THIRTEEN

General Miguel Gomez operated out of an oceanfront warehouse on Panama City’s Port of Balboa, right where the Panama Canal met the Pacific Ocean. The General essentially owned the entrance to the famous Canal, albeit in an unofficial capacity; any boat that used the canal had to first pay him an entry fee.

After serving as a General in the Panamanian military, Gomez had never originally planned on getting involved in drug trafficking; fate had simply set him on such a course. Following his retirement, the General had started up his own business in Panama City with his wife, and from there they had quickly developed a reliable network of employees — many of whom had served under his command at some point or another during his time in the military.

Gomez’s business purchased the catches of local fishermen in the area and sold them in bulk to large international buyers. This earned him a great deal of respect with the locals as he provided steady and reasonable paying work for men who had no real skills or experience.

Everything had started off well for General Gomez in Panama City. His business had even started expanding and so he had been forced to hire more and more staff to help cope with the increasing demands in labour. But then after a few years everything had turned pear-shaped. With the city’s rising inflow of cocaine from below the border, the locals had started to become corrupted and once-honest fisherman turned to drugs to make higher profits.

Soon the fresh supplies of fish coming in to Gomez’s business had been halved, and eventually Gomez had been forced to sell drugs too just to retain the employment of all his workers and keep the business afloat. Gomez had figured such problems would only be temporary and then he could go back to trading in fish. Yet still now he waited, and still his profits gained through purely legal means continued to dwindle.

***

Officer Alex Sanchez brought the police car to a stop right out the front of Gomez’s main warehouse.

“Is this going to take long?” Benny Pupshaw asked with a disapproving frown. “Some of us have places to be, Alex.”

“Since when?” Sanchez slapped his partner playfully on the shoulder. “You have a date or something?”

“So what if I do?”

Sanchez burst out laughing. “Where I come from, hiring a prostitute and getting a blow-job doesn’t count as a date, kid! You’ll need to open up more if you ever want to find yourself a woman.”

“Thanks for the advice. I’ve heard of all the women who are queuing up for a piece of your fat arse, Alex!”

“It’s true, they are, but I’m afraid I’m already taken,” Sanchez raised his hand, gesturing to his wedding ring. “And no woman could ever compare to the one I’ve got.”

“I’m sure I could name a few.”

Sanchez gave a snort and turned around, looking back at Fido. “You ready, partner?”

Fido nodded. “Let’s get this over with.”

The three of them got out of the car and began walking towards the entrance of the main warehouse. They were greeted there by three armed men; two of them carried M16 assault rifles and the third, who was wearing a sombrero, had a Glock 17 handgun shoved into the front brim of his leather trousers.

“Hey, Pablo, you might want to watch that thing in your pants,” Sanchez joked to the man with the Glock, shaking his hand. “You could shoot your balls off if you’re not careful.”

“Ha, always a pleasure, Alex,” the man named Pablo laughed, then quickly shifted the Glock 17 around to the side of his trousers. He turned to Fido then and threw his arms around him, wrapping him up in a tight embrace. “Fido, it’s great to have you back with us, amigo. How have you been? I have missed you like crazy. Actually, so has my daughter. Hell, we all have!”

As soon as Pablo released him, Fido was quick to brush away the other two guards before they could give him any of the same treatment. “It’s nice to see you again, Pablo,” Fido said. “But I’m sorry, I didn’t come back here to stay.”

“Nothing’s been finalised just yet!” Sanchez quickly cut in, draping an arm over Pablo’s shoulder and guiding the group towards the entrance of the warehouse. “By the way, we came here to see the General. Is he in?”

“When is he ever not in these days?” Pablo rolled his eyes. “Okay, Alex, you and Fido can come in; you’re both practically family anyway. But this new partner of yours will have to wait outside. Sorry, but you know how Gomez is with his security these days; no outsiders at all. Comprende?”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure the kid won’t mind,” Sanchez turned back to Pupshaw with a goofy grin and winked. “Comprende, Benny?”

***

Evita Torres looked sadly at her own reflection in the mirror, wondering what the hell had happened to her these last few years. Her eyes lacked any visible spark or passion; they just looked tired, bored even. Her once deep olive skin had turned pale — the result of a life spent locked away indoors, alone, shielded from the rays of the Panamanian sun. She had no desire to make any more of an effort today than she did any other. It had been the same every day for the past six years; she was just simply there — never really alive, never really dead, just living out her life devoid of any excitement or pleasure. For her, life had become an uneventful cycle of wasted time.

The Port of Balboa in Panama City had been home for Evita since she was sixteen. She had moved there after her father had left his post as Colonel in the Panamanian military to start a new life under Gomez’s employ. Pablo had served under General Gomez early in his career, and thus the General was only too happy to provide accommodation and work for his former comrade.

As with most of the families under Gomez’s employ, Evita and her father lived in an apartment building overlooking the port, just a kilometre or so from the workplace.

Evita walked over and opened up her wardrobe, selecting a jade-green singlet top and a tight pair of blue jeans to put on. She tore off her clothes and changed right there in the middle of the room, leaving her discarded clothing in a heap on the floor, ready to begin yet another unremarkable day in her life.

