Shadows Across America Page 33

  “Stop, sir! Freeze!”

  Ethan couldn’t believe it; he refused to accept that this was happening. He threw himself at the policeman to knock him down, but the officer fired before he got there. The bullet whistled past his temple and stopped him in his tracks while in the painful lapse during which their gazes met, the sound of the pack approaching from behind caught up with them. The eyes of the officer seemed to beg forgiveness, but Ethan didn’t have any time for that. He felt himself swamped by the roar of the horde of pursuers. They fell upon him like a swarm of locusts. Before he caught sight of them, he felt a powerful blow at his back, which he recognized as a flying kick, and found himself knocked to the ground, where the blows came raining down onto his stomach. He curled up while his grunting aggressors surrounded him, and through the water, which had merged with the attackers into a huge, overpowering wave of violence, he heard the voice of the man who had been responsible for his capture.

  “I’m sorry, sir, so sorry . . .”

  The Bloodhound watched the body drop and noticed the weapon fall from the hand to land somewhere among the weeds and ferns. He raised his hand to stop the pursuers, who obeyed his orders like trained dogs. Then he brushed the dirt from his knee, making sure not to stain his tailored tweed, and cautiously approached his immobilized prey. The man’s head was buried in the undergrowth while his left arm stretched out in search of the Beretta it had lost. He kept his weapon trained on the man, looking for signs of life. The crumpled jacket made it difficult to tell whether he was breathing. Now that the man was unarmed, the Bloodhound was concerned with keeping him alive. It bothered him to think that his immaculate shot might be ruined by the poor physical condition of an inferior man. He’d be blamed for a death that had nothing to do with his aim and everything to do with a deficient specimen. His admiration for the tenacity of his rival in the face of his own superior genes increased even further.

  When he got to the body, he knelt down and felt for a pulse in the carotid artery. His face lit up. Spurts of blood were gently, rhythmically being fed into the brain that the Bloodhound needed functioning in order to interrogate this man. He put his Luger down on the grass and got ready to turn over the body when he caught sight of a dark shape about six feet away, obscured by the undergrowth. It was black with yellow reflective strips that gleamed more like plastic than metal. He came to the realization in the same moment as he turned over his victim’s inert body. It wasn’t a gun; it was a Taser. The fugitive hadn’t thrown away the gun he’d been firing but a Taser that he must also have been carrying. He must have switched hands as he ran with his arms across his chest. He’d clung on to the gun in his right hand, which was still resting underneath his breast. He saw that it was still stiff and useless but that enough tension was left to pull the trigger of a gun Suarez cherished as though it were his only possession. Before the Bloodhound could react, his eyes met those of his executioner. The barrel roared, and a close-range bullet obliterated his nose, knocking him backward and taking off the top of his head. Due to some incomprehensible reflex, his legs kicked out uselessly while he lifted his left hand to cover the hole in his head, as though he were ashamed of it. As the Bloodhound’s life snuffed out, the hand slapped roughly against his cheek, a slapstick topper to the joke that had been played on him.

  As soon as they heard the report and saw their leader fall, the rest of the team started to fire at Suarez, whose body shuddered like a rag doll until Armando, the head of security, forced them to stop.

  “Back, back, you fools! I want him alive! They need him alive!”

  The flustered boss ran toward the two bodies. The Bloodhound was lying still, and just a few feet away, Suarez was vomiting blood. He’d dropped the gun, and it was all his immobilized hand could do to make a final effort to beckon him closer with a pair of fingers.

  Intrigued, with the barrel of his gun pointed at the man’s forehead, the head of security went over to listen to what the dying man had to say.

  “H . . . h . . .”

  “What?”

  Armando stepped back, convinced that he wouldn’t get anything out of him when a brief grimace that might have been a smile spread across Suarez’s face.

  “Ha . . . ha . . . I was smarter.”

  And with that final effort, his eyes went blank, and the muscles in his neck relaxed, letting his head bounce lifelessly to one side. Armando stood up angrily and gave him a pointless kick to vent his frustration.

  “Shit! Shit! This can’t be happening.” His tone shifted from anger to fear. “Oh my God. They’re going to crucify me.”

