Week 25 - Blood

Blood

Matthew Ryan Fischer

Spots on the wall, moving, and dancing about. Blood, dripping down his back.

Jonathan smiled. He was alive. He felt the overwhelming abundance of life and he drank it up inside.

Blood. Dripping. Rolling. Sticking. Sweet disgusting beautiful blood. Life in liquid form. He could sense it. He could always sense it. It was one of the gifts. He could feel it there. He was sure he could smell it, almost taste it, if he just closed his eyes and concentrated enough. The blood wasn’t his, but it was his now. He owned it. He controlled it. He was its master. And the blood would give him its most precious gift.

Spots on the wall. Little things. Blurred, but now focused. It had been dark but suddenly now he was fully awake. He was aware of all that was around him. The first thing he saw were the spots on the wall. Little things. Out of focus. He was sure they had been something more, but their life had been snuffed out. Crushed. Stepped on. Smashed dead. So many things over so many years smashed dead. What was one more? A hundred more? Did it matter anymore at this point? They were just the remains of that which was gone, that which could never be recovered or had again. He was blissfully aware that that was the case. Infinite finality. And he had been the cause.

He smiled at that. He felt power, somewhere within that. Somewhere, he was God, and his arrival harbingered death.

Sebastian by birth, but he had since changed to Jonathan because he hated his parents for many reasons, the name being the least of them. Jonathan because he had read it in a novel and he felt it suited his baser nature. Sebastian of history had been a saint, dying for his pointless convictions, and as far as Jonathan could tell, he was no saint, nor did he have any desire to become one. Sebastian would never do. Jonathan fit better. Jonathan was a dark name. Darker was better. Darker was always better.

Sebastian had been fascinated by death from an early age. There were two constants in the world, birth and death, and it was fairly obvious which one of the two won in the end. Death overwhelmed the strong, it stole the young, it felled those in their prime. Death was tricky and sneaky and it couldn’t be beaten. Death came for all and all the same. No one could deny that. Death was fair and Death was even. Death was justice. Death didn’t care if someone was grand or poor or weak or strong or brave or a coward. Death was equal. No one could say that of birth. Birth played games, it picked winners and losers. Birth could plan destinies and choose fates, but Death would eventually overwhelm all. That was true power.

True power was what Sebastian was after.

He found kinship in a book about death. A diary. A journal, depicting the path to enlightenment. He believed he had found a brother, a comrade, a mentor. The book taught him the lesson of life versus death and power over his fellow man. The book showed him who was the master and who was the slave. Sebastian had no plans on being a slave. The book told him the secrets of the power, the ways to harness it, the only way to gain control. And Sebastian believed what he read and read about the man in the book named Jonathan. Character Jonathan spoke to him. Not the author, but the character. He spoke to him in a way that no stranger in life ever had. Life was not Jonathan’s fault. It was the fault of those around him. Power and position and money and fame were all within reach, if only he had the courage to take it. If only he was willing to reach out and take it from another. Sebastian read it all and took Jonathan at his word.

And so he took the name to honor his favorite character and thus Sebastian disappeared and Jonathan was reborn. Birthed from his own death. Reborn, better, stronger. Reborn with the purpose to kill.

Reborn Jonathan wanted to feel the power for himself. He took a life. Strangled it right out of existence. His fingers ached and the muscles in his arms were sore and he was short of breath by the time it was all over. But he felt nothing. There was no release, no energy, nothing different at all. It made no sense. He had done as he was supposed to do, what the book told him to do. He had taken a life. But his own existence was no different.

He gave it time, but that did nothing either.

Jonathan didn’t understand. Nothing worked the way it was supposed to. It was all laid out, clear in front of him. He had his plan. He had achieved his goal. But his rewards were missing. The spirit inside him, their soul destroyed. It was to be his. Their fate, their destiny, their reward. All of it was supposed to be his now. His to do with as he pleased.

And yet, he was denied.

He had been promised, in intimate detail. And he had followed through. Precisely. He had done exactly what he had been told to do.

And yet, nothing.

His friend had lied and his friend must be punished.  But his friend was only a character and as a character only spoke the words he had been told to speak. He only spoke the words that his writer had told him to day. Jonathan the character couldn’t help it if he had betrayed Reborn Sebastian-Jonathan. The secret was still out there. The good life was his by right and it could still be granted. But not by some character in a book. Not by the blood and death of the innocent and the stranger. The journal, the confessions, the truth had been written by a man. And that man needed to be punished. That man needed to be held to account. Geoffrey Doyle wrote down his sins, his sinister skills, and Jonathan had read them and expected payment.

