The Parker Trilogy Page 75

  But Michiko was having none of it. Reaching to her side, she produced her tanto blade. Spinning to the left, she struck it against her katana, producing a sound wave so forceful that it sent the girls flying and more trees toppling. Then. Silence.

  “Your brood is knocked unconscious,” Michiko said softly. “And you are wounded. What now, hell spawn?”

  La Patrona’s eyes glowed red. “You dare to mock me?” she said.

  The ground began to rumble and shake. Father Soltera watched in dismay as, one by one, each shard of broken wood, each splinter of every branch, each piece of chipped bark levitated off the ground, moving around and behind La Patrona in a wall of hundreds of natural daggers.

  Michiko’s eyes combed over them with defiance, but her confidence was erased when she glanced over her shoulder to see Father Soltera still standing there. “I told you to run!” she yelled. And this forced him to move. Because she had never yelled at him before, with anger in her voice, nor was there any mistaking that her anger was tinted with a tone of deep concern.

  He spun on his heels and launched himself into the forest, past a still-hindered Tabitha, running as fast as his legs could carry him, as the wooden shards collapsed in a shower of death over Michiko. No! The selfishness of his next thought filled him with shame. How do I make it out of here without her?

  He found a clear path beyond the deep grass of the meadow that led off to the right. Following it, he couldn’t help himself again; he looked behind him. He was awestruck by what he saw. Michiko had formed a dome of white energy over herself that had protected her from the daggers. With the full force of the attack deflected, advanced again on La Patrona. He watched through the tree trunks as their bodies collided, La Patrona using her wide, bronze wrist bracelets to form an “X” over her head and catch Michiko’s sword and trap it. They struggled from side to side before La Patrona lunged like a vampire at Michiko’s neck. Michiko pulled back just in time, counter-intuitively collapsed the distance between them by relaxing her arms, then put her hip into La Patrona’s stomach and flipped her, up and over, to the ground.

  Father Soltera glanced quickly ahead. The path widened for a bit but still ran closely alongside the meadow. Still running, he looked over occasionally, careful not to trip. La Patrona barely rolled out of the way of what would’ve been a death stroke by Michiko’s long sword, then she tried to stand, stumbled backwards and righted herself in time to get off three more stars. They burried themselves into Michiko’s stomach and chest. Crying out in pain, Michiko relentlessly counter-attacked, gashing at La Patrona’s right thigh with her tanto blade before striking her across the forehead with the handle of her long sword. In return, La Patrona punched Michiko in the face.

  Father Soltera pushed on. He heard a loud pop, as if someone had just burst a soap bubble, and he looked back again.

  The efforts of the battle, of the dome she’d generated against the wooden shards and the wounds she’d suffered, had evidently taken effect on Michiko’s power; the forcefield that was holding Tabitha in place had burst and she was now swiftly, ruthlessly in pursuit of him again, running on all fours like an animal, the blade her mother had given her now clenched between her teeth.

  Run. Run as fast as you’ve ever run in your life! He told himself. And he did. For the length of what had to be a football field, he abandoned himself to nothing but the idea of getting away, his feet pumping against his age, his heart struggling to keep up. He ran and ran. Up ahead, there was a large opening into a canopy of woods, but his spirits dropped when he saw a hill leading up to it. He wasn’t sure he could make it up that hill.

  Tabitha was suddenly on his back like a feral monkey, her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms around his neck, her head next to his. She began viciously thrusting her cheek against his face, incredibly using the knife in her mouth to stab at his neck, grunting and screeching with a horrifying glee that was only matched by the intensity of her efforts.

  He reached back to grab at her, to pull her off. After all, he might be an old man, but she was still just a child. No more than ten years old. Surely, he could wrest her off him. He realized he was done for when she let go of his neck with one arm and grabbed the knife out of her mouth. She raised it high, ready to plunge it deep.

  And that’s when La Patrona came hurling through the forest, end over end, exploding through the trees like a cannonball. Fire and lava erupted from her in bits and pieces, and Father Soltera realized that this was the manifestation of her blood. Blood from hell, that pulsed with hatred and burned with sin.

