Dirty Deeds

  That got a smirk out of him so I turned the tables.

  “All right, hot shot,” I said to him, “what about you? Girlfriend? Wife?”

  His lips twisted sourly and for a heart-stopping moment I was afraid he actually did have one or the other. But he said, “No, I don’t.”

  Yet there was more to it. I quickly glanced at his hand and didn’t see a ring or even the tanline of one. I knew already he didn’t wear a wedding ring – it was usually one of the first things I noticed about a man – but I had to double check.

  He caught me looking but still didn’t say anything.

  “Ex-wife?” I asked.

  He hesitated and by doing so was already telling the truth. I think he knew this because he looked down at the coffee in his hand and exhaled.

  After a moment’s pause – which felt like eternity – he said, “Yes. I was married once.”

  And it was quite apparent he didn’t want to talk about it. But like the blumbering, stubborn fool that I was, I pried further. “Are you divorced?”

  There was a barely visible shake to his head. “No. She died.”

  And once again, I was an idiot. This poor fucking man.

  “Shit,” I swore. “I’m so sorry. How did she die?”

  At that he looked up and stared me dead in the eye. “Car accident,” he said, completely emotionless. Somehow, maybe because the way he was staring at me was almost a challenge, like he was calling me out on lying about something, I knew it wasn’t the truth. But I guess it didn’t really matter. When someone was dead, they were dead.

  “I’m sorry,” I said and suddenly it felt like all I’d done so far was apologize. It served me right for bringing up such torrid topics.

  “It’s not your fault,” he said. “It was a long time ago. I was a different person then.”

  But have you moved on? I thought and from the darkness in his eyes, it was hard to tell if he had.

  “I’m also sorry I’m not so good on dates,” I told him. “Or talking in general. And that is my fault.”

  He managed a smile. “You’re direct. I like that about you.”

  “What else do you like about me?”

  “You look very pretty in a cast.”

  I felt my cheeks flushed. “What else?”

  “You have the sexiest eyes and lips I’ve ever seen.”

  My cheeks grew even hotter. I guess this meant he was into me after all. It was kind of hard to tell with him so far.

  I decided to take the plunge. This emotionally wounded soldier boy was strumming all the right chords with me. I leaned forward slightly and looked at him through slanted lashes. “After coffee, did you want to come back to my place? Luz could drive the both of us.”

  No, I couldn’t be more forward than that.

  He seemed caught off guard. He blinked at me, his body stiffening and I was so certain he was going to take me up on it. Then his brow softened at he said, “Sorry, I can’t.”

  So. Big fat no. Score one for rejection.

  “Not into cripple chicks?” I joked but I knew he could tell I was smarting.

  “It’s not like that,” he assured me quickly. “I’d love to. But I have an appointment with a realtor at four-thirty to see an apartment. You know, I told you the other day that I was looking to buy something here.”

  That was true.

  “How about we take a raincheck,” he said. “Better than that, maybe you can come down to the resort I’m at. I’ll come get a cab to get you. Your friend doesn’t even have to be bothered.”

  Okay, this was soothing the embarrassment a bit. “Okay, when?”

  “Tomorrow evening,” he says. “I’ll take you out for dinner.”

  “Aren’t you staying at an all-inclusive place?” Those hotel restaurants weren’t exactly known for their good cuisine.

  “Yes, but there’s a great little fish restaurant all tucked off the streets. Looks fancy. It should impress you.”

  “Little do you know but I’m easily impressed.”

  “Then that’s another thing I like about you.”

  It wasn’t long until our time was up, three hours having flown by in flirty giggles and stories and glances, and Luz was honking her horn from outside the restaurant. I looked over at her and waved, even though I knew she couldn’t see in properly.

  “Is she always so impatient?” he asked as he got to his feet and came around to my side.

  “Yup,” I said. He held arm out for me, his muscles strained, the veins in his thick forearm bulging as I grabbed hold of him. He lifted me to my feet like that, as if I weighed less than air. With ease, he helped me across the café and outside to the car and I relished every moment of his warm skin against mine, his bracing, ocean-like smell. For those few moments, I felt every bit protected.

  He helped me into the passenger seat and then shut the door. I quickly rolled down the window. “So tomorrow?”

  “I’ll give you a call in the morning and let you know the time.”

  I grinned up at him. “See you then.”

  He nodded and raised his palm.

  Luz stepped on the gas and we burned away from the sidewalk.

  “Where’s the fire?” I asked, glaring at her and trying to put my seatbelt on.

  “In your pants, I’m guessing,” she said.

  “Ha, very mature.”

  “So I guess you have another date tomorrow?”

  “Yes, but don’t worry, you don’t have to be involved. He’s getting a cab to come get me. We’re going out for dinner.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t try to eat him already,” she commented dryly as we cruised down the street toward the highway exit.

  I bared my teeth at her playfully. “That will come later.”

  We were silent for a while as she drove, the traffic momentarily lighter, an American pop star signing to some bouncy beat on the radio.

  Eventually Luz said, “So how was he?”