Jonathan smiled at this. He hadn’t failed. Not yet anyway. He hadn’t failed, he had been failed. Failed by a man that kept the true secret for himself, while only writing down false promises. But Jonathan could make amends. He could get it right. He could learn the truth this time and reclaim that which was rightfully his. Whether he was aware of it or not, Geoffrey Doyle had written down a promise to Jonathan. It was a promise of power, a promise that was going to have to be kept. Jonathan would see to that. Oh yes, he bloody would indeed.

Week 24 - Tourist Season - Part 5

Tourist Season Part 5

Matthew Ryan Fischer

Continued...

Vicente came into The Green Street, stinking of sweat, an exhausted look on his face and stains of dirt on his clothes. The Green Street was empty except for Tommy. Vicente didn’t think to ask why Tommy was all alone or why the bar was still open. Tommy sat at the bar, like a customer, reading an American newspaper. Vicente didn’t notice which one. He did notice the reaction on Tommy’s face when he looked up.

“You look terrible,” Tommy said point blank.

Based on Tommy’s gaze Vicente knew he must have. Tommy stood, and began to walk around, behind the bar.

“You want the usual?” Tommy continued.

“I suppose so.”

Vicente sat at the bar while Tommy poured two drinks.

“Do I really look that bad?”

“Yes. But one of those is for me… Based on the look of misery, I assume something has gone wrong in your murder investigation? I thought things were wrapping up.”

Tommy didn’t push the subject. If he was looking for gossip, it was hard to tell. He acted with a level of concern that seemed proper for what a friend might exhibit. Vicente liked to think of them as friends, but in truth he knew very little of Tommy before his arrival on the island. Vicente knew he should remember that fact more often; too often he forgot.

Vicente paused for a moment and smiled about some secret he had to consider. He looked at Tommy, but didn’t answer things right away. He was choosing his words carefully, not exactly sure what he should or shouldn’t tell his friend.

“Thomas, be happy you are a bartender and don’t have to answer to anyone.”

“We all have to answer to someone.”

Vicente chuckled at that. “I guess we do.”

“Can you talk about it?”

“How about we drink first...”

And so they did.

After a while Tommy asked again.

“So what happened?”

“What happened?”

“What really happened?”

Vicente smiled. He liked Tommy, he really did. But he knew he couldn’t tell Tommy the truth. At least not all of it. Vicente thought about what the island already knew and everything that had happened in the last few weeks...

Tommy had heard about what happened with The Twins and with the Americans. Most of the island knew most of that part of the story. The part no one knew about was Vicente’s encounters with Andre Ávila from the southern side of the island. That was private. The Ávilas knew how to stay under the radar.

Vicente had kept his last encounter private from everyone, including Renaldo and ‘The Wealth.’ Vicente liked a closed case and muddying the waters served no purpose. There was no reason to include Mr. Ávila anymore. It only mucked the whole thing up. Plus Vicente had plans of his own and keeping on the right side of the southern estates seemed like a good idea.

It was a week ago that Vicente had last seen Mr. Ávila. Andre had his bags packed and his crew was preparing his private yacht to embark. Vicente had arrived at the harbor nearly an hour earlier and spent his time plotting his approach. Part of him just wanted to sit there and let Mr. Ávila leave when the time came. But he knew he couldn’t do that. He had to act. ‘The Wealth’ would certainly learn of Mr. Ávila’s departure, and when that time came, it would look much better to them if Vicente had actually done something instead of sitting idly by.

Finally, he forced himself to act. He approached with great caution, walking towards the yacht, hands extended, showing he was unarmed. He actually got further than he expected to. But he was spotted and stopped and frisked. He had no weapons on him. He knew it would be perceived as a threat. He was never going to make it past security armed. Part of him had wanted to come in, guns blazing, backed up by Renaldo and his boys, and make a glorious big show if it. But that thought passed quickly. Vicente liked his life far too much and playing cowboy was something for the movies. Even fully armed with an army in tow, he knew he would never make it past security. Mr. Ávila had his own private army. One that was built to win.

Vicente thought he had made it closer to the yacht than he probably should have been allowed to. But maybe that was by their choice. Maybe they allowed Vicente to move about and think he was the one in control. Maybe Mr. Ávila’s security had eyes on him the way he had eyes on Mr. Ávila.

