Caged: Retribution
Chapter 2
All he needed from his bag was his blue silk scarf. He got that easily enough, the messenger bag not having a zipper or anything. Rico saw that Téa was asleep, her features soft and her breathing gentle. She was on her side so her growing belly wasn't as visible. Still in her dress, but she'd taken off her bra and stockings, boots off, too. Her underthings lay across the bed, rolling off. He'd touched them… smelled a trace of her perfume on them.
The sun was up already. She'd fallen asleep next to him on that queen bed in the room. He had no idea when she finally succumbed to tiredness but he'd been warm, that he knew. Never felt the need for a blanket. The last thing he remembered was the late afternoon sunlight, watching her on the balcony, her hair in the breeze, her demeanor… royal. Sí, una reina. She was different than anyone he'd ever met. Nervy. Balls. Fearless. Como un hombre. Closed his eyes, looking right at hers. He had slept for what, fourteen or fifteen hours? A couple of dreams. Nightmares really. Over and over the same. The blood. All that blood. He'd wake, but sleep wouldn't let him go and down again he'd find himself.
His lion would be looking for him. This, too, he knew. Since the beating, Rico never slept away from him without the proper notice. He'd go to his family house every so often. To give them money. To check on the younger ones. To make sure that bitch wouldn't send the babies to the streets. He didn't know where they came from. They weren't hers. She said she fostered them. State paid for her to care for them, she said. Happens, even in Cuba. Unwanted kids. But sometimes, despite his best, those kids disappeared. He hoped they were returned home but… he doubted it.
He shut the bathroom door quietly and stripped to nothing, wrapping the silk scarf around his neck in that special knot. He didn't need light in the bathroom; enough came in through the space between floor and door. He sat on the floor, feet up against the cabinet, resting against the wall. He lazily rubbed his nipples, scrolling through his list of images to use, deciding the fantasy…slid hands across his chest and abs, massaged his inner thighs, spreading his knees apart. Touched all over, purposeful, intensely, except his pinga. He liked to wait for that.
When he was hot enough, seeing the usual pictures, he reached in between his legs and tilted his hips so he could move a finger in and out of his ass. He shut his eyes and rocked his head back… his cock hardened, achingly so. Huffed at the sensations before finally letting himself run to the image furthest away, the deepest now, not fantasy at all…yes, yes, his lion looking down at him while Rico sucked him. Those light eyes, full of mystery, darkness, fear, but mostly, the look of reluctant pleasure. Dios, Blanco did not want to feel as good as he did. The recalled sensation of his pulling Rico's hair into his tight fist and thrusting into his mouth heated him even more. The taste of him, salt at the back of his throat. And then, dios, then the sound his lion made… the small grunted gasp… his whispered forced-out, "fuck…"
Now, now, Rico needed the touching.
He spit on his palm and it was good, really good at its job. He palmed his pinga, his breath speeding up. fuck, fuck... Over and over he heard it until it was coming out of his own mouth, "fuck...fuck..." His hand grew slick, his own juice coming, and he tried to mimic how Blanco did it, his particular hold, particular strength in it. The way his thumb would slip across the tip every so often. Careless habit. Unconscious. No particular rhythm. Blanco just did it; instinct, practice on himself, but maybe from farther back than that.
Unwilling, reluctant pleasure.
He knew of that, lived THAT. Rico's head dipped as he stroked himself, getting closer and closer, and with his other hand he grabbed the scarf edge. Wrapped it around his hand… pulled it, starting the process of cutting off blood and air, knowing that when he went limp, the scarf would release. Prudente, verdad?
Consciousness started to be affected as the scarf got tighter. fuck, fuck. As he saw this dangerous damaged man who'd forced himself into Rico's life with a fist and left him torn up and confused and feeling less than nothing and yet more than anything he'd ever been. His head hit the wall and he grunted repeatedly at the good feel, grunted fuck, seeing that beautiful scarred face, feeling his weight and hard cock on his, his vision loud and raucous because blood was rushing, his ears throbbing with his desperate pulse and compressed air.
