Down Among the Dead Men (A Thriller) (34 page)

Startled, she whipped around, yanking the bedsheets up to cover her naked body as she squinted toward the door and saw a dark figure standing there.

“Who the hell are you? What do you want?”

“It took me a while to find that little car, but I knew I would. And I knew if I found the reporter, I’d find you.”

Beth was frozen. Couldn’t move.

Then the figure stepped into the light, and she sucked in a breath, not quite believing what she saw.

It was Rafael Santiago.

But not the perfect specimen she remembered.

This Rafael was different.

This one only had half a face.

80

“
YOU SHOULD MAKE
me walk back to the hotel,” Vargas said. “Sorry I screwed things up for you in there.”

Ortiz unlocked his car door and shook his head. “Did you hear what that fucking
puta
called me?”

“I tend to ignore things that don’t make any sense.”

“Damn right it don’t make sense,” Ortiz said. ““‘Frightened little boy’…She’s lucky that
cholo
had my piece. I would’ve popped one in her hairy little ass right then and there.”

“So we’re good?”

Ortiz opened his door and climbed in. “Get in the car,
pocho
.”

Vargas climbed in next to him and Ortiz said, “One thing you might’ve mentioned before we went in there.…”

“What’s that?”

“La Santa Muerte? You don’t fuck around.”

“You know about them?”

“I know enough to keep my distance. And Little Fina’s right. You got those locos on your ass, you’re lucky to be alive.”

“So why aren’t you afraid to be seen with me?”

Ortiz took his cell phone out of his pocket and turned it on. “If I had to worry about all the people I hang out with, I wouldn’t have any friends. Besides, they start coming after me, I’ll just sic Yolanda on ’em.”

Vargas smiled, and Ortiz started the engine, checking his phone as he put the car in gear.

“What’s this?” he said, looking surprised. “I’ve got three calls. From
you.
”

Vargas turned. “Those are from Beth. Let me see that.”

“What—I’m your answering machine now?”

“Just give me the phone.”

Ortiz gave it to him. “Careful,
pocho
. You’re stretching this whole customer service thing a little thin.”

Vargas checked the screen, saw one of the calls was a voice mail. He was about to ask Ortiz for his access code when the phone rang.

“If that’s Yolanda, tell her I’m busy.”

Vargas checked the screen, saw his name flashing, and clicked it on.

“Beth, what’s wrong? Are you—”

“He made me call you, Nick. I didn’t want to call you.”

“What are you talking about? Are you getting another headache?”

“No,” Beth said. There was panic in her voice. “This is real. It’s Rafael. He’s—”

The was a sudden loud rustling noise, a yelp of pain, then another voice came on the line:

“You’ve made this very personal, Mr. Vargas.”

Vargas felt something thud in his stomach, then spread upward into his chest, paralyzing him.

Mr. Blister.

“You motherfucker. If you touch her…”

“Oh, it is much too late for that, I’m afraid. I’ve touched her in ways you have only begun to understand. Many times, for many months.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I think you know,” Mr. Blister said. “And this is not a negotiation.”

The line clicked and Vargas snapped his head toward Ortiz. “Drive.”

“What’s going on? Is something—”

“
Drive,
” Vargas shouted.

Without another word, Ortiz jammed his foot against the pedal and took off, retracing their route at twice the speed they’d come here, reaching the hotel in half the time.

Before they came to a complete stop in the hotel parking lot, Vargas had his door open and was out of the car, bounding the outside steps two at a time to the second floor.

But as he reached Beth’s room, he slowed down, tried to catch his breath.

Her door was hanging open.

And he knew that Mr. Blister was in there.

Waiting for him.

81

B
RINGING THE TOMCAT
out, Vargas approached the room cautiously, pushed his way inside.

It was dim, lit only by a single incandescent bulb, and Beth was on the bed, naked, staring up at him with terrified eyes. Her hands were tied behind her, her mouth covered with duct tape.

Mr. Blister sat in a chair in the corner, his ruined face hidden by shadows, his gun pointed at her head.

“Your taxi driver deserves a generous tip, Mr. Vargas. He got you here much sooner than I expected.”

Vargas leveled the Tomcat. “Get away from her.”

Mr. Blister smiled. “Please, Nick, put the weapon down. The math is simple. You shoot me, I shoot her. You wouldn’t want to have her blood on your hands, would you?”

“You still die in that equation.”

“Too true. But then so does she. And I have a very strong feeling you do not want that. So, please, put the weapon down.”

Vargas hesitated. If he followed Mr. Blister’s request, he’d be dead as soon as the Tomcat touched the floor.

But if he didn’t do as he was told, he had no doubt that Beth would take the bullet instead.

And that wasn’t acceptable.

Mr. Blister waited patiently. Seemed to be working through some thoughts of his own.

“Tell me something,” he said.

“What?”

“It was you, wasn’t it? In the warehouse.”

Vargas said nothing, but his eyes must have given him away.

Mr. Blister smiled. “Yes, I thought so. It is a shame I had to kill the younger one, but it couldn’t be helped. And it seems I am to blame for this situation as well. If I had merely trusted my instincts that night, you would not be here right now.”

“Since we’re sharing our deep dark secrets,” Vargas said, “tell me about La Santa Muerte.”

“Ahhh. You know about us, do you? I am not surprised. But I’m afraid your stalling tactics will not change anything. So for the third and last time, please, carefully put your weapon on the floor.”

