Caged: Retribution

Chapter 8

Blanco leaned on the dresser in the small gray-lit room of Sylvia's casa particular, ankles crossed, arms crossed, watching Raquel like a hawk and she could feel it. Bare feet. Shirtless. His jeans hung loose on him, dipping well below the black gang markings across his belly, denim soft and American-made. A brand she didn't recognize. His muscles gathered tight and his body shook ever so slightly, giving off near-sound. Even Abram, the black dog with his splash of white, seemed disconcerted, pacing the room, sitting, lying down, hopping on the bed then off again. Hovering near Blanco.

Maybe it was her imagination, this… sound. Maybe it was Blanco's body actually moving against the dresser's aged wood. Maybe it was his voiceless grunts, like he could barely contain a scream. Maybe, maybe… she thought as she glanced at him, maybe it was just the hate she'd seen repeatedly now. The hate of El Diablo Blanco. Yes, yes, it was pent-up hate that seeped from his pores like bitter sweat.

Cold light eyes focused on her as she talked to Rico on the bed, poor boy covered only by an ivory towel on his crotch. She listened to him tell the injuries his brothers had committed upon him. She'd already checked his tender sides, his abdomen, chest, shoulders, neck and hips. She had seen the bruised sack between his legs. Though she had spotted the injuries from a distance, she did not anticipate the extent of them. He'd been beaten badly.

Yes, she felt hate, too.

"I am not the perpetrator, Blanco," she said, only eliciting a grunt. The intensity of his study of her did not change.

Her eyes were closed now and Rico was sitting up, feet on the floor. He had his head forward on her chest, somewhat in her arms as she reached around him to feel his back, feeling for breaks, unnatural knobs and swellings beneath the skin, waiting to see if Rico yelped with pain. The boy was tough which made diagnosis hard. He could use an x-ray. She stepped back, releasing him.

Blanco cleared his throat and sniffed sharply and shifted which leg crossed the other. Abram settled at his feet. Rico had eyed Blanco a moment before returning to Raquel, dark circles under his eyes. Bone tiredness. Those eyes tore through Raquel like they always had, since he was a boy, since the first time he limped into her clinic because he knew she tended to the whores. How often after that he'd come to her a little broken but in a hurry because he needed to go back to the illegal brothel to make his wage.

"It is mostly my ribcage," Rico said quietly, "bruised but not broken. I will heal."

She shook her head and added, "And your cheek and eye, and your shoulder, and arms, and your thighs and scrotum. And maybe your heart, yes?"

He looked down, saying nothing. The plumber's death would ache, he knew, for a long time. A steel blade straight into his gut and ever-twisting. Yanko did not deserve to die. He ran his fingers on the coverlet's bumps beneath him. Over and over he rubbed them until his skin was numb. Keep scraping skin and soon one feels nothing. His lion wanted him to tell his story to that policeman. He wasn't sure he could. He had never given voice to the experiences other than the limited sharing of his nightmares. Nightmares he never had before. He turned and lay down on his side. Knees up. Eyes out the window. He was cold and too lethargic to reach for the extra blanket at the foot of the bed. The room grew suddenly quiet.

Todd groaned beneath his breath, "Jesus… CHRIST." He grabbed a pack of cigarettes and Raquel noticed he was definitely shaking as he lit up. He craned his neck over the cigarette, hair hanging down, stringy and unruly, and he puffed. White smoke wavered as he lifted his head and watched the white. The cigarette moved as he spoke.

"How is he then?"

Rico hardly heard the terse words that followed. He wanted to be lost again in his lion's arms, beneath Blanco's passion and fear and sorrow. Beneath his madness. There, he felt strangely ... worthy of breath. And yet, what he'd give to chase away la doctora and get Blanco's strong hand around his throat… the other on his pinga… to feel the euphoric cutting off of breath. He smiled, just for a second. Blanco had been happy for just a second, too. Earlier. True relief. A vicious nightmare gentled. When they kissed after, the taste of semen on his lion's tongue shocked Rico. He had felt his mouth on his chest but didn't know what Blanco had done. When he landed, when their tongues met… Rico tasted it. And the kiss grew hard at that, frenzied heat at that. He knew in that second something had changed. A weight Blanco had been carrying a long time had lightened at last. In that one bitter kiss, Rico had never felt more... loved. Even as shackled and strangled a love it was. And in that same moment, Rico thought… maybe Blanco would find another route for his anger. Maybe he would gain a kind of peace through their coupling. Maybe all his visions of retribution would resolve and… and…

...but then his lion asked for Rico's brother's names and he knew vengeance was still coursing hot through Todd Manning and Rico gave him those names. Antonio and Rafa Macias. Whispered them like prayers, black wishes into a whipping flame of hate. Whispered the names, hoping and not hoping what would come of it. How long he'd wished them dead. How many times he'd said it to God but nothing ever happened. Would it happen now? Would all this promise come true? And what of his other dream. Would he eat Caro's flesh, piece by piece? Would he get to see THAT man die… piece… by… piece?

