped his focus. "You have a unique walk. That's—"
Rolon huffed with a laugh, grinning, "It's that big swangin'—"
"Fuck off, Lopez," Todd spat much to the enjoyment of chuckling Rolon. Even Jed held in a laugh, clearly enjoying the joke but more so that it signaled the two men falling back into their old selves. Mark didn't laugh though. The limp was real. Historical. Defining.
"It's better than it was… I can almost control it but yeah…that's true and it isn't going anywhere."
Jed assured him, "It's fine."
"You sure?" Todd asked, softening a little. Actually.
"I think so," Rolon said quietly, regaining the actual seriousness of the matter. "Put the covering on."
Mark dug into his backpack and handed Todd the balaclava. It was black and looked much like a ski mask except instead of holes for the eyes, that entire area was open. Todd glanced at Jed and Rolon once it was on completely and they both laughed a little.
"We got ourselves Mark 2.0," Jed said triumphantly.
There was no question…. he did in fact have a similar build to Mark, skin coloring was similar, and thanks to Mark's tendency to quiet, to always use few words…
Goddamn they were in business.
Only one last little hiccup remained though for Mark. He sighed and scratched his newly-cut hair, listening to Rolon and Jed discuss the next day's schedule, watching Todd tear off the mask and simply look at it in his hands...
"Can I ask one last question, Blanco?"
Everyone quieted, Todd giving a nod, face strangely innocent-looking.
"I heard lots of stories about you… you're a force to be sure… but all of them are about hand-to-hand fighting. Do you know how to handle a gun? Because I do. And that gun is how I protect Ms. Delgado."
To everyone's surprise, Todd smiled, a small one, an appreciating one. Because… in this last bit of scrutiny, Mark proved his loyalty to Téa. He would work with them, Todd was certain of it. "Good point there," he said. "Nope... I don't do guns."
"You're gonna need training… sir."
Todd glanced at Rolon, "Good fucking point."
"Point and shoot!" Rolon growled.
Mark turned… "No, Blanco can't take any risks with La Reina. He's gotta be ready, otherwise the whole thing gonna be another fuckin' tragedy."
Jedediah chimed in, "You're right, if he's gonna play bodyguard, he's gotta have the skills. I got a place… private shooting range."
"Where?" Todd asked.
Jedediah then said… "Why… the Buchanan range of course! Family only. And nobody's there these days, everyone's too busy. Kevin and I usually go there on weekends but we haven't since I got back from Cuba…so I got it all to myself, I'm sure. It'll be fine."
Kevin Buchanan.
The name absolutely hit Todd wrong, ghostly, old memories suddenly in his face. From womb to tomb. He shook his head, listening to Jed giving directions to Mark to meet them there. Kevin fucking Buchanan. Saturdays at the shooting range with my son, my kid. Nothing like before… no…no ghosts crawling up his legs, choking him out, no horrors of the time he'd cut himself up for Kevin to find, no vivid images of Kevin shouting at him to stay at the hospital… no, just a punch-in-his-gut discomfort. Because he didn't know about this time Jed and Kevin spent together. Weekends. Never heard this. Must be a post-bombing bonding thing. He glanced at Jed… and realized… he was actually jealous. Sure as shit he was. No doubt Kevin was playing goddamn Dad to the orphan. He probably was doing the same thing to Lucia and Reese and Esperanza. Being a Dad to his fucking kids.
Classic Kevie. What an opportunistic asshole.
He really needed to get home.
God DAMNIT!
He patted his jeans for his cigarettes. He tried hard to control the scowl that he knew was plastered on his face but couldn't. Cigarettes were back in his room. He tore away from Jed when Mark snapped happily, enthused, "Good. We start in the morning at 8. If all goes well, maybe you'll be ready by my shift at 3."
The men all agreed. Training in the morning. With a goddamn gun. Todd was going to be a bodyguard to Téa Delgado by 3 fucking o'clock.
Well… shit.
Cleanup in aisle Method Maker. Cleanup in aisle Method Maker.
To be continued….
