Caged: Retribution

Chapter 11

"I'm going home, my brother… I'm going home. Call me KING."

Rolon dropped his chin in a kind of deferential acknowledgment, the cold calm coming from his old friend enough to knock him further out the door. He clapped eyes to Téa who was standing up and tightening the sheet around her body. She took a couple of steps to the balcony and stood in a breeze that ruffled her sex-loosened hair. She briefly turned, her bare shoulder like creamed caramel… the gaze definitely not that of a weeping willow. A snake in her own right. Rolon jerked away from the sight, the taste of her too fresh in his mouth, the feel of her thighs and fingernails too memorable. He swallowed hard and chewed his lip, a breathless grunt coming from deep in his throat.

Blanco seemed to be able to read him and tilted his head in that doglike manner of his, hissing, "Eyes on me, soldado."

Greens fired up. "King? Must mean you got your shit together. That you ready to take on Pedro, knock him en su culo."

"Time has come. Gotta make shit official."

Rolon could see a lingering high in those light eyes of his brother's, and just as real, could feel the pistol in his mouth. Crazy wasn't far enough away to give Rolon that much confidence. He snapped, "Pedro won't give in to a junkie no matter what you have on him, no matter the rock-solid SHIT, hermano."

The two men glared at each other a second more, seriously butting heads a breath away. The hard edges of Blanco softened some though and he said, coolly, "I got things under control because control is everything, yeah? I wouldn't be saying any of this if… if shit wasn't under my THUMB."

Rolon rasped, "Pues… I'm in your thumb's service… mí padre nuevo. But you fuck this up with more of your fucked-up-ness and I won't fuckin' back you. You hear me?"

"Yeah, I hear you."

"Better be more than your pinche thumb in this."

"What the fuck ever. Look... " Todd glanced up and down the hallway. "Check the temp on our people 'bout me taking over down here. I hear nothin' but good but maybe you hear something else. We know MK is already in on the mainland. People dropped and nobody said shit other than a whispered hoo-rah. So check and confirm. It's all I ask… son."

Cold eyes lit up like the fuckin' Fourth of July. Then he slammed the door shut.

Rolon cursed and stood on the outside… a hand on the door. For all the rightness in seeing Blanco y la reina together, things were still chaotic. His friend was mad to the core and he didn't fault him, knowing what he knew about Caro, and hell, let's not leave out those bullets Téa sent through him. Shit would make Jesus Christ himself crazy. But MK was on the line. They had a lot of men counting on tomorrow being just like today only better. More money, more safety, more of a future. Once the Caro thing got out, if it did, the fact that MK essentially ran a goddamn child porn ring… well, they were all going down. Fuckin' mutiny is what would happen.

Rolon just couldn't quite hand over his trust.

He checked the time. Early still. He didn't have to check no temp since he already knew Havana was behind the Mad King. Blanco had capital! Yeah, Cuban MK was all in. And Téa? He didn't have to worry about her. That ice-cold expression on her face told him she had her shit together. Fuckin' ice. She hadn't been opening her legs for Rolon out of love or even just needing to be fucked. Nahhh… that was her own work at control of the King. Let him sniff her business, let him see that she was waving her ass around town and he'd start moving towards her. Back to her. Back home, just like Rolon had asked her to help him do.

Okay, woman, okay. Question is… will it save his life? Will it save the Mambo Kings from this Caro mess?

Rolon had no idea.


Inside the hotel room, Todd rested his head against the cool hardwood. The words had shot out of his mouth like bullets from a gun only with far less… control.

I'm going home, my brother… I'm going home. Call me KING.

What did he even mean in that moment the words sprang to life? Depended on who heard. Téa would think he meant Llanview, Rolon thought MK, Todd… well, he thought Blanco referred to hell. Once he blew up those motherfuckers, he figured he'd be on the fast train to hell and when down there, real official-like, he'd take up Satan's throne. Peter… de-throned, man. He'd be goddamn King. So… which home was he headed to? He asked the question and all he heard was his heavy breath against the wood door, the scraping of his nails, his heartbeat loud in his ears, the cars in the road… and the gentle clearing of Téa's throat.

Home.

He shuddered, a pleasurable kind of high rolling through his body that made him grin a skeleton's grin so lacking in any kind of decency that he forced himself to turn around and face his wife. It wasn't the heroin. He had to work to not think of the dead Macia brothers or the prospect of formally ending Pedro's reign or the personal killing of Caro and his tools. He had to work to not imagine the blowing up of that house and the body parts spread over the street. He had to work to not think of Caro's throat cut, dick in his mouth, skin cut with the initials of every child he murdered.

