Don Bruns - Stuff to die for

“Mr. Fuentes, we didn’t do anything. We thought it was something you should see. There’s a letter-”

“What do you want?” His voice was higher, louder than before. James shifted his gaze between Fuentes and me.

“Nothing. What I want to do is leave.”

I turned and grabbed James by the arm.

“Young man?”

I turned back. He had a revolver in his hand and it was leveled about crotch high.

“Please come in. Now.”

I should have kept on walking, but I didn’t. We followed Rick Fuentes into his condo.

W E SAT AT A CARVED MAHOGANY TABLE in ornate chairs. He’d deposited the finger somewhere else, but the letter and the class ring sat in front of us, a reminder of how our first job had become a lot more complicated than we anticipated. The girlfriend had served coffee-deep, rich, stay-awake coffee that you could almost chew. There was no chance I was going to sleep tonight, coffee or not.

“So you see,” James had finally found his voice, “we’re on our first hauling job. That’s it. And we seriously know nothing about your mail. If we did, we’d tell you.” The handgun lay on the table in front of Fuentes, another reminder that we certainly weren’t out of the woods yet.

“And Jackie knows nothing of this? She was to open all my mail.”

“We can only speculate. She didn’t seem to.”

He frowned and picked up the blue-stoned class ring, rubbing the jewel with his thumb. “Do you know whose ring this is?”

“No. I only know that Skip and I graduated that same year from the same school.”

He took a deep breath, squinting at us. He didn’t know whether to trust us or not, but I could sense he needed to trust someone.

“It’s my son’s ring.” There was a tremor in his voice.

“Your son?”

“Victor.”

Victor. There was no Victor Fuentes in our class. I didn’t know everyone personally, but the name certainly rang no bell. I looked at James and he shook his head.

“Vic Maitlin.”

As in captain of the football team Vic Maitlin. As in senior class president Vic Maitlin. As in get the girls Vic Maitlin.

As in saved my life Vic Maitlin?

“When I divorced my first wife, she took back her maiden name and she registered him as Maitlin. His true name is still Fuentes.” Rick Fuentes stared at us with his piercing, emerald eyes. “Where is my son?”

“Honest to Christ, we don’t know.” I looked at James and shrugged my shoulders, doing my absolute best to remain calm. “Mr. Fuentes, we could have gone to the police. Instead, we came straight to you, sir. We have the rest of your mail in the truck outside. There is absolutely nothing we want from you. Please, believe me. If we had an agenda, we would have told you by now.” I shuddered. There was only one Vic Maitlin. This was no mistake. The young boy who’d saved my life. And I swear to you I have never, ever mentioned this to anyone. Not to my mother, James, or Em. I had a hard time catching my breath.

He buried his head in his hands, a tremor shaking his body. When he raised his face again, he appeared at ease. His blond mistress walked into the room and put her hands on his shoulders, gently massaging them. She looked all of nineteen years old, a petite little girl dressed in gray sweats.

“You know Vic?”

James tore his eyes from the blond. “Of course. We weren’t really close, but sure, we knew him. Everyone knew Vic.”

Fuentes smiled softly. “You haven’t kidnapped him? You have no idea where he is?”

“None.”

“I want him back home.” He looked over his shoulder at the girl, probably four or five years younger than his son. “ W e want him back.”

She nodded.

Vic Maitlin. I couldn’t get past the name. Jesus, my worst memory. My best memory. I wouldn’t be standing in front of the father if it weren’t for the son.

“Help me find him.”

“What?” I didn’t think I’d heard what I heard.

“Help me find him. I have an idea where he is. I need corroboration. That’s all.”

“Mr. Fuentes, we’re not in the missing person business.” I shook my head emphatically, realizing that I had the chance to finally pay Vic back. But it made no sense. I wasn’t the hero. Vic was.

“There will be no danger.”

“You’ve got a finger that tells me otherwise.”

He frowned. “All I need is for you to verify his location. It should take a couple of days. How much would that be worth to you?”

“Five thousand dollars.” James leaned forward, his eyes on fire.

“No. Mr. Fuentes, we have jobs. We’re not available.” I pushed my chair back and stood up. Everything told me to say no. But I owed this Vic Maitlin. Still, I held back.

“Five thousand dollars!” James stood too, and glared at me. “Mr. Fuentes, we’ll give you your corroboration. For five grand.”

“Half now, and half when you find him.”

It was like a movie. It was happening on the big screen, and even though I was involved I was powerless to stop it.

“Why us? You don’t even know us. Two minutes ago you thought we were responsible for your son’s abduction. Now you’re willing to pay us to find him?”

Fuentes grabbed the hand of his girlfriend and squeezed it. “I have no one I can trust.”

“Well, you can’t trust us. You know nothing about us.” I prayed he’d take back the offer. I wasn’t the person his son was. I didn’t put myself out on a limb.

“If I’ve made a mistake, I’ll know it in a very short time. I want my son back, at any cost. Find him, and I’ll pay you more than the five thousand dollars.”

Sinking back into my chair, I felt weak.

“Tell us where you think he is, Mr. Fuentes. We’ll start immediately.” James was on fire.

“He’s with an international group of businessmen.”

“Spanish?” I couldn’t help but ask.

He paused. “Cuban.”

James looked at me, a puzzled expression on his face.

“Em told me.”

“You knew about this?”

I took a deep breath. I knew nothing, and I knew everything. I knew that we’d gone way too far already. I knew that the damned box truck just might be the death of us.

“I know this is a mistake.”

Fuentes picked up the revolver, never pointing it, but balancing it in his right hand. “Mr. Moore, I’m willing to pay you for this service.” His Cuban accent had a regal, formal air to it. “The two of you and Cynthia and I are the only ones who know about this. I have no one else to turn to. I’m afraid I must insist that you do me this favor. If you don’t, a missing finger may be a minor inconvenience.”

James seemed hypnotized by the pistol. Rick Fuentes kept his eyes on mine. I was the one he had to convince. He was doing a very good job of it.

“I’m going to tell you where I think he is. Confirm that for me. I would like an answer in twenty-four hours. After that, I’ll send someone to look for you. Understood?”

I nodded. James nodded.

He pulled a pen from his shirt pocket and scribbled an address on a napkin, pushing it over to James. Cautiously, James picked it up and held it gingerly.

“Cynthia.” It was the first time he’d addressed her. She left the table and returned with a checkbook. Fuentes tore out a pale blue check and penned in the amount, signing with a flourish. He pushed that over to James as well.

We walked out of the condo, Fuentes still sitting at the table, the blond rubbing his shoulders. The last thing I saw was Rick Fuentes, tapping the barrel of the gun on the table. His eyes were like a cat’s, calculating and cunning. We had his money and we had his address. I had a debt to repay. We had no choice.