T. Parker: The Jaguar

“Got it, Mike. I’m clear on everything now.” Hood let himself be drawn in, then he pivoted and drove the heel of his right hand toward the bridge of Mike’s nose. It was a devastating blow for a taller man to throw, always debilitating and occasionally fatal. But Finnegan slipped it and crabbed on to him, arms and legs clamping hard, and Hood toppled to the floor.

Finnegan’s hold was paralyzing and Hood couldn’t figure it. His neck and one shoulder quickly lost their flow of blood and he knew they were close to breaking. He was strong enough to protect them but not strong enough to work them free. Finnegan’s stout legs gripped his own just above the knees, which left only his calves and feet to swing free but uselessly. Ears roaring, Hood relaxed one shoulder against Mike’s grip, and when Finnegan tightened it, Hood slipped his head and other arm free and locked his elbow just below Mike’s jaw. Hood squeezed ferociously and he felt the man shudder with pain.

But he kept talking, his voice reduced to a choking soprano whisper: “Charlie, I wanted Sean to choose life. Seliah and the doctors could have…saved him. All he needed was to choose…with his own…free will. Freedom. He broke my heart. Because I loved him.…I love mankind…You are my…music…You are what we work for through the…ages. The ages , Charlie. You are a strong one. Just like Sean.”

Hood squeezed even harder and he felt the trembling in Mike’s arms. But he couldn’t maintain this power. The moment he let up, Finnegan pulled his sweat-slick head loose and turned it away, sucking air. Hood shot one arm under his armpit and around the back of the man’s head in a half-nelson. Mike grunted as Hood slowly turned him. When the time was right Hood brought his weight and strength to bear. He drove the little man to the floor, hard. Finnegan’s shoulder joint separated with a muted wet snap and from deep within Hood’s grip came a gasp of pain.

Hood uncoiled and stood. He was dizzy and panting and his eyes burned from sweat. He watched Finnegan climb to his knees and one hand, the dislocated shoulder drooping.

Mike turned and looked up at him. His expression was pained but not anguished. He was pale. He pivoted slowly on his good hand, his little legs churning and his shiny black shoes slipping on the tile. He spun a half-circle to face Hood and wobbled upright, then backpedaled until the kitchen counter stopped him.

“Nice moves, Charlie. Sheesh…I hate it when this happens.” With his good hand he took his dangling elbow and raised it up steady and studied it. He arranged it just so and smiled wanly at Hood, then buckled his knees and dropped. His elbow slammed loudly into the counter and broke his fall. He pulled himself back upright, shoulder in place again. He straightened and faced Hood, adjusting and smoothing his jacket with both hands, though the seams had burst at the armpits and a button was missing and the whole thing was smeared with sweat.

“Charlie, you have won. Now please go.”

“You cased the Valley Center property and passed along the information to Armenta. Why Bradley and Erin? For the same reasons as Sean and Seliah? To destroy what’s good? To create chaos and hurt everyone around them and make them all doubt their faiths?”

Finnegan shook his head while he rolled his shoulders one at a time, then together. The color was back in his face and his breathing was even and his eyes were blue and lively. “No, no, of course not. See, Charlie. Please see. Sean and Seliah were just busywork, to keep me in shape. Very rewarding, though, with strong resonance through strong people. The echo will sound through two generations. Not every job can be an epic. But Bradley is my life work-well, one of them. Bradley is very different than Sean. Sean never believed in himself and I couldn’t make him. When he lost his spiritual faith he lost everything. But Bradley believes almost totally in himself now, after his heroic rescue of Erin and defeat of a cartel kingpin. To solidify the remainder of his self-belief is my goal for next year. It will effectively replace the last of his conscience. And what a subject he is. Ambitious. Courageous. Insatiable. His potential is vast. He may even partner with me someday. I tremble with joy at that thought, but it could happen-he has the blood for it.”

“Suzanne. Joaquin.”

“Oh, them and before them, Charlie. Before them! Doesn’t your narrow vision infuriate you? And the tight little prophylactic you keep on your imagination? Don’t you feel constipated by your answers ?”

“Erin?”

“A supporting actor, of course. Like you, Charlie. I’d love to help a brave and skillful law enforcer. Or a talented young artist. Any of us would. But we can’t get to everyone. You and Erin are too decent and too strong, and not large enough. Your egos lack the monstrous size and weight, the prodigious selfishness it takes to move men and women in numbers.”

Hood looked at the little man. “Is that you on the Taberna Roja sign? Or an amusing coincidence?”

“Will you believe my answer?”

“Should I? Once you told me that you rode with Murrieta and saw Vasquez hanged and met a whore in Wyatt Earp’s saloon in San Diego. I thought you were simply what Owens said you are: smart and insane. Because those things can’t be done, Mike. You cannot be hundreds of years old.”

“But I confessed to you that I am a journeyman devil with modest powers. That I have superiors and underlings, competitive associates, good assignments and bad. And partnerships with men and women and a few children. I told you this years ago. I was being as honest and forthcoming with you as I could be. I wanted you to think about these things, Charlie. As a lawman your chance of believing me was very small and I knew this. Most of you are cut from rational cloth. But since then you have witnessed certain acts and discovered certain truths. You have given me considerable thought and energy, as much as any man has ever given me. You have shared your interest in me with the world. So what do you believe I am, Charlie, what do you believe I am, right this minute, right now ?”

“Does it matter?”

“It will determine the course of your life.”

Hood said the words he thought he would never say. It was like listening to someone else. “I believe you’re what you said you are.”

Finnegan’s expression went to cautious wonder. “I am truly moved by your belief, Charlie. I knew you were courageous. But this makes you rare. And dangerous. A man can defeat what he sees. And only through belief can he see.”

“I despise you.”

“Take your trusty pistol and leave my home.”

“You’re mine. We’re going to the American Consulate now. Then back to the United States.”

“Oh, that’s funny, Charlie. No warrant, no charges. Forcibly removing a Mexican citizen from his home to another country? You’d be up for kidnapping at the very least.”

“I’m federal. I’ll find a way to take you back with me.”

Hood brought the plastic cuff from his pants pocket and Mike’s face went pale again but he crouched and squared off, arms extended for battle and the injured shoulder tucked for protection.

“You don’t need any more of this, Mike.”

“You give me no choice. And I have asked you to leave. If you don’t, then I apologize now for anything that happens.”

Hood grabbed the injured wrist, turned it in sharply, then twisted Mike’s arm behind him. The little man yelped in pain and spun around. He was facing the counter when he spoke.

“There are clean towels and a bottle of alcohol in the bathroom, Charlie. Your hair will hide most of the scar.”

Hood had placed the restraint around Mike’s wrist before he understood. He grabbed for the other arm, but Mike turned fast. Hood saw a flash of coat sleeve in his face and he heard a swift grinding sound. He stepped back.