He dipped his head and resisted grabbing his cock and squeezing… son of a bitch, he tingled at the ideas running through his head.

Call me KING!

He watched Téa in the breeze and found he'd stopped breathing at how fucking beautiful she was, how lucky he'd been to have her, bullets and all. He had been honest with her when he said, had she wanted him to die, he'd have done it. She didn't have to shoot him. He'd have lovingly taken the gun from her hand and eaten a bullet for her. But no matter…

If he meant Llanview when he said home, he had a hell of a long way to go before he'd be unlocking his front door. A long way to go before he'd feel Reese jump into his arms and Lucia's kisses on his cheek and Starr's snarky hello because for all her throwing him away, she'd be back… but… Jed… God damn. Jed. He wasn't sure if he'd ever have him back.

He rested the back of his head on the door, admiring Téa, ivory sheet wrapping her up like a Greek goddess, still as an ivory statue with that hope-filled baby bump. The sight made everything absolutely disappear, all the madness. Home, he thought. I'm going home. I'm going home… resisted tapping his ruby fuckin' slippers.

He walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly to his chest and she let him do it. Like so many things… she let it happen.

"I mean it," he said, getting behind what she might have heard, going with that, same as he went with Rolon's version. God, it felt good to tap, tap, tap those shoes, heel-to-heel. Rubies glinting in the wintry sun. "I'll come home. I'll take care of Caro… and give up the others."

Give them up to whom, Blanco?

Call me KING of Hell.

She was quiet, blinking. She wanted to make sure she heard him right. "You're not going to blow anything up?"

He licked his lips and watched a big black bird land on a windowsill across the street, the caw loud and grating and full of fuckin' hate. It flapped its wings frantically and looked at Todd like he could eat him. Come to me, bitch, come.

"I… am not."

"Ok."

"That's it? 'Ok'?"

"You only promised to try to come home. I don't trust Cuba. I don't trust fate."

I don't trust… you.

He almost chuckled, my queen, my beautiful knowing queen. He whispered, "I'll take care of everything. Give me time."

She turned her head to look at him. Took in those light eyes, finding she couldn't read them and it bothered her. Only hours before, in the dark of the room, they were making love and were home. She tightened her heart and said, "If I can't handle your MK nightmare, if I don't see real change in this regard, real and solid safety for me and my children, I will leave you. King or not."

"I know."

"Do you?" She'd turned completely in his arms, her face right at his. Her expression… was everything he loved about her. Worry, love, determination… but mostly bravery. How utterly unafraid of him she was. Fear hadn't made her shoot him, HATE made her shoot him. She… hatedBlanco. She would kill him to protect her family like the mother she was… maybe not with a gun, he believed her, but she'd use every other resource she had. She might put him in prison. Oh he wasn't deluded in any way about his woman.

He almost laughed again except out of nowhere a flash of Rico Macias suddenly passed through him, Rico, Rico, the awareness of him so strong he shuddered. So unafraid of Blanco, that he didn't care anymore that he'd beaten the hell out him at first, so trusting he just KNEW Blanco wouldn't strangle him to death when he put hands on his throat, so daring that he'd put fingers inside of him and let that rolling fuck happen until they were both bursting, so good that he tasted their bitter wet and kissed him with it on his tongue…

Tócame, mí Blanco, mí león… no hables.

"Hell…," he huffed, letting go of Téa, his whole body reacting. The bird was cackling across the street, non-stop, and Todd held hands to his ears to block it out. Come get me, then! Just shut the fuck up! He sure as hell had other obligations before he could go home wherever that was. This he knew. He eyed Téa and she eyed him right back. He didn't want to face that road. Wanted more distraction, wanted more reunion, yeah? He grunted quietly, like he'd been punched. Got close again so his head rested on Téa's shoulder, and slowly wrapped his arms around her once more. Tightened her body to his.

"I have to go," he murmured.

"So go."

Quietly, beneath his breath, not wanting the day to hear him, he said, "I want to stay with you."

Téa winced at the sound of his rawness. He was speaking the truth, his desire, his wanting of her, his overpowering gentleness in the immediate space after pronouncing his kingship. My god, she thought,… a fraud, yes, amor? How you fool them into believing in your almighty power, how you make them afraid of YOU. So very… afraid. The words he did not say lingered in the air… I am the one who is afraid. She squeezed back, her hands around his waist, around the robe that still covered him. She gritted her teeth. He had come to her to say goodbye… and he had back-stepped hard on that plan… saying yes, he'd try to come home. But his fear… seemed to describe yet another backstep. He had things to do… and they still might kill him before he ever set foot in the United States again.

