Caged: Retribution
Chapter 18
She watched him as he sprinted through the darkened twists and turns of the Havana docks, having carried her from the basement that she'd been so sure was where she'd meet her end. She heard the ocean's water lapping and felt it raining down on them. Téa couldn't see where they were going from her squeezed place in his ever-strong arms, but she felt his desperation in his ragged breaths, in the cursing, in his strained pleas, "Please Delgado, please don't do this to me…"
Over and over.
Don't leave me… here.
If she'd been more conscious she'd have hit him on the head.
I'm dying. This isn't about you!
She smiled in that second, in that moment of full awareness, as she reached up to try and touch him. Her body didn't cooperate. And she knew in that paralysis, knew and felt and understood, that nobody wins, that we are all nothing but blips of light for the shortest of times. And then we're not.
Just ask Manuel Caro.
Another compulsive restrained laugh gripped her as they tumbled into a taxi, the scent of blood dominating everything even though everything had been cleaned, Rico's body washed, his hands, his mouth, everything rinsed clean. Not a drop of evidence left that could prove any of them had ever been near those decimated remains on the concrete floor of that Havana basement in the docks.
Todd cradled her, as he screamed at the driver, as Rico, beautiful Rico, killing Rico, rattled off the name of a hospital. Then terror-filled hazel eyes caught hers and he gasped that she was looking back at him, but an undeniable truth emanated from her, and he sobbed, his voice filled with a sorrow she never heard coming from him before, and held her tighter to him.
"No, no, no, no, baby, please…"
Mí amor solamente, mí vida. I lived for you. I breathed for you. My heart beat only for you. You took me out of my perfectly appointed world and brought me ecstatic, magnificent chaos. Every bit of life was madness, passion, fury, anger that made me bleed! And you bled too. On our kitchen floor. Two shots because one wasn't enough. But god, GOD, such fucking love. Life-giving love. Baby-making love. Love that consumed us soul, body, and mind, love that bit at us and chewed and tore us up… and filled us up better than any feast given anyone… until these moments. These seconds.
She breathed and reached for him. But again her body would not listen to her desire, let me touch you one more time, let me show you my love one more time, prove to you that love is real and touchable. And she tried to smile, to say this was nobody's fault but God's but she could only look at him and hold him with her gaze, the kind of look only they knew, the kind that was as powerful and as physical a binding as an iron chain in the real.
And suddenly her eyes closed and the black space of what eternity must look like enveloped her. She only heard a sigh, her own, and felt that last tight grip (tighter tighter hold me tighter) of the greatest love she had ever experienced, beyond anything she even ever dreamed about.
The emergency crew took Téa quickly and a large security guard held Todd Manning back, like they fucking got that a mad bull had descended on them with his woman, with his fucking heart on a fucking tray and he fought, man, he fucking fought to get into that room but two other guys showed up and there was no getting through and he finally just got on his knees and wailed like a child who lost his way.
Rico was there, and in time, he didn't know how much time, but soon everyone was there, Juarez, Jed, Rolon, Ken, and even Raquel showed up with Abram and someone said he had to quiet down so some doctor or someone fucking drugged him to get him to calm the fuck down and not scare the Cuban citizens in that emergency room.
He sat on the floor now, back against the wall. The drug only barely took the edge off. They didn't know his massive tolerance thanks to his decade-long addiction to dope. Watched people go back and forth. Watched people try to talk to him. Mouths moving and shit, them thinking they were making things better but they didn't get it.
His Téa died in that taxi. And with that, HE died. The human being in him died.
He'd seen her spirit rally in those coffee-brown, fire-filled eyes of hers, in the smallest smile that quirked her lips and she was laughing, he could tell, and she was saying it was okay, that it been a ride, amor!
He could hear her leave after, could feel her rush through him before shooting up into the forever black.
A real ride! Her spirit had said. And I love you, can you feel it? I love you and you love me and isn't that all any of us ever fucking want out of this bullshit that we all call living?!
It's okay.
It's okay.
It's. Okay.
The drugs didn't help much. Through the haze, he saw the doctor. The grave face. Saw Raquel cover her eyes at the spoken words, features pinched. Felt Rico stiffen next to him and wrap his arms around him.
"We will get through this, mí león, I promise."
Rico didn't sound like Rico anymore. An unfamiliar coolness swam beneath his warm tearful words. He'd torn Caro to pieces. He'd planned that shit his whole life. How long had it taken to cut him piece by piece then to eat his heart? Todd left the doctor who talked and talked and just looked at his lover, studied his face and lips and then his dark haunted eyes. He remembered his body beneath his, the endless breathless come. Being inside of each other. Fucking deep and hard and realizing love had met them in that beach house alcove. A sound rumbled in his throat and Abram turned his big black head.
The room quieted and Benicio Juarez spoke in soft tones to Ken and Jed, stoic, stone-faced pale Jed.
Whispering, leaning into Rico, hard into him, there on the floor, Todd said, "Are you healed? Are you better? Are you sated? You took him out, you saved the fuckin' world, but she fuckin' paid for that didn't she, for you to have his heart in your mouth, for you to suck him dry one… last… time."