He was going to come, he felt it… oh god, he felt it…and that's when he yanked hard on the scarf, ending air and blood. He pumped into his fist… slowing and speeding enough for that perfect timing and everything in his body gathered, heat at the base of his spine, blackness coming too, así, así, así...
"fuck..."
And finally he sprayed hot and plentiful and he wasn't breathing, no, he was flying above everything, the intensity firing through his body and mind, and he could cry with the joy of it, and then the bathroom went black… and he hit the floor like a dead man… and that revived him, the tiles' coldness. That and the loosened silk letting air and blood flow again. He gasped awake and lay panting like a dog, knowing Blanco would be pissed off, but he needed it.
He just did.
Fuck.
When Téa had woken up, finding yet another morning in wintry Havana, she was alone on the bed, no Rico. She had fallen asleep at some point, right next to his warmth. She had huddled up against his back, primal instinct pushing her there. As if to press up on him… was to press up on some part of Todd. She could have sworn she smelled Todd on him, his natural musky male scent with a sprinkle of heroin's sweetness and it broke her a little. When she felt Rico's absence, such disappointment came over her that she almost cried. He was her chance to make contact… a possibility of reason. The boy… the whore… he was a way in and he was gone.
Rolon Lopez had been… distraught. Bothered by the incident with the gun. Madness, Téa, complete madness! The incident proved how far gone he was... and she'd only heard the basics. The storminess in Rolon's green eyes told her he'd held back on the assault's true awfulness. She kept hearing Rolon's utterance that he never repeated nor fully explained, "I feel raped."
So Rico was something of a desperate in, yes?
But then the bathroom door opened and there he was, holding an ivory towel to his crotch. Not gone. He didn't expect her to be awake and he froze in place. His longish dark hair was wet from the shower, his smooth hairless body still glistening, dewy. His dark eyes full of surprise and then embarrassment. Téa glanced away and… had to take a breath, really. She saw the source of his strength… defined biceps and shoulders and pecs, the shape, so so… perfect. No scars that she saw, no tattoos… Unwanted thoughts intruded at the sight of him, stupid thoughts, petty thoughts befitting a debutante. What difference does it make, bobo?
Do they kiss? Deep or fast surface kisses? Does Rico open himself up for Todd? Does Todd allow himself such freedom to fuck like that? Does Rico suck him off? Does Todd suck Rico? Would he dare? Does he stroke Rico's cock? Those strong hands of her husband… would they be so bold? So exploratory? No, she decides, he'd lie there and let himself be jerked off… just like with the female whores. Maybe no kissing at all.
Her eyes must have revealed her wonderment because Rico yanked his own curious gaze and glided across the room, the red mark around his neck inflamed. He had a bright blue scarf in his other hand…luscious silk falling from his fist… and Téa contemplated why he'd need that in the bathroom… and then her education kicked in, all those books she read...
Oh my.
She now knew where the markings came from. He liked not breathing when he came. Oh my. Why this morning? What triggered such a want… this morning? She knew he had history, not unlike Todd's own, much worse actually. The psychology of it scared her. Kept hearing Ken who told her many things….
That poor fuckin' kid.
He made his way to his bag and like a million men have done for centuries, Téa snuck a peek at his bare behind. Just another bit of gorgeousness. She doubted Todd had any idea the beauty of the man in his bed. She was almost jealous. She wondered then if Rico himself knew how beautiful he was… she knew Caro did. It was why he'd been such a star.
That poor fuckin' kid.
She turned away, guilty at seeing him so shallowly as he dug into his bag, grabbing things, tucking the scarf away, managing to keep that towel up, and then she said quietly, "I'm sorry. I fell asleep. I hope you're rested?"