He promised no explosives though. He said that. He did, right?

But her love, the man she chose to be the father of her children, the man who never failed to pull her down with his broken soul, who never stopped asking her to save him…

… was a liar. Jed would disagree but she knew more than Jed did.

"Then stay with me," she whispered, her lips brushing his head, his whitening hair. "Let us go to the Feds today. End things today. Fly home tonight. Deal with all you need, from home."

Caw! Caw!

He was silent a moment and then slowly began to let go of her.

"Can't."

And that was that, wasn't it? Of course you can't, she thought bitterly, because Caro calls you. Caro and Peter and La Habana and fucking Pedro Moreno dig their claws into your back, into your neck. She held onto him, nails digging into the robe willing him to feel her grip more than the others. She squeezed him as tightly as she could.

"Stay with me," she whispered, only a whisper because all her strength suddenly vanished.

God, god, please stay with me.

Téa felt the warmth of their bodies disappear, ice water falling right over them. She let him go, feeling him pull away. She glanced at the clock, again, like she'd been doing for the past half hour.

Todd finally followed her repeated glance and narrowed his eyes. "What are you waiting for? You keep checking the time."

"Nothing."

Suddenly the phone rang, the hotel phone, and Téa closed her eyes briefly and sighed. She stepped over and picked it up, settling gently on the bed. She felt empty, all the steel in her bones gone. She bit her lip to stop a swell of pain, of panic, of utter and total loss. She smiled, a beatific smile, and said her English hello in a light voice, the kind of tone that promised all was good, all was safe… the world was a fine, fine place.

Todd glanced down at the robe - it had fallen open and the black of his tattoos on his belly showed. Same black as the cawing bird. He lifted his eyes and the thing had landed on the balcony only now it was silent because in its mouth was a fat fucking rat. He cursed, felt sick. It flew off and he listened to Téa. He knew her voice, knew what it meant. It's a terrible thing to face the ugliness in yourself… and there was no better mirror than your children.

God, how he had abandoned them.

Caw!

Words and laughter flittered around him and he ducked into the bathroom like a fucking coward. He breathed, trying to quell the panic. His children… his beautiful children…were on the telephone. When he glanced up at the mirror, it was all he could do to not crash his head into the glass. He pressed against it, the glass cool on his crown, the talk continuing in the room. He straightened and dropped the robe, the words and pictures on his skin backwards and black. Nonsense now, stupidity now, sheer criminality. It all made sense when he was lying on the table, tattoo artist confirming Blanco's commitment, because mere months ago he had nobody other than MK because Téa had murdered Todd.

But now… he wanted that Llanview home again, wanted the ruby slippers to send him there. Yeah, yeah, mí amor, I'll fly home tonight. Hell is not my home. It's not, it's not, it's not.

You made such angelic noise. You could come without my touching you. Just being inside would do it.

Caw!

The mirror cracked as he rammed his head into it and warm blood seeped. He reached out and touched the glass fissure, fingertips sliding from top to bottom. Bad luck, old chap. Been there before. He put his clothes back on. Got his boots on. He brushed his teeth. He didn't shower because he didn't want to lose her scent on his skin. The noise stopped. The music of her happy love quieted. He turned and she was in the bathroom doorway. She saw the crack in the mirror and her brows knitted a moment. Brown eyes back on him.

"Do you want to talk to Lucia?"

Oh yeah, oh my fucking god, Téa would not use a gun on him but she would use every other available resource. She will kill him with guilt. He swallowed hard and took one last glance at the terrified child in the mirror, at a distorted El Diablo Blanco behind him. An open mouth silently screaming an endless scream. He nodded, rasping, "Yes, yes."

When he picked up the old style telephone, weighty plastic in his hand that felt alien, he said quietly, "Hello mí preciosa, mí Lucia bonita."

And his daughter burst into tears, "Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!"

Todd plopped down on the bed and felt his own tears hot and bitter running down his cheeks, the blood on his scalp seeming to scald him. He talked, covering up, calming Lucia and making jokes until he heard her recovering giggle. He said he had a gift of pearls for her from the Cuban sea and that his Spanish had gotten so good he couldn't wait to teach her. Lucia laughed more and then Reese was chattering on the other phone and Lucia snapped at her brother, territorial in her love and priority and Todd had to hold his hand to his mouth and press his eyes shut to not cry at the blessed noise from across the ocean.

Such angelic noise. What I would give to hear that noise come from you today.

They talked and talked and the kids fought for space. But then came time to say goodbye because he had such a long road back to them and it was particularly difficult on both sides. Viki had come on finally and eased Lucia away, had already eased Reese away. Then it was just her.