Rico dropped his gaze and turned, his stomach lurching, sick at the back of his throat. Shocked tears ran down his face, and he croaked, "Do not say that…we did not know. I would have left if I knew. Blanco, what are you saying?"
"You couldn't see shit beyond him. Get the fuck away from me. You killed her."
Rico peeled his arms off his lover. Todd growled like a dog and only Rico could hear it. He bit down on his tongue and sought out Raquel in the crowd. The rejection was deep and real and devastating. Todd was as much gone as Téa was.
Caro would have the last laugh.
"Please," Rico said, weeping. "That is not it."
Nothing came from Blanco other than that inhuman growl. Rico inched away, the panic in his heart speeding through him, his own sudden despair, his own death rampaging through him. His lips parted and he stared at the back of Raquel who now demanded entrance to the sick rooms, who pointed at Todd and spoke hard words. Abram padded back to the wall and curled in between Todd's spread legs. Juarez was frantic now. Things were happening.
Rico was dying all by himself. But he tried to fight. "Blanco, stop aiming your fire at me. Pull yourself together! Things…."
Todd didn't hear anymore. Téa was dead. That much was obvious. Juarez was fuming, stormed over.
"What happened, Manning! What the fuck happened?!"
Todd got to his feet. Blanco the madman uncoiled himself like the snake he was, standing up as the Mad King of the Mambo Kings, all dark muscle and hate and fuck you until you fucking die. He growled and got up real close to Juarez, close enough for the cop to feel his heated breath.
"Caro happened. Fucking Caro. He took her. I found her. She bled out. I don't know WHY. But he did it to her."
"Where is Caro?"
"Ask Rico. He's the one who led me to Téa. Ask him."
Juarez had taken a step back. Eyes hard on Todd. Jesus. Throwing his lover under the bus. A quick glance at Rico told him the kid didn't expect that. A day before Manning had been crazy with worry over his unconscious lover, now… he just handed him to the dogs.
"Macias, huh?"
"Ask him."
Juarez had a hard time getting past the man in front of him to get to the Caro question. Juarez knew convicts well. Knew criminals well. He was looking at a man who no longer cared about anything. He breathed and kept his eyes on Todd. There, in those light eyes, he saw the kind of hate that brought planes down, ships, trains, fucking governments. The hate on his face would set the world on fire.
Holy SHIT.
"You know what, Manning, I know you're hurting, I know that so I'm gonna go with my guts and I gotta say, between you and el pinguero…"
Then he made a sudden call he knew was right. He turned his head and said in Spanish to the Havana cops who seemed to have come out of nowhere, "Arrest this man. He killed Manuel Caro, a Cuban citizen, and killed his wife… and his own child right here in Havana. Arrest this fucker."
Everyone gasped in a collective show of horror. Everyone who understood Spanish. Jed looked around madly, "What?! What?!"
Ken grabbed him, said, "Juarez is arresting your dad."
But then the deadness came back to Jed's features. "No, they're not," he said sharply and just as Ken turned to emphasize the fact of what Juarez ordered, Todd Manning lost his cool in a way everyone in the know would have expected, and in a way the cops didn't.
When the police cornered him to get cuffs on him, Todd said in English a very plain and unembellished, "Fuck you."
He fought them like hell, fought hard and bloody. These cops did not carry guns and Juarez cursed at that reality. They didn't even have tasers. Just the baton and that was nothing to Todd. So they were bloody, on the ground. His strength outdid the three security guards, too, then Juarez, and finally Rolon. He fought with hardly a sound, an eerie quiet as he was driven by pure adrenaline, grief, horror at what life gave him. Patients scrambled, staff protected the more vulnerable, and Abram covered Rico.
As Todd ripped out the doors of the hospital, Jed shook his head, spat at Ken, "I told you they weren't arresting him."
A security guard shot after him and a limping cop. Fifteen minutes later they were back and in Spanish the cop said, "Disappeared like a demon!"
The wreckage was mind-numbing, the cops arguing, contacting headquarters, Juarez screaming at other people on yet another phone, blood splattered. Rico huddled against the wall with Abram, mortified, shoulders shaking. Raquel had slammed through the distraction to Téa. Or… what was left of her.
"Jesus Christ!" Ken yelled at the disaster Juarez had caused, then turned to Jed.
The boy's eyes focused on the door into which Raquel disappeared, behind which his only real mom lay on a bed, breathless. A big goddamn heart stilled. He bit his lip to keep from crying.
"Where's he going, Chant?! Where does he think he CAN go?!"
Jed turned to him, "He's in hell. He's gonna make this world pay. You'll see."
"What the hell does that mean?" But Jed walked away without explaining.
Ken took off to Juarez who demanded answers from Rolon but who soon enough tore out of the hospital doors too, yelling in Spanish, "Deaths are on you, Juarez!"
Jed walked slowly to the door where Téa supposedly lay. He pushed it open, expecting to see her body, peaceful, still with Raquel at her side.
