A Wanted Woman Part 56

I said, "Greetings, War Machine. Greetings."

"You're not in the Middle East."

"I'm not in Mecca, only in the mecca of your life."

He looked around as if he expected to see an army, then said, "You're alone."

"I am an army of one."

"Welcome to my humble abode."

"This is like being at 740 Park Avenue, the most expensive place to live in NYC, where the top one percent of the top one percent live. Then again, you are like the Koch Brothers in the US. You have donated to most politicians, have most of them in your pocket, donated to groups, to causes that make mothers weep, given scholars.h.i.+ps to colleges and universities. You campaign that your people want their island back the same way the Tea Party wants America, only you have a more forward vision, not one of the past. The moneyed are the real leaders, not the politicians. Excuse me for a moment."

One of the men had moved. I went to him, shot him twice, then went to the window and looked out at the sea. Monos Island. One of the Bocas Islands between Trinidad and Venezuela. South side of the island. Pa.s.sy Bay. This area was a hiker's paradise. Nearest cities were Maturn, San Felix, and Guayana City. All too far away to hear men scream. Too far away to hear guns and bombs.

I needed to know all of that before I had left the cruise s.h.i.+p to attack a fortress.

Where once upon a time seven hundred million dollars' worth of cocaine was seized in the largest drug bust in Trinidad and Tobago history. More than seventeen hundred kilos of Peruvian marching powder.

I went back toward War Machine. I shot his unmoving men along the way.

I asked, "What was I saying? Breathtaking view distracted me. Lost my train of thought."

Silence.

I went to the back door of his castle, a small nation on a small island next to a larger island.

Four guards were back there, dead, bullets to the brain. More weapons on the ground.

I said, "Today is my birthday, War Machine. I came to celebrate with you."

I went to the den. Three men were there, in front of five big-screen televisions that were on five sports channels. All the men were dead from the same lead poisoning.

Dora the Explorer was everywhere. A fascinating Rorschach for every wall, wonderful patterns.

He asked, "How did you compromise my home?"

"Abruptly."

Dressed in camouflage, wearing boots, I had hiked over the hills, come the back way.

I hadn't hiked that trail alone. He didn't need to know that. It didn't matter.

I asked, "How do men get to be as f.u.c.ked-up as you?"

"We are but the reflections of the Creator."

"So you're saying that men are only imitating their father, or the Father."

"Who neglects us, abandons us, and treats us no better than the slave masters."

"What would you know about slavery?"

"I have blood on three continents and all three have suffered, born into a life of suffering, prayed all of their lives, and died suffering. When my people were no longer profitable, no longer interesting, their G.o.ds turned away and left them to struggle. We studied history."

"You and your wife."

"We studied the great rulers. Alexander the Great. Abraham Lincoln. Hitler. Queen Elizabeth I. Eva Pern. We studied the greats, we studied the hypocrites. We made a plan."

"That is why you have no behavior and act like you are spoiled G.o.ds."

"I am what the Greek G.o.ds, Roman G.o.ds, Egyptian G.o.ds, Norse G.o.ds, Hindu G.o.ds, Aztec G.o.ds, Mayan G.o.ds, Inca G.o.ds, Celtic G.o.ds, and any other G.o.d should bow down and wors.h.i.+p."

"You're a forgery."

"This from a pretend Kiwi."

"A killer Kiwi from the land up under the land down under."

"Where are you really from?"

I imitated my mother's accent: "My ancestors dey Bajan and St. Lucian."

"You're a Douglah?"

Back to my normal voice. "Irrelevant what I am."

"Why don't you set me free?"

"Then? What, shake hands and zip to a pub in your speedboat and throw a few back?"

"We pull swords from my walls and battle to the end, like warriors."

"Now that I have you in a position where I can slash you from stem to stern and remove every bit of meat from your carca.s.s like a pig at a slaughterhouse, you want to have an honorable battle?"

"Let's settle this; winner take all."

"A final battle is what you are offering."

"A final battle."

"Too late. This fox hunt is over. You hunted me. I have captured you."