"How are you, my brother?"

Her voice silenced him, only a ragged whisper coming from him after some agonized beats, "I don't know." He remembered her voice way back when he was so sick in the hospital, way way back, before prison and MK, before Jed had come and there was only Starr. How he hung onto his sister, like a child. How he watched her bracelets and breathed in the smell of her perfume. How sometimes he had wondered if she was his actual mother. She never felt like a sister. He swallowed hard and said, "I just don't know, mama."

His calling her that had come out beyond his control and he heard her catch her breath at it. He bit his lip.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. We're here. When you're ready to come home. We. Are here."

When he hung up, he was as wrecked as he knew he would be. He sat still and the tears kept coming like the Cuban rain. Quiet, relentless, hot. He made no sound and did not move. When they finally subsided some, he took a quick look at his Téa in the puffy chair, finding her features hard. Like marble. Todd looked away, not able to take her judgment. Her soulful pity. She would never know what it was to live with horrors. All the empathy in the world could never put her in his shoes. And it was good. He was glad for all the people who were spared such hell. It was why he so easily latched onto Brandy from before and Rico today. They understood because they had lived the same terrible life. He looked into their eyes and they all KNEW.

He breathed out hard and the tears dried. Talking to the children made things real. Home became real. His utter and total carpet-bomb destruction of his life became real. The full fucking impact of his years in prison, of his horrific deception on his family, became sickeningly real.

He got up and stood at the open balcony doors, dark clouds rolling across the sky. The rain was going to pick up again. When he dug his hands into his pockets, he felt the heroin. A sudden relieved smile cracked across his face. He almost groaned at the overwhelming desire to dose up and knock out which he shut down hard, blinking back his most base instinct and shoving the package back in his pocket.

"She's always there, isn't she?" Téa commented, her voice heavy. Caught red-handed, mí amor. He lied about throwing the heroin away. Not like she didn't know that. But still. If heroin was alive and well, so were the whores, so was MK, and so was Blanco. And yeah, so was his plan.

"I'm sorry," he croaked.

Téa had seen his smile, had felt the relief across the room. When all else fails, there would always be heroin. How could she blame him? Really. The high must be amazing. The escape, life-saving. He was so far away from home.

"I hope one day you'll not need her in your life."

Todd leaned on the railing. "I'm trying, Téa. Learning about Caro kind of fucked things up."

And so did seeing my family, mis amores, en La Habana. You should have let me die here.

"You should go," she said.

He studied her. Memorized her in that chair, all wrapped in a sheet that had held them all night, that had softened their intense love-making. That had listened to his promises, his justifications, his hate... but ultimately to their love. Undeniable love. All-consuming love. Her eyes watered and she said in a voice he could hardly hear, "Please go."

"I'll be back."

"Right," she said in that same quietness, an unreadable smile on her face.

He squeezed shut his eyes, his mouth pressed into a ragged line, imagining he disappeared. He covered his face with one hand and fisted his other. His body hunched, sucker-punched by the entire visit. Too many truths, too many promises that were lies. When he dropped his hand a minute later, he was expressionless. He didn't look at her. He stretched his neck as if preparing for a fight. Glanced at the bed. At the telephone.

And he walked out the door.

The door shut hard. The room seemed to shake with the strength of the slam. The sound of his boots reverberated down the hall until they didn't.


Once Rolon had left Téa's hotel room, leaving the king and queen to finish their apparent reunion, he hoofed it across the street. Planted himself on a bench in the shadows of another hotel's archways. He coolly smoked and bided his time. Yeah, if Blanco had set aside the crazy long enough to be regaining control over MK, he'd be leaving the hotel soon enough. The day would whisper in the King's ear and he'd move off la cama de La Reina.

Late afternoon hit fast and sure as shit, Blanco split. He sauntered out of Havana's fanciest lodgings and limp-swaggered down the street. Head up, hair swinging, looking ready. Rolon had seen that look before back in Statesville. The Mad King disappeared into the city. Rolon tossed the cigarette into the planter and headed to Téa's room.

He knocked softly and listened. He heard her come to the door, pause, and then open up. She was fully dressed, smelling good, looking put together as all get-out in a peacock-colored knit blouse that reached to her thighs, over jeans and black boots. She had taken one look at Rolon and turned on her heels. The room was chilled. She returned to the desk where she was typing away on a computer. She kept typing as if Rolon wasn't there. He sat quietly on the sofa chair nearby. When she finished what she was working on, she turned and eyed him.

Damn, he thought, she was tough. No weepy eyes, no softness. All steel and wool.

"What," she snapped.

"What do you think?"