Retribution, Rico, RETRIBUTION!

Talking had stopped. Raquel sighed, looking over Rico's prone bruised body. "I'm so sorry, my child," she said softly. A growl from across the room drew her attention.

"You didn't answer me… does he need hospital?"

The doctor didn't turn yet. She breathed for peacefulness, breathed in and out. She felt a burning in her gut. He asks this NOW. He should have asked this before he put his pinga inside the broken body of this boy. Before he fucked him like an animal without REGARD. Raquel narrowed her eyes and turned slightly towards Blanco who tossed the cigarette out the open window and was pulling his hair back because he was impatient. She breathed out like a horse. Indignant.

"Raquel…?"

"He does not need hospital, Todd Manning," she finally snapped. "He is resilient. Like he has always been." She looked back at Rico, her voice softening, "Rest today, mí chiquito. I will bring you soup. You need to regain your strength and manage your pain… all of it. And no, that one is not a help. Sex is not always healing. Let yourself REST."

"I am supposed to tell things… to Blanco's people. I need to go."

"That man I allowed in…?"

It was Blanco who answered. "Yeah, Benicio Juarez… FBI from the states. Rico needs to give up some information. Helpful… information. We're going, as soon as he gets dressed."

She'd seen the man, this Juarez. Another American. He'd flashed his badge at the door and she let him in. Then he'd passed her on the stairs as she made her way up. Dark-haired, ruddy, flustered. The man had grumbled in Spanish, "Don't let him out of your sight." She nearly laughed, knowing he meant Blanco. Right, she thought. And how would she do such a thing? Imprison him? Tie him up? Hold down El Rey Loco de Los Reyes del Mambo? The Mad King. She'd heard stories over these past weeks. Hushed tales in her restaurant of deadly responses to wrongs that were never officially tied to him. Blanco will find out the truth and that truth will decapitate you. It reminded her of ghost stories schoolchildren share in the free time at school. There was a sense of him being… all-powerful.

But he wasn't, was he? He was just a man. A very broken, sick… man.

"What information do they want from you?" she whispered as if saying it quietly would lessen its power. "What MORE do these Americans want from you?"

"My life," Rico answered, just as quietly. He was on his back and still looking at her. He had no concern of his nakedness. She was a doctor and he was an orphan who'd been living a true hell for so long he had no knowledge or even imagination of a different life. Nude was how he mostly lived. She wanted to hold him in her arms… like a child that had come from her very own womb and he never let her. He was so strong, so independent…and yet he had been laid out to die in a dirty alleyway, in the Maze, along with all the other prostitutes and their customers... and now… now he had to spill all that ugliness, all the pain…? He had to give his LIFE to these people?

She turned hard and stormed right up to the Mad King… her face a mask of upset, of raw emotion. Brown eyes flashed now. All the years of tending to the boy rumbled in her ragged voice.

"You call yourself the KING?! The leader of the Cuban Mambo KINGS? Well, you are no KING if you let this happen! You did not protect him last night and you are not protecting him NOW! You only USE HIM! The same as everyone else!"

She was holding a fist out now and shaking it at Todd and he had his head up and back. He was mesmerized by her. He gasped as if someone had grabbed him by the balls. Oh GOD, yes, yes, he heard her, he felt her. Abram felt her, too, wrapping himself around Todd's legs, eyes on Raquel. He'd jump if he had to. He'd show teeth if he had to.

"Mama…" Rico begged again...

"You came here to Havana… to use our men for your gang's purposes in the states… no regard for US. No REGARD! And then you use HIM for your own dirty needs! Where was your concern for hospital today?! You did not have it! You just took care of your cock like a dirty rutting DOG! You are a selfish, spoiled American! You have no NOBILITY! How absurd to call yourself king! LEAVE THIS BOY ALONE! All of you! DO NOT TOUCH HIM ANYMORE!"

And with that she spat at his feet, a wet hawking glob of shiny spit.

Todd saw her eyes turn glassy with hot tears, spilling now, running down her gently lined face. She was small… hardly five feet, but she was all female-brawn beneath the chino pants and her button-down floral shirt. Her silver-haired braids wrapped her head, the white glinting, jeweled strings in her crown of experience. The knife's hilt rested in her other hand as if she needed to protect herself; she held it, ready to draw. She was shaking with rage at Todd. That knife in her hand… she wanted to pull it out and cut his throat.

Fucking beautiful. Finally.