"We are powerful. Others will come after you and stop you."

"Let me tell you why they never found any dead guntas in the streets of Bridgetown. Why they never found any of your wounded or dead LKs over at Upper Collymore Rock."

"You retrieved our dead from the morgue."

"Your trash was collected and disposed of in the sea, as trash should be disposed of."

"You have touched our dead, disrespected us again."

"'Disrespected'? f.u.c.k you. I was pregnant."

"My men f.u.c.ked you like a wh.o.r.e and now you have an LK baby inside of your womb?"

"Was. When you a.s.saulted me, I was pregnant. When you beat me, I was pregnant. You kicked me down concrete stairs when I was with child. So, who do you think has been disrespected?"

"You killed two of my men."

"Killing my baby checkmates any-f.u.c.kin'-thing you might say."

"The escalation of violence started with you improvising a public execution of my men."

"Blame the a.s.sa.s.sin. I'm a hired gun. It could have been anyone from the Barbarians."

"It was your gun that murdered my men. Your trigger triggered all of this."

I paused and whispered, "How is your beautiful family, War Machine?"

He said, "They're off-limits."

"My unborn baby was my family, wouldn't you say?"

I went to my luggage, bags that had been dragged through bush.

I opened both bags, put the iced contents on display for him to see.

I said, "Appaloosa and two others are back home. Say wha.s.sup to your homies."

I put the heads in front of him the way Black Jack and the UWI girl they thought was Hacker had been left on display at Ridgeview.

His eyes watered as he stared at his dead brothers.

He stared and saw his fate.

He looked like he imagined himself, his head, on the shelf with his dead brothers.

Then I pulled their spines out of the bag, dropped those on the floor like chains.

His breathing thickened and he managed to say, "Jesus."

"How does it feel?"

"How does what feel?"

"To not feel physical pain for the last time. What comes next, you'll pray to die."

"What's in the needle you're holding?"

"This? Not death. That would be too kind. This is animal tranquilizer."

"Animal tranquilizer. How demeaning."

"Less demeaning than a roofie. The fun starts when you wake up."

I pushed the needle into his flesh, injected him with tranquilizer and whispered, "As thy sword hath made women childless, so shall thy mother be childless among women."

SIXTY-EIGHT.

War Machine woke, bound and gagged, naked, a golf ball taped inside his mouth, pillows underneath his belly to force his a.s.s to be up high, restrained, in the position of humiliation. A cold Stag beer was in my right hand. He saw the silver d.i.l.d.o in my left hand. I put the Stag beer down.

He tested his restraints. The restraints won.

The house was cold, air conditioners turned on high.

He s.h.i.+vered and his circ.u.mcised c.o.c.k shrank in response to the winter-like chill.

I mounted his back and inserted the d.i.l.d.o, no lubricant used, shoved it hard, fast, deep, and his back arched. He screamed a m.u.f.fled scream. His face ripped at the lips. The corners of his mouth had been cut so when he screamed he gave himself a Chelsea smile. I removed the golf ball from his bloodied mouth. I wanted him to hear his own agony.

I pressed a b.u.t.ton on a remote control device, and the d.i.l.d.o released sharp hooks. He pulled at the chains, cried, screamed, made his face bleed, ripped his skin even more. He fought; he begged.

I said, "Don't beg. I never begged. No screaming; no begging."

I yanked out the d.i.l.d.o, let him scream.

Wearing a kind expression, I poured a bottle of alcohol on his wound, watched him suffer.

I took out tools made to break bones, extract teeth, remove fingers, cauterize wounds.

I whispered, "I was MX-401. Was. Did much dirty work, took s.h.i.+t from men like you, endured bigotry like I was in the military, only worse, and I endured, had earned an M and an X."

He begged. Offered me money. Told me where to find it, said I could have it.

He said, "Then I will tell you the truth about the politician you killed."

"The truth went out of style a long time ago. That's what Raymond Chandler said."

"The truth remains fas.h.i.+onable with me."

"What's the truth? Tell me. Be honest, and maybe you'll live."