  The rest of the goons surrounded the two bodies, but none of them went any farther, stunned and almost drunk on the image of the young tracker lying supine with a hand over his mouth and a scorched hole where his nose should have been. A black circle gaped morbidly in his skull. They murmured in nervous awe, as though they were in the presence of the supernatural.

  “He’s dead.”

  “The Bloodhound’s dead.”

  After the initial shock, more thoughts came spilling out.

  “The old man’s luck’s ran out.”

  “The network won’t put up with any more delays.”

  “What about the Schwindts? How are the Bloodhound’s brothers going to react?”

  “Yeah, when they find out . . .”

  “They won’t do a thing without the network’s permission. Everyone obeys the network.”

  “Their youngest brother has been killed. They won’t forgive that easily.”

  “The old man’s more powerful than you think. They’ve been letting him do what he wants for forty years.”

  “That was before. Now the other four will come, and if half of what they say about them is true, the old man is dead meat. We all are.”

  “Not that he has long left anyway.”

  Armando took back control so ruthlessly that they started running around as fast as they could, cowed by his anger.

  “What the hell are you doing? Get rid of the bodies! We need to clean up this mess as soon as possible!”

  They sheepishly scurried off in different directions, cleaning up the scene with eager efficiency, bringing buckets of water to wash away the blood. Soon there was no sign that they’d ever been there. That was when a phone call was made to the local police telling them they could come to take witness statements and look for nonexistent clues to a crime that they’d soon dismiss as a fabrication made up by local drunks.

  9

  Lights in the Distance

  The flight was comfortable, but when Ari, exhausted by the stress of the last few days, opened her eyes, having been woken up by the landing announcement, it seemed to mark a passage from her real life to a weird new present. She was about to set foot in a land that was in many ways like a new world. This reality belonged to Ethan. Suddenly it seemed as though nothing she’d experienced only a few hours ago existed: now there was only the inexplicable, disturbing dream of her ex-boyfriend, and somehow she’d been dragged into it. Her stomach cramped up; she hadn’t been able to eat since breakfast, but there was something she needed to get rid of, to vent.

  The immigration official wished her a pleasant stay with his best smile while the policemen in customs politely asked for her form and welcomed her with a nod. In spite of the way she was being treated, anger continued to build up inside of her. She knew what awaited her in the arrivals hall, and the closer she got, the more irritable she became. The sensor opened the doors, and across several dozen heads belonging to waiting relatives and friends, she immediately identified that false pose, the fake smile. Standing behind the barrier, demanding the attention of everyone present as though she were the star of the film rather than a bit-part player, Michelle was just as superficial and full of artifice as Ari remembered. She was wearing a flimsy blouse and a dark skirt that suggested a degree of discretion. Ari interpreted this as false modesty, an attempt to be demure that was forgotten when you arrived at the high heels. Then there was h
er neck, tilted at an angle like a vulnerable princess, calculated to attract the flies that swarmed around her in spite of her feigned indifference. Her face was concealed behind enormous round sunglasses.

  With her eyes hidden like that, she had no idea when Michelle had caught sight of her in the crowd. Nothing perceptible changed in her expression, but the tension she was under could be seen in her limbs. The woman’s hesitation over whether to greet her was palpable, and Ari enjoyed that. It made her feel powerful. Eventually, Michelle stepped forward, trying unsuccessfully to act naturally, but she still felt obliged to play host. After clearing her throat, she spoke in a quiet, insecure voice.

  “Hello, Ari. Thank you so much for coming. You can’t imagine how grateful I am.”

  Ari refused to touch her, as though she were some kind of reptile. “Where’s Ethan?”

  “I haven’t heard from him for days.”

  “Well then, let’s find him.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  They left the airport and walked to the parking lot. Michelle clicked her key fob, and the lights of a basic Korean car flashed. It was decorated with stickers emulating bullet holes while the blue belly of a galactic lizard stretched over LED worms.

  “This is your car? Are you fucking with me? Because if you are . . .”

  “It belonged to my brother. I paid for it, but it was his.”

  “Your little brother?”

