The Return: A Novel (56 page)

He patted Marder on the cheek, stepped away from the trolley, and nodded to the Tyvek man, who yanked his chain saw into a stuttering roar—a sound instantly overwhelmed by the noise of a colossal explosion outside. The ground shook and dust flew from the walls and ceiling. The overhead light flickered.

“Shut that thing off,” ordered Cuello. The chain saw went silent. They all listened, straining to hear against the ringing the blast had left in their ears. Then came another, even larger blast, and this time the light stayed out. A battery-operated emergency light over the doorway came on. Cuello ordered the two
sicarios
to find out what had happened. To Marder, he said, “The labs blow up. It’s a cost of doing business. But I have a lot of labs. It’s a piece of luck for you, though.” Without change of tone, he said to the Tyvek man, “We have to get out of here. Just cut off his head.”

There was a short coughing noise, and Marder thought that it had something to do with the chain saw. But the Tyvek man dropped the chain saw and fell down. Skelly was standing in the doorway, holding a submachine gun with a long suppressor on it.

He pointed it at Cuello and grinned at Marder. He said, “I had you going there for a while, didn’t I?”

Skelly’s knife sliced through Marder’s bonds and he sat up on the trolley naked and looked at Cuello, who seemed paralyzed by what had happened.

“Keep your hands up,
jefe
,” said Skelly, frisking him efficiently. “What have you got there? Oh, a Glock 17? Why am I not surprised?”

Skelly pulled a pistol out of a shoulder holster and handed it to Marder. It was Marder’s father’s army .45.

“Where the hell did you find this?” Marder asked.

“Oh, you left your pieces lying everywhere—very bad gun-safety practice, Marder. I’m surprised at you. Now, if you would just point it at the
jefe
there while I pull the mag from this.”

He slung his submachine gun over his shoulder, turned away briefly with the Glock, dropped the magazine, and tossed it against the far wall of the room. Marder heard it clang as it fell behind the stacked drums. Skelly dropped the Glock on the floor and kicked it away.

“I assume that was your explosion,” said Marder.

“Yeah, I returned the beer truck the Templos lifted, as a gesture of goodwill. Three tons of ammonium nitrate fertilizer went off. I don’t think there’ll be anyone walking around out there.”

“No. Tell me, Skelly, was there no other way? Our people died. Kids died.”

“What can I say, chief? One man against two big gangs? The
Yojimbo
play is the only play. And it worked, as you see.” Skelly unslung his submachine gun and said, “I spotted a box of Tyvek outfits outside the room next door. You might want to put one on. Unless you’re thinking of cutting this guy up with the chain saw. You might as well stay naked if you’re going to do that, you know what I mean?”

A cheery little tune sounded, as jarring in the dreadful room as a fun fair in a gulag.

“What the fuck?” said Skelly, and patted at his clothes. He pulled one of the cheap cell phones from one of his many pockets and took the call, never for an instant taking his eyes or the point of his weapon from Cuello.

He said “Yeah? Oh, man! Well, shit, honey, that’s terrific. How did you … What? No kidding? But you’re okay, right?”

“Is that Statch?” Marder demanded, and reached for the phone.

“Hold on, your dad wants to talk with you.”

Marder said, “Carmel—are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Dad. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” said Marder. “Where are you?”

“At the house. It’s all over here. The army came and cleaned out the bad guys.” And then she told him the story.

After they were done talking, Marder gave the phone back to Skelly and looked at Cuello, who was standing with a look of stony dignity on his evil face. He’s not afraid to die, at any rate, thought Marder; he doesn’t know yet about worse things. Then he went out to the hallway, past the bodies of the two
sicarios
Skelly had shot, and found the box of Tyvek suits. He put one on and walked down the hallway to where the door to the outside swung, shattered, from one hinge. Outside was black oily smoke, an infernal stench, and complete devastation. Not a living thing moved among the black and burning shapes that had once been buildings and vehicles. It was a suitable Götterdämmerung for a foul empire.

When Marder returned to the concrete room, he found Cuello collapsed against the back wall, weeping, making huge gasping sobs,
a-hahn-a-hahn, a-hahn, a-hahn,
over and over.