She never broke in all the time he knew her. He'd put her through all kinds of shit these last weeks and she never broke. She cursed him, sure, threw shades of judgement at him, definitely. She showed her loyalty to Rico, but still… didn't break. She broke now. The bruises had broken her. Rico had broken her. She should have seen him the week Todd held him prisoner at the beach house. She'd have used that knife then. She'd have gutted him like last week's salmon.

He stood now, pulling himself off that dresser, taking steps to the heaving, fuming doctor. His eyes were lit from the inside and he smiled… almost. Something in between a smirk and the baring of teeth like a dog. Something like how a hungry man might watch another eat a steak dinner.

In Spanish, he purred, "Oh you feel it now, don't you, Raquel? The hate, the rage, the sickening feel in your belly. Someone's cock in that boy, someone abusing him, using him for their own disgusting needs. It's like fire inside of you. Such...HATE."

He grinned, and then didn't. He gasped again… like someone touched him. "My wife felt that. She shot me in that moment… she was full of hate, too."

Raquel could only glare at him, shaking still...

"Except unlike my Téa, you are not angry at me, you are angry at all the men who have touched him since he was six years old. You would like to kill me because right now… I am THEM. I am Caro, I am his mother and father who abandoned him… you are full of hate, Raquel, same as me… just like me."

Raquel stood still as the dead of winter. She took all of Blanco in, from his toes, to his chest to his cold light eyes. Saw the darkness inside of him plain as day, like blood now, running out of him, pouring out of him. No longer just bitter sweat. Not just hate of a thousand suns. Not just El Diablo Blanco…

He was no king, not of the Mambo Kings that is. He was a man spit right out of the bowels of hell. He was the King of all the devils of hell. El Rey de todos los demonios del infierno…

Don't let him out of your sight.

The officer did not mean such a thing literally she realized. No… it was meant to be a warning. Don't turn your back on him is what this Juarez meant. Because one wrong move and you'll find yourself being dragged down into his kingdom, into HELL. Shadows fell across the room as the afternoon ended and an early evening made itself known. Blanco stared down at her, skin flushed, eyes bright, his beard only making those hazel eyes burn brighter. She reached a hand out and placed it on his heart… whatever was left of it.

"I am not like you," she said, "I do not want to blow up this world."

"Let go of the knife then."

She had been holding on so tight, her hand was cramping. Blanco chuckled then didn't. She didn't release the blade. He wasn't that wrong. She wanted to drive it into his chest. She did see him in these moments as just another Caro. She had treated Rico… more than once… for bleeding… thanks to men who had no regard for Rico's body. Raquel closed her eyes… the hate… can consume anyone at any time. Where does such a thing go?

"The only thing stopping you from using that weapon is a lie," he said, "the one that says you are better than ME. Well, you are not better. You are full of hate, same as me, and nothing you do will change that. I can see the imagined attack in your eyes, Raquel… the arc of your arm, the tearing into me, ripping ME to shreds for having torn him up."

Raquel had not removed her hand from his chest. Now he brought up his hand, and held hers. He tilted his head a little, features gentling… eyes softening…

"Mama…," he said…

... and then fast as light, Todd pulled her by the arm, grabbed her into him, turning her so she was facing Rico. He held her tight against him, a hug, a threat. An arm across her chest. A hand on hers that held the knife. She couldn't move… Abram shook his body at the violence of it, on alert. Todd spoke in her ear, his breath hot.

"I did not hurt him, Raquel. I didn't rape him, I didn't even penetrate him. But his brothers hurt him, they left him to die… they murdered his friend… and Caro? CARO hurt him. Over and over since he was six years old, Caro raped him. Look at him lying there, mama... naked, vulnerable, the black of spreading blood beneath his skin. Still a boy. Caro took pictures of him just like that. Filmed men raping him. Women, too. Did you know that, preciosa? Yes, women. And then... Caro made Rico watch children get murdered in cold blood… all for MOVIES. To this day, Caro markets the films Rico made, every publication a new wound, every publication… a killing all over again. I didn't hurt Rico… THEY DID."

His face was flush against the side of her head and Raquel felt weak. She looked at Rico and he pulled up the blanket. Covered himself. A deadly silence to him. Raquel wondered what was in his mind, what did he see?

"Let go of me, you bastard."

He did. She turned on her feet at that. Stared him down. Her knife was out now. She pressed the tip of it to his throat, her mouth a slash of grizzly anger, her feet apart in a fighting stance. His lips stretched just slightly, a twitch. He knew she would do it. Of that, he had no doubt.

"Mama... I am not them."

"Don't make him tell his story today," she growled. "Let him rest. Tell your people he cannot speak. Wait for when he is ready to talk. Let it be his decision."