The man didn't answer, only giving a passing glance before returning to the bathroom with grooming stuff. A toothbrush, toothpaste, a brush. The door wasn't shut all the way and she saw him dry off, then comb through his hair. He stood naked and Téa saw more than she cared to see. Or maybe that's not true. Maybe she wanted to really look at his soft flesh hanging from a dark nest. Damn thoughts. He deserved more than that. She should be better than that. He brushed his teeth, eyes down, not looking too much in the mirror. He shrugged on the same clothes from the day previous, jeans, black t-shirt, purple hoodie. He came out soon enough and surveyed the room.
Téa didn't hold back. "Does he know you...choke yourself… with that scarf?"
Immediately a hand flew up, eyes widening slightly, as if he forgot. Or as if he expected her to be so naive that she wouldn't know what he was doing with a scarf in a bathroom... stupid. He was so used to the marks that they had been invisible. He swallowed and ignored her question. Hand down. His voice scratchy, worn, he said in Spanish, "I have to go. He might think I have run away again and might be looking for me."
"And?" Téa did not deny the words hurt a little, hearing a little of their relationship in his words, but the possessiveness was deeply familiar, Sixteenth Street rearing its head, Brandy's ghost slipping into the room. "What will he do? You told me he cannot hurt you."
He capitulated on her point, lifting a shoulder, saying quietly, "I don't know. He is probably high and maybe will not notice." He seemed to be angry at himself for having given in to his own exhaustion, shaking his head and hissing under his breath, "I should go." He looked around the room, brow knitted, looking for his shoes. Téa had taken them off while he was asleep. Had gently felt his hot socked feet. She'd put the Converse tennies into the armoire right next to hers.
"Stay for breakfast," she urged. "Eat. I will order food up, coffee. Please?"
He walked to the closed doors at the balcony, eyed the busy street some long moments, thinking on the offer. He was hungry and didn't have any money on him. He supposed there'd be food at la casita, but he wasn't in a hurry to get there. He didn't know how Blanco would be, in truth. Angry? Not caring? He had seen the beast with Rolon but then saw the wounded addict calling for Delgado that night. He did not know. Not quite ready to leave actually. Glanced at Téa. Maybe he was kind of struck by her, maybe he wanted to be around her. See in her the effects of what it was like to be truly loved by Blanco.
"Yes? You'll stay then?"
He agreed and she grabbed the phone, calling room service. Ordering things that made his stomach growl. Fancy hotel to offer room service. Probably the best on the island. He'd only been in it once. Wasn't one of his best experiences.
Rico never moved, his bag still in his hand, still looking around the room for his shoes, a definite lonely streak that made Téa a bit protective once again. Feeling the selfishness of Todd to wreck this kid with his blind desperate NEED. No consideration. Rico finally sat on a sofa chair, body forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. Téa got up from the bed to freshen up a bit. Hoped he would stay put. Prayed he'd stay put. She breathed calm as she got clothes. If he left, he left. When she came out of the bathroom, showered and dressed and ready for the day, she was relieved that he still sat on the chair though he had retrieved his shoes.
Glancing up, he asked, "When is your baby coming?"
"Soon. Three more months. Maybe less. She's big." Téa smiled. "Rico, you speak English very well. Where did you learn?"
He shrugged, "I have always known English. My mother says it is a gift from God."
"Hm. You must have family that speaks-"
"No," he snapped. "I am… unique. But then… I know many people who speak English, so a lot of practice has perfected the skill."
She smiled, feigning understanding but finding his explanation curiously… impossible. Ken had said he suspected Rico was an abducted child. He probably knew English from his babyhood. Ken had given Jedediah the job of searching international missing persons lists. American lists, too. Tedious work that occupied Jed pretty well. Made him feel useful… but heartbroken.
So many kids, Moms.
Breakfast came and the two sat in their respective places, the bed and the desk, and they both nipped at the Cuban bread, drank cafe con leche in a patient silence. They both seemed to live in quiet space easily.
Téa broke the silence with a basic question. "How old are you?"
He considered the question… funny how he hesitated. It's usually knee-jerk. Said, "Twenty-five."