“I told him what happened. He seems to be taking it pretty hard.”

Marder said, “My condolences on your loss, Don Melchor. What I predicted has come to pass, but a lot faster than I thought it would. Now I have to explain the reason for this catastrophe.”

Cuello stopped sobbing and got to his feet. “Just shoot me, you fucker!
Chingada cabrón!
You want to chop me up, go ahead!”

“No, I want to explain. This concerns the murders of Don Esteban de Haro d’Ariés and his wife, Carmela Asunción Casals.”

“Who?”

“Yes, there have been so many murders, it’s easy to see that you could have forgotten one or two. Maybe you didn’t even order it directly. Let me remind you. You wanted a piece of a small hotel owned by Don Esteban. He refused, having had enough of expropriation, and your organization had him killed, along with his wife. But as it happens they were my wife’s parents. Her name was Maria Soledad Beatriz de Haro d’Ariés Marder, and the murders of her parents led directly to her death. That’s why we’re all here. When I came down to Michoacán, I thought it would be difficult to get to you. I really had no idea how to do it. So I waited. I bought a property sold to me by someone who wished me trouble, and what greater sources of trouble could there be in Playa Diamante than you? I knew that sooner or later, if I kept doing the right thing, doing as much good as I could manage, you would not be able to tolerate it. Even though there’s enough loot for everyone, and even though you have more money than you’ll ever be able to spend, you couldn’t stand the idea of someone else getting Isla de los Pájaros. You
had
to get involved, and I had every confidence that, when you did, my friend here would find some way of destroying you. And so it has proved. I told you it was a bad business model. So, the question is, what will you do now?”

The man stared at him, surprised at the question.

“No,” said Marder, “I’m not going to kill you, although if anyone in Mexico deserves death it’s you. We’re going to walk away from here and let you do the same. I’ve killed my last human being, or at least I hope so. You might die at the hands of a rival gang, or the army could get you, or you could find your way out of the country to a different life and use your money to do some good. You could seek redemption.”

He turned his back on Cuello and walked toward the door.

“Let’s go, Patrick,” he said. “I want to see my daughter.”

The two men walked down the corridor, the only sound the roar and crackle of the burning outside and the swish of Marder’s Tyvek. The hazy air stank of chemicals.

“You’re making a mistake there, chief,” said Skelly. “That guy’s not going to make nice.”

“I’m not responsible for what he does. I’m responsible for what I do, which in this case is forgiveness.”

“Marder, you’re such a jerk. I don’t know why I hang out with you.”

Marder stopped and looked Skelly full in the face.

“You hang out with me
because
you want forgiveness. You should ask God, but you don’t believe in God, so you ask me. I’m talking to a man who, once a year, lets a bunch of bums beat and rob him, to punish himself for his unbearable guilt. And you do all these shitty things just to check it out—will Marder forgive me for this one, or will he finally confirm what I believe about Patrick Skelly, that he’s utterly without any redeeming value, a complete turd. That’s why you kept hitting on my wife, even though she did you the courtesy of not taking it seriously, making it into the family joke. What, you thought I didn’t know? And crawling into bed with Nina Ibanez the day after I dumped her? Classy. Yeah, I knew about that too. She told me, needless to say. And of course she would have told you that I bought Isla de los Pájaros and what it meant. Tell me, did you ever wonder why, of all the real estate agents in the world, I should have picked the one I least wanted to deal with, the one who had the most reason to want to do me harm? The minute I sent the check she must’ve been on the phone with you, gloating. And you know what? I forgive you. I understand you can’t help yourself, and it doesn’t matter. I came down here to do something good and I needed you and I figured you’d come along only if you thought it was something nasty.”

He saw Skelly’s eyes shift away, which he thought odd because Skelly was a classic bold-faced liar. “It wasn’t like that,” Skelly said.

“No? Then what was it like? I’m interested to know.”

Now there were sirens approaching. Someone had seen the vast column of smoke and called the fire department.

Skelly opened his mouth, but before he could say a word, Melchor Cuello stepped out of the haze, pointing his Glock at Marder. Skelly moved between Marder and the gun just as it went off. He cried out and fell to the ground, and Marder, without thought or hesitation, raised his Colt and shot Cuello three times, chest, neck, and head.