Todd looked past her at Rico, huddled under the blanket, watching the show. Just like he did with all the confrontations he was a witness to. Utterly unmoved by what could possibly unfold. A murder maybe? A beating? Raquel slitting Todd's throat. No fear. No panic. Maybe even excited at the pain he saw. Maybe that's why he pulled the blanket to him. To cover an erection. His very own madness. Todd returned his gaze to Raquel and reached a hand out, Raquel flinching, pressing the blade's tip deeper, puncturing skin, blood leaking now. He licked his lips at the pain and caressed her face, wiping the tears from her cheek. The most gentle of touches. He put salted fingertips to his own lips. The toes of one foot curled on the floor, digging into the wood. He nodded, conceding to her wish.

"Yes, yes, of course. You want Rico to recover. Me too. But it will cause a delay in certain... legal… punishment. Every day he waits to talk, is another day for Caro and his men to tear up more children. To create more Alicias… and Ricos…"

"He needs to rest."

"And he will. In that space though, let you and me not throw away time. Tell me, Raquel mas noble que yo… Raquel with all your glorious hate… what is the name of the man who can help me bring Caro and his men down in that ugly house? What is the name of the man who knows everything there is to know… about blowing up this ugly world of Caro's?"

After a moment of eying Blanco, Raquel made a hissing sound and Abram followed her in the same cloud of silence, the door shutting behind her.


The men in the courtyard turned their heads when Todd sauntered out from the back door of the red-light-district bar. Dressed in black, black boots, black knit shirt, black jeans … buttons open showing the tattoos on his neck and leading into his chest, he garnered immediate nods of respect. His hair was partially pulled back in a black tie and he smelled like rain and the sea and sweat from running to this place. He ran from Sylvia's house, from the feel of Rico against his chest, the scent of him on his hands, running from everything, he supposed.

He had fought countless fights here, had proven himself more than once to be un-killable. His ribs were mostly healed from the last bad fight he had. He could probably take on someone but he wasn't exactly in the mood. He had business to conduct. The men out here mostly considered themselves the Cuban-proper brothers of MK. They had long committed themselves to Pedro Moreno and all he brought to them. Promises of better lives, a push to free Cuba from the chains of communism. And now, they accepted Blanco as a leader, too. Todd studied each and every one of them. Some older, most of them younger. They were hard workers – some worked traditional trades, others worked the black market, others still worked the even more illegal doings of MK. Drugs, gambling. He knew none worked directly for Manuel Caro.

No, no… that was special work. Given to non-MK people.

Todd sniffed and sat hard on the ground, back against the bricks. His usual spot. A beer was handed to him. He drunk it up. Shots of rum handed to him. Not his preference… but when in Rome…

He rubbed the cold bottle against his cheek, closing his eyes at the relief of the glass. He smiled when some men cheered him.

"To Blanco!"

"Yes, el coyote!"

A chorus of laughs drifted as a woman sidled up to him and put her arm around him. Nobody gently removed her, yet. Someone would. Someone always did. She leaned into him and sighed, "Welcome back, my fighter." She slipped a hand into his shirt and rubbed his nipple and he found himself biting her lip and shuddering… which made her laugh a throaty laugh that rippled into him. He pressed his forehead to hers and whispered…

"You don't want this, baby girl."

"Try me, Blanco."

Drank down the shot of rum she was feeding him. Gave her a wet liquored kiss because that's what Blanco always did. Men liked the sight. Gave them confidence. Todd, though, was profoundly aware of her lips... a softness there...

When Raquel left to get that soup, to tend to Abram, when she left the bedroom without giving any name, Rico had called Todd to bed and when he got there, Rico brought him down, led his hand to his hard cock, asking with no words to get touched. Rico arched his back against Todd behind him. Turned his head and sucked hard at the knife-nick on his throat that Raquel had made. He didn't want tenderness. Then words came. He was driven... make me come, make me come, if you do not, I will do it myself and I will use the scarf… please please please... I am losing my mind… do it for me do it do it do it. He held Todd's working hand to him until Rico was shaking in his arms. So hard he jerked that Todd had to do his own jerking to not get hit by Rico's head. No more words exchanged. No kisses. No return touching. All understood. Todd wrapped his arms around Rico and held him a long time after, never changing positions, never even cleaning up. Todd couldn't let go. The pain was too much. His mari's crazy was clear as day in that dark room. Only when full darkness came and Rico was asleep could Todd leave.

Before he did though, he scoured the room for anything Rico could use to choke himself. Scarves, shirts, belts. Dumped the collection of shit at Raquel's feet in the hallway. She didn't understand. When Todd said… "He uses them to masturbate. He likes to NOT breathe, mama, when he comes because it connects him to his dead brother who was strangled to death by a Caro associate. Feel the hate now? Can you fuckin' feel it?"

THAT… that was the nail in the proverbial coffin. Raquel, honorable, moral, rise-above-it Raquel, then spat the name of the man who knew everything about blowing things up. She spat the name like one spits gum in a museum. Spat the name and then gathered the clothing, pretending the spitting never happened… one promise on her lips.