  “Nice,” I told her.

  “That’s it? Just nice?”

  I shrugged, staring out the window while secret butterflies danced in my chest.

  “That can’t be it. What did you guys talk about? Tell me something about him.”

  “He grew up in Winnipeg, Manitoba, and was going to go into the NHL for hockey. Then he decided to join the army instead.”

  “And …?”

  “Nothing else,” I told her, not wanting to divulge the personal stuff. “We talked about this and that.”

  “And did you mention your family?”

  “Of course I didn’t. I talked about the airlines. That’s always a safe topic. People always want to know about crazy passengers, or the time you were hit by lightning or the scariest landings.”

  “And did he want to know?”

  “Probably not but I told him anyway.”

  She laughed and her eyes darted to the rearview mirror. She frowned. “And do you trust him?”

  “Do I trust him?” I repeated. “What does that mean? I barely know him.”

  “I know.” Her eyes were still focused on something behind us. I looked to the side mirrors but couldn’t see anything unusual except for cars.

  “What do you keep looking at?”

  “I don’t want to alarm you,” she said in a way that I was immediately alarmed. “But I think there is someone following us.”

  Now, I managed to twist in my seat and get a good look behind us. It was hard because the back window was so dusty. “What is it? What car?”

  “There’s a white truck two cars behind us. It’s been two cars behind us before we even got on the highway.”

  Now I could see it, the top of the truck poking up above the traffic but it was too far away for me to get an idea of who was driving it.

  “Do you think that’s Derrin?” I asked, feeling this incredible sense of dread creep up on me.

  “I don’t know.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “Take the next exit,” she said determinedl
y. “If someone is following us, we don’t want to lead them straight to your apartment.”

  Jesus. So much for thinking all my paranoia was put past me.

  Luz put her signal on for the next exit, one that led to an outdoor market permanently set-up in a parking lot. We both held our breath as the car turned off and soon after the truck followed.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  We exchanged a nervous glance.

  “It’s going to be fine,” she told me, though she didn’t look like she believed it. For once I found myself wishing I had a gun. I’d always told myself the minute I had one was the minute I was closer to become my brother, but considering everything, it made a lot of sense. Maybe Derrin knew something about them and could help me out. He was a Canadian but he had been in the army, so he at least knew how to handle one.

  Luz kept driving past the market stalls and finally pulled into a parking spot right beside a bunch of other people. Safety in numbers and all that.

  We waited, still as ice and with baited breath as the truck slowly crept past us. There was some older man driving – Mexican – with a thick mustache but no real discernable features. He didn’t even look our way and kept driving until he parked further down.

  I let out the largest puff of air and nearly laughed from relief. “Luz, you are crazy.”

  “You thought he was following us too!”

  “Only because you told me. Besides he was following us but not in the way you thought.” I shook my head and sank further into the seat, my heart beat slowing. “I think I’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

  “Agreed,” Luz said. She started the car and we drove back onto the highway. We never saw the white truck again.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Derek

  Her name was Carmen. She had been the love of my life.

  When I first came to Mexico, all those years ago, I wasn’t sure what I was looking for. I had grown disillusioned with the American government, destroyed by the war. My leg still hurt from the explosion in Afghanistan and I hurt somewhere deep inside. It was so needless, so senseless. I had lost too much, we all had, over something that was never meant for our benefit, just to pad the pockets of those in the country that mattered most. I’d seen villages burned, young children dead and torn up on the streets, parents wailing, grandparents dying. All for nothing, not really.

  The day the Humvee blew up was the day that everything changed. I guess that’s the sort of day that should change a person. I was one of the lucky ones – one of my buddies lost both his legs, another had half his body burned to a gruesome crisp. But I would never consider myself lucky because then I was burdened with survivor guilt. More than that, I was burdened with guilt, pure and simple.

  When I returned home to Minnesota and finally healed up, I said goodbye to an ice hockey career – or at least the promise of one – I said good bye to friends and family. Both of those were easy. My father, a cruel, terrible man, had died while I was overseas. My mother, weak and helpless, couldn’t seem to exist without his cruelty. She barely noticed I was gone.

  As for my friends, they’d all pulled away once they got to know the new me. I barely spoke. I stopped drinking with them, going out, finding chicks, playing hockey. It was all over. I just worked out and hated every single minute I had to be a veteran, a survivor, a pawn.

  One day something in me snapped. I’m not sure what it was, maybe someone cut me off driving or perhaps I saw an advertisement for Mexico somewhere. But the next morning my bags were packed. I got in my car and drove for the border.

  It took days to get there and once I crossed over through Texas, time seemed to stop. Though I would never completely fade into the background, there was anonymity here that seemed to shake loose what little soul I had left. I felt free from everything – who I was, where I came from, the baggage I carried.

  For a year I bounced around from place to place. I started with the resort towns on the Caribbean side before heading to the ones on the Pacific side. Veracruz, Cancun, Tulum, Mazatlan, Puerto Vallarta, Acapulco. When I got tired of the tourists, I moved inland and stayed in different cities, then towns, then villages. Each place had something special about it and in each place I met people who seemed to think I was some use to them.