His eyes widened, his breath caught in his throat, to what he saw instead.
"Oh fuck…"
The light was coming, the black shifting into a deep blue of pre-dawn. Todd breathed the cold damp air and ate the last of the bread roll he dug out of the trash in an alley somewhere between there and here. The house where Caro was to meet his thirteen closest workers for a meeting stood in front of him. He knew he was making that noise in his throat again. Knew his body shook like a thing about to blow.
He'd managed to avoid the roving police all night. Ducking into corners, behind buildings, slithering in the safety of shadows. He had only one place to go.
The Old City house.
Ivan died here. Elon breathed his last hopeful breaths here. That little Alicia lost part of her soul here. The two Canadians died here. The twins left a bit of themselves here too.
So did he.
So would he.
He walked around back and broke into the house. Wasn't hard. Door was unlocked. He strode to the front and unlocked that door. He walked through the house and listened for voices. Heard nothing. He figured he had only a few hours. Cops might be here because Rolon knew this place, that it was a bad place for Todd, that he planned on blowing it up, but Rolon didn't know when. He would check it anyway. But he'd not bring cops with him.
Yeah, Rolon would come but he would never find Todd because he would make it so. He hoped Rolon wouldn't accidentally stay. He was an innocent.
Todd looked all over the house for kids, for other innocents. Checked the rooms, the basement, checked closets and walls and floors for secret doors, hallways for more secrets. Clawed at everything until his fingers bled. He found nothing except evidence of the children. The dolls. A small shirt. Unmade beds. The purple drapes fondled by a tiny broken girl's hands. He didn't touch anything. Long minutes he stood still as death, eyes on those pieces of them. A fan whipped in the air above his head. The whomp, whomp, whomp kept at him and he raised his eyes to check but saw it was a Chicago fan, a fan with a red plane tied to it, shattered bits of plastic flying about too and it only lived in his memory. The sun was rising now and light filled the lower floor. He felt nothing but determination.
Hell was waiting for him. And he was bringing a whole busload of bastards with him.
He calmly sat in a wingback chair in the center of the living room, legs spread, hands on his knees. Blood stained his jeans. Téa's blood. He stared at the front door.
The clock said 8:00 a.m.
Rolon tore through Havana, searching all the shadowed places Todd might crawl into, including by the side of Pedro Moreno at the beach house who closed his eyes with sadness at hearing Téa Delgado was a casualty of Caro. Gloria wept and Rolon knew it was for Todd. She knew what that death would mean.
Pedro asked, "Is my brother dead, too, Manuel?"
Rolon shrugged. "I don't know about Caro."
Pedro walked to the window. Watched the waves. "I haven't seen Blanco. I will watch for him."
"The Cuban police, the Americans, probably every government agency, will be looking for him."
Pedro turned. "They won't find my son. I'll make sure of it."
"It is best if they do find him! He has to defend himself! Juarez accused him of killing Téa!"
Pedro turned back to the waves. "You can leave now, Rolon."
And he did. And he went to Caro's house for the second time that day. To the house where he found Todd that one other time. And for the second time, he did not see Todd there. He searched the house but found nobody.
So he left.
Todd had seen Rolon approach and slipped off his boots once again. Left them there by the chair in the living room. His favorite boots. As Rolon roamed the house for the second time, Todd followed him. Quiet, quiet, quiet as a mouse because he had no shoes on. Bare feet like a dog's feet. He followed him until Rolon was satisfied. Rolon did a thorough search until the end when he reached the door and he broke down. He held the door and cried and Todd kinda sorta felt sorry for him.
The cheating asshole. The guy who brought heroin back into his life. His brother who protected him countless times when he was out cold with a seizure. A guy Todd could kill still for having touched Téa.
But it was sad-looking and Todd knew he should be crying too but he felt nothing. He wasn't real. He wasn't really alive right now. Was his heart even beating? He moved closer and reached to touch Rolon, that broad back, that bald head. He could smell sweat and salt and sorrow. He felt the vibrations of the man's heartache in his outstretched hand and his own breath stuck in his throat, his own insides on the verge of that same explosion of hurt and loss and no, no, no, Delgado, no!
But then… nothingness once more took over. He stepped back. Watched Rolon regain his composure and turn the knob and open the door and then lock the door before it closed again. Todd padded quickly to the door and through a little window could see Rolon leave. He unlocked the door once more.
It was 9:30.
He sat back in the chair and waited.
At ten o'clock, the people began to arrive. They worked for Caro. They were nervous. They saw Todd and weren't sure what was happening. They stared at the blood on his jeans. At his bare feet. He explained to them, "I'm in charge and I have a deal for you."
He repeated that thirteen times.
There were now thirteen major pedophiles in the Old City house. They were Caro's pets, protectors, confidants, and peers. Three ran the cameras. Four were child traffickers. The rest were distributors. They spanned the globe, representing all the continents except Antarctica. They were in Cuba for the last six months as they spent every year. Six months home, six months in Cuba with Caro. There were others out there but these were the heart of Caro's enterprise.