"I'm not a mind-reader."

"Why don't you guess, mamita."

"Look, you're the one who wanted me to come down here, to help save him. I did what I could. He's all yours now. He's back in full form… snorting heroin and fucking whores. Blanco is considering going home to take his rightful place as King of the Mambo Kings. I suppose I should pack my bags and assume the position… right next to my man, ready to pick up any loose legal ends that might fall out from him being in charge. 'Cause that's what little women lawyers do who are married to kings."

Rolon cleared his throat, awkwardly… "Are you going to do that?"

A rush of indignation flew at Rolon in Spanish that made him sit back and put his hands up in capitulation. When the cursing ended, she snapped, "Who do you think I am?! Some kind of ASS?! I am giving him a CHANCE, Lopez, a CHANCE to prove he's human, that he has the smallest amount of common sense! I did what I had to do to at least make him THINK about what the hell he's doing here. Remind him that he's a FATHER, that he had a life at home, with a family who loves him. I did what you asked me to do." She breathed to get calm, adding, "I did what I wanted to do."

"He has forgiven you?"

"Of course not. After pulling him into a state of mind where he was even THINKING about reality, he asked me if I'd shoot him again. No… he's forgiven me on the surface… but it still percolates underneath everything… like, like, like molten rock under a city-"

"Lava doesn't exist under-"

"You know what I mean!"

"Just saying, it's not like a hidden lake, preciosa… it's way under earth…"

She pointed her finger at Rolon, "My point is…" She pointed and pointed and then didn't. She tipped her head back and sighed. Looked out at the street. "My point is he never lets go of things. Not my crimes, not Caro's, or his father's crimes… or all the countless hurts that have been heaped upon him. He…. cannot…. forget." She huffed. Shook her head, held her lips tight. "I make no guarantees about the real goddamn outcome of all this."

She moved to the balcony, stood in the open doors and digging a heel into the wood floor. The breeze messed her hair. She studied people on the sidewalk floors below, followed passing cars. "He was at least honest," she said. "He has no idea what's coming. He lied openly. He might have said one thing to you… but TODD… doesn't know mierda." She turned to Rolon. "Do you know details about his supposed plan? He never goes further than saying he's going to get rid of all Caro's men in one fell swoop. Explosives come into play."

Rolon shook his head, smoothing his stubbly face, rubbing his short black hair back. "I don't know anything. You heard my news, yeah?"

"Not exactly. Something about… brothers?"

"Two men were killed last night in eastern Havana. A revenge killing. Their parts were in their mouths… holes all over them."

"Jesus."

"Names were…." He sniffed. "Rafa y Antonio Macias."

Téa stilled, her eyes slowly closing. Murmured, "Rico's brothers."

"Yes."

"Todd told me they beat the hell out of Rico a couple of days ago. And-" Téa stopped. Todd absolutely told her he took care of Rico's brothers. Except Todd was with her so he didn't do it directly. She held back and eyed Rolon...

He leaned forward, elbows on his thighs, thinking. "So the brothers beat up Rico... that gives Blanco a motive, yes?"

"Yes, but... MK doesn't care about Rico. You're saying MK men killed the brothers."

"Yes, but see… they didn't kill the Macias brothers because of Rico. They killed the brothers because they murdered one of our own. They murdered a kind man, a hard-working plumber, Yanko Olivera."

"He was MK?"

"He was a blood-brother of an MK man. Blanco… he must have known the brothers killed Yanko-"

"No, no…" Now it was coming together. She flashed to Rolon, "Yanko must have been Rico's friend. Todd said a friend was killed, bled out, stabbed to death. The friend was trying to protect Rico."

He nodded, the thing making sense now. The king's joy at hearing of the murders. Retribution. "Here's the thing, mamita. My brother… he don't give up information for nothing. Back inside, he traded for shit like that. He gave up key info that allowed people to get revenge on those needing it. Blanco never has to get his hands dirty."

"So he gave up the names of the killers in exchange for something."

"Yes… question is-"

"What did he get?"

"Exactamente. Names of Yanko's killers was big. VERY big. The murder was buried, yeah? The police investigation was never going to lead anywhere. Our government hates when our low crime record gets fucked up."

After a few seconds of thoughtful quiet, she asked, "So what now?"

"I'm going to ask Blanco, straight out. What did he trade that info for. If he keeps it to himself, I'll sniff it out. There ARE rumors something IS happening. A war, a battle… nobody knows… they just hear we should all be on the defense." He then added, "Do you know where he went?"

"No."

"How did you… leave… each other?"

Téa shrugged… "Purgatory."