  It wasn’t until I started running out of money that I found myself reaching for these people. It was also then when I met Carmen.

  I was in a town just south of Manzanillo. It was a small resort-town, a bit down at its heels but popular with Mexican tourists, which suited me just fine. I’d met a man once called Carlos and, of all the people I’d met, he not only was the most genuine but also the most ambitious. Though cordial and generous, he was also a realist and made things happen. He had connections – none of which he held lightly – and success in his sights.

  When I first met him I was sitting a bar in a rustic but authentic establishment, sipping tequila, which the bartender gave me on the house for no real reason, and reading a book. Some John Grisham thriller, something to pass the time. I read a lot that first year in Mexico.

  Carlos was there with two buddies of his, conducting business in the corner. At least I assumed it was business because when I would look over there, their faces weren’t laughing and no one except Carlos was touching their drinks.

  Suddenly there was a yelp and a fight broke out. Before I knew what I was doing, I was in the middle of it, holding one man back, the man who sneered like a dog and seemed hell-bent on ripping Carlos’s face off with his own veneers.

  I don’t know why I got involved – instinct I guess. But after the two gentlemen were escorted out of the bar, Carlos bought me a drink. He wanted to know where I was from, what I was doing there. He wanted to know where I learned to move like that, if I knew how to handle a gun, if I knew how to fight.

  I didn’t tell him much beyond the fact that I had been in the American military. He seemed happy with that. He said there was a lot of work here for someone like me, and then he gave me his card, patted me on the back, and left.

  I’d kept in touch with him via email after that. Just a few messages here and there. Advice. Where I should go next. Every time he told me I should look him up if I’m in the area. And sometimes his area moved around too.

  One day, I was out of money and in the same place that he was.

  We met up at a bar. A casual deal was made. I’d accompany him on a few transactions, sort of a bodyguard. It was easy work and he paid me well. He trusted me and I trusted him.

  But soon I did more than just stand around and give people the stink-eye. I started doing him favors. Nothing terrible. But I knew Carlos was a drug lord and whatever package I was delivering, dropping off, handing over, to numerous nondescript people either contained drugs, weapons, money, instructions or a combination of the four.

  And still I did my job.

  And when I discovered Carlos’s sister was moving back to town and I first laid my eyes on Carmen Hernandez, I realized I had more than this job keeping me in Mexico.

  I fell in love and fell in love hard. I don’t know if I ever picked myself off the ground.

  We married. We made plans. We talked babies.

  We had a blissful year together.

  And then she was dead.

  And I lost the last parts of me that were human.

  ***

  Alana Bernal was doing something to me and I wasn’t sure if I liked it. Actually, if I was being honest with myself, I was loving it but that reaction in itself spurred on one of the opposite nature. I wasn’t used to being excited, to being intrigued, to feeling remotely good. I was used to the cold dead inside of me, to the life of monotony and that growing numbness that reached into everything I did.

  Change was frightening. Change made you weak. And I didn’t want any part of it.

  But I wanted part of her. That was a problem.

  Of course, when I met her for coffee yesterday, I had to act like I hadn’t been following her for days. It wasn’t so much th
at I was interested in what she was doing with her time the moment she was discharged from the hospital – because let’s face it, I was – but that I wanted to make sure that I hadn’t been replaced.

  Thankfully, from watching her apartment I came to the same conclusion as I had when watching the hospital. There was no one else still, only me. It was wishful thinking that whoever ordered her assassination had just forgotten about her. They hadn’t. Not for the price on her head. They were just biding their time. But there was no one else on the job, not that I could see.

  I told myself that’s why I was hanging around, that I was watching out for her. And I was. I was curious and after talking to her over coffee, I was even more confused as to what she could have done in her life to warrant such a thing. Such death. Such money.

  As a result, I was more or less honest with her questions, hoping that if I opened up a bit she would do the same for me. So far though, that didn’t seem to be the case.

  When she invited me back to her place afterward, my first thought was to obviously say yes. All while my mind was trying to figure out her mystery, my body was responding to her gorgeous face and slim limbs like any hot-blooded male would. Plus there was the chance at some answers, as well as sex, if I got a chance to look at her surroundings.

  But I couldn’t do it. My instincts were telling to wait, till I was in control of the situation. At her place, there were too many variables. In my hotel room, we were safe.

  My plan was pretty simple. I didn’t need to impress her, so it seemed, but a little wining and dining wouldn’t hurt. The emphasis would be on the wining. I know it’s pretty backwoods to get information out of someone by getting them drunk – I’ve done a hell of a lot worse to get what I needed – but it would still be affective.

  And, because of the company, somewhat fun.

  I couldn’t remember the last time fun had ever entered the picture.

  I had called Alana in the morning, telling her our reservation at Coconut Joes was at seven and that the cab and I would come get her at six. I thought about using the new rental car I just picked up but thought better of it. I’d already driven past her place too many times in it.