The outcome is on you, cabron. If anything happens to Rico, I will kill you. If innocents die, I will kill you.

He left Raquel sitting on a chair outside Rico's room. Her blade on her lap, in her hand. Bedroom door propped open. Abram lay now on the bed inside the room, guarding the most needy in the house.

Todd tipped the now-warmish beer back. Listened to various men who asked for things, presented problems. He couldn't solve them all, couldn't guarantee deliveries, but he'd try. But then a new man arrived on the scene. Telling a harrowing tale. Everyone was upset. The arrival had lost a brother. They wanted justice. The government hated the reporting of crimes so the information was sparse.

"I saw him with my own eyes! Stabbed to death! The police do nothing. They ask no questions. They carry him off to be buried along with testimony on the murderers!"

Masculine tears followed. Pats on the back, vows of getting to the root of the terrible crime. A man sat next to Todd, a younger man named Cleto. He had a mess of black hair and acne still. He looked at the gorgeous woman still under the Blanco's arm with a youthful envy, then said quietly, "His brother was found in the Maze. That's why the police don't want to investigate."

"What was his name?"

"Yanko Olivera. He was a simple man. A plumber. Honorable. But he had a thing for dancing in the red light district. He must have wandered into a wrong scene. The other plumbers… they are angry, in solidarity."

Todd nearly burst out laughing. A fucking GIFT! God works in mysterious way, a sign, a fucking SIGN. These men were warriors and they would finish the Macias brothers once they knew. Righteous revenge! He sat a while longer, listening then to the men talk. Listening to tales of the kind Yanko. The brother cried and was given a bottle of rum to settle his pain. A serious discussion followed but soon it slowed and quieted. The men turned to Todd, one after another. He was rolling a cigarette in between his fingers, stuck it into his mouth but didn't light it. Eyed them back. One of Pedro's oldest friends spoke for the crowd.

Santos asked in his gravelly voice, "Where have you been, Blanco? It has been more than a week since we've seen you."

"Business to take care of. For all you crying fuckers."

They all laughed quietly, a seeming relieved chortle. Yes, they seemed glad that their American MK second-in-command hadn't lost his dry sense of humor, his dirty way of talking. They must have felt tension in the ranks, Todd figured. Wondered if Pedro was spreading some kind of rumor.

Santos said, "I heard you were ill."

"Do I look ill?" Todd got to his feet, releasing the woman, someone now easing her away, and stared darkly at Santos, "Do you want to test my illness?"

A long pause followed, the silence loud and waiting. "No, señor… most certainly not. I leave that to your usual opponents."

Todd chuckled, the cigarette dangling and threatening to fall and some of the men laughed, too. They'd like to win money again. Santos shook his head, and gently held Todd's arm. He added, "We appreciate what you've done for the market. The medicines came in. My wife… her diabetes is under better control now. The doctors are amazed."

"I'm glad for you, Santos."

The man glanced around, now that the crowd had gained confidence that Blanco had not fallen beneath the waves of politics or Pedro Moreno or any other weakness. On behalf of the others, he asked, "Is there something you can do about the man who died, Yanko? He was a brother and was found-"

"I know who he is." Todd now lit his cigarette.

"Perhaps with your contacts-"

"I already have information on his death."

The older man froze. "You know something about the killing?"

"I know everything about the killing."

Santos breathed out hard, knowing that information wasn't just going to be handed over. There was always a price for valued goods, for valued information. The medicine supply had been given in exchange for loyalty. The man asked, "What do you want, Blanco?"

"A man named Mingo Espinosa. I am in need of services… privately."

"You need a plumber."

"Yeah… and I got a really big plumbing problem. You get me a meeting with him and I'll tell you everything there is to know about the murder of Yanko."

Not too much longer and Todd was in the bar, sitting at a back table and watching the women dance with their men, and men who weren't theirs. They danced sexily to the old-fashioned American funk music and he thought of Yanko… funny enough. The whiskey had gone to his head and the room swam a little. He thought of the flowered shirt, how the blood had spread across the fabric like a ruby oil spill, and thought of Rico in the alley, huddled and crying and then the picture changed to Rico beneath him, his head back on the mattress, his mouth open, arms stretched to reach Todd's moving, jerking…ass… the movement of his fingers inside… the intense feeling…

Todd rubbed his face and shook his head, huffed, grunted even. Under the table he grabbed his cock that stirred beyond his control. Panted now because other thoughts were coming, dark ones… and he closed his eyes because he could see Caro. A memory, what could only be a memory because it felt so… genuine. The feel of someone inside of him… filling him…

The cup shook in his hand and he drank it all to keep from puking. He wiped his mouth, liquid dripping into his beard. Held his hand there because he was screaming practically and he had to shut himself up. He slammed the glass down and looked around with his eyes only, strands of loosed hair blowing with his breath. Yeah, yeah… the madness was so close all the time. It would only take a few minutes and he could give in to it.