Or maybe not. Maybe it meant he was innocent and had nothing to hide. Or maybe he was a fool. Or maybe he just didn’t respect Vicente enough to even see him as a threat and put on a show. Vicente was pretty sure that Mr. Ávila was no fool.

“Surprised to see me?”

“No, not really... the men you have watching my estate aren’t very subtle.”

“They weren’t supposed to be.”

“I thought for a moment you were here to try and storm the Bastille.”

“I’m not that foolish. Charging headlong isn’t really my style.”

“You never know. At least it might be entertaining.”

“Are you saying I’m not entertaining? You sound disappointed.”

“How can I be disappointed when I’m still learning who you really are?”

“You figure that out, you let me know. I’m interested in learning that myself.” Vicente motioned towards the yacht. “You want to tell me where you’re going?”

“I have business I must attend to.”

“Business trip. Not a “get out while you can” sort of trip?”

“Vicente, you promised you wouldn’t waste my time.”

“And you promised to help me find your nephew.”

“I only said I would tell you if I knew something.”

“I’m not here to argue with you Mr. Ávila.”

“Are you here to stop me from leaving? Did you find some excuse to lock me away as you did with The Twins? Or detain me as you did with the American? I am a business man, much like your superiors. I have to travel to some of the other islands to protect my interests. I’m sure they would understand that. And tell you to let me leave.”

“Are you threatening me? Or just vaguely trying to put me in my place by reminding me I’m not really the one in charge here? I’m not worried about losing my job, if that’s what you’re insinuating.”

“I’m simply pointing out that we all have jobs to do and I’m sure you can appreciate that.”

“Then you can’t blame me for doing mine. And that’s all I’ve done. No one has been arrested or detained that shouldn’t have been. There’s a lot of trouble that’s been stirred up and murder is no idle charge. It would be nice to tie up all my loose ends.”

“Would be nice to blame it on an American as well. Sweep the problem away. Make it so no one here is to blame. No one would criticize you then.”

“I’m only trying to blame the person that deserves it.”

“You must be under a lot of pressure. I would imagine a man in your position is under a great deal of stress, all of the time.”

“I manage.”

“I’m sure. Just as I’m sure you would never cut any corners and blame the easier suspect.”

“You want to tell me where you’re going? And just when it was that you planned this trip?”

“Do I want to? No. Do you have reason to ask me that? Maybe. But do I have to answer you? No. No I don’t.”

“But you can tell if me you’re coming back, right? That’s not too much trouble, is it?”

“Of course I’ll be back. I’ll only be gone a few weeks.”

“Marques isn’t going with you is he?”

“As I’ve said before, I don’t know where my nephew is. I know you’ve had me under surveillance, so I know you know that he hasn’t been seen on my estate or here at my harbor.”

“Not out in public anyway.”

“Marques isn’t aboard.”

“So you said.”

“You can take a look if you like. Maybe then you’ll be satisfied and leave me alone to take care of my business.”

“You wouldn’t offer if he was actually there. Or else maybe you’d let me check, but then I’d get a bullet in the back of my head.”

“Dump your body at sea?”

“Perhaps.”

“If I were to kill anyone, it would be to their face so they could see me do it... But that’s not a threat. That’s just conversation. And you seriously misunderstand me. I am just a simple business man.”

“Sure you are. Just like everybody else on your side of the island. Good luck on your trip. With business.”

“You just let him go?” asked Renaldo, stunned.

“What was I going to do? Get myself killed?”

“Get him killed.”

“Yeah. I’ll let you try that next time.”

“If there is a next time.”

“You have a problem? You want this job? And everything that comes with it?”

“Jesus, boss. Lighten up. I’m just talking is all. We go light on this guy, we end up going light on everybody.”

“I’m not going easy on anybody.”

“So what do you want to do with The Twins?”

“I don’t know. We could keep them locked up, but so what? They didn’t do this. We lock them up, we have to take care of them.”

“No, but they’ve done plenty of other things.”

“I know.”

The Twins certainly had committed enough crimes. But they had never murdered. Or at least not that Vicente knew of. Maybe he could use that grey area to justify locking them up for good. Maybe. He wasn’t sure. He had also made a nice amount of money off of The Twins before, but he wasn’t about to tell Renaldo that. If he let them go, he could leverage that for a lot more in the future. But if he let them go, then someone else would have to be locked away.