Todd shoved his hands into his pockets. He needed to check on Rico. He had no idea what he'd find but he hoped he was okay. He hoped he was eating and healthy. He hoped he was coping. As he walked, the rain began to come and Todd hunched as he walked, the temperature dipping a little. He hoped Rico would feel the high too at learning those mothefuckers were dead but he had no guarantee of it. Rico might not feel the same… joy. Sometimes owners don't appreciate the rats pets leave at their feet.

The rain felt good but it burned, too. If he'd been tapping ruby slippers in Téa's hotel room, he was burning up like the goddamn wicked witch now. He was melting… under the weight of his three choices.

Llanview, MK, or retribution.

He did not believe he could have all three. He did not believe such was possible. The cars whipped past him. He smelled food from the private restaurants he passed. He wasn't hungry despite connecting food to health and wishing it for Rico. His feet were sweating in his boots. He worked to not see Rico in his head.

The wind whipped in his face and he had to ask the question. In which of the three options did his mari figure? Where did he figure altogether? If retribution led to hell, how could he share it with Rico? He did not deserve to go to hell with him. Llanview and MK seemed to lead to… leaving Rico behind. At least… leaving him.

It was a strange thought… goodbye didn't fall easily on his lips despite EVERYTHING. Despite the scent and taste of Téa. She was home, she was the only place he wanted to be. But like a sword cutting him down the middle, he had a hard time figuring out where Rico stood.

He wasn't any clearer on this.

He stood outside Sylvia's house. The light was on in their bedroom. He wanted to run back to Téa and do everything she said they could do. Give the names up that he knew and get on a plane tonight. Forget about Pedro and Caro. Get on the plane and get back to Llanview. Daddy, Daddy, Daddy! Run through his house's door and grab up those kids. He saw Téa's wetted eyes and felt her arms around him and her body beneath his and god… fucking hell. He knew where he belonged.

And yet…

He opened the door and walked up the stairs. The house was dark. When he reached the top stair, Raquel was sitting on the chair. Her face serious, instead of a knife on her knee, she had a sandwich on a plate.

In Spanish he asked, "How is he?"

"He is getting dressed. He says he wants to go out, but I say no. He will not follow what I say."

"What did he do today?"

"Where have you been?"

"With my wife."

"She is your wife, now?"

"She has never stopped being my wife. It is me who has not been her husband."

She sniffed and narrowed her eyes at him.

"And what is he?"

Todd sighed, "He is just himself. And I have to deal with him. I will take care of him."

"His brothers are dead. The ones who hurt him."

"Is he upset?"

"He laughed."

"Go home, Raquel."

"He told his story today to Kenneth."

"Already? Kenneth was here?"

"Yes."

She got up and in one second she had her knife at Todd's throat. He eyed the blade, the sandwich on the floor. The upside down plate. The thing felt right at his neck and Todd almost leaned into it. He almost impaled himself. Things would be resolved. He didn't. He said, "I got him. I will… take care of him."

"I will kill you otherwise."

She moved and disappeared down the stairs. The dark taking her.

Todd opened the bedroom door and Rico was at the window, smoking a cigarette. He was fully dressed, dressed to the nines, as they say. His shirt was a fine red knit, made soft and pliable with silken threads, his pants, tight black denim. His shoes were soft leather. Todd had never seen those shoes before. Someone must have brought clothes for him. A single lamp lit the room and rain banged against the house. Rico smiled at Todd and then didn't. The two eyed one another and that whole horrible story of his life stretched across the room and touched them both.

Like Raquel's blade, they both felt its cut.

Rico was going to be very hard to leave behind.


I am laughing.

I am laughing so hard, my belly hurts.

Kenneth, the technician who is not actually an officer, Kenneth, the blond-haired man who had hungry eyes when he saw me at the door of Sylvia's casa de particular, is looking at me like I am crazy. Raquel places her hand on my shoulder and she squeezes me, but I cannot stop laughing. It takes a long time for the joke to pass. The sad joke. It is a joke like one where people die in funny ways. It is funny like that. I am laughing because I am dead in a funny way. I was taken from my real mother when I was only three and made into a whore and that is funny like a funny death. I had known this my whole life but I thought I was making it up in my head.

And soon I am staring at the picture of my mother, my real mother, and it is different than the woman I remember but it also is not different.

"Same brown hair," I say. I am sniffing the runny nose. I know tears are running down my cheeks, laughing tears because the hilarity is enough to make me scream. I will scream un grito en el cielo, scream until my vocal cords are cut, until I am bleeding all over the table and black blood is oozing down my chest. I turn and look up at Raquel and she looks back at me, her face straight and settled and steady. She is like a big ship on the sea. And to see her reminds me that she was the one person I could count on no matter what. I can only bury my face into her chest. I feel her arms embrace me. She rubs my back and whispers, "Mí chiquito, mí chiquito…"

"I am sorry," Ken says, "I shocked you."