  She came tumbling into the opening ahead, finally coming to rest at the base of the hill.

  “Mama!” Tabitha screamed.

  La Patrona, barely conscious, looked over at them. Her legs were broken and sideways, one arm limp at her side. She reached out towards Tabitha without any sort of care or concern but with one final order. “Kill him!” she groaned.

  He felt Tabitha raise the knife. But at the same time, Father Soltera saw something that filled him with complete awe. Michiko was swooping in, on wings as bright as her glowing blood. She grabbed Tabitha’s wrist and wrenched her off him. The force of the move was so violent it sent Father Soltera tumbling to the ground.

  “No!” La Patrona screamed, as Michiko flew with Tabitha towards her. Incredibly she was still struggling, trying to get to a throwing knife, when Michiko grabbed her too. A large gap in the air opened up next to them, a portal of some kind, that was white around the edges and led to total blackness beyond. The void within was howling violently with celestial winds. Michiko hurled Tabitha at the portal, but Tabitha caught a thick tree root on the ground in her small, clawed hands, held fast, spun and took off back into the woods.

  “Tabitha!” La Patrona screamed. Michiko tried to throw the broken body of La Patrona through the portal, too, but with a guttural growl, the demon woman clawed at the ground, desperately trying to hold on. Seconds later, bursting white globs of light, the rest of La Patrona’s brood, all unconscious, came cutting through the forest and through the portal, striking La Patrona and loosening her grip on the ground. All of them were sucked into the portal, which closed instantly with a sucking sound.

  A few seconds passed before Michiko folded in her wings and fell to her knees. He scrambled towards her and slid, catching her in his arms.

  Her eyes fluttered open. “You are okay?” she said weakly.

  “Yes. And you?”

  “I will be okay. I just need time to heal. Leave me here. Get to the gate.”

  He cradled her in his arms and put his forehead to hers. “No. I’m sorry. I can’t. I will never leave you . . .”

  Michiko smiled sweetly. “Nor forsake you.”

  They were alone together, a simple priest utterly amazed at all that he had just seen with an angel asleep in his arms.

  After breakfast, Curtis and Hector went to the yard to get in a workout. Shoulders and traps. It had been a while since Hector had lifted and it felt good. They alternated sets while a number of the other inmates stopped by to talk business with Curtis. Some things relating to the inside (the latest shipment of heroine had been placed in Ziploc bags and put in butter containers, the butter being melted and poured back in so it set around the bags before being delivered to the prison’s cafeteria) and some things relating to the outside (two members of a rival gang in Chino Hills was secretly doing drug runs into a few Downtown LA clubs as a side hustle, and therefore had to be dealt with).

  Hector quietly marveled at his boss, who had morphed again into the same ol’ Curtis: funny but lethal, engaging but rude when he was done speaking with you. The contemplative, slightly remorseful Curtis from earlier was nowhere to be seen. He wanted one thing done one way, another the other, and as long as you did what you were told you were good.

  His minions rotated on by with handshakes, disguising the work chats with bullshit chatter, just in case anyone was listening in, then they slowly drifted away. Hector noticed more than a few of th
em eying him up and down, probably wondering who the new dude was and why he had such instant access to the top. No one gave him the stink eye though, at least not yet, which was good.

  After their workout was complete, Curtis dabbed a towel on his head and bobbed his chin at Hector. “Here he comes.”

  A man walked up from behind Hector who was about six-foot-four and weighed, maybe, one hundred and seventy-five pounds. It was a look that earned him his nickname. With his long arms and lanky legs, you’d have never guessed him for a killer. His eyes were small and dark. His face was pockmarked and wrinkled. At age forty-five or so, the wrinkles were a bit too heavy, but that was the gang life for you. “I gotta have a private chat with him, to set things up right for tomorrow, so go take a walk.”

  Hector did as he was told. He took a stroll across the yard to the water fountain for a long drink and splashed water over his face and across his scalp. Feeling a presence behind him, he turned around quickly.

