Don Bruns - Stuff to die for

He gave me a vague smile. “Yeah. That was never for your benefit.”

“Jackie?”

“Jackie. She was supposed to open the envelope, realize my father was being blackmailed, and stay out of the way for a while.”

“But she never opened the envelope. I did.”

“I’m truly sorry you got involved. Ironic isn’t it?”

I ignored the comment. “But, whose finger was it?”

He glanced at Carlos, who was leaning against the door frame, amused at the story Vic was telling.

“There was a Cuban grocer and his significant other who stumbled onto our little plan. We took them to the Cuban Social Club and-”

“We talked to them.” Carlos laughed. “And then we cut off the finger of one of the men when they refused to tell us what we wanted to know. He squealed like a baby.”

The third man spoke. “But they told us everything. They were reporting back to Cuba about our plans for invasion. It’s very simple really. You just remove body parts to get a full confession.”

I was trying to put it all together. “You decided to send the finger-”

“And Victor’s class ring.”

“The finger and the ring to Jackie?”

Vic nodded. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

James was wheezing, his chest almost jerking with every breath he took.

“Vic, James doesn’t sound good. He could use a doctor.”

I saw the indecision in his eyes. He glanced at Carlos, then to James, and back to me, and sighed.

“Saving someone’s life once in a lifetime should be enough. It should be more than enough.”

I didn’t mention that he’d saved my life again by stopping the guard from strangling me.

Vic pointed the pistol at James, held the pose for a moment, then swung the barrel so it was aimed directly at my head. He cocked the hammer and a chill went down my back and I shivered in the stifling heat of the office.

Then he turned and handed the pistol back to Carlos. “I am responsible for this man’s life. While I may not save it again, I cannot take it. It has nothing to do with courage, but everything to do with the laws of life.”

Carlos stared at the pistol in his hand, then shrugged, released the hammer and stuck the handgun in his belt. I breathed a sigh of relief and said a silent prayer. I’m not a religious person, but sometimes you just feel that someone upstairs is watching out for you.

Carlos put a hand on Victor’s shoulder. “You think what you did was admirable. You would like to think everything you do is noble and well thought out. You are no better than the rest of us. You do this not just for Los Historicos. You do it for your own greed.”

Vic shoved his hand away and glowered at him. “I do this for the people of Cuba who beg for freedom.”

“And people will die. Innocent people will suffer. It’s like your explosives expert who made one small mistake on the bomb that was meant for Castro. It brought down the Cuban Social Club-killed the two spies and your bomb maker. You have already been responsible for lives, Victor, and the war has yet to begin.” Carlos spun around and walked out into the warehouse.

The third man, I guessed his name to be Israel, just stood there, giggling. Vic looked down at me, a scowl on his face. “Maybe there’s a lesson here. The life you save may come back to haunt you. Don’t haunt me, Skip. The greater good is that I am successful in this mission. Don’t stand in my way.”

I remembered the last person who had asked me to get the hell out of the way. Ricardo Fuentes, Vic’s father. Only he was asking me to step aside so his son could live. I wondered what Rick Fuentes would think now.

“Truck’s here,” someone shouted from out in the main room. Truthfully, I’d had about enough of trucks. I could hear the overhead door rattle as it raised up, and the sound of a diesel engine as the truck pulled inside. The door closed and the choking smell of diesel exhaust filled the area.

James coughed.

I tried stretching my arms to see if there was any play with the rope. There was no feeling at all in my hands. I stretched again and thought maybe there was a slight easing of the tightness. Not enough to make a difference.

“Skip.”

I jumped.

“Skip?” James’ eyes were almost closed, droopy at best.

“James. Man, I’m glad you’re back.”

“Man, what’s happening?” His head still hung low, his chin resting on his chest.

“You took a pretty good beating.”

“You think I don’t know?”

“James, I tried to get out. Took two of them out with my pitching arm and a couple of oil cans, but they stopped me.”

He was quiet for a moment, still drawing short, raspy breaths. “You’re gonna have to pay for that oil, pard.”

“Vic is here. Alive.”

“No shit. They’ve got him too?”

“No. He’s got us. He’s one of them, Vic and all of his ten fingers.” I filled him in on the rest of the story. Half way through my CliffsNotes version his eyes closed and I thought I’d lost him. “James?”

“Yeah. I’m listening. Trying to block out the pain.”

When I finished, he lifted his head, looking at me with one eye open. “They were going to kill us?”

“Oh, I think they intend to kill us even now. But they’re loading the truck at the moment, and we’re not high priority.”

We could hear the sound of the forklift sliding under the boxes, then loading them into the truck.

“So if everyone is busy with the truck, now would be a good time to escape.” James even managed a weak smile.

“I agree. Let’s get out while we can.”

No plans, no chance of any escape.

“I think they may have cracked some ribs. My right side aches and when I breath it feels like something’s sticking me.”

“Man, I wish there was something I could have done.”

“You tried, amigo.”

I hadn’t heard them approach, but someone was turning the door handle. They shoved open the door and stepped inside and I got a glimpse of a shoe before I raised my head to see the rest. Heavy wax coating on a black shoe. I looked up. Buzz cut and open-collar shirt. Krueger from the CIA.

“Jesus, am I glad to see you.”

He smiled. “Told you boys to mind your own business. Remember I said it might come to this?”

I smiled back. “I should have listened. Mr. Krueger, I can’t tell you how glad I am. I believe James and I are on a list to be shot in the not too distant future.”

He laughed out loud. “Yes, I believe you are.” Someone walked in behind him wearing a shoulder holster with a wooden handled revolver inside. “Mr. Moore, Mr. Lessor, let me introduce you to Mark Spense. Mark’s with the Agency as well.”

“Thank God. Listen. James is in pretty bad shape. They beat him up and he thinks he may have some internal injuries. Can we get these ropes off and get some medical attention?”

Krueger laughed again. A jovial guy. “Mr. Moore, I’m afraid you’re mistaken about my reason for being here. Actually, there are several reasons, but right now my primary business is to attend to your death. And you can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I wondered if my old man would ever find out that I’d been killed. Collateral damage. My mom and sister would be busted up, but my dad? He might shrug his shoulders, but you can’t miss something you don’t claim as yours. And James’s dad? Now, like his father, James was never going to amount to much in the world of business, and he certainly wasn’t going to be driving that new Cadillac.

“Mark, get ’em on their feet, and bring in their friend.”

My heart jumped into my mouth. Jesus, they couldn’t have Em. Oh, Jesus Christ, please, not Em.