“I know,” he repeated, with no clear answer arriving.

The Americans had left. Everyone that is, except for Nick. He had been with Sarah the night of her murder. Everyone at the bonfire had seen them together. Everyone told a similar story – young, drunk, and sexually explicit. He had been trying hard to get in her pants, in a very public way. Lisa had pointed the finger and Vicente and Renaldo had exploited it.

Nick admitted too much. Not to killing her. Not to anything violent or messy like that. But he admitted to leaving the bonfire with her. He admitted to trying to initiate sexual contact minutes later, barely down the beach from the others, barely out of sight. For her part, Sarah had resisted and run off. Nick was too stupid to leave that part out. He should have left that part out. No one would have ever known if he had just left that part out. But he was a scared kid and far too honest.

He had followed and they had ended up in the water together. Clothes off, flirting, having fun. Nick did what any drunken college kid would do. He tried to have sex in the water.

Again, he admitted it. She got nervous and swam away. That was the last he saw of her.

That was his story anyway.

It didn’t matter if it was true or not. He tried to force sex on her twice and she ran twice and he admitted as much. There was no reason to do it, but he did. He sounded like a predator. He acted like a predator. He helped stack the deck against himself.

If he had been older or wiser, or even simply in a different country with a lawyer, he wouldn’t have said a word. But he was young and stupid and scared. And now, locked away, pending further investigation, he was only going to be more scared.

Someone might come for him soon, and maybe he’d end up back in America. Maybe he’d go free. There was no real evidence of any wrongdoing. There was no way for anyone to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt what Nick did or didn’t do. Much like everyone else that was there that night, his mind was altered and distorted.  There were a lot of drunks and a lot of altered memories. And like so many other things on the island, most any evidence had washed out to sea.

Only Sarah knew for sure, and she wasn’t talking. Maybe Nick chased her or maybe he got mad and held her under. Or maybe she was stupid and was too drunk and drowned herself. That was for lawyers to argue over. Preferably lawyers in a different country. Vicente didn’t care. All he cared about was getting things back to normal on his island and leaving the troubles for someone else.

Vicente drank his rum and thought about those events and the problems of today. He thought about the past few weeks and his desire to get past everything and move on. That was all anyone wanted to do. Why should he be any different?

‘The Wealth’ was satisfied. The locals were satisfied. The tourists were gone. The weather was shifting and there would be new tourists soon enough. People didn’t have time to remember or worry too much. There would be new mouths to feed and new people to make money off of. Time on the island might seem slow, but it only moved in one direction, much like everywhere else. The past was easily washed away and forgotten. That was the way they liked it here. That was what kept everything else going. No one cared too much about one lousy American that got too drunk for her own good and got herself into trouble.

Why should he care? Why should he remember? Why look into the shadows anymore when no one was asking him to?

He could just leave it all in the past. Except for what had happened earlier today.

A new body had washed up. On the western side of the island, away from the towns, away from the tourists. A friend had called Vicente. It was a private beach. There were no prying eyes. No new rumors. No new stories.

Vicente had been with Renaldo when the call came and couldn’t very easily not take him. So they went to the scene together to investigate.

It was Marques. Looking very dead. Dead, drowned and very waterlogged. He had been at sea for quite a few days.

It might not mean anything, but Vicente couldn’t help but think of Mr. Ávila, who was still away on business, and his trip out to sea on his private yacht. He wondered how soon Mr. Ávila would return. He wondered how he would react to losing his nephew. Vicente was sure this would come as a big surprise. A great big, tragic, surprise.

“You think—”

Vicente cut him off. He was not going to have a long conversation about this. Not now. Not tonight. There was no value in mulling over mysteries or tilting at windmills. Vicente had had enough of recent events and tonight the past was going to stay there.

“Get a shovel out of the truck...”

They buried Marques’ body. Together. Vicente made sure of that. They both took turns digging and they both got their hands nice and dirty. There would be only one version of this story.

“What do we do about this?”

Renaldo looked at Vicente hoping for a solution, for a good clean answer. Vicente didn’t have one to give. There was no hope here. There were no answers. There was only the past and then there was the way to move forward.

“We forget it. We forget all about it.”

Week 23 - Tourist Season - Part 4

Tourist Season Part 4

Matthew Ryan Fischer

Continued...