  The Smiling Midget was standing there and flexing his biceps. Hey, Hector? Do you think I got my swoll on? he asked with a laugh.

  Hector shook his head and tried to walk past him, but The Smiling Midget cut him off. So, what’s with all the lovey-dovey friendship talk with the guy you’re supposed to kill?

  “Get out of my way,” Hector replied.

  I mean, this ain’t adding up for my side, Hector-Me-Boy! They’re starting to get concerned and all, know what I’m saying?

  Hector stepped around him, stuffed his hands in his pants pockets, and began walking the perimeter of the fence line. “Your side needs to back off.”

  The Smiling Midget double-timed it to stay in step beside him. No, no, no, Hector. Don’t go doing that. They’ll send her, then we’re all screwed.

  “Pfft! Send who?” Hector shrugged with irritation.

  Never mind. Just trust me. Don’t go there. She’s bad news.

  “What’s it matter to you, anyway? Ya little freak!”

  For the first time, The Smiling Midget seemed genuine in his reply. Look. Hector. We go back a long way and all. I did good getting you through prison the last time, didn’t I?

  “I guess.”

  You guess?! Without me, you’d be dead! That guy woulda killed you.

  Hector thought about it, then shook his head. “So you say.”

  No, man. It’s true. And what about dealing with the dude that got your girl to betray you? We took care of him, too. I got props for that one.

  “Yeah. Great. And what about Marisol?”

  The Smiling Midget’s reply was absent any happiness but also noticeably absent any regret or sadness. That one’s on you, ya know. I had nothing to do with that.

  “No?”

  No, man. I’m serious. He reached up to run his tiny fingers over the chain link fence as they continued walking. Think about it. If I had? More points to me. I’d have actually looked better, dude. But no, you went rogue on that one, buddy.

  “I’m not your buddy.”

  Yeah. C’mon now. Don’t blow this. Just kill him. It’ll be quick and easy, and from there? I promise you, your time here will be spent with no pain and no suffering. I’ll get you chicks on conjugal visits, all you want, a solo cell for your whole term—complete protection and peace of mind for your entire sentence. No one will even try to hurt you.

  Hector took a deep breath and surprised himself with his hesitation. It sounded good, he had to admit. “What’s in it for you?”

  The reply came with a shrug. I get to stay, for one. And I don’t have to answer to her. If she comes? That means I’ve failed. That’s bad for me. Then I have to go back.

  “Back where?”

  You know where. And I don’t like it there. It’s hot and all about punishment. I like it out here better. Where I can play.

  “Look, you don’t seem to get that I’m not on your side in this.”

  But you could be. You should be. Fine. I’ll sweeten the pot. No guilt. None. About anything that you did. I can take it all away. You’ll sleep like a baby.

  Hector’s walk down the fence line slowed immediately.

  The Smiling Midget nodded encouragingly. Yeeaah. That’s it. You’re getting it now. A life sentence is a long time. No need to suffer. It’s easy really. Here’s the plan. There’s a shiv waiting for you in the library. Ya know, your favorite place! It’ll be inside a copy of Moby Dick. Get it? Sidle up next to Curtis—I’ll tell you when, so you’re not on camera and the coast is clear—then just stab him the kidney. Nice and deep. Then break it off in him. He’ll be done for.

  “I dunno,” Hector said, looking out over the yard to where Curtis was sitting and talking.

  Yeah, you do. And here’s the thing . . . you have to do it tonight. After dinner. Or else, she’s coming, man. Then? It’ll be too late. For both of us.

  Hector looked at The Smiling Midget. “Tonight, huh?”

  Yeah, The Smiling Midget replied with a shrug.

  “Why tonight, exactly?” Hector asked, just to take a dig.

  Just like that, The Smiling Midget was smiling no more. You know why, he said forebodingly. Got it? he pressed.

  “I got nothin’,” Hector answered. He turned to walk away.

  The Smiling Midget shouted after him. You don’t do it, Hector, then you got no idea what’s comin’! No idea at all!