  “Yes.”

  Ethan had told Ari what had happened to Beto, and she didn’t say any more. Sitting in the passenger’s seat, she fastened the seat belt, which was decorated with bullets. On the freeway she looked over at the clogged lanes of traffic heading in the opposite direction. Pushed to one side was the bullet-hole-ridden carcass of a bus.

  “Yesterday, a bus was attacked on its way to the airport. It was awful. They killed the driver, and lots of people were wounded. Then the thugs spread out everywhere searching the cars. There was a huge traffic jam. It was chaos. It’s lucky you didn’t arrive yesterday.”

  “Searching the cars? What were they looking for?”

  “The news says that it was a battle between the gangs. But we never know what really goes on.”

  Michelle left the car in a guarded parking lot before the two women headed for the apartment where Ari would be staying. They went through a gate into a depressing gray building, an unpleasant place: dirty and dangerous, kind of like a sleazy motel, the last thing Ari would expect from this stuck-up little bitch. She assumed that this was another of the queen of deception’s little tricks. But Michelle took out the keys matter-of-factly: if she was faking it, she was doing it well.

  They entered an apartment with damp walls that consisted of a run-down living room with a TV mounted to the wall, two plastic chairs, a two-seat sofa, and a kitchenette. Through a two-foot-long hallway was a bedroom that turned out to be slightly more habitable, with a small bathroom and shower. A barred window faced out onto the corridor. Michelle seemed embarrassed as she meekly showed Ari around.

  “I’m sorry—it’s not very nice. I’m staying here while I look for a place.”

  “You sleep here?”

  “It doesn’t look very nice, but it’s quiet.”

  “And you want me to stay here too? Where?”

  “You’ll sleep here.”

  Michelle put Ari’s bags in the only bedroom and sat down on the bed, bouncing to show that it was comfortable.

  Ari wrinkled her nose. “You want us to sleep together?”

  “No! I’ll sleep in the living room. I always do when I have visitors.”

  Ari went back into the living room. She couldn’t see any cots, and the sofa definitely didn’t pull out. There was no way you could spend a night on it without tweaking your back. “What visitors? You just moved in.”

  “I’ve already spent a couple of nights on the sofa. I like it.”

  Ari walked around the apartment again and grew more annoyed. She rounded on Michelle. Suddenly everything was starting to make sense.

  “I thought you lived with an engineer.”

  “We’re not together anymore.”

  “Since when?”

  “Well, he didn’t want me to look for Ethan. He thought it was too dangerous.”

  Ari looked upon her with new eyes. Suddenly she remembered that Michelle had recently been beaten half to death. She went over and tried to take off her sunglasses, but Michelle wouldn’t let her.

  “What are you doing?”

  “If we’re going to stay in the same apartment, you’re going to have to take them off sooner or later.”

  Michelle obediently dropped her hands and removed the glasses. One of Michelle’s eyelids was still swollen, and there was still bruising visible under the foundation. Ari thought that one or two of the bruises might be more recent still, but she didn’t say anything.

  “I’m not sleeping here, and neither are you. We’re going to a hotel.”

  Michelle was tired and depressed. Since the beginning of this hellish experience, she’d lost everything: her daughter, the rest of her family, boyfriend, friends. She’d almost been killed. She had nothing left. She was broken.

  “But . . .”

  “Let’s go.”

  They went to a modern area close to the tourist attractions, parked, and went the rest of the way on foot. Several cars honked at them as they passed by. The first time, it made Ari jump, thinking it was a warning, but when she looked inside the car, all she saw was a smiling jerk pleased to have caught her attention. This happened three times, one of which with the added touch of a shout about sucking a pusota. Michelle just ignored it. For her, it was an everyday occurrence.

  Ari grew annoyed. “I see it’s the same everywhere.”

  “No, it’s much worse here.”

  Ari felt a sense of solidarity. “Yeah, it seems as though it happens much more here, doesn’t it?”

  They checked in to a midrange hotel with all the proper facilities, and after unpacking, Ari took a shower. Michelle was amazed to see Ari put on a tracksuit and sneakers. She stared open mouthed.

