Chapter Twenty-Two
Paulo did not go in to the office the next day; he simply could not face his partner Pablo. Instead, he called in sick for the first time in years, telling his secretary he was feeling tired and feverish (so he didn't have to simulate a stuffy nose), and working with her to reschedule meetings that could be, and conducting the rest by phone and internet. When, at noon, Javier forced him to leave his desk to eat lunch on the balcony, Paulo grinned at him.
"I'm actually getting a lot done today. I should work from home more often!"
Around four that afternoon, he sighed, picked up the phone, and called Pablo at the office, asking him to stop by the penthouse on his way home from work, as he had "a couple of issues" they needed to discuss briefly face-to-face. Pablo replied easily, saying of course, he'd be there around quarter after five. Paulo shuddered as he hung up, then nodded grimly at the two detectives in his office doorway.
His friend Detective Montoya was staying on the case, by virtue of his familiarity with the principals, and had been joined by Detective Pedrona from Homicide. The two of them nodded back, and got to work setting the scene, with the help of Diego/Javier, a uniformed officer named Menendez, and a police audio-visual tech who was named Juarez, but the name slurred to Wires for his wizardry.
Paulo and Javier had been visited in the penthouse that morning by the city's Chief Prosecutor, who (like his counterparts in the US) controlled and directed police investigations, criminal trials – and deals with potential informants. He had been thoroughly briefed by Detective Montoya and seen all the materials already provided, including Pablo's package. But he needed to meet Javier – introduced to him as Diego Perez – face-to-face before deciding.
Javier would not give him any details of his previous life, of course, only alluding to it being a criminal one – but one conducted entirely within the borders of the United States. "I assure you, I have never broken any laws on Ecuadorean soil, nor targeted any Ecuadorean citizens."
"And is anyone looking for you? Are you asking to be shielded from criminal prosecution elsewhere?" the prosecutor asked bluntly.
Javier gave his one-sided smile. "No. In fact, they believe I am dead up north – and I have absolutely no intention of disabusing them of that belief. No, this isn't going to be another Julian Assange situation," he concluded, alluding to the man still holed up in the Ecuadorean Embassy in London to avoid prosecution elsewhere.
The prosecutor grunted appreciatively. "And what of your future plans? Will this deal come back to bite us? Are we giving you carte blanche to restart your former career – whatever it was – here?"
"No. From now on, I swear, I am turning over a new leaf, starting a new life, completely clean."
"If it makes any difference," Paulo jumped in, "I stand by my friend, and vouch for his character – and I'm ready to act as his immigration sponsor."
The prosecutor's eyebrows were raised at that – apparently, it did make a difference. Paulo was a well-known and influential businessman, after all. He studied Javier a minute longer, then made up his mind, liking what he saw. "All right, Señor Perez. You have a deal. Immunity from any prosecution in this country in this matter, or anything else before this date, regardless of where it took place, and we will expedite your citizenship application. In return, you will cooperate with us fully and completely, assist in this investigation however we deem appropriate, and testify openly at any trial related to this incident. Agreed?"
Javier looked that over carefully, and nodded. "I'd like that in writing, but yes, I agree." The two shook hands to seal it, and the prosecutor left to give Montoya and others the go-ahead.
At precisely five-eighteen, the guard on duty downstairs in the lobby called for visitor clearance for Pablo (another of the small ways Javier had tightened security), and everyone but Paulo disappeared. He opened the penthouse door and forced himself to shake Pablo's hand, then led him to the dining room, where they sat across the table from each other.
"What's this about?" Pablo asked with easy, friendly amusement.
Paulo had been surreptitiously studying his partner's face, trying to find signs of the half-drunken, derisive, homicidally angry man in the video. He wasn't sure any more if they were there or not. All he could see was the face of his closest friend, whom he had known since childhood: Paulo and Pablo, joined at the hip, only one letter apart. They had gone to school together, worked on a banana boat side-by-side. Pablo had been beside him as Paulo sank his meager inheritance into a single, small, aging freighter, and the two of the worked their butts off for more than two decades, slowly building the company into what it was today. They had each married (and divorced), had children, grandchildren. How could he ignore all this history? It had kept him up all the previous night, tossing and turning, getting up to stare out over the balcony; Javier a silent, watchful companion at the other end, within earshot if needed.
But... the evidence on Javier's video could not be denied out of hand. The police had wanted to arrest Pablo immediately on its strength, but Paulo was determined to give his old friend one chance to come clean, to explain. He desperately hoped that he could.
Now face-to-face with his lifelong friend, he told him, with what he hoped was no hint of what was in store, "I have asked you to come, to give me an explanation... for this." Paulo pulled up the window on the open laptop on the table, turned it so his visitor could see the screen, and clicked Play. It had been paused just before the hotel door had opened. He watched Pablo's face as it stilled, and the blood drained out, as he slowly realized what he was seeing.
He tried to laugh it off, as the man on the screen poured drinks and then sat down. "What is this? Some kind of a joke? That's an actor, obviously. He doesn't even sound like me."
"Of course it is you, Pablo." Up till that moment, Paulo had half-hoped it hadn't been, but the very ludicrousness of Pablo's denial had cemented it. "Nobody ever thinks they sound like themselves on a recording." The disembodied hands on screen were pulling out the pages from the envelope, with Paulo's picture on top. Paulo could see Pablo's mind working at top speed, trying to find a way out. When death was mentioned, he suddenly reached a long arm across the table and slammed the laptop shut, cutting off the video and sound.