The room was silent, the moment was tense. The question, as of yet unasked, hung there in-between them, souring what was otherwise a warm and lovely late afternoon on the island. Vicente was sticky with sweat. He could feel his heart rate was elevated, but he tried not to show it. Most people on the island found him to be an intimidating force, but most of those people knew they couldn’t stand up to Vicente. He was used to a certain luxury, the luxury of power, which came with his position. But not here. Not in this room. Here, he was just a man, come to ask the wrong questions to the wrong man, a man Vicente knew he should be scared of. Hence, the slight case of nerves.

By appearances, Mr. Ávila was a stern and cold looking business man. His serious nature set the tone of the room and of their meeting. Mr. Ávila was a rich and powerful man used to getting his way. Vicente knew it. He could feel it. No one needed to say a word about it. He was naturally scary, but the current circumstances only served to make things worse.

Vicente needed to ask. He had to. He knew he had to. But all he could think about was how the man sitting across from him might kill him for asking. Andre Ávila was a very rich and very powerful man. He had investments everywhere – plantations, mines, shipping and exports, hotels and resorts. The list went on and on and the man was everywhere. His estate was a castle – walls and gates and armed guards. They were armed like an army, waiting on a threat that would never come. Just to be in the same room was intimidating enough, but Vicente was in a room alone. Even though it was just the two of them, Vicente knew who had the power and that he would never leave if that was what Mr. Ávila so chose.

Mr. Ávila sat there and stared and Vicente felt weak and inadequate in comparison.

Vicente knew he had ‘The Wealth’ on his side, but he had no idea if compared, which side was the stronger. He didn’t know and he wasn’t going to ask. He didn’t want to be in a situation where he would have to find out. And most importantly of all, he just wanted to keep his life intact and not piss off either side.

But he had to ask. It was his job. It was his island. Or so he wanted to believe. He knew the only way to keep his position and his lifestyle was to do what ‘The Wealth’ wanted, but perhaps the only way to keep his life was to keep his mouth shut.

Both sides were dangerous and both had a far reach, extending further than just this island. He didn’t know who had the longer or more dominant sphere of influence. Best case, the two sides might cancel each other out. Maybe if they went to war, it would be mutual destruction. He doubted it. He doubted he would come out on the other side of things unscathed. Who to back? That was the question. Who to obey and who to challenge? It was a tough position with no clear solution.

The far reach of powerful man could be deadly dangerous. Even if he survived this room. Even if he could flee this island. If he chose the wrong side of things he would lose it all.

He knew it was, at best, a calculated risk.

There was only one thing to do – ask the question and hope for the best.

“Where’s your nephew? Marques.”

Mr. Ávila sat motionless for a moment. If he knew something, his face didn’t betray him. The cold face grew colder. He used his silence to reflect Vicente’s silence, to acknowledge that he realized the difficult position Vicente must be in. Still, Mr. Ávila didn’t care for the question and certainly didn’t care at all for Vicente’s delicate dilemma.

“Be careful with what you choose to insinuate.”

“I am. But it’s my job to ask.”

“I’m well aware of what happened last night and whom you work for and what you must ask and answer. And you must know you have no reason to be here asking me questions.”

“I’m asking you because Marques is suddenly missing this morning.”

“Marques isn’t your concern.”

“You have to understand how this looks. Marques was with those girls last night. And now today—”

“Marques didn’t kill that girl.”

“I’m not accusing him. But I need to know what he did and didn’t do last night. He might know about this girl... or some of the other things that went on.”

“He doesn’t know anything about any of it.”

“I know for a fact Marques and The Twins were together last night. They all came into contact with those girls. And they all left together... What I don’t know is what happened after that and who was with whom by the end of the night.”

“Those two – filth of the street. Marques should know better.” 

Vicente couldn’t argue with that assessment.

“I’m sorry I even have to say this— I mean you no disrespect. I hesitate to keep pushing this, but I have to find him. I have to ask.”

“I’m a busy man, Vicente. Don’t waste my time.”

“I won’t. I wouldn’t.” Vicente could feel his authority slipping away with every word he added. He had no power here. If this conversation lasted much longer, he’d have no power left anywhere on the island.

“Marques is my family. If there is a problem, I will handle things.” There was vitriol in his voice. Vicente assumed Mr. Ávila was still angry at his nephew’s choice in friends, but maybe he was just angry at the entire situation and being put into this position at all.

“No. Not this time. This time I need to.”