"Fuck!" He shouted and several people around him turned but then didn't. Looked away fast because they knew El Diablo Blanco had a short temper and… well, they didn't want his attention. He groaned under his breath and worked to settle himself. Thought baseball… and football… and suddenly Sam was there… no, no, no, that got too close to Peter… and there was Peter in the doorway…

GOD FUCKING DAMN IT.

Tears were in his eyes and he stared at the ass of a woman across the floor… a woman who looked like Téa. And the tears formed fully and slipped down his cheek and he was grateful because this pain, this he understood. His wife, his family… this he could cry openly for. And it was a beautiful thing. But he didn't. He pulled it all in. And in a minute or so, a husky man with longish red-brown hair and a heavy layer of freckles sat heavily on the chair opposite Todd.

Mingo Espinosa. A cool set of blue eyes. Spanish… blue eyes. The plumber. Santos had wasted no time at all.

"I speak English, Blanco."

"Good."

"What do you want for the information on Yanko?"

Todd had no energy to mince words, he was too drunk. He licked his lips and poured more whiskey into the glass. He drunk some down. Slightly slurred English came out of his mouth. "I have a job for you," he said. "I need a house blown up." Then he rasped, his fingers splayed to mimic an explosion, "Kapow."

"I understand, kapow."

"Good. It's tricky work. Good work though. I'll pay you, plus give you information on Yanko's killers."

"You know who killed him?"

"Depends on your answer to me."

Mingo coughed and glanced around. Once assured nobody was overhearing the conversation, he then grinned. Leaned forward and said, "I like blowing things up. A lot. I'm in."

Todd smiled big and finished his whiskey. Poured another. "Let's drink to blowing shit up."

Mingo laughed and…

Yeah. The Macias brothers would be dead by morning.


Téa Delgado sat at a small table on the sidewalk paladar, drinking her café con leche and thinking on her talk with the children on the telephone hours before. Evening had blanketed Havana already and people seemed ready for it. Though hustling, they seemed to be waiting for the dark to come with all its romance and loneliness and promise of the unknown. A candle's blaze wavered on the table. God, she missed her babies. Reese's and Lucia's sweetest days were passing by without their mother next to them. It hurt terribly. And worse, they were confused. They didn't understand why their Mami was gone for so long, and if she was where Papi was, why couldn't they talk to him? Did she see him? Did she talk to him?

Lucia asked, "Mami… has he fainted?" His epilepsy. She was so worried about him.

He's fine, preciosa, he takes his medication. He loves you so much.

Téa could only lie to them, promise that he would get on the phone real soon. When she hung up, Reese had started to cry and Viki shushed him and then… nothing but dead air. The weather had cleared a little earlier but thick clouds rolled high above in the dark, and now the rain was beginning to come. The drops hit the roof over the patio. She closed her eyes and breathed in the sea air. She could smell the rain. She ate the pan dulce, delicious sugary bread, took small bites. She'd had dinner, a fine roasted chicken with sweet potatoes on the side, but she didn't finish it. Bread seemed better suited to her mood. She'd insisted on eating alone but Rolon, he wouldn't let her. She fought him. So as a compromise, at her direction, he lurked in the distance and Téa pretended not to see him.

The people moved around her, her coffee cooled, and then she got a new hot one. She had been worried about Todd, about Rico. His call had been so short, but she could hear his agony. So she'd sent Raquel to check on him, to check on Rico. To see if they'd found one another.

A quick phone call said yes, they indeed had found each other. In their very own room. Best not to interrupt such… finding. Raquel hissed through her teeth, judging something, never saying exactly what it was she judged.

Rico and Blanco… k-i-s-s-i-n-g…

No. She shut off the images. Shut off her memory of them together in that room. She would shut down the feel of his words on her lips in that room.

I fucking love you.

She tilted the cup and sipped the drink. Wished she could dump a good dose of rum into it. Or whiskey. He had said those words to her, high from heroin, while his lover had his cock in his mouth. She laughed aloud. What difference does any of this make? There were much greater things to be concerned about as long as he remained completely out of his mind with grief. She could not forget what she'd seen since she arrived. His visions come to life that night in Sylvia's house. She could not forget Tim Graham's warnings that Todd was dangerously ill. That he was remembering a terrible truth about his life that he'd fought for years to keep under wraps. Memories of horrors that Caro had inflicted upon him at Peter's behest. She could still feel him crying in her arms at that other house. At that place with the kidnapped children.

Caro's personal house of horrors.

Come home, amor. Then tell me what Rico means to you. And I will accept whatever that is.

"Provided you survive whatever you are planning," she said aloud.

