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It was never going to end well. I had a bad feeling, doomed from the start. That 'shiver down the spine'-type thing. Never in my wildest dreams or worst nightmares did I think it was go so bad, and I have the extremes of both.
Rico was just back from a week's vacation in New York, catching up with old friends, reminding himself of his favourite haunts. New York New York, so good they named it twice. Yeah, right. I'm always glad he comes back. Worried one day he won't. Castillo has no such concerns, one day I'll ask him why. Or maybe I don't need to now. The Lieutenant looked the same as always when we met him in O'Hallan's on the marina, as per his instructions, the night my partner returned from the Big Apple. It at least gave me an excuse to buy Rico a beer and get the low down on his vacation later. The Lieutenant never stuck around for social niceties once business was done.
Marty told us what was on his mind, and I needed a bourbon more than a beer. Marcus Cintaro, lynch-pin of a Miami-based porn ring for the past fifteen years. The last cop who'd tried to infiltrate his organisation was an undercover vice cop, Roger Travellyan, two years ago. He was Jarell's old partner. He'd never come out. It was always assumed that he was dead, until he was spotted one night at a club at Cintaro's side. So then it was assumed that he'd turned. For reasons best known to themselves, Fort Lauderdale wanted to give Cintaro another shot.
It was widely suspected that half the cops in Miami were on Cintaro's payroll. Maybe Lauderdale's numbers were down. Rico and I weren't in Cintaro's pocket; Castillo had presumbly vouched for us, which was presumably why we were the ones going in. He didn't have to tell us to be careful. We knew the guy was dangerous, there were a pile of arrest warrants with his name on them, and the names of dead men, we just didn't know he was insane. He was a businessman after all. But Marty kept stressing the point, saying it might go above and beyond the usual broad definition of undercover. Neither of us knew what he was talking about.
Rico was worried Travellyan would make us. But that was always a risk; always a chance we'd run into someone we'd arrested in the past. I was relying on my natural charm to talk him down if he did. We were our usual, confident selves. Delusional.
~
Cintaro's like Palmo - this drug kingpin we keep trying to bust with no real results; slippery as an eel that guy. But he's okay, he knows how to throw a party. They both liked personal relationships with the people they do business with. He wanted us to stay the weekend. So I drove us out to his place at the beach, the morning following our clandestine meeting with Castillo, through a rare rainstorm. We'd gone over it the night before in the bar, how to play it if Travellyan recognised us, if things went south. Rico and I have worked together long enough that e know how to react to any plays either of us make; it's instinct. Travellyan was a wild card, but we'd deal with him if we had to.
Cintaro wasn't a surprise. Fat, squat, surrounded by big, silent men with guns who weren't too shy when they patted us down. His handshake was weak though, and his eyes were all over us both like a starving man. He gave me the creeps. I'm happy in the company of sleazoids and scumbags, I'm around them 24/7. But CIntaro was in a league of his own.
What was a surprise bordering on shock was the early appearance of Roger Travellyan, wearing tight leather pants and nothing else, letting Cintaro pet him like a fucking rabbit. He introduced us, and if Travellyan recognised us, he didn't show it, not even when he showed us to our rooms at Cintaro's request. We were next door to one another at the top of the house; luxurious rooms with well-stocked bars, queen beds and large jacuzzis lined with champagne and other party favours. From the balcony of my room I could see Cintaro's yacht moored up at the end of a long garden. It was big enough to live on and not realise you weren't on dry land.
Rico let himself into my room with the briefest of knocks and stood on the balcony beside me. I remember him saying, 'this man is making far too much money at Vice's expense to let him walk.' I remember because I smiled, knocked his shoulder with mine and told him it was up to us to take him down a peg or three. Makes me laugh a little hysterically now just to think back to that afternoon, us thinking it was going to be an easy ride.
Like I said, delusional.
~
It wasn't until we went down to join the party when I realised the full meaning of what Castillo had said to us, the reason he kept pushing the idea that the gig might be beyond the usual bounds of our everyday covers. At first glance the huge lounge area was full of party-guests, all drinking and talking, some dancing to the beat of the heavy South African rhythms. A second glance revealed the truth of what I was looking at. There were no women. All men. Rico didn't seem remotely bothered by the turn of events. Probably because staying calm was the only way to make sure I didn't freak out. I jumped when Cintaro pushed into the space between us, a fat arm around each of us, hands on our shoulders. He invited us to enjoy his hospitality and promised that in the morning we'd talk business.