"How long have you worked for Manuel Caro?"
He sighed heavily, "Since I was six."
"Do you hate him, the way… Blanco hates him?"
He was quiet a while, fingertips on the coffee mug. "I lost a brother, Hilario…to one of Caro's… clients. My brother was just a child. Five years old."
"Oh my god. How?"
Rico gazed out the glass doors, "We were sent to this man. He got too aggressive. Strangled him."
Téa couldn't help flinching at that, at the psychology of his preferred form of masturbation. He didn't flinch at all. She tamped the thought down. "How old were you when he died?"
"I was grown…"
"Grown? Like fifteen? Older?"
"I was already nine-"
"You were still a child yourself. That's not grown."
With a kind of immovability, an eerie firmness, he said, "I was working… I knew my business. Hilario did not know the business and got scared and the man… got wild and…"
Madre de dios…
"You saw the killing?"
He scooped up the tortilla stuffed with egg and tomato and cheese. He bit into it delicately. Eyes down, moody. He held in emotion well, practiced. That restraint is what Jedediah took as smugness, being an arrogant prick. He sniffed, chewing, finally swallowing and drinking the cafe. "I could not help him."
Madre...
"Do you know the killer? Would you recognize him?"
"No."
She paused, watching him pinch the bread, breaking without eating. "Why didn't he kill you too?"
"I always try to survive." A non-answer.
Her voice got soft. "Was it… on film?"
His eyes narrowed, mouth tightened into suspicion. Gazed hard at her. Shit, Téa thought. She'd gotten too close to Ken's agenda, tactlessly. He spat, "Why are you asking these questions… what film?"
She owed him honesty, not manipulation. "Ken McNair is an investigator. He's been helping Blanco… with his work, work you're familiar with?"
He just glowered at her.
Clearing her throat, she continued, "Ken is who Blanco has been sending information to. Well, the investigation turned up film, of you. Caro made movies, yes?" She caught herself, putting a hand up, trying to give him some dignity, "I have not seen them myself, I just know of them."
He lost his disconnect, Téa hitting a nerve. His breathing sped up, a pained furious gaze on Téa.
"Rico, those films make you a murder witness. You can help even more than you already have. Maybe we can even find these dead children, give them peace."
Spanish came now. "What can I be a witness for?! I was drugged half the time! I did not understand what was happening! I don't know anything!" He buried his face in his hands and now Téa knew he was a bundle of emotion beneath his cool cover. Utterly broken-hearted. She moved to him and held him a little but he didn't want it and pushed her away, shouting, "Don't touch me!" He just breathed, trying to regain himself just enough. Finally he spat, "I don't know anything. Tell your… KEN… that I am not worth anything!"
He got to his feet and Téa realized just how badly she'd really blown it. "Rico…por favor… lo siento… I am sorry I crossed a line. Por favor, sientate..."
"La Leona...that is what you are… bringing me here to your den… to use me in your stupid games with Caro..." He was fuming, but his eyes showed such terrible depth of hurt.
"I am so sorry, chico... I did not intend-"
He flew to the balcony, throwing the doors open for air. He held the railing, lowering his head, shoulders tight. Téa joined him outside. She apologized again. "I am not using you, Rico."
He was quiet a while, watching, watching. Then finally he said, "You asked if I hate Caro as much as Blanco… He hates in a… what do you say… a recent way. A way that came up only months ago. Mine is ancient…"
"Do you want to kill him, the way Blanco wants to?"
"Killing is much too easy. Too fast. And prison is a gift. For Caro."
"How do YOU want to deal with him?"
Rico glared into the distance, eyes on the traffic, his hair shifting in the cold breeze… said softly, "I want to eat him. Una pieza a la vez, one piece at a time. First his tongue… then his fingers, toes, cock, testicles. I will cut out his organs… then his eyes… ears… slowly cutting through every bit of him. Last… his heart. I want to cut him open… and hear him scream as his heart beats its last." He sniffed and stepped away a bit. Turning to her. Dark eyes… full of ancient hate.
