Lonesome Point (22 page)

“No more killing, Patrick. No more! You want Herman, you’ll have to deal with me.”

Patrick folded his hands down in front of him and smiled, the young arrogant Patrick all over again. “You fool. You think you can go back and change the past? This is not about guilt. This is not about doing good in the world to right the wrongs of the past or whatever the hell you’re thinking. This is about my career. About what people have invested in me being at stake.”

Leo gestured. “Come on, asshole. Come and try me.”

Patrick said, “You’re talking big because you think we won’t hurt you? That’s why you’re challenging me? Well, surprise,
surprise, Leo.” He looked over his shoulder at Bernard and beckoned him with a tilt of the head.

Leo saw Bernard coming and balled his fists, angling his body and setting his feet to begin swinging if necessary.

Freddy stepped from behind Patrick and aimed his gun at Leo’s chest. “No time for heroes today, baby.”

Bernard was all over Leo, seizing his shoulder and spinning him around to face the wall. Leo swiveled his head to the side, saw white plastic zip-ties in Bernard’s hand, felt the big man bend back his right wrist, pain streaking up his arm, and he dropped all ideas of struggling.

Bernard tied Leo’s wrists behind his back.

Patrick said, “I don’t want to hear anything else from him.”

Bernard turned Leo around, whipped out a strip of black cloth, and pressed it tightly across Leo’s mouth, parting his lips with it, tying it off behind his head.

His wrists burned where the zip-tie pressed into the skin, his lips hurt from the gag that had pulled his face into a grimace. He wondered how ridiculous he looked. He stared at Patrick, then his eyes started watering, and he looked down at the floor.

Patrick was saying something to Herman, and Herman kept repeating,
“No he dicho nada a nadie,”
voice rising and getting shrill.

Patrick went down the hall and into the bathroom. He returned, said to Freddy, “Take the old man. Put him in the tub and do what you have to do.”

Freddy said, “And him?” nodding at Leo.

Patrick said, “Give me a minute on that.”

“Mr. Rocha broke it down to me, that you’d be the one making that call, but I’m just saying, don’t get sloppy—given the fact this is my ass on the line, too, feel me?”

Patrick said through his teeth, “Take Massani in there and gimme a fucking minute, Freddy.”

“Look, you don’t have all day to decide. I ain’t standing by for you to wave no magic wand about my future. Leo ain’t got the balls to keep quiet? Then we got to do what we got to do.”

Bernard said, “Oh, shit, what’s this, now?” and moved toward the back porch window.

Through the open louvers, Leo could see that a white car had pulled up at the gate and a man was getting out of the driver’s side. Now the man was walking toward the gate. Curly hair, thick mustache. Sportcoat and jeans.

Freddy looked at Patrick. “See what I mean?”

Patrick turned to Herman.
“Quien es el?”

Herman shrugged.
“No se.”

Patrick said, “Bullshit,” and motioned to Bernard, then crossed to the side of the window and peeked out.

Bernard wrapped black cloth tight across Herman’s mouth, the old man’s eyes wide, darting at Leo. Bernard led Herman to the side of the window next to Patrick. Patrick looked at him. “Nod if you know that man.”

Herman stared at Patrick. Nodded.

“A relative?”

Another nod.

“Brother … son … nephew … Nephew?”

Patrick turned to Freddy. “You need to let this fellow know
he has the wrong house. I’d tell him myself, but considering I’m a known entity, I would prefer not to.”

“At your service,” Freddy said. “Shit, all’s you gotta do is say the word, Commissioner Varela.” He grandly flung out his arms to adjust his sleeves, then unlocked the side door and sauntered outside.

The room was silent as they watched Freddy talking to the man at the gate. Freddy pointed this way and that, nodded. Pointed again, made a circle in the air with a finger.

Leo watched the scene, feeling disassociated from it, thinking—of all things—about how much Esteban out there resembled Kotter from
Welcome Back, Kotter.

Two minutes later, Esteban stuffed a piece of paper in his pocket and got back into the white car, reversed, and was gone.

Freddy was opening the door, stepping back into the house, when Bernard said, “What the fuck?”

The white car had returned, rolling to a stop in front of the gate. Esteban was getting out again, looking at the house, frowning.

“This dude’s pissing me off,” Freddy said, then spun around and headed back to the gate.