"This is ridiculous! It is obviously an attempt to smear me! How did you get it?"
"I gave it to him," said a new voice, and Javier walked out of the kitchen behind Pablo, coming to stand at the end of the table between the two men, hands dangling easily by his sides.
The rest of the blood had drained from Pablo's face as he stared at the intruder. "Pablo, I don't believe you have met my new chef," Paulo said, fleetingly wishing he could be enjoying this denouement. "Diego Perez. I brought him from Hong Kong, where he saved my life from your first purchased attempt on it."
"Lies!" spluttered the accused. "These are all lies!" He rose from his seat to stand shakily, pointing a finger at Javier, who stiffened to attention, his eyes locked on Pablo. "He has come to kill you! He's a killer! I was trying to stop him!"
"Oh, horseshit," Paulo said tiredly. "You're incoherent. You weren't stopping him, you were hiring him." He paused, watching the man. "I asked you for an explanation, Pablo. Why are you doing this? Why are you trying to have me killed?" He already knew the answer, of course, but he wanted to hear it directly.
And there it was. As the two men watched, Pablo changed before their eyes, a tide of anger and disgust visibly stealing over his face. He jettisoned his ineffectual denials and began spitting venom instead. "Because you and your fine sensibilities are costing us millions! We could be rich beyond our wildest dreams, but no! 'No drugs on my ships!' you say, when it means nothing in the world. Nothing! The drugs will still be shipped, but someone else reaps the profits. Why not us? Bah!" he added abruptly, waving a hand at Paulo as he took a breath, to ward off whatever he might have said. "I have heard enough of your foolish platitudes! I will hear no more of them!"
"You never listened to them at all, all these years," Paulo commented, weary beyond imagining. "You never understood."
"No," came the flat reply. "And I will not listen to any more. Enough! It's time for a change of leadership! So we will end this, right now!" And suddenly, he opened his jacket and reached for a pistol in a shoulder holster Paulo had never known he wore, pulling it out before his partner could take a breath.
But not fast enough. Before it was even clear of the leather, Javier had whipped out his own gun from behind his back, and was pointing it two-handed between Pablo's eyes from just three feet away. "Don't!" he yelled sharply. "Drop it!"
All Pablo could do was stare at the gun, frozen, even as Paulo called out, "Detective!" and suddenly, the room was swarming with men, all of them armed, all of them pointing guns at him, Pablo.
"Put the gun down, Señor!" one of them said, and Pablo whipped his head around to stare at the newcomer. He recognized him a moment later: Detective Montoya.
A wild idea came into his head, and he acted on it. "He drew his gun first – I was protecting my partner!" he cried, stabbing a pointing hand – luckily for him, the one not holding the gun – at Javier.
"Don't be stupid, Cabrera," Montoya told him, not even glancing away. "You've been on camera the whole time. This isn't Star Wars. You drew first. Now put the gun on the table." He paused, but no movement. "Unless you plan on ending this little escapade with a 'suicide by cop'?" He'd used the ugly phrase in English, but it was sadly recognized worldwide.
It caused Pablo to suddenly refocus his attention again on the gun in Montoya's hands – and the others, too. They could see him tasting the idea... but in the end he couldn't do it. Slowly, his hand sank down to the table, and he placed his gun on the surface, then pushed it a few inches away before raising his hands above his head.
Everyone relaxed a hair. "Officer Menendez, search and arrest him." Montoya's gun didn't waver a hair, nor did his attention. "Señor Perez," he said to Javier without glancing his way, "please put that away before I am forced to see it." Within a second, Javier's gun was back in his waistband, safety on, his arms once more by his sides. "Thank you."
Suddenly Pablo became aware of his situation again. "You saw," he began desperately. "He had a gun. He's a killer! A hit man! He promised to kill my partner!"
"Actually," Javier nearly drawled, "the only promise I made to you was that by the end of the month, you would no longer have a partner. I think it's safe to say that promise has been kept, hasn't it, Paulo?"
All eyes turned to the other side of the table, where Paulo had stayed silently in his seat all this time, at first petrified by the sudden threat of violence, then simply staring at his oldest friend as he had morphed to something unrecognizable before his eyes. He nodded slowly. "I certainly have no partner any more. And now, I have nothing more to say to you. Ever." He turned to Detective Montoya, as if he suddenly wanted to never rest his eyes on the man ever again. "Please take him out of my home now," he asked with all the quiet dignity he could muster.
The prisoner had been patted down by that time and handcuffed. Montoya nodded to Detective Pedrona and Officer Menendez to take him away, then called to the next room to Wires to stop the recording. "I want a copy of the video in my pocket in one minute," he added, and it was so, on another USB drive. "Come back to gather up the equipment tomorrow," he then told Wires. "I think we have stayed long enough tonight."
The detective stopped for a moment, looking straight at Javier for the first time since entering the room with his gun drawn. He nodded. "You will have your papers by the end of the week, Señor. Thank you." He then pointed a finger at Javier's middle, and what was now hidden behind it. "Get a license for that right away. Please."
Javier nodded back, and the two men were at last left alone with their thoughts.