"Rico…" She wanted to wail for him, cry out the screams of a mother, a sister, a lover… a lioness.
He shook his head, "Don't feel sorry for me. Feel sorry for the children he killed. He will pay. You and your investigators will get everything you want. I want that system torn down and think Blanco has it wrong, that he does have to work with you on the big thing. But Caro himself… no… we will have him. We will get him." He roved Téa's face, taking her in. The growing baby. He stood in that breeze for a long moment. Then he smiled sadly, "You want to know what he's like with me, yes? What he does?"
She knew he did not mean Caro. Shook her head violently, "No, no…no-"
So stupid, a stupid jealous girl.
"Yes, you do. You are a straight woman whose husband has crossed a line that men like him are never supposed to cross." He smiled, eyes soft and as always, deeply sad. "I will tell you. Todd Manning wants to UNDERSTAND. He does not. He wants… what we do... again and again… to put what we do in a place where he can hold it and look at it and…" He huffed, eyes moving around and not finding a place to land. The wreckage was obvious. Tears floated but got pulled back. "He wants a man's touch to NOT tear him to pieces. He is not there yet. He is not done…." He whispered, "not yet."
Téa couldn't stop the tears from bubbling out, feeling sliced deep inside of her soul. He had done it again. Todd managed to break her with his endless breathtaking pain from miles away, from ages away. Through this… whore… this weeping angel. The tears rolled down his face at last. He wiped at them angrily, huffing.
"Goddamnit," she rasped, looking down, her lips parted with a kind of shock, but not really. What an astonishing reality they all lived right now.
"There is no label for him, la leona. He is simply…Blanco, el león… nuestro... león. He belongs to nobody. Maybe he will always belong… only to God. Which is why he cannot seem to stay in any one place for very long. Which is why he does not die." He shrugged, like a kid.
"Rico…" Téa looked into his dark eyes and for an instant she wanted to kiss him. To hold him in her arms. To let him know she KNEW what it was to be ruled by El León, to be shattered by his kind of all-consuming love.
To be eaten by him… una pieza a la vez.
The whore didn't have to be kissed by her to know what was in her heart. He hissed, "Fuck."
Téa agreed, parroting the same sentiment, shrugging, "Fuck…"
"What do you want me to tell him?" He asked. "What can I tell him to make a difference? He wants explosives. To do what, I do not know. He is determined."
After a moment, getting her lawyer on, eyes still full of tears, Téa said, "Keep talking to him, learn what his ridiculous plan is, and let me know. I want him back cooperating with us. With the investigator. You also need to tell him that his madness is on Juarez's radar. And that's a very bad thing. For him."
"Who is Juarez?"
"Too long a story. Rico… Todd Manning… is capable of incredible violence, but… he also has a way of drawing bad karma. Things go wrong for him, for innocents… sometimes. It's just God's way of balancing him out. He makes mistakes when he acts out of such passion and people he doesn't intend to hurt, get hurt. So… maybe… YOU…. beautiful YOU…" She smiled, her eyes wet with love, with sorrow. "Maybe you can help slow him down. Maybe he can… dance with you…. run in the ocean a little. Maybe you can continue to help him understand who he is…. without it tearing him to pieces. If you want to. Only if you want to."
He laughed bitterly, wetness still in his own eyes, "You want me to still fuck him, that's what you're saying. No surprise, I am a whore, yeah? That's what I do, verdad?"
She grabbed him by the shoulders now, shook him in a kind of desperate way. "NO! I ask because you are his FRIEND. Because in his own way, he loves you. He would not keep you, look for you… NOT hurt you… if he didn't love you. And because of that, you might have pull with him. You MIGHT be able to get him to see reason."
He turned away, her words far too painful. Whispered, "He does not love me."