Minutes roll by and I do not move from the great bosom de la doctora. She smells like sweet bread, just like Blanco once said. I said, she smells like a mother. She tries to protect me at all costs. She tried to cut Blanco when she grew afraid for my injuries and worried that his fucking me hurt me, that maybe he was no better than anyone else. He shut her down and so did I because I told her he was different. I was okay and that was true.

She grew afraid again later when we learned my brothers were dead. Sylvia came into the house and whispered the news. And I knew immediately who did it, who made it happen. I did. I gave Blanco the names. I held his strong body in my arms and told him those names. I knew why he wanted them. How fast it happened! My prayers answered. When Raquel told me, her eyes narrowed like slivers of the moon.

I laughed.

I laughed until my belly hurt.

"Do you want to tell your story or do you want to wait? I know this information is a lot to take in."

Ken has a pretty face. He is small, petite. I can tell he has feelings for Blanco. I saw it at the beach house. I saw it when I came down from the shower with the furious Blanco and I saw it when Blanco fought with his son that first day. Ken with a heart so obvious. His eyes had gotten glued to the naked man held against the wall by Jedediah that day. His eyes had looked at the muscular body with a kind of familiarity.

"You knew him in prison," I say. Ken tells some story and I do not really listen to it because I am watching his mouth move and imagining that mouth on Blanco's body. Did Blanco shake the way he shakes with me, overwhelmed by touching and fear and desire and dread? Did Blanco grab his cock and stroke it hard and inconsiderately? Did Blanco cry out into the prison dark when he came? Did Blanco penetrate him? I do not think so but I do not know. Maybe Blanco in prison was more aggressive.

"Do you trust me to tell me what happened to you with Caro?"

He must have trusted you, Kenneth, to let you love him in that cold cell. To allow himself to touch you, to let you touch him. He must have trusted you to love you hard enough, so hard that you still show love in your eyes at the sight of him, a look I can see, that you think nobody else can see. I push the doctor away and I ask her to leave.

"You do not have to worry about me," she says in Spanish, and I tell her in Spanish too, "I do not want you to hear my story anymore. You do not deserve such nightmares."

She does not argue and I get up and walk to Ken and take him by the hand. "Come to my bedroom," I say. The words are strange on my lips and I know immediately that the story will be strange on my lips because I do not talk about these things. My history is silent.

I walk up the stairs and the air is cold on my skin, and the bruising aches and I suddenly want Todd back. I want that broken man next to me and I want to heal him more with my body. I am crying now with want and I stop at the door of our room and I wish he was here with me. I turn and look at the waiting Ken with his bag in his other hand.

"Was he a good lover?"

Ken sighs like a girl, caught. After a moment, he says, "We did not have enough time for that. We had one night. That night is burned into me because I have never been with someone as sad as him. Nor have I ever known that kind of passion in my life."

I do not laugh at this because now I know for sure. I can read people, read men. I knew I saw love and I was right. And I also knew he experienced Todd Manning raw and honest and real. It is what keeps his wife believing in him. It is why I am here, wanting and crying and wishing.

We move into the room and we both sit on the bed. Ken turns on the tape recorder. I am going to trust him because Todd trusted him one time with his body. One night that seared itself into every breath of the man in front of me. I am going to trust that I will not die by telling what happened. And that if I do die, the story is worth it.

"When did you first meet Caro?"

When did I meet Caro? That is not the beginning of the story. I am five years old and I am standing in front of a cabinet that has all kinds of glass figures. I have been taught with a wooden spoon that I am not supposed to touch the animals and flowers and houses.

"THEY ARE TOO PRETTY FOR YOU TO TOUCH!"

The words are slammed into my buttocks and back and arms with that wooden spoon at least once a week or once a month. I am obsessed with the glass. The molded blue and pink glass that glimmers in the light. They are too pretty to kill. I learn this message well. And I think about it when my mother, the only one I know, scrubs me down every night as she mutters, "you must be beautiful when he comes for you."

When I am five I do not know who she speaks of. But I do know that others who have lived in my house have disappeared. One day we were playing in the street and sleeping in our small beds, then the next day or the next month they were gone. A few have come back but they never stay all the time. They come and go. There are two who never leave.

My brothers. I believe they were put here on this earth to torment me.

The day comes and the man named Caro comes for me. He takes me by the hand and we walk out of the only house I know and we go to another house. He says I will return home after a month or so if I do good.