"You are all going to prison," Todd said. They panicked and stood and Todd threatened them with the wrath of God Almighty until they finally all sat again.
"Who are YOU that we should listen?!"
Todd gazed at the cameraman. Seeing what he saw, seeing the assaults, the abuses, the murders.
Filming, filming, filming.
Todd grinned and he could feel his face stretch maniacally and knew that smile didn't touch his eyes and his breath burned and his skin was on fucking fire.
Filming, filming, filming.
"I am everything. I am a king. I own you. Caro is mine. You are mine. I am your only key to freedom."
They wanted to fight. Their eyes drifted down to the blood on his thighs. They stayed silent and they stayed still because they… believed him.
A child trafficker said, "What do you have on us?"
He almost laughed. The trafficker who'd laid hands on children to have them killed and fucked and filmed… filmed… filmed...
"I have everything on each one of you. You are caught. A lawyer in the United States has everything. Names, places, bank accounts. Your cabin in the woods. Your yacht on the Mediterranean Sea. The house in Tuscany. All those Swiss bank accounts. Everything."
Their faces grew pale. And he grinned again. Mad as mad can be.
"But if you work together and build a list of major purchasers, I will protect you. You will be free. My lawyer will bury it all."
They fought. They yelled. They bargained. Todd stood to the side and watched the clock.
10:30.
He turned when he had enough, when the children they murdered told him to, when Hilario and the part of Rico that died said to turn. He turned when from the stairwell the children who survived but really didn't screamed at him now now now now do it nownownownow, when he saw Peter and Caro behind the pornographers, ghostly and swaying with their mouths open and bloody saliva dripping and their grunts and groans pounded in Todd's head like a pickaxe, oh god oh god you beautiful boy oh god oh god you bad boy oh god oh god don't make daddy hurt you if you were a good boy daddy wouldn't punish you does it hurt tell me it hurts, when blood ran down his inner thighs and that phantom pain shot up through his insides and bitter stickiness flooded his mouth.
I love you, Todd. I fucking love you.
Coño, you are so beautiful.
He shut down those voices, couldn't hear those voices. He turned and walked to a desk. He went to each of the men and women around the living room and handed them sheets of paper and pens.
"Start writing."
Like the cowards they were, they started writing.
10:40.
Todd planned on standing at that front window through the final moments, planned on watching the blue sky above as the world ended in a blast of fire. When he returned to his spot, the light warm and dust motes playing at the edge of the shadows there, he heard something. A sound. He listened and turned his head to the strange noise that pecked at him. A cry. A tiny cry. He shook his head. The sound wouldn't stop. He couldn't tell anymore what was real and what wasn't and it kept at him as the clock ticked away, the insistent cry intermingled like hail in rain with the pornographers and Rico and Téa and Peter and Caro and the children and his own ragged breathing.
10:50.
Cry, cry, cry.
He licked his lips and rubbed the side of his head. A baby. He heard a baby. Impossible. He'd checked the house numerous times.
Fresh. He wants them fresh.
He lurched and caught himself with a palm at the window. He straightened and said, "Do you hear that?" A baby, still here, alive? A baby cut out by Caro and left here?
The pedophiles were arguing with each other too vociferously to hear Todd, too angrily, demanding to know where Caro was, trying the phone, trying to reach him through their phones. Writing names, scratching noises on papers anyway. Todd heard the baby through all of it. And it was coming from the kitchen.
When he got there though he found nothing. He even checked the oven. No baby.
It was 10:55.
It's coming from the basement. He opened the door and ran down the steps. Every minute counted now. The thing was set for ten but it would be the top of the hour after all 13 pedophiles showed. All thirteen had to be there. Minutes to go.
At the bottom of the stairs he saw her. A baby swaddled in a brown cloth. Like Moses. Like the old movies. The baby smiled and cooed and waggled her fingers and called to him.
Daddy. Come here.
"What the hell?!"
He said what but he knew it was Esperanza. Knew it like he knew the sun would rise the next day even though he'd be dead. Knew it like he knew love. And he did know love, didn't he? In his children, from Téa, from Rico. He was sorry now to have blamed Rico, sorry he couldn't see at the time the role of fate, the consequences of truth and retribution, but he guessed it worked out because his lover didn't chase him down. And maybe he'd be heading home, his real home to find a real family with yet more love and more life. So yeah, he knew love. He knew love from his sister Viki, from Sam his coach, from Rolon, and even Pedro. And his own mom. He'd been lucky to have it.
But what about from yourself?
Tears came now and he shook his head. "It's all gone, baby girl. It's all gone."
No it's not, Daddy. There is still hope. Hide me. Hurry. Hide me.
And he did. He looked around and saw a place where she might survive. He huddled next to the thick post at the farthest side of the basement and cradled her with his whole body because there was no time to leave. He had to give her a chance. She was an innocent after all and he promised he wouldn't hurt any innocents. He held her tight, tight, tight as you can, tight to his chest.