"In his way… he does. It might not be the romantic kind of love… but it is his kind, whatever he's capable of… for you. But do what you WANT. If you want to run away right now… you are free to do it. You are free to move on with your life. I will make sure he can't touch you, or find you… You can even just stay here with me, in this room, and work with us on Caro. I will protect you. You CAN leave Todd to his own madness. Just know…" Now her tears flowed again, "He WILL be stopped. Juarez is coming and he will stop my husband dead in his tracks." Téa gasped with the sudden reality of her own words. Awareness coming to her… Juarez would kill Todd. She knew that like she knew the sun would rise in the morning. God, god...
"Rico… it's all up to you. Do what you want to do. It is your choice."
The walk to the beach house from the red light district was so much farther than Todd remembered. Maybe being without heroin since midnight made it so. Fifteen, sixteen hours since he'd pressed that needle into his vein and flew into the bliss. He stopped and hunched at the intense pain in his stomach. God, god… addiction had grabbed him like a mother to her missing child, cleaving to his body so hard he couldn't breathe.
FUCK.
He ran to the bushes at the side of the road and vomited all the water he'd been drinking. Wiped his mouth when he was done. Knowing more was coming. How many days since Raquel first graced him with black tar? Three? Four? Jesus. He felt like he'd been using for months. He kept walking, sweating even though it was only sixty degrees… maybe less. His jeans and boots and t-shirt and jacket weren't thin enough. Legs started to cramp. He limped more than usual. The distance blurred with pain and want. He shed the jacket. letting the thing just fall off him, left in the road.
Needed to get to the beach house, though, needed his dog. Needed Abram to watch over him because he knew the fucking seizures were coming, the white, too, the blankness, the absence of being… the madness over everything. He was helpless, like a baby. Raquel had a life, she couldn't constantly tend to him and Rico was gone…
She had confused him. Raquel made him realize that he couldn't keep using because he was impotent when he was high… useless in a war to save children. He couldn't think straight. His plan… was stupid. No parameters. No real structure. He only saw fire and death and for a while that had been good enough. But then she confused him… over and over asking questions.
What kind of explosives, my friend?
I don't know… the kind that blows up.
They all blow up. What sort of detonator do you want?
Can you get me this shit?
Depends. What kind of detonator? A cell phone? A button? A lever? How big should the explosion be? Ten feet diameter? Twenty-five feet? An apartment building? A block?
I don't know… I don't know! A house… a house.
Is the house connected to other houses? Or is it alone, on the beach… where is this house? How many people do you need to kill? Are you sure there will be nobody innocent there? A cook? A whore who is dragged into the house? What about children like little Alicia? You told me you did not know she was in the house… that night. Maybe there will be more surprises.
I DON'T KNOW!
You are too stoned to know these things. Would you like another shot? I have more black tar.
Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. Where is Rico? Where is he?
I don't know, my friend. He has been gone for two days. He is probably fucking his customers. What kind of explosives do you want?
I don't know! I don't know… I want them all dead. I just want them all dead. What do you mean his customers?
What kind of detonator do you want? What kind of explosives do you want?
I don't know… I don't know… oh god… his customers.
How many people will be there? How do you know the children won't be there?
SHUT UP! WHERE IS RICO?!
What kind of explosives do you want?
Over and over. He was…confused.
He sniffed back his perpetually runny nose as he saw the beach house in the distance. He had checked some bars but it was early still. He did not know where Rico had gone and it hurt him like more addiction. Like the absence of yet another drug. He was afraid Rico was hooking again… afraid he was using his belt on himself… maybe he was lying dead somewhere. Maybe he asked a john to do it and the guy just let him die. He stopped walking because pain blossomed up through him and he heard himself crying because kicking was killing him. He wondered where Téa was. Wondered if she was fucking Rolon some more…
Laughter bubbled up, madness…. No, the soldier would be nursing his wounds. 'Cause when someone fucked you with a gun, you didn't forget that shit. Plus he wanted to kill Blanco for that so he'd be too angry to get with Téa… too ruined. Good. Real GOOD. He got confused at that, thinking maybe he didn't just use a gun. Thinking ugly thoughts and then he was a child again and Peter was thrusting into his mouth like he did sometimes… and he was on his knees and moaning softly into the dirt. He needed to get high again but he couldn't because he couldn't think straight, but this wasn't any better.