She drank her coffee, stood up, and left money for the bill. She walked the boulevard. The people smiled and she smiled back as if nothing was wrong, as if she was just on a tour of la Cuba nueva! She lifted her chin and caught drops on her lips. So beautiful the rain was here, so fresh the scents, so clean the streets beneath her feet. Such… delicious… clarity. She reached into her purse and pulled out Bo's letter that Benicio Juarez had brought her. A settlement, an agreement. She read it as she walked, the paper catching the drops, the ink beginning to blur.

Dear Téa,

As you know, we've been investigating Todd Manning for various crimes and misdemeanors against the city of Llanview and more. Several men murdered over the past six months were known affiliates of Pedro Moreno and the Mambo Kings crime organization. Todd was a person of strong interest. Currently, however, we have been forced to conclude that we do not have sufficient evidence with which to bring any action against Todd. For now, he is no longer a person of interest in the unfortunate and disruptive killings in our county.

Best,

Bo Buchanan

"Got away clean, mí amor," she murmured. "Like you always do."

She passed various government shops and another hotel and came to the door of her own. Rolon stayed a block behind her. She waved him away and went inside. She just had no patience for him. He left her bed this morning only because she threw him out. She used him. She rocked her body on his and watched him agonize over her slowness. She made him wait. She was the first to say… she used him. She was grateful for his resistance to any kind of commitment. He liked it. She liked it. They liked the casualness, the bit of revenge in it.

She walked several flights of stairs and came to her room. Opened it and stepped inside its increasingly claustrophobic space. She tossed her purse and tossed her shoes and shed her coat and collapsed on the bed. Checked the time. Near eight now. The phone rang and she picked it up.

"Moms?"

Jedediah.

"I'm here."

"That cop, Benicio Juarez is here."

"I know."

"My dad, he's a real ass."

"No shit."

"We tore apart that thumb drive he gave us. But he encrypted it. Like we have a lot of docs but the few that absolutely will tie Pedro Moreno and Caro to this thing… he's got them encrypted. We can't touch them until he gives us the key. Juarez is spitting mad."

Téa shook her head, smiling to herself. "I'm sorry."

"Can you get him down here? Tomorrow maybe?"

"Sure, baby. Sure. You okay?"

"Yeah… moms…"

"What is it?"

"We found information on Rico."

"Oh god."

"Yeah… he was definitely abducted as a kid. He's got a family. He's American. A whole family. His mother has been looking for him since he was three years old."

Jed's voice was weighted, heavy. It was a big thing to know this information and know that the subject had absolutely no idea. "We'll let him know, mijo. What a great thing. This could change his life."

"Or not. It could fuck him up. I can attest to that. Sometimes… your dreams… they're way better than the reality."

Téa didn't have to ask what he was talking about, and he had no interest in talking about it. He did say, "I'm tired, and I'm thinking… that I'm going home in the next few days."

"Of course…"

"I'll see this through with Rico, you know, get his story, tell him about his family… but I can't see my dad again. I'm having a real hard time with him being so… cut off. And I gotta see Rose. Maybe you ought to leave too. Reese and Lucia need you home."

She understood. "I know…sure…"

Jed hung up… a broken heart for sure. She hung up and threw herself back on the bed. "Jesus," she groaned, covering her face with her hands and screaming into them. She rolled over and watched outside the balcony doors, her hand on her belly. Esperanza was kicking her, pressing into her ribs. When Téa got stressed, particularly over her husband, the baby kicked her. The more worry, the more stress, the more kicking.

"I should give up, Espie," she said to nobody. "I know. But I also know you don't want me to because he is your father. I know. I get it. But maybe… mijita… maybe Jedediah is right. Perhaps your father will finally be beyond all redemption." She winced, a good kick to her bladder.

"Basta, muchachita…"

Music carried up through the slightly open balcony window. Jazz with a latin feel. A live band somewhere. People talking and laughing. Téa got up and opened the door more to hear the music better. She smiled. Then stepped away from the window and swung around, her bare feet on the carpet. She spun with her arms out and her head back and she smiled and spun and spun until she got dizzy because she couldn't drink her sadness away, spun until she was falling down as if she was drunk, falling over on the bed, laughing… laughing and panting… until tears rolled down her face.

"Todd," she whispered, her arms wrapped around herself. His voice echoed in her head. His trying to explain to her why he needed the bedroom door locked, why he needed a bolt on the door… when he'd come home from prison.

I don't understand! Todd, you're home… you don't have those horrible bars anymore…

He'd grabbed her, held her so hard. Shaking her. The steel keeps me SAFE! Nobody can touch me! Nobody can touch me…

Yes, yes, yes, amor, lock the door. It's ok. We'll try again tomorrow.