"My beautiful daughter," he said aloud. "My angel."
I love you all, he thought, I love you all.
11:00.
Rolon didn't know what made him do it. He turned back to the Caro house. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Kenneth as he walked back. His throat ached from holding back his tears, his chest hurt. He kept seeing Téa lying naked next to him, her mischievous smile and the sparkles in her eyes and he died inside knowing he was to blame for her ever being here in Havana.
A breathless Kenneth answered. "Where the fuck are you?! I've been trying to call you all fucking night!"
Rolon had been ignoring the phone the couple of times he did hear.
"Looking for my brother, where do you think?"
"Tell him she's ok. Téa is alive. The baby was premature but both are ok!"
Rolon stopped in his tracks. "WHAT?!"
"The doctors made a mistake tonight - didn't judge things right - the, the, the doctor lady, the friend busted in there and showed them. A mistake! Find him! Find Manning and tell him! I know it's fucking him up! She's ok!"
"I don't believe you. You're trying to trap him."
The phone made noise and to his shock, to his relief, relief that practically knocked him to his knees, Téa said weakly but with her irrepressible light, "Where is he, Rolon? Where is he?"
And it was then that the world shook and Rolon jerked at the unmistakable sound of an explosion and he turned in the direction of the house because he just knew. He saw the bloom of smoke and yelled, "Oh shit! Oh son, no, no!"
Téa screamed into the phone. "What was that?! What?!"
"Oh no, no, no…" Rolon huffed, running to the house now. "No! No!"
He saw it. The house. Caro's house. It was gone. Nothing but burning trash. A heap of collapsed wood and plaster and brush from the surrounding garden. "Oh no," he said.
"Where is he?! Where is he?! Rolon!"
He heard sirens and neighbors were out and he watched the house burn. And the smoke smelled like nothing he ever smelled before. He turned and vomited.
He didn't know how he knew, but he was sure Todd was in that house and he just fucking blew himself and a few pedophiles to fucking kingdom come.
God fucking damnit!
Téa could not stop the relentless wave of grief that hit her. Jedediah had cried in her arms in a sour blend of sorrow and relief as he said, "He did it, mama, he killed them, he killed himself, he's free, he's finally free…"
At first they thought Todd hadn't been there. Rolon had hoped for it, maybe his instincts were wrong. But there was a witness. Told the police a long-haired bearded guy had jumped the fence early in the morning and never left. A picture was produced. She confirmed it. Then the police found some black boots near what would be the back door. They had a feeling those things were blown to that back door. Black leather, steel toed, American-made boots. Rolon saw the boots and literally this time dropped to his knees.
"You know these?" The police had yelled.
"Yes, yes, I know these," he said, his voice torn up and full of grief. "I will only talk to the American police."
So they learned from Juarez and Rolon. Todd most likely was in the house. Rolon knew in his heart and head it was a fact. This had been his plan all along.
He's free, he's free...
She knew the relief Jed felt would be short lived. Because anyone who loved Todd Manning would fall eventually to the truth that this was so goddamn unfair. He didn't deserve that.
And THAT was what she cried repeatedly into Rolon's arms. He held her as she collapsed, after Jed left, after he was pulled away for the most terrible job of identifying what was left of his father. Rolon offered to go but this was a son's job. And Jedediah bore it like the man he was.
Rolon apologized over and over, taking it on. "I didn't know, Téa, I didn't know exactly the details of what he planned. I tried to learn it, I was right there, but I failed."
She couldn't talk. She could hardly breathe.
"I'm going to die, Rolon! I'm going to die!"
"No, mamita, no… he couldn't stop himself…"
Of course, Todd had believed Téa had died. They had all believed she died. But this was Todd. He had lost himself in that belief. Lost every reason to live. No bars to his carrying out of his plans. And that freed Blanco like a hurricane unleashed. Rolon didn't give her that burden in its full reality. Wasn't sure she needed to understand that.
So Rolon held that truth to himself.
Rolon stayed with her, embraced her until the tears dried. And his heart stopped when the nurse took her and they stood at the bassinet for premature babies and there lay Esperanza Delgado Manning. His heart clenched, and he knew this little one. Holy hell. Two and a half months too early and she was pissed. Tubes everywhere, eyes taped shut, beany warming her little head, diaper too big, but her tiny hands were in fists and her legs were kicking. Yeah, those fists told her real name. And it wasn't gentle Espie, or Hope, or the full Esperanza.
It was Delgado-Manning through and through. That girl got hit doubly hard by the genes of two of the toughest people he knew. Jesus Christ.
Téa looked at Rolon and with her own newfound hate, she said, "This isn't over. He did not die in vane."
Rolon didn't understand. "Of course not, pedophiles are dead, and he did that." He then said softly, "Retribution."
"His war isn't done. Mambo Kings… are going to die too. That gang killed my husband. Pedro Moreno killed my husband. And if my Esperanza dies, you don't want to know what's next."
"Téa…"
Her sorrowful eyes lit up. "I'm going to drive them over a cliff, Rolon. You can be sure of that. So you're either with me, or with them. You better pick right."