Cintaro came between the two men and put his arms around their shoulders, "My friends, "he said, motioning to the party in full swing in front of them, "please enjoy my hospitality. Tomorrow, then we shall talk business.". Then he left us to join Travellyan, his lover, I supposed, on the dance floor. A glance to my left was out of the open windows, the Testarossa parked outside an oddly comforting sight.
"Hey, Sonny, partner. Talk to me. You okay, man?"
I forced a nod. "Yeah, this is just too weird man, I mean, no women?"
"I'd noticed." My unflappable partner. "But he's a killer, so don't lose it on me now, Sonny, please?"
I took a breath. "I'm going to the bar. Want anything?"
"Yeah, the usual."
At the bar, I ordered the drinks... and watched as Travellyan came to lean beside me. He leaned in and murmured, 'Hungry eyes.' I pretended not to hear him over the music and the shouting. But I heard him when he mouth, 'Can we talk somewhere quiet?'
Heart beating like a jackhammer, I followed him through into a small study behind the bar. The dying evening sun dribbled in through sheer blue curtains covering open doors out onto a balcony. I stayed next to the door, hands behind me, fingers on the door handle. The conversation went something like this:
"How did you know I wouldn't give you away?"
"I didn't think you'd recognize me."
"You didn't think I'd recognise James Sonny Crockett?"
"So why didn't you give us away?"
"Because I used to be a cop. I won't be a part of another cop getting killed."
"Why did you turn?"
"I was scraping around for the rent, getting shot at all the time. Marcus came along and offered me all this."
"So what are you to him?"
"Lover. Companion. Partner."
"And him to you?"
"Not enough that I'm willing to follow him down. If you're here to take him down, I'd appreciate an hour's warning. I have money put aside to disappear."
Rico was still on the balcony when I joined him. He asked if the bar was busy and I handed him his drink, ice half-melted, told him about Travellyan, what he'd said. As I talked, I finished my bourbon. The glass was barely empty before one of Cintaro's scantily dressed waiters took it from me and pushed a champagne flute into it. I downed the fizz in one and blinked as the world span.
I felt Rico's hand on my arm and looked at him, concentrating to keep him in focus. He took the glass from me and tipped the last sip onto his tongue. I watched him, and somewhere in the back of my mind I knew when he was tasting. I'd been drugged.
'It's spiked.' I remember him saying it as clearly as I remember the rest of that God awful night. Same as what happened next. Travellyan appeared out of nowhere, asked for the dance and I was in his arms before I knew it. My partner saved me again, cutting in politely. Travellyan didn't protest, passed me to Rico like a commodity. I didn't care, I was relieved. The only thing I wanted was out of there. If not for the drugs in the champagne I'd have driven out of there. But Rico was with me. Rico would keep me safe.
I heard him tell me to relax. I heard him instruct me to put my arms around his neck and to move with him, to close my eyes. I did as he was told. I lost myself in his arms, the world outside that circle fuzzy. He was all I could see and hear and smell. I could feel the dark closing around the thoughts in my head, shutting them down. I thought, just for a moment, that he was hard. But then that idea was squeezed out too.
He kissed me. That whole scene is a blur, but Rico's mouth on mine - that's as sharp as any memory I have.
In my room I drank as much water as I could stomach, trying to clear my head. I wanted to know if Rico was attracted to me. I think I asked him, because the next thing I knew he was standing close to me on the balcony, my back against the railings. I thought he was going to kiss me again but instead he took a single step back, saying he was sorry. I followed him back inside. There's a loop that plays sometimes in my head: Rico walking to the door and opening it, telling me to lock it behind him, not looking back as he left.
He should have stayed.
~
Everything that happened after that.... The department shrink told me, on the one occasion I visited her over this - Marty's orders - that I needed to talk about it. Not with her, with Rico. I did, eventually. Cintaro took a hell of a lot from me, I wasn't going to let him take Rico too.