"FUCK!"
He pulled himself together as best he could. Got to his feet and kept walking. He was cold now and his jacket was too far away. Kept trudging along. People sometimes passed by and he growled at them. Hair swinging, damp from uncontrollable perspiration and that shifted to hellish coldness. The ocean soothed him though, the waves telling him he was close. His hair was in his eyes and then he saw the beach house through the strands. He shivered from the cold.
He heard Abram and he ran the rest of the way, his boots heavy and bad for running. He couldn't open the door though and he forgot where the key was so he pounded hard on the wood, pounded until the side of his hand bled. The door opened and there was Gloria and her face told him exactly what he looked like.
"Blanco! Oh my god… come in, come in…"
He collapsed onto her and she reached for the wall as they both fell to the ground. He just lay on her, panting, head on her chest, legs sprawled on the hard floor. The door stayed open and the cold sea wind flowed over them. She then moved to the wall for needed support, struggling beneath his weight. She put her arms around him at last, whispering, "Okay, okay, okay." Her chin rested on the top of his hot head. Pedro was gone and she was thankful. She did not need the complication… Blanco didn't need it. Abram was on them, too, sniffing and whimpering, so worried for his person, his charge that he did not forget in these days of absence. Blanco had shut his eyes and almost seemed to be sleeping but he opened them and let Abram lick his face. He stretched and pet the dog's mug, scratching him behind his ears.
Todd eased himself off Gloria and moved next to her, against the wall. Abram sat in between his legs, resting his big head against Todd's chest with soulful eyes. Warming him.
"You're sick," Gloria said. "Heroin?"
He grunted a response. Yes, she figured. "I don't have anything," she said.
"I know," he said weakly.
"Are you back? To stay? Pedro is here. He… will be fine with you here. He hasn't forbidden it or anything. I think-"
"I just want clothes. Is… is… Rico here?" He didn't look at her, keeping his gaze on the dog. Keeping busy by petting the dog. Sweat beaded along his face and neck and he stretched his legs, the cramps getting to him. He grunted softly.
"No, he's not. And he has not been here either."
He shook his head. Aching. Paranoid and afraid. Got to his feet, slowly, like an old man. He walked upstairs, Abram following. Stepped into his old room and stood there in the middle, eyes all over. The unforgiving floor where Pedro's blood spilled, the slats that scratched his back, the balcony where Rico first pulled him inside and into his bed in the alcove. There… where he slept and watched him and Gloria sometimes. He walked to the small outcrop and sat on the bed. He lay back and looked at the lines on the ceiling. The bed smelled like the sea, like the crook of Rico's neck.
He groaned at the pain from kicking and sat back up. He turned and looked at the pillow. Sticking out from under the pillow was a notebook. He grabbed it and flipped through the pages. Just a few. Pencil drawings, sayings, all kinds of shit. He had no idea Rico drew at all. He saw an empty messenger bag and grabbed it up, sticking the notebook inside.
He slowly got to his feet and grabbed up clothes, some of Rico's and some of his own. He didn't get that kid. Didn't understand why he felt like he did. What was any of this? Fuck. He just didn't want him dead, you know? He couldn't let that happen to him, the way it happened to Brandy. He'd left her to the wilds… he would not abandon Rico.
But he was worried that he already did.
He left quickly, hardly a goodbye to Gloria. Held the dog on the leash, the bag across his shoulder. The afternoon was fading fast and he hoofed it on the road, still sick, not caring that he looked a disaster. When a taxi passed, he flagged it down. The taxi rolled backwards and he tumbled inside of it. Abram was happy to hang his head out the window. He smashed money into the hand of the driver. Gave him the address of the casita. He needed a little dope to just get through the night… then he'd start over.
