John Gilstrap - Damage Control

“Just tell him that someone stole it,” Boxers said.

“Well, that’s the thing,” Oscar said. “I’m not just the mechanic. I’m also the security guard. It’s my job to make sure that no one steals the plane.”

The words hung in the air for a few seconds, and then Jonathan and Boxers burst out laughing together. Oscar clearly was offended.

“Sorry, Oscar,” Jonathan said. “But maybe you need to think of another line of work. How did a nice American boy end up in this shit hole anyway?”

Oscar shrugged. “I already told you. A girl. I used to work at a little regional airport in the middle of nowhere-Manassas, Virginia-as a staff mechanic. Even worked on jets-Lears and Gulfstreams, mostly. Anyway, I met this Mexican girl and I fell hard. She was going to school then. When she went home, she told me that her father owned an airplane, and that he would match my salary if I came to work for him. I figured it was a no-brainer. Money goes a hell of a lot farther out here, you know?”

Boxers scowled in disbelief. “What could you possibly want to buy?”

“Well, there’s that.”

“He’s in love, Big Guy,” Jonathan said. “Give him a break.”

Oscar continued as if uninterrupted. “Throw in the fact that her father is a friggin’ gangster and you see my dilemma.”

“Three hundred grand buys a lot of choices,” Boxers pressed.

“Yeah, well, I need to live long enough to exercise them.”

Jonathan planted his fists on his hips. “You seem to have a plan,” he said.

Oscar took a huge breath this time, and he closed his eyes, as if dreading his own words. “I want you to hit me and tie me up.”

Boxers took a step forward. “Okay,” he said.

Oscar jumped and retreated as if he’d touched something hot. “No! Jesus, not you. I said hit me, not kill me.” He pointed to Jonathan. “You,” he said.

“Yeah,” Boxers teased. “He only wants a little girlie tap. Give him the best you’ve got.”

Jonathan ignored him. “So, what’s the longer plan?” he asked Oscar. “Is the story that a stranger sneaked up on you in the middle of the night, coldcocked you, and stole the plane?”

“Right. He’ll still fire me, but I figure that’s okay.” Oscar smiled. “He won’t know that I got a really good severance package.”

His smile turned to a frown. “If you don’t mind, though, I’d like to limit the amount of money I have to dedicate to medical care. I think-”

Jonathan fired a savage punch with the heel of his hand, connecting at the point in front of Oscar’s left ear where his jaw met the rest of his head.

The kid was out cold even before his knees buckled.

Tristan yelped, “Holy shit!”

Boxers grinned like a proud father.

“It’s easier if you don’t talk about it first,” Jonathan said.

Maria Elizondo’s hands tore at the lock, trying to get it open so that she could escape with her life. She’d never dreamed that the security system that had been installed to keep madmen out could actually trap her inside with one.

“Oh, please,” she begged to God. “Oh, please, oh please.”

Between the sound of her own cries and the pounding of blood in her ears, she heard nothing at all. Her only reality was terror. The certainty of her death.

When the hand came down on her shoulder, then, she screamed and whirled around for her last fight.

Her attacker was shorter than she’d expected. And lighter.

And female.

“Maria, stop!” the woman insisted. Her tone and her gestures told Maria that she’d been saying those words over and over, but Maria had not been hearing them

“It’s me,” the woman said. “It’s Veronica. You’re all right. I’m not here to hurt you.”

Realization-and reason-came slowly. How was this possible? “How did you get in here?” Maria asked.

Veronica placed her hands on both of Maria’s shoulders. It was a gesture designed to calm her. “That’s not important,” she said.

Are you insane? “Do not tell me that it is not important,” Maria yelled. “You are in my home!”

“I am here to help you,” Veronica said. She wore her dark hair long, and tied with what looked like a decorative rubber band in the back.

“You are in my home!” Maria insisted. Whatever else was happening, whatever power the Federal Bureau of Investigation might have, this was an important point. Despite the stakes and the danger-despite the fact that Veronica was the very person Maria had been hoping to see-she needed to acknowledge that this was Maria’s home. It was a private place, and Veronica had no right being here.

“Your escape tunnel works both ways,” Veronica said.

Maria’s jaw dropped. “ What escape tunnel? I don’t have an escape tunnel.”

Veronica looked confused. “Are you serious?”

“What escape tunnel?” Maria asked again.

“That panel in your bathroom. Under the sink. Did you really not know that it was there?”

Maria felt a sense of dread washing over her. “Where does it lead?”

“To a storm sewer behind your house. How could you not know it was there?”

Maria pushed past Veronica into the living room. “Felix,” she said. Now it was all so obvious. She dropped onto the sofa. “He put in the security for me. The locks, the walls, everything.”

Veronica sat next to her. This sofa, like everything else in her house, had been purchased with her own money, and it had been cleaned and maintained by her own hands. It was a point of great pride that she had refused every offer from Felix to furnish the place and staff it with a housekeeper. It was one thing to sleep with the man she hoped one day to kill, but it was something else entirely to have things of his nearby when she was alone.

Veronica asked, “Why put in a tunnel and not tell you?”

Maria looked at her, waiting for her to get in on her own. “It wasn’t about me getting out,” Maria said, finally. “It was about him getting in.” She brought her hand to her head, as if taking her own temperature. “You need to get me out, Veronica. Felix knows-”

Veronica’s face lost some of its color as she raised her hand and gently placed two fingers over Maria’s lips for silence.

Veronica sifted through the accumulated papers and magazines on the coffee table, searching for something.

“What are you looking for?”

“The remote control for your television.”

“Why?”

“I want to watch it,” Veronica said, but her face said, Give me the damn remote control.

Maria reached behind a throw pillow. She found the remote and handed it over.

Veronica thumbed the television to life, and then cranked up the volume.

Maria brought her hands to her ears. “What are you-”

Veronica held up a hand to silence her, and then sat on the sofa, pulling Maria down with her. “If they have access to your home,” she said softly, “you have to assume that they’ve installed listening devices.”

That sense of indignant horror returned, hitting her like a punch to the stomach. “This is my home,” Maria said again.

“Not for long,” Veronica said. “Tell me what Felix knows.”

“Everything, I think. He knows that someone close to him is feeding information to the Americans. He hasn’t traced it to me yet, but I know he suspects. He all but accused me today.”

“If he thought you had betrayed him, you wouldn’t be here right now,” Veronica said.

“I took the offensive,” Maria explained. “I got angry at him that he could even think such a thing, and I stormed out. He didn’t stop me because he was too startled. I can’t go back.”

“You won’t have to,” Veronica said. “You’re getting out tonight.”