Through the window, Leo saw Esteban studying the piece of paper when Freddy came up to him and started talking. Esteban shook his head, waved the paper at Freddy. Freddy looked off to the side and made a face, said something else, and started walking away. Esteban reached down and tried to unlock the gate. Freddy ran up, shouting at him, but now Esteban had opened the gate and was pointing at the house. Freddy put a hand on
Esteban’s arm, tried to lead him back to the car. Esteban yanked his arm away, getting mad. Leo could see the vein in his neck.

Patrick said, “I don’t like this. Bernard, you might have to take over.”

The old man started fidgeting next to Bernard.

Outside, Freddy and Esteban were arguing nose to nose now. Esteban pushed Freddy in the chest, Freddy stumbling back.

Patrick said, “Get out there, Bernard. Now.”

Freddy slapped Esteban, and Esteban swung at him, barreling into him, the two of them toppling, out of the line of sight. Bernard hurried to the door while Patrick leaned in to the window, trying to peer around the wall.

Two shots echoed, everybody in the room flinching.

Somebody outside screamed and another shot went off.

Bernard ran, feet pounding down the porch. He raced past the window, out the gate, and stopped by the car, head snapping left and right. Then he wheeled to his right and was gone from view.

The old man started a low moan. Tears were streaming down his face, his lips twisting around the black cloth.

“Shut the hell up,” Patrick said, flustered. “Just
shut
up.”

Leo watched him and slowly lowered into a crouch. He waited, watched Patrick craning his neck to look around the corner. Leo’s right hand found his pants cuff, slid it up. His fingers touched the knife handle. Gripped it. How would he do this? Saw away quickly, leap up, put the blade to Parick’s throat? Man, he had to try something. He pulled up the knife, inch by inch, watching Patrick. The old man kept sobbing. Leo was sweating. Shit, the blade had snagged on his socks.

Patrick came away from the window, cussing under his breath, and Leo shoved the knife back into his sock.

The door flew open, Bernard lumbered in. Freddy followed, nearly panting, clutching the pistol, grass in his hair.

Patrick said, “What happened?”

Bernard shook his head.

Freddy said, “We lost him.”

“You
lost
him? Did you shoot him? What the fuck happened?”

“Slow down there. Yeah, I shot him, shit. Got him right in the neck but I don’t know why he didn’t drop.”

“He ran through the bush across the road there,” Bernard said. “We went in, couldn’t see shit. So I tell Freddy let’s not waste no more time, better we bail, get this job done and go home.”

“Well, it’s plan B, then,” Patrick said. “Go look in his car, grab the keys if they’re in there and let’s get moving. Goddammit, Freddy.”

Freddy canted his head and looked at Patrick. He stuck the pistol in his waistband, all defiant.

Patrick stormed past. “The dude didn’t believe me,” Freddy said, but Patrick wasn’t listening, already at the door. “Was arguing with me and saying he was going to call the police. What am I supposed to do, be polite?”

Patrick turned and said, “You better blindfold them.” Jerking a thumb at Leo and Herman.

Bernard patted his pockets. “With what?”

Patrick stopped. “What do you mean? A length of cloth or something.”

“I’m out. Freddy … you bring?”

“Don’t look at me.”

Patrick sighed, put a palm over his forehead and massaged his temples. “Then I guess you’ll have to take the ones off their mouths and use those, correct? Jesus.”

Bernard removed the gags and blindfolded Herman, the old man’s head bobbing around like a rag doll’s when Bernard knotted the cloth, then he turned to Leo.

Leo said, “You don’t have to go through with this, Patrick.”

“You hear me asking your opinion?”

“Herman is giving you his word. He hasn’t talked to anybody, won’t talk to anybody. Give the man a chance, what’s gotten into you?”

“Keep on talking and I swear to god I’ll kill you right here. You know what your problem is, Leo? You don’t know whose side you’re on. You know too much, you’ve seen too much. You’ve
done
things. Time to wake up and accept who you really are.”

Standing there blindfolded, hands tied behind his back, Leo could feel his brother examining him.

Patrick said, “The last of the innocent men. That’s who you think you are?”

Then Leo heard Patrick walking away.

OUT IN the yard, the breeze chilled Leo, and he realized he was sweating heavily. Bernard pushed him forward. Being blindfolded seemed to sharpen his senses—he smelled the grass as he walked, the dirt, and picked up a whiff of leather when they opened the car door; heard parakeets chirping in an invisible tree somewhere on the left.