He thought she would cry again. But she didn't. Her rage loomed large. He bit down on his teeth. Jesus Christ. More was coming. This he knew.
She turned and walked back to her room. She walked delicately because she'd had a c-section. Because she was cut. Because she was still recovering from blood loss. She walked and then climbed into the bed, feeling the pain and in fact wanting it. Her physical pain she understood. Could manage it. It felt better than the other pain. Then she lay down and stared dry-eyed at the cracks in the walls and ceiling. She wondered if they'd not just cut her baby out. She wondered if they'd cut out her heart too.
That night, Jed stood at her bedside and he opened her tightened fist and put Todd's wedding ring in her palm.
"He's gone, moms. He's gone."
Rico didn't say goodbye to anyone other than Raquel. He packed a bag and gave a brief statement to Juarez. He told him that he and Todd had found Téa at Caro's apartment. That he had taken Todd there.
"How did you know she was there?"
"I did not know! I had a list of places to check in my head! Blanco insisted, forced me. I had to give him something. So we walked the city and I went to that apartment. We were lucky. I did not think he would take her to a place so obvious."
"Was Caro there?"
"No, no. She was tied up and barely awake."
He then said they drove Téa to the hospital from there. He gave the address of Caro's apartment. It worked for Cuban police. It made sense. Caro had clearly fled the country. He left his pedophile colleagues behind to be blown apart. So what that there was no real evidence that Téa had been at the apartment. None of her blood was there, no ropes or restraints, for sure none of her DNA would be found…
Juarez knew better. Téa Delgado had not been found by Rico and Todd at that apartment. But he let it go for now. Rico was headed to the U.S. where Juarez would have little trouble getting him back in his sites. Manning hadn't thrown him under the bus for nothing. There was much more there than met the eye.
The police had wasted no time in going to the apartment. Kenneth went with, along with Juarez and Rico. Kenneth found Todd's paperwork to be sent to his lawyer. He'd argued to release the paperwork to him to get to the lawyer, Cuban PD wanted it because it was evidence, Juarez argued for FBI to keep it. A quick call to a Cuban judge ended the battle. Attorney-client privilege won out. Kenneth packed it away to hand-deliver it to Manning's lawyer. They had no idea what was in there, but it didn't matter did it? This was information for the lawyer's eyes only. Juarez was disgusted. Cuban PD was disgusted.
Then Juarez told Rico he was free to go to the United States. Cuban government already had the thing settled and no desire to grapple over it. Rico Macias was not a Cuban citizen. Juarez was going to stay behind to clean up the mess so no more need for Kenneth to stay. America had their son back. Kenneth was to help Rico get to New York safe and sound. People were waiting for him.
So yeah. Rico left on a plane that same night, flying to a strange country, sitting next to Kenneth. A whole new world awaited him but he felt like he lost everything.
"You okay?"
Rico looked at the blackness outside the windows and said nothing.
The Manning house in Llanview was quiet. Their beautiful home with the wrap-around porch and the forested acreage behind. Téa walked the rooms and listened for ghosts. They were all home.
Esperanza was at Llanview General in the preemie part of the hospital. The transport of the little girl had been a risk. The Cuban doctors said she wouldn't live through the trip across the sea but Téa looked at her girl with those fists set in a boxing position, and her strength was obvious.
"We're going home," Téa had said. Echoing her husband, she dug in and growled like an animal, "I will go right through you if you don't move out of my way. Pack her up!"
Hundreds of miles in a medical transport plane, Esperanza's heart rate never shifted, never changed. Strong as a roaring bear. Téa had had no doubt.
Reese and Rose and Lucia and Jed were with Viki. Starr was there too. Grief had all of them in its breathtaking grip.
Todd Manning was dead and the journey to peacefulness was going to be a long and jagged one.
She had his ashes in an urn. The urn was in the big clothes closet in her room. She had shoved it onto a shelf over which her short coats hung. Specifically under a silvery mink coat Todd had bought her. "I can't wear mink! Animal cruelty!" He'd laughed and they made love on it. She never wore it again and she heard him chuckle to himself sometimes when he saw the thing in the closet. Always gave her a wink and carried a private smile with him as he left the room.
She had his wedding ring back on a necklace. The necklace was in a drawer. He had ripped that ring right off her neck in the taxi before he lost her in the emergency room. It was the only explanation for how his ring ended up in the ashes. The image of him doing that gutted her. She couldn't look at it. The fact is he left her behind, dead or not.
"You bastard."
The disaster in Cuba had hit the news cycle bigly. A major child pornography and trafficking ring had been blown wide open, figuratively and literally. The Mambo Kings organization wasn't part of that news.
Which meant the gang still belonged to Téa in more ways than one.
Theories about the explosion abounded. There was an ongoing investigation into it as a terrorist act but that didn't fly. A vigilante got to these people. Sadly, there was a casualty but that name stayed out of the news about the explosion.
Todd Manning's name.