Again Vargas hesitated. Beth’s eyes were burning him now, and she moaned against the duct tape, shaking her head, telling him not to do it. Then her gaze shifted almost imperceptibly, looking past Vargas’s shoulder.

She’d seen something in the doorway behind him, out of Mr. Blister’s line of sight.

Ortiz?

Please let it be Ortiz.

“Shall I count to three?” Mr. Blister asked.

“No,” Vargas told him. “I’m putting it down. Just don’t hurt her.”

“That’s entirely up to you.”

“I get it, I get it,” Vargas said. “You made your point.”

Then he lowered the Tomcat and started moving into a crouch to place it on the floor.

Mr. Blister smiled again, then swung his weapon around, pointing it at Vargas as Ortiz shouted from the doorway, “Down,
pocho
!”

—and Vargas dove, the sound of gunfire erupting around him. As he turned, he saw Ortiz fall back, bullets splintering the door frame—

—and Mr. Blister was on his feet now, leaking blood from his wrist, his gun on the carpet.

Grabbing Beth by the forearm, he yanked her off the bed, pulling her close, locking his arm around her neck.

Vargas brought the Tomcat up, but before he could fire, Mr. Blister kicked it out of his hand and produced a small, nasty-looking knife, holding it against Beth’s abdomen.

“Keep moving,” he said, “and I spill her intestines all over this beautiful carpet.”

Vargas froze.

“Very good, Nick. It’s nice to see a man who values human life. Especially one so precious.”

Then suddenly Ortiz was in the doorway again, holding his Glock with both hands, pointed directly at Mr. Blister’s head.

“I’ve got a clear shot,
puta.
So let the lady go.”

But Mr. Blister ignored him, looking at Vargas instead. “Tell your friend to stand down. She will be dead before he pulls the trigger.”

Vargas knew it was true. “Do what he says, Ortiz. Put the gun down.”

“What are you, loco? He’s bluffing.”

“I’ve seen him work before. He’s not bluffing. Do what he says.”

Mr. Blister pressed the point of the blade into Beth’s flesh, drawing blood, and she cried out, the sound muffled against the duct tape.

This was enough to change Ortiz’s mind.

Nodding, he dropped the Glock to his feet, then kicked it aside and stepped away.

Vargas’s heart was thumping. “What now?” he asked.

Mr. Blister smiled again, backing toward the adjoining doorway. “She is my prize, Nick. My trophy. Just as she was before. I considered putting a pillow over her face for betraying me, but now that I see her like this, how beautiful she is, how could I do such a thing?”

The blood from his wrist was rolling down her chest now, snaking a trail between her breasts, working its way toward the dark patch between her legs.

“You’re not taking her with you,” Vargas said.

“Oh? And what will you do to stop me?”

With this, he dragged her backward through the adjoining doorway, moving quickly, Beth struggling against him as they disappeared into the darkness of Vargas’s room.

The moment he heard the door slam, Vargas dove for the Tomcat and scooped it up.

B
Y THE TIME
he reached the hallway, he heard another door slam—a fire exit at the end of the corridor.

Vargas ran, Ortiz emerging from the room behind him.

“This
puta madre
gonna die tonight.”

“Get your car,” Vargas said. “Bring it around to the front. We can’t let them get away.”

Ortiz turned on his heels and sprinted as Vargas crashed through the fire exit, just in time to see Mr. Blister and Beth on the landing below, pushing through the first-floor doorway.

Vargas vaulted the steps, nearly losing his balance as he landed, using the walls to hold him upright as he threw open the door and stumbled into the street.

But Mr. Blister was already on the opposite side, shoving Beth onto the backseat of a Jaguar XJ. Shutting her inside, he moved around to the driver’s door and swung it open as Vargas raised the Tomcat.

But Vargas knew he was out of range and if he fired, the chances of hitting anything significant were slim to none.

Then he heard the squeal of tires and looked up to see Ortiz’s taxi tearing around the corner as—

—Mr. Blister reached inside and brought out a semi-automatic handgun. He fired at the oncoming cab, decimating a side mirror, puncturing the left front tire, and—

—Ortiz swerved, struggling to control the wheel, heading straight for Vargas as—

—Mr. Blister slid into the Jaguar, fired up the engine, and tore away, laying a long patch of rubber on the road.

Jumping clear of the oncoming cab, Vargas ran, chasing after the Jaguar with everything he had, bringing the Tomcat up again, ready to fire—

But it wasn’t enough.

And as Ortiz came to a screeching halt behind him, the Jaguar careened around a corner and disappeared from sight.

Gone.

With Beth tied up in the backseat.

Vargas stopped in the middle of the street, his chest heaving, his shoulder aching, his head throbbing…

And a cold, dark tide washed through him.

82

“
YOU MUST HAVE
many questions,” Rafael said.

They were driving along the coast road, several miles out of the city. Beth lay in back with her head against the armrest, staring out at a black ocean lit only by the moon.

She had no idea where he was taking her, but she had managed to quell her panic for the moment. She just wished he’d had the decency to cover her with a blanket. The last thing she should be worried about was being naked in front of him, but she felt embarrassed and humiliated.

And the thought of his blood drying on her body made her sick to her stomach.

“Do not worry, my love. I meant what I said back there. I will not harm you.” He paused. “And if you promise to be good, I will remove the tape from your mouth. You would like that,
sí
?”