Get off it again… so he could think straight.
What kind of explosives do you want? What kind of detonator? How will you know there are no innocents in the house?
Tears came to him at the shock of pain in his gut, at the cramps. He hunched and buried a hand in Abram's thick furred flesh. The dog moved close to him and licked his face. Soothing the agony. And in the heat of it, he saw Téa's face and he wept more openly, a hand over his mouth to stop the choking sound. He hurt so bad at thinking of her that he forced it out of his head. He was already dead. He was so fucking dead in this world. No children, no family, no nothing. He had to accept that. So he could do what he needed to do.
Go away, Delgado. Go home to our babies. There is nothing left to save.
When he arrived at the house he got out and went inside. He unhitched the bag and climbed the stairs, following Abram, and opened the door to his room…
And there was Rico, standing in front of him, just steps from the door… and all Todd could do was drop the bag and look at him, thanking god he wasn't dead. That he hadn't fucking blown this one small thing, that little promise he made that he wouldn't abandon Rico. Tomorrow, yeah, he'd get straight and start his grand plan… the plan to blow Caro's empire to kingdom-fucking-come. But now, he just needed to feel his mari, because life was shit and he was kicking and he felt goddamn hopeless.
Rico looked at his lion from head to toe, such a mess, so sick. Abram made noise across the room but then quieted. "Blanco…"
"Where you been, mari? Why did you go? Why did you leave me?"
"I just needed space…" Rico didn't say it was Blanco calling for his Delgado in his deep high that chased him into the night.
Todd looked his mari in the eyes and pulled him into his arms, just feeling him, putting his head on his shoulder. "I thought something happened to you," he breathed. "I thought you died. I thought you used that fucking scarf or belt or whatever and died." He whimpered and held him tighter, so tight Rico could barely get a breath in, and then all Todd could do was kiss him hard on the mouth, cold hands on his face and then the back of his neck, not hearing the objection, not feeling the slight push on his chest… shaky resistance.
Rico squeezed shut his eyes… feeling a scratchy smooth tongue, tasting fear and corrupted ever-confused want… and heroin sickness. He reached up and grabbed stringy sea-blown hair, his other hand on Blanco's arm. Tried to get him to stop, pressing palms on his rough bearded face.
"Blanco… Blanco… talk to me."
But the kisses only got harder and Rico felt himself getting turned and pushed backwards towards the bed. Noisy boots and tennis shoes scraped the hardwood floor, Todd pushing him onto his back on the soft messed bed linens, and fast, fast, put first one knee on the bed and then the other, straddling Rico. Hair hung in face, blocking all vision other than the man beneath him.
"Blanco… not now, okay?"
Hands landed flat on either side of his mari, and he hunched over him, a ragged whisper saying, "Now… please, now…"
And when the whore dragged disbelieving oh-shit-oh-shit eyes across the low-lit room, the sun on its last legs, his lion pressed heated lips on his neck and slipped a hand beneath him onto his lower back, bringing him hard up against him. Slid knees down so he lay flat on Rico who gasped at the weight, at Blanco's hardness digging in, hips rocking to get friction. Hurtful insistent movement. Rico turned his head slightly, arms on his lover and huffing from the sudden heat he couldn't seem to stop, having expected a fist and being shocked at its absence. He looked far over to the windows…
...as Blanco rasped, "Touch me… tell me not to be afraid… mari, mari..."
... such pained words as Rico craned his neck to see Téa Delgado standing at the dresser, slamming back into the corner of the room, the safest place to be… seeing her slowly slide down the plaster, her own brown eyes wide in surprise...her hand to her mouth… afraid to even breathe. Afraid to make a sound. The dog covered her as if he was in on this terrible situation. She did not want to surprise Todd. She did not want him to feel what she did. Because to see her amor grande, her broken, wounded panther… in a state of such profound vulnerability, in the arms of another…
... it rather cut her to pieces.
Fuck.
To be continued….