  “I needed that. So where are we going?”

  “Andrés gave me the keys to Ethan’s apartment. He hasn’t seen him in days either. We thought you’d want to go there, but he wants us to wait for him. He doesn’t think it’s safe for us to start the search on our own.”

  Ari smiled sardonically. “Andrés is going to protect us? Anyway, if you’ve searched it already, I’m not going to find anything.”

  “Searched it? Of course not.”

  “You haven’t been inside?”

  “We don’t know where Ethan is, but he hasn’t been kidnapped. He might be hiding; that’s what he said to Andrés. We can’t go into his home without permission.”

  Ari was stunned into a few moments’ silence. “You’re incredible . . . of course he won’t mind. Let’s go to the apartment. Where is it?”

  “We’re close by.”

  “Then we’ll walk. I’d prefer that after the plane. I need to stretch my legs.”

  Ethan came to with an icy splash of fear and aggression. A bucket of cold water had been thrown over his head, waking him up from a horrible dream that merged with the reality of the cloth over his face. He felt as though he were choking or drowning, lying prone with his hands tied behind his back. He started to spin around desperately. His struggles were met by a brief chorus of laughter. Eventually, he managed to sit up and found that he was on a concrete floor. With each movement, he felt a horrible pain in his chest that almost caused him to fall back down. He couldn’t help but moan: his ribs were throbbing while waves of pain moved through every part of his body. Eventually, he was able to shake the cloth from his eyes and was met with the sight of three half-naked young men with tattoos all over their bodies: shapes and symbols from a mythology they’d invented themselves. They mocked him with disdain. It was easy to see the children hiding behind the shield of ink; it acted as a kind of armor to protect a soft, sensitive unde
rbelly that they now imagined was untouchable. These street kids had sealed off their humanity through acts of violence against themselves. Living the hellish vida loca had turned them into demons. The apparent leader, who had toned arms, a muscled chest, and a cigarette between his lips, seemed calm and in control. He walked over to Ethan and slowly, delicately, with evident pleasure stubbed out his cigarette on Ethan’s nipple. Ethan screamed and felt his mouth fill with blood. His ribs stuck into his lungs, making it difficult to breathe. He had to move his legs like a crab to find a posture that, while certainly not comfortable, was at least bearable. The kid, who was barely of legal voting age, strutted around him while more young men appeared, attracted by his cries of pain. It was as though they wriggled out of the woodwork. At first Ethan thought he was in a warehouse like the one the kidnappers had used, but he soon learned from the way his screams echoed around that it was a smaller building. They’d probably taken him to a destroyer house. There might even be local residents living nearby, like in Doña Maria’s neighborhood. People who could hear his screams but would just lock themselves in and turn up the TV. Ethan had become a kind of giant insect spinning around on his back, surrounded by a crowd that now numbered over twenty and was still growing.

  “Fucking hell, it’s about time,” barked the leader. “Who’s paying you, you piece of shit? You’ll be paid for your work. You’re done.”

  His comrades laughed, but Ethan wasn’t able to answer.

  Ari and Michelle walked up to the guard post outside the condo. The guard met them enthusiastically until they told him where they were going. Suddenly he wasn’t so talkative, mumbling something about it not being allowed, permits and other vague excuses. They called Andrés. When Andrés threatened to lodge a complaint with the guard’s boss, the guard backed down and slunk back into his hut.

  They walked up to the apartment, confused by the guard’s reaction until they got inside. The lock had been forced and the place had been trashed for no apparent reason. Nothing seemed to have been stolen; furniture and lamps had been covered in clothes while other things were in pieces. Even Ethan’s bags had been torn up and covered in something that smelled very much like urine. The graffiti on the walls told them that he’d been threatened. Michelle was horrified and couldn’t stop herself from crying, but Ari took it all in stride. She told her companion to calm down. She picked up the largest suitcase, turned it over, and inspected the stitching at the bottom. Then she ran her finger down the seam until she found the bump she’d been looking for and used a kitchen knife to open it up. Inside, well hidden, was the money they’d taken from the kidnappers. She showed it to Michelle, not in triumph but certainly with determination.