“Fine. If, and I stress if he is guilty, I’m sure you will find him and any evidence you need.”

“But without your help.”

“Don’t sound so sad. If I had any knowledge to offer, I’d tell you.”

“I’m sure.”

Vicente was happy to get back to his side of the island. His relief was momentary, but welcome. While he had been on the south side of island, Renaldo had found The Twins and begun questioning them. They were mostly useless and total liars. They didn’t remember any tourist girls. They didn’t remember ever being at The Green Street. They certainly didn’t remember giving or selling or taking any drugs or spending any time with the aforementioned girls after leaving the nightclub they were never at.

Vicente hadn’t really expected Renaldo to get any information, but he had kept a sliver of hope that they might turn if presented with the opportunity to push any and all blame towards Marques Ávila.

They were smarter than they looked. There was no reason to take the bait and no reason to endanger themselves by crossing the Ávila family. They protested and presented righteous indignations. Even after Vicente spoke to them and could use eye witness accounts to place them at The Green Street, their stories didn’t change much. “We never went to the beach. We went home early…” “We danced with some girls, but never even found out their names...” “Marques? Was he even there? Man, I don’t know.”

The Twins proved to have terrible terrible memories and apparently they lived fairly chaste and innocent lives with early bedtimes.

“What do you want me to do with them?” asked Renaldo.

“Keep them locked up. If Marques is still nearby, we can’t have them helping him flee.” And if Vicente needed to arrest someone, these two would satisfy that need as well. Renaldo knew it. There was no reason to say it out loud.

Renaldo had several friends that had helped out with other tricky situations in the past. They were quick to be deputized when needed, solid in a fight, and they knew how to take orders and not ask questions. Vicente told Renaldo that they were going to need some of his friends to watch the Ávila estate and help search for Marques.

Vicente went to talk to Lisa at her hotel to try and find out what she remembered about the men she was with the night before. He was hoping that she could identify Marques and The Twins if necessary. Unfortunately Lisa was more interested in American justice and the American media. Her trip was ending soon and she had no intention of staying on this island. She wanted to be back safe and sound, back on the mainland. If there was going to be any island justice, she wasn’t going to be taking part in it.

Vicente considered confiscating passports and keeping her entire tour group on the island. He didn’t want to deal with their headache, but he wanted to keep the illusion alive that he was in charge and he was the one making the decisions.

Vicente decide he would send Renaldo and some of his new “deputies” over. They could question the entire group. Throw their weight around. Show some muscle. Scared witnesses were better than loud witnesses, and he didn’t want them asking any more questions or thinking he wasn’t pursuing every option. Besides, these were mostly underage kids who were drinking too much and fornicating. They should be a little afraid of him. He had sweat enough already today, it was time for someone else to do some sweating.

After his meeting with Lisa, Vicente went to update ‘The Wealth.’

“What did you find out?”

“Not a lot.”

“But you think you have something.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do. But you’re not going to like it.”

“Let me decide that.”

“Andre Ávila is protecting his nephew. There’s no evidence Marques had anything to do with it, but if he was totally innocent, there’d be no reason to hide him.”

“Andre is an important man. You can’t simply accuse him.”

“I know. That’s the problem.”

“Yes it is.”

“You’re watching him?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Anything else?”

“That American girl is loud, but all she wants is to go home. I say we let her... I already have The Twins, in case we can’t find Marques. If we need to identify a killer, I’m sure we can find our own eye witnesses. We don’t need her remembering that someone wasn’t there at the beach.”

‘The Wealth’ nodded. They were content. Vicente had passed this test, but he had no idea how many more he still faced. He was facing too many closed doors with not enough lights. He could sit and watch and wait, but he hated sitting and watching and waiting. He preferred a quiet day at the beach, but if he had to act, he wanted to act fast and with force. Sweating and hoping wasn’t going to get him anywhere. If he had to kick in a few doors, he could kick in a few doors. But he was pretty sure he didn’t have sufficient force to kick in any estate gates. And ‘The Wealth’ hadn’t seemed too eager to do any kicking of their own. That was okay for now, but that wasn’t a way to make a living. That was going to have to change sometime. Best if it changed sooner. Vicente wasn’t sure how he was going to make that happen, but it was something that needed to move up the list of things to figure out. No way was he going to make it on this island with too many bosses and no plan of his own. Something for another day, he supposed. Right now, he needed to get Renaldo and his boys on the move and make some noise of his own...

To be continued...