Skelly lay on his back, staring at his hand, which was covered in blood, as was his shirt, a spreading dark stain above the beltline.

“I can’t believe it. I forgot to clear the fucking chamber. How could I forget? I always clear the chamber. And why did I leave the gun?”

“Don’t worry about that now. Just lie still. Let me take a look at the wound.”

“No!” said Skelly clutching his hands protectively over his belly. “It’s not going to do any good. He fucked me up, Marder. I’m finished. He got my spine—I can’t feel anything below my waist.”

“You’ll be fine. Listen, you can hear the sirens. They’ll be here soon.”

“No, I’m dead. But, Marder, you’ve got to tell me, level with me now, my dying wish, all right? How the fuck did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Get me out of Moon River to the Special Forces base. You couldn’t have done it. You didn’t have the training. You didn’t know shit about how to survive in triple-canopy rain forest with the whole PAVN looking for you.”

“I thought we agreed that you got me out.”

A sleepy grin morphed into a grimace. “Yeah, that bullshit. I knew. I was delirious but not crazy. I always knew. So how … how?”

“I had supernatural help. You asked me that when you were waking up out there and I told you and then you forgot it.”

“Yes, but, seriously, I’m dying here, Marder, and I want to know.”

Now the sirens reached a new peak of volume, and there came the sound of heavy tires and engines, and the sirens growled down into silence.

“Stay cool, Skelly. I’ll get help.” Marder ran out of the building. His throat was raw and his chest tight. The fumes had become even more oppressive, and when he reached the outside, he saw that the firemen were all wearing breathing apparatuses. Meth-lab explosions, planned or accidental, were not rarities in Michoacán these days. An ambulance pulled up and Marder hailed it in a croaking voice. A doctor and two paramedics leaped out, and Marder was surprised to see that the doctor was Rodriguez, the same man who had treated Skelly at Cárdenas General. He led them into the building and they lifted Skelly up onto a gurney.

Marder grasped Skelly’s blood-slick hand as they rolled him down the corridor.

“Tell me!” Skelly said, his voice a faint rasp.

“Okay, on the day of the bombing, I ran into a bunch of Yards working for another Special Forces operation, and they carried you and guided us almost all the way to Quang Loc.”

Skelly’s face relaxed into a smile. “I knew it,” he said, and closed his eyes and said nothing more.

23

Marder had to go to the hospital too, after finding he couldn’t breathe anymore, or not enough to stay upright. They took him to the same hospital in Lázaro Cárdenas and flushed him out with oxygen and stuck him in a nice room, because he was an important person and his daughter insisted on it and distributed wads of money to show sincerity.

She came into his room with a big bunch of marigolds and tears streaming from her eyes. Marder knew what the tears were about. He spread his arms and she fell against his chest. He hugged her and made meaningless, calming noises.

“When did you—?”

“Dr. Rodriguez told me. Skelly left a note. A will, I guess. He left everything to me—his place in New York, his car. There are numbers for bank accounts in foreign countries. Why would he do that?”

“He loved you. He loved all of us in his horrible way. We were his family.”

“But he kept picking at it. He kept picking at you. And that awful thing at the end, pretending he was betraying us—”

“That was Skelly. He thought everything was false, everything was phony, except us. And then I turned out to be phony—”

“Oh, stop! I can’t stand when you beat yourself up over that. You made a mistake, and Mom took too many pills and had an accident. Yeah, it’s devastating, but it’s not some fucking Greek tragedy. Speaking of which, Peter’s on his way here.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I told him I would come to Cal Tech and beat the living shit out of him and follow him around campus with a sign and embarrass him in front of all his friends. The self-righteous little twerp! You could’ve died.”

She started crying again, then blew her nose mightily, shook herself, grinned sheepishly at him, and was back in prime engineering mode.

“So, what are you going to do with your new riches?” Marder asked.

“Oh, there’s a condition in the will. He wants me to take his ashes and scatter them in Moon River. It sounds nuts, but he said you’d know where that was.”

“It’s in Laos,” said Marder, after a stunned moment. “I believe I can give you the precise coordinates. But you’re not going to leave immediately, are you?”