And they did. He eventually stopped locking the bedroom door, even letting it stay open entirely and sleeping through noises. Seemed to have let go of his fears, seemed being the operative word. She didn't have the intuition to understand that those fears hadn't gone anywhere. Such arrogance. Such ignorance. And now he was playing such dangerous games. And now… Téa had given him such good reason to be afraid of being in his own home.

I'm so sorry, so so sorry.

A knock on the door drew her attention. Rolon most likely.

"Go away," she called out. The door got kicked this time. She flipped over and stared at the door. There was some insistence in that kick. A very familiar… insistence. She got up and went to the door. Peeked out the peephole and all she saw was a dropped head… very familiar long brown hair lined with silver. He jerked his head up and there was his face, that intense face with those sharp… sometimes beautiful, sometimes ugly… features.

Todd.

Blanco.

El Diablo Blanco.

She stepped back from the door. "What?" she choked out.

"Open the fuckin' door."

He was drunk, she could hear it in his voice. "Not with those words," she said. She bent against the wood and rubbed her crown against the wood. So many pictures were flying at her. Every reason to run, every reason to stay by him. His hands on her arms… nobody can touch me…. oh how he had wanted touching when he came to her from Statesville. Such violent touching. So hard he touched that he was afraid to touch his own children.

I'm afraid to hurt them, I want to hold them to me so tightly, so they'll know how much I love them...and I can't do that to them...

"Please, please, please… open the fuckin' door."

She breathed out hard, remembering days and days of being in bed, trying to soothe him, chasing away the children so he could just learn to be at home with no rules, no bars… so naive she was to think that days of love-making and making sandwiches and eating in bed and watching movies would bring her husband home. So stupid! So STUPID! He had dark dark plans, what was he doing, what was he doing HERE?

I fucking love you.

"What do you want?" Her voice had come out stringy, whiney, and she hated it. She cleared her throat and tried again. "What is it, Todd?"

"I need ta' talk to ya'."

"You seem angry and you're really drunk."

"And? You have trouble wi' me… jus' shoot me. You done it before. You can do it again."

Oh fuck. He will make you pay for your transgressions forever.

In Spanish, she said, "You are not in a good place. I am pregnant and… I have another soul to keep safe. Come back later."

He was quiet a long while. So long she looked out the peephole. He was still there.

"Go away, Todd," she whispered.

"I won't hurt you, Delgado." A much softer voice came back through the door… the one she loved. A voice she had heard a million times. A voice that made her love him. She leaned on the wood. Her cheek cooled by it. "I jus' need to see you. Please."

She cursed under her breath. Resting her head again on the door. God… damn it. This voice belonged to her husband. The father of her children. The one who played with them in the back acre, running through trees and carrying them and able to touch them with such love and such promise… a man feeding her spaghetti by raising it above her lips and laughing as he did it... the man who loved her in bed with a kind of desperation...

Don't let go of me, Tea, hold me tighter, Tea, tighter, tighter...

With a sigh, with still more hesitation, she unlocked and opened the door. Took a breath at seeing him once again.

Such heat came at her, such swirling dark energy. He had his hands on both sides of the doorway, palms flush to the wooden frame, and he looked unflinchingly at her, an expression she couldn't read. He filled the space, towering over her. Black knit shirt, buttons open lower than usual, as if someone had done it. A Catholic medal lay flat at his damp neck. Smelled of whiskey and cigarettes and the rain. Wild rained-on hair hung down. It used to be tied back but no longer. He had a nick on his neck, fresh watery blood spreading along the lines of his skin. Thick beard that might have hid his old scar but didn't. She resumed her gaze on his light stormy eyes.

"You gonna let me in?"

She found no voice at the moment. She had no heels on so her height was lessened. She had no armor. Just a black knit dress that fell to her knees. Neither moved, neither breathed, neither let each other's eyes go. She put her head up, breaking the hold, trying to see around him. He moved his head, trying to keep her looking at him.

She asked quietly, "You found Rico?"

"Yeah," he said.

"Is he okay?"

"Not so much, but he'll live. He's with Raquel. At Sylvia's place."

She looked around, beyond him, up and down the hall. "Abram is there, too, I guess?"

"Rico needed Abram more than me."

"What do you want?"

"Can I come in? I wanna talk to you, I jus' wanna see you..."

A flash of old vampire stories came to her. Don't invite him in or he'll grab hold of your soul.

Too late, verdad?

"You're seeing me. I'm standing here. Go away."

"Delgado… lemme in."

A sigh came out of her, a giving, a collapsing. She stepped aside. Invited him in, god damn it.

And all that Cuban rain and American whiskey and black breathtaking wreckage slid past her to the balcony doors. He open them the rest of way, standing just out of reach of the stinging sweeping rain. Such darkness beyond. He turned and gazed at her with terrible, endless, maddening...

... love.

GOD FUCKING DAMN IT, she'd invited him in.

To be continued….