Instead, his death got reported as an accidental overdose while recuperating in Cuba, while doing research on Cuba for his newspaper. He had a history of drug abuse, the papers said, and he had brought heroin into the country illegally because drugs aren't a problem for Cubans but Manning was American and in classic American rock-star method, the newspaper-man ex-convict died.
The United States government agreed to separate Todd from the explosion, to bury him for now, because even though he was in fact the sole suspected terrorist, he was a valuable confidential informant who had a lot of shit on former FBI agents involved in the pornography ring.
THAT couldn't get out yet. And it could drop any moment because they knew his lawyer had that very shit Manning had been leveraging against them. Under lock and key... until it wasn't.
And likewise, Cuba was on board with burying Manning because he proved low things about Cuba and they hated that it was an American outsider in a Cuban gang who brought the house down. The Cuban PD happily took credit for the end of the pornography ring. It was the biggest bust in recent history. Cuba was happy for the props.
So Téa had to grieve publicly over a lie, had to lie to her children. But the lie was hardly a lie. In the end he was a victim of his terrible past and died with a very broken heart. If it wasn't in a bombing, he very well might have gone the heroin route.
Téa cried a lot, violent ugly sick crying, inconsolable crying, but her tears were full of hate and all she could hear in her head was his voice.
Retribution!
And so as she recovered from her c-section, as she began to build a new life without Todd, Téa bought a calendar.
And she marked the days until she would start her war on the Mambo Kings and Pedro Moreno. She had a goddamn plan.
Fucking retribution, fucking reclamation.
La Reina Puertorriqueña was home.
On the day of the explosion in the Old City, Pedro Moreno was called quickly by his people in the police department, namely the Chief of Havana PD, Santiago Cruz. His voice had sounded strained as he said, "Come to the Synagogue neighborhood. Now."
Pedro had a bad feeling in hearing those words. Elon's and Manuel's house had been near the Synagogue in the Old City, an impressive building which was now just a relic of the past when religion was permitted freely, before the Castro revolution. He remembered that Blanco had demanded that Caro call a meeting of his people in the morning. This morning. When Santiago gave him the address, his suspicions were confirmed that something had occurred there. When he arrived, he saw that it had been an explosion. This WAS the house used by Elon and Caro for their dark business.
Police and rescue workers were in the midst of searching the destroyed house for survivors. A hopeless effort. The Chief saw Pedro and ran up to the Mambo Kings leader who'd only just stepped down. It seemed he might be in charge again.
"Thirteen men and women were found burned beyond recognition."
Pedro knew the house of course, but the Chief knew nothing of it. That was not part of anything the Chief understood as MK business. Caro's enterprise had been completely separate from known MK activities. Thirteen bodies. Which one was his son's?
"Why am I here, Santiago?"
The Chief walked slowly to the back of the house, where the bodies lay in a row under yellow tarps. Ducks in a row, Pedro thought, nonsensically. This area was not visible to the street. Pedro was behind the crime scene line. An unusual thing that nobody commented on due to Pedro's importance in the community.
"Fourteen bodies lie here," Santiago said. "For now."
Pedro winced, turning away a moment because he had said thirteen were beyond recognition. That meant the fourteenth was recognizable. He resumed his un-flustered gaze and said coolly, "What does this have to do with me?"
The Chief walked to what looked to be the fourteenth body. It was separate from the thirteen and the tarp was dark and rather not immediately noticeable. He called Pedro over.
Pedro wasn't as cool as he sounded. He had known the bombing was likely Todd's doing. He swallowed hard. He felt a hundred years old. He had been lucky to never have been called to identify a biological child thought to be dead though many of his friends had such an experience. To see his beloved Blanco, dead, after so much, would tear him up inside.
He also knew this would tie MK to the child pornography ring.
The Chief pulled the tarp aside and beyond his control, Pedro's knees buckled and he grabbed the Chief's arm. An old man's voice shot out from him, "Oh Blanco, oh mí hijo." This indeed hurt like a knife in his gut. Tears sprang to his eyes. He saw his bastard son's unusual face, that scar on his cheek, that graying long hair. For all their fights and disagreements, Pedro truly loved this man as he would love his own biological sons.
The Chief though, turned hard on Pedro because the old King of the Mambo Kings did not look closely enough, his own voice a strained whisper, "Señor Moreno! He is breathing!"
Pedro shot his eyes to Todd once more under the tarp and yes, yes! He saw! The Chief had to stop him from getting to his knees, from getting down to help his son. He did not understand.
"Listen! He was found in the basement. Saved by the concrete walls. He is very seriously injured. He will die without help. But out of respect to you, I thought maybe you needed to make a decision on him. He clearly was in business outside MK."
Outside MK. Clearly.
Pedro surveyed the other thirteen. His heart was racing, he was anxious to get Blanco to the hospital. He eyed the Chief once more.
The Chief added, "Do you want him alive, or dead?"
At first, Pedro was incensed, immediately on fire. How dare he suggest an assassination! But then the words got clarified.