  The threat caused a knotted ball of foreboding to settle in Hector’s stomach. And what The Smiling Midget was promising him . . . he couldn’t deny it was tempting. Could he actually do it? Abandon this whole “millionth” thing? After all, what had The Gray Man promised him except suffering and training and growth and all that shit.

  And what about Curtis? Could he really take him out?

  Hector suddenly remembered the way Curtis had talked down to him, over breakfast, and how he’d rubbed Hector’s nose in what had happened to Marisol.

  What was it Curtis had said? That Hector was “going to have to answer for that”. Yeah. That was it.

  Well, Hector thought, what if I’m tired of answering to shit, Curtis? What if I’m tired of answering . . . to you?

  Chapter Seventeen

  Parker was still sitting uncomfortably in the airport, though much more composed now, when his cell phone rang. It was Murillo.

  “How you holding up?” he asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

  “I’m doing okay, man,” Parker replied. “Heading out of town for a bit to get my shit together.”

  “Oh? Where to?”

  “Cabo.”

  “Nice. Well, for the record? Have fun and all that . . . but none of us here agree with you leaving, including the cap.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yep. He’s sitting on your paperwork. On the down low, he told us to tell your union rep to slow everything down, too, as much as possible. He thinks in a few weeks your head will clear and you’ll come around.”

  “Hmm. That’s what he gets for thinking.”

  Parker could hear Klink say something unintelligible in the background. “What’d he say?”

  “He said you’re being an asshole.”

  Parker laughed. “Tell him I love him, too.”

  “He’s right, Parker. You’re a good detective. Napoleon knew that. You were his last trainee. Don’t forget that.”

  It was a gut punch that hearkened back to respect for the dead, and it would’ve been more effective if that very same dead person wasn’t visiting him these days. Still. It hurt a bit. “I know. But taking me off the case was—”

  “Was one hundred percent by the book. Everyone here knows that and so do you. The DA would’ve been in a horrible position—the entire case on this guy completely jeopardized—if you were allowed to go after him. Bias and—”

  Parker was getting irritated. “Yeah, yeah. I know. How goes it, by the way? The case, I mean?”

  There was an awkward silence for a few seconds before Murillo answered with obvious reluctance in his voice. “Nothing new.”

  “Uh-huh.”
/>
  “Don’t ‘uh-huh’ me, Parker. We’re busting our asses over here. After what he did to Trudy? We’ll get him.”

  Not before I do, Parker thought.

  Then, because life was funny that way, and a person could sometimes put two and two together without realizing it, Murillo came dangerously close to the truth with a laugh and a joke. “If you happen to see him in Cabo, let us know.”

  Parker smiled. You’re a good detective, Murillo. That’s gonna hit you. Tomorrow. Or maybe later this week, when you’re two bites into your fried chicken sandwich at Lucky Bird in Grand Central Market, or at one in the morning when you wake up suddenly and say ‘How did I miss that he chose, of all places, to go to Mexico to take a break?’ and it’ll make you so mad that your subconscious knew it well before you did.

  Still, just to be safe, Parker covered his ass. “Unless he happens to be on another panga ten miles off shore and fishing for bluefin tuna? I doubt that’s gonna happen.”

  “Oooh. Fish tacos.”

  “And the best sushi. Right there on the deck of the boat, still a tad salty from the ocean.”

  “Damn. Well. Whatever. Just promise me that you’ll think about it, Parker. Fair enough?”

  “Fair enough. Is that the only reason you called?”

  “Nope. The main reason is Inmate 7558 at Corcoran State Prison, otherwise known to you as Hector Villarosa. He called me, desperate to speak to you.”

  Feeling his face twist with surprise, Parker sat up in his chair. “What?”

  “Yep. Says he needs to talk to you about what went down at The Mayan.”

  Parker went from stunned to flummoxed, barely managing to repeat himself. “What?”

  “I’ll text you the number of the prison.”

  “Yeah. Okay. But I’m not in the mood for convict tears right now, man. I’ll call him when I get back.”

  “You sure? He sounded pretty insistent that he needed to talk to you right away. Told me to tell you that he was calling about . . . Shilo or something? Who the hell is that?”