After he left, I locked the door. I lay down on the edge of the massive bed and closed my eyes. I don't know what time it was when the door was opened and three men half-lifted, half-dragged me out of my room. Cintaro's room smelt of wood and smoke. I didn't see it, being dropped face first onto what it took me a second to realise was a bed, my face mashed into the bare, plain sheets.
Not ashamed to say I panicked. I could feel it creeping over me as Cintaro's goons pressed me down and the business end of a semi-automatic dug into the side of my skull. Somehow I knew Rico was in the room too - maybe I could smell his aftershave. I don't know for sure but I knew. Rescue wasn't coming. We were on our own in that crazy hellhouse. Cintaro could kill us both, single bullet in the brain, dump our bodies, keep the car. All I knew was I needed to calm down, to think straight. Between us, Rico and I would come up with something. We'd save ourselves. We always did.
I heard an ominous click in the silence.
Maybe not this time.
Travellyan's face appeared next to mine. He stared at me for a time, this odd look in his eyes. I knew something wasn't right before anyone touched me. Next thing I knew, I was being undressed and Cintaro was talking. What he was saying wasn't making sense, as if my brain was scrambling his words to protect itself, to protect me. Heat and violence against my back and legs, pulling and pushing, sharp and soft. I tried to keep it together, and I came close once. Then my mind flashed one word in front of my closed eyes. One, four letter word. RAPE. And everything melted away in a haze of terror and pain.
The only thing I will allow myself to remember clearly about the time in that room is the sight of dark fingers on my naked shoulder.
A gunshot ended it. One moment I was screaming, the next I was being dragged upright. Cintaro was on the floor, between the bed and the door, most of his head missing, brains all over the carpet. I stared at the mess like he was a Thanksgiving decoration. Travellyan was in front of the door, standing over the body, gun in his hand. I heard Rico ask something and I think I remember Travellyan promising to send us a postcard. That didn't make sense but I didn't care. I wanted out of there. I wanted away from everyone in that room, in that house, including my partner.
Then the gunfire stared, all around us, everywhere. And a single instruction. "Run." So we did.
Rico dragged me after him, hand on my arm that I couldn't shake off, until we were on the steps of Cintaro's beach house, a hundred armed cops aimed at the house, backing up their buddies inside. I got my hands in the air somehow even though my arms were trembling and I didn't know how long I could hold it for. Marty told me to put them down, pulling us to one side. I could see my car but I didn't know where my keys were. They'd been in the pocket of my pants but I honestly didn't know if I was still wearing them. To this day, I don't know in what state of undress I burst from that house in. Marty pulling us away from the steps is the last thing I know happened that night. Everything else is a blank.
~
Marty was there when I woke up. There wasn't a part of me that didn't ache or hurt, but I sat up, asked him for my clothes and knew he wouldn't stop me from leaving. He handed me my car keys, told me it was in the parking lot. He didn't touch me and I knew he knew what had happened but he didn't mention it and neither did I. He didn't mention Rico either and I didn't ask.
He did tell me he was there if I needed anything, day or night. Then he said he was sorry.
I drove to the marina. On the St Vitus, I ran a shower and stepped under the hot water without undressing, letting it soak through my clothes. They smelt like the hospital room I'd woken in. I cried. I put my head against the cubicle wall and cried silently, tears running faster than the rapidly cooling water. By the time I stepped out again, I was freezing. I didn't dry myself, just went up on deck dripping wet and sat in the Florida sun. Elvis stared at me from the deck. I stared back. I don't know how long I sat there. The sun was setting when Rico turned up. Knew he would, eventually. Knew it because as much as I didn't want to lose him, I knew he wouldn't want to lose me.
First thing he said was, 'do you want me to leave?'
I said no, told him not to be an idiot, offered him a beer which he turned down. I didn't know if I had any in but chances were good.
He asked how I was doing and I told him I didn't think I was doing okay at all. He tried to apologise but I told him to shut up. I didn't know exactly what had happened in that room, to me, I still don't. But I know he wouldn't have hurt me if he'd had any kind of choice, if the only other option had been me lying dead with my brains all over the room.
I didn't want to talk about it that night, or for a hundred nights afterwards. But eventually I had to or it would have torn us apart. Of everything I have in my shit-filled, Greek tragedy of a life, Rico's the one thing I can't lose.