He heard Herman say,
“Por favor, Señor Varela, no me mates.”

Bernard said, “Ho, shit, look at this. Old man pissing himself here.”

They were about to get into the car, but they stopped.

“I can’t have no piss in my ride,” Freddy said. “This shit’s leased.”

“For chrissake,” Patrick said.

“For chrissake nothin’. Your ass ain’t the one have to clean the car, Mr. Commissioner.”

Herman said,
“Por favor, caballeros… .”

Leo heard a sigh. Heard Patrick say,
“Quitate tus pantalones, Herman.”

“Cómo?”

“Tus pantalones. Quitetelos.”

Leo heard movement in the grass, a zipper. He pictured the old man in drawers, bare feet in the grass, skinny toes.

“Long as his shirt ain’t wet,” Freddy said, “he could go ahead and wrap it ’round, cover himself.”

Patrick said, “How very considerate of you.”

T
HEY LEFT FINALLY, Leo in the backseat leaning a shoulder against the door, Herman jammed in the middle, Patrick at the other door. Bernard rolled to a stop at the intersection of two dirt roads. Overgrown fields on all corners, no homes or people in the vicinity. Bernard said, “Where to?”

Patrick leafed through the papers in his lap. “Says here … let’s hang a right. We’re going straight for point six miles. The place is supposed to be on the right.”

“What place is that?” Freddy said, turning around slightly to Patrick.

Patrick shook his head over the stupidity of such a question in the presence of two men whom you had just blindfolded in order to disorient them and prevent them from knowing where they were. Was this man a perfect ass or what?

“Here?” Bernard leaned forward, slowing the car down. “What’s this sign coming up here say?”

Patrick inhaled deeply for patience. Sweet Jesus. He was with Mutt and Jeff now. He snapped his fingers, getting Bernard’s attention, and lifted a finger to his lips.

Bernard stopped the car in front of the roadside sign, about three feet high and partly covered by weeds. COMMERCIAL PROPERTY FOR SALE —19 ACRES CALL 813-555-3357.

It was the site of an old fish farm that Rocha had told him
about, five miles southwest of Wimauma; property Rocha had considered buying months back and knew was still unsold. He’d explained it would serve the purpose of the trip just fine.

Patrick said, close to Bernard’s ear, “This is it. Supposed to be a break in the fence some yards up you can drive through.”

The car crept forward. Patrick prepared himself.

LEO WAS trying not to panic.

They turned right and bounced along a rough road. After a minute, the car rolled to a stop. A front door opened. Somebody got out. Probably Bernard. Then a back door opened. Somebody else got out. The doors slammed shut.

From up front, Freddy’s voice: “Listen to me good, Leo. You’re my dawg and like I told you from the start, we into a serious business here, kind where nobody’s indispensable. This is like a power game here, like chess, Monopoly, or whatever, but for real. Real dollars, real blood. It should be crystal to you by now that you shut your mouth, you’ll get out of this okay, this got nothing to do with you. Understand? Don’t flap your gums, keep … Hold up, they’re calling me.”

A door opened, closed with a thunk, and Leo sat in the blindfold darkness, the car still running. He felt Herman pressing up against him and smelled leather seats and urine in the icy a/c.

“BERNARD,” FREDDY said, handing him the pistol. “The show is yours.”

With two hands, Bernard held the gun barrel-down, eased
the slide back, checked the chamber. He pushed the gun into his waistband behind his back and walked over to Patrick, who was standing in the knee-high grass examining the landscape. Insects buzzing in the heat. Wild grass everywhere. In the distance, a concrete-block pump house with a green fiberglass roof. Broken iron frames over rows of overgrown fish ponds. A rusting hulk of a tractor heaped beside a trail.

Bernard said quietly, “Waiting for the word.”

Patrick did not turn around. He took a deep breath and shut his eyes. He nodded.

Bernard pivoted and strode to the car. He opened the door, grabbed Herman by an arm, and brought him out.

Herman said, “
No, no, por favor. No me mates, señor.”

Bernard ignored him and led him through the grass in the blazing heat. Herman stumbled, fell to his knees. Bernard hauled him up. “Leo,” Herman bawled,
“ayudame.”
He started crying, Bernard pulling him along.