If I am too pretty to kill.

The first night he teaches me about my body. I am five. I am confused. I am scared. I cry a lot. I see what his body does and it scares me terribly. Caro though assures me over and over that everything is good, everything is beautiful, and is as God intended. He bites me in the middle of these lessons but he soothes the bite and soon I find the pain is part of the pleasure. One cannot have the sweet without salt. The month I was supposed to be there turns into a year. After the year, I walk back home on my own and then I begin the schooling. I learn to read fast.

I am six, almost seven.

I have learned that I am pretty. I have learned to dance. I have learned to make Caro cry with my hands and my body.

I have become too pretty to kill.

I am put in front of a camera. I learn to dance without clothes on and tease the camera. I smile and model and pose. But the first time comes when I am given to a stranger. I do not know the man. He is big and smells and he is rough. He is nothing like Caro. I am given to him because I speak English. I get angry at how rough he is and I run away from the bed, from the room. I am running naked down the hallway and I run to Caro. Caro punishes me severely. He slaps me and drags me back to the customer. Back to the room. There, he throws me across his lap and spanks me hard in front of the customer.

Under his breath, he threatens to cut me if I object to customers again. He says, "I will cut that pretty face."

I learn that he can make me unpretty and I KNOW what that means. So I no longer get angry when customers wound me. I learn that if I dance prettily and use my hands and body well, the roughness stops sometimes. The times it works outnumber the times it doesn't. I work to stay pretty. I become good at making the customer happy.

One time a customer punches me in the face and Caro punishes HIM.

When I am eight the movies begin. I do the same things with customers that I do in private rooms all over Havana only now it's in front of a camera. One day though the movie is different. Caro drops me off at a new house near the beach. A little girl is already there. She is my age. I like her. She smiles easily and has bows in her brown hair. We are wearing matching clothes. They look like school uniforms that my brothers wear to school. We giggle and play with boy and girl dolls. We play in front of the camera but it is not pretend. We are laughing at the dolls. She is pretty and I hold her hand. We are told to do things together and we do. We like it. We hold each other tight. I find I do not want to let go of her.

But then things change. She is dragged away and soon we are tied to tables and I watch her get her throat cut and I watch the blood pour down onto the floor. Her eyes stay open. I do not scream, I do not cry. There is a fight with the adults. The cameras shut off. I am still tied to the table. I hear the words in English, "He is too beautiful! He is too valuable an asset!"

"Do you remember any names?"

I am interrupted. "Yes," I tell Kenneth. I rattle off a few. The names are written on the backs of my eyes. Like Todd's tattoos. I tell Ken about four more movies where I have to watch two little girls and two little boys die.

I am always saved because I am too pretty to kill.

Kenneth is tired and when he looks at me with his blue eyes, they are reddened, and he says, "I am so sorry."

I laugh because I have heard Blanco rail about the word, sorry. But I do not say anything to Ken. I continue with the first time I started attending to female customers. It was different and I learned that I loved to be inside a woman the same as I loved to be inside a man. Different but just as pleasurable. I tell him about my brother's murder. I know Ken is doing a body count. I know it sounds made up. I try to be a good witness. I give as many names as I can to Kenneth, every name I can remember. I stretch my brain and look at those tattoos on the backs of my eyes and give as many details that have attached to my memories.

As we talk, I wonder what this man, Kenneth, is like in bed and I am sure he is a good lover. I bet he's very sensual. But he is delicate looking and I find I need strength. I need to feel like I might die in someone's arms. I sometimes need to nearly die with a scarf around my throat to come the best. It is why I prefer men to women. We talk more about my days with Caro. The words are not as strange as I thought they might be. I do not know if telling will help but I am glad Kenneth feels like he is doing something.

I do not tell him how I learned about humiliation. About shitting on people. About how I learned to come despite the stink all over our bodies.

I do not tell him about my art or my graffitti. I do not tell him about the dancing stars.

I do not tell him how I purposely make my dancing stars ugly. How I paint each one to be an ugly red splotch on pretty walls or pristine walkways. I do not tell him that I make each one so ugly that everyone wants to kill them but that I put each star up high or in a difficult to reach place or I use paint that is not easy to remove. I do it all so that the star stays alive, dancing, and being ugly and oh so killable but not.

I do not tell him that I sometimes watch people try to clean the buildings or the walls of the star. I watch the men sweat and breathe hard and curse because the star is so hard to kill. I watch until the star is gone.

And I'm satisfied.

Because if you are not pretty enough to save outright, you should at least inspire a little fucking SWEAT.

To be continued…