"Señor, the Americans are saying they think he is one of these bodies. They have not seen these bodies yet. He has not been seen by anybody except MY men. We recognized him and hid him here. You can take him now. He'll be a suspect but not known to be alive or dead. He will be gone."
"You said they know he was here? At the house? Before the explosion?"
"Yes, a witness saw him enter through the back. But he can still disappear. You can take him."
Pedro considered. No official tie if Manning is not here. The Chief interrupted his thoughts though.
"The Americans believe he is the culprit in this explosion. It might be better if he is dead, officially. It gives Cuba a perpetrator. You will have a cautionary tale to take to your men. An MK soldier who delved into a dark world and paid the ultimate price."
"You want me to let him die! My son!"
Todd shuddered under the tarp, as if he could hear.
Santiago snapped, "No! These others, they are not recognizable. DNA tests can be adjusted. He has a ring on. That ring can be added to one of the male bodies. That name will disappear. He is a nobody. The thirteen will become twelve plus your man. You can take Blanco, get him well on your own, deal with him as you see fit. Todd Manning will be found, identified, and be very dead."
Pedro understood now. And he was unsure. Manning being here officially would mark him as a terrorist or a child pornographer. It hurt, strangely. The shame of it. But he grew confident that MK might be safe.
Santiago added, "Or I can send him to hospital under his own name and he will wake to face prison or execution for these murders. You can disavow him of course." The Chief paused. Urgency in the air. "You have to decide quickly. He needs help if he is to survive."
Pedro considered some more. He could walk away. Let the fates take Blanco. The Chief could simply leave him and by the time these bodies are processed, Blanco would be dead. He would never have to face a trial or prison. The terrible loss of Téa and their child. On this last point, he did not think his son would ever recover from that. Death would be better than grief of that depth.
On the other hand, he could let the Chief find Manning now and get him to hospital immediately to face the law, his life, and yes, the deaths. Pedro could offer legal help, his doctor could help, maybe, with the great grief that would come. Pedro would do everything to help him recover. As much as was likely. They'd claim insanity. It wasn't that far off from the truth.
He simply didn't know.
And then he realized he needed time to see how things would play out. In all ends. So he decided.
"Thank you, Santiago. Put his ring on the other body. Let the Americans deal with him being dead. Give Cuba an easy scapegoat. His wife is gone, his unborn child, his children at home… they have a strong family. They will be fine. Help get him to safety, to get well, in secret. It will buy him needed time. Better a man come back from the dead than to be dead."
"Or maybe stay dead."
"Yes, if they conclude he is guilty beyond doubt. Yes. He might have to stay dead. But that will be his choice."
"Do you have a specific place?"
Pedro nodded. "The Sisters of Mercy in Baracoa. Mother Beatrice de Cordova…"
Pedro bent down, squatted, and uncovered his son's pale face once more. Death was close. His breathing was shallow, blood covered the side of his head. He felt for a pulse finding it weak. Blanco would not live long if left here. Yes, it was obvious. He caressed his son's cool cheek, his beard having been cut, a last act before his fate.
As if a gift from God, Pedro caught sight of the Catholic medal around Blanco's neck. He touched it. His lover Rico must have given that to him. This would ensure his anonymity for now. The sister would not ask questions. She would nurse him back to health without a single question because of this Catholic saint he wore on his neck.
"Be well, my son. I will come to you when I can." Pedro stood, his body tired. He said a silent prayer. Then said, "Get him there as soon as you can. The drive is not an easy one. If things get critical, if he goes into arrest... let him die. If that happens I will collect him from the Sisters myself."
Turning, Pedro left the yard but not so quick so as to miss the Chief take the wedding ring off his left hand. He wondered how and when that ring got back to him. He'd not seen it in a long time. Not since before the shooting.
Pedro felt the pain of a King's long reign settle deep in his chest. He hadn't exaggerated the seriousness of the man's condition. Todd might not survive the trip to Baracoa. It was a very remote part of the island, the oldest Spanish settlement. It was hard to get to, unpopular as a tourist site, a place where the Sisters of Mercy often hid revolutionaries from the law, nursing them with perfect honesty because they simply did not ask questions. If a man was Catholic, they would nurse them. And of course they did this under their own cover. Cuba had long banned Catholic convents.
Truth was that his bastard son's death would in fact be merciful. He prayed otherwise anyway.
Hours later when Todd was well on his way to the convent, Pedro learned Téa was alive after all.
But by then, the Americans and Cuba were already playing their political games. Todd's name was being kept out of the public eye while the American government began a private investigation into Manning as the number one suspected terrorist in the only major explosion to have taken place in Cuba in decades. If they concluded he was guilty, they would execute him.
Cuba was happy to accommodate.
It was too late to deal in the truth now. Téa was a widow of Todd Manning. And an unnamed broken man was on a bus to a secret convent with only a shred of hope that he might survive a killing.
At the beach house, Pedro Moreno looked at the sinking sun and blinked at the burning tears in his eyes. He was used to playing God, but never before had it broken his heart.
To be continued in Caged: Reclamation …