Evita sighed to herself, turning back one more to look in the mirror. Did she look pretty? She didn’t know, but she honestly didn’t care anymore. Certainly there was a time once when she had, but that was a long time ago now, back when Fido was still around. She vaguely recalled the excitement she used to feel every day at work when she was going to see him.

Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted then by a loud knock on her apartment door.

“Evita, are you in there?” a familiar voice called out. It was Saria, Evita’s best friend. She lived just two floors down. Saria’s family also worked for General Gomez.

“Come on, Evita,” Saria called out once Evita didn’t respond. “Hurry up and let me in! Stop being such a downer, I have good news!”

Evita made her way over to the door, opening it, and Saria sprang excitedly into the room, giggling like a school girl high on sugar.

“What’s wrong? Evita feigned a smile, trying in vain to calm down her friend. “What on earth are you so excited about, Saria?”

“It’s Fido,” Saria squealed. “My father just called. He said he just saw Fido down at the warehouse. He’s going in to see General Gomez now. I think he’s back, Evita!”

***

The inside of General Gomez’s warehouse was filled to near capacity with metallic shipping containers. They formed the walls of a maze-like passageway which snaked through the building’s entire interior. As Fido walked through the passages with his entourage, he noticed he was being watched the entire time from up above. Gomez had several men armed with AK-47s patrolling the catwalks over the containers. Their eyes were all glued on Fido as he followed Pablo and the other two dock security guards through the maze.

At last they came to the end of maze, walking up a long metal staircase up onto the catwalks.

“You two, wait out here,” Pablo said to the other two dock guards with him as they reached the top. Then he motioned for Sanchez and Fido to follow him. They came to a reinforced steel doorway and Pablo knocked twice. A small hatch slid open and a set of eyes peered out.

“Come on, Indio, it’s me!” Pablo laughed. “Who else comes up here anymore, for fuck’s sake?!”

The man named Indio chuckled and closed the hatch. A second later the heavy door swung open. “Okay, Pablo, go right on through.” Indio’s eyes lingered for a moment on Fido as he walked past. “Nice to see you again, Fido.”

They made their way down the hallway, coming to a large oak wood door with two guards stationed either side of it. The guards both lowered their shotguns as Pablo approached, stepping aside and allowing them to enter.

The office inside was rather cramped. Fido had often wondered how a man could spend most his life inside such tight confines, at least without going crazy with cabin fever. The place was untidy too; old maps and sheets of paper were strewn about all over the place, and a half-eaten pizza lay smeared across the table.

General Miguel Gomez sat in a comfortable high-backed wooden chair behind his desk. He was a man in his late fifties with a slightly wrinkled face, slicked back greying hair and a pot belly that was growing by the day. He was dressed, as always, in his old ivory-coloured military uniform, which by now was getting a bit tight for him. He glanced up from his work and his eyes rested on Fido, a beaming smile cutting across his face.

“Fido!” he exclaimed in excitement.

Fido didn’t quite share the old man’s enthusiasm, but he forced a smile anyway. “Hello, General.”

“I ran into him today, General,” Sanchez chimed in, no doubt fishing for a compliment. “I figured you would want to see him again.”

“Yes, of course,” Gomez glanced to Sanchez and nodded. “Gracias, Alex.” Then he turned his attention back to Fido and they looked at each other in silence for a moment.

Sensing the unspoken tension that was brewing between the two, Sanchez and Pablo both quickly excused themselves and shuffled out of the room, giving them some space.

Soon after they had left, Gomez cleared his throat. “So… will you be staying in town for long, Fido?”

Fido shook his head. “I’m only here on business, General. With any luck, I’ll be gone in a few days.”

“Oh.” The smile fell quickly from Gomez’s face. “So, I take it then there is a reason you came to see me?”

“Astute of you as always, General,” Fido politely removed his sunglasses. “I got word that Loa Lacroix and his crew are back in town.”

“I see.” Gomez sighed in disappointment. “And you have decided you need my help tracking them down.”

“Yes.”

“Fido, you know that spilling Lacroix’s blood will not make things right again. I’ve always tried to tell you that. Always tried to keep you out of trouble…”

“I’m not here to argue with you, General,” Fido said. “And you are in no position to judge me for what I’m doing. Just because you don’t give a damn if someone murders your wife, it doesn’t make you Jesus-fucking-Christ. You’re a drug runner; a piece of shit, just like me!”

“I cannot argue that, nor would I ever try. But this thing with Lacroix has become an obsession for you, Fido! Even if you do ever succeed in killing him, what then? What do you possibly hope to achieve?”

“Why do I need to achieve something?! Lacroix and his men put me in a coma for six months, General! They fucked me up in the head; took away everything I ever was! This confusion… not knowing who or what I am… it is the worst kind of pain there is! Nothing I do to them can ever make us even, but that doesn’t mean they shouldn’t be punished for what they’ve done!”

“Look, I don’t know where Lacroix is, Fido,” Gomez frowned. “That madman murdered my wife; we don’t exactly exchange Christmas cards.”

“Perhaps not. But you still have your connections in the police, the military, and the Paravinchis. Use them! At the very least ask them to keep their eyes and ears open for any news on Lacroix.”

“Fido, I can’t…”

“Oh come on, General, do you think I’m really asking you for too much?! Just find me that son of a bitch Lacroix and I will do the rest.”

“I’m sorry, I really am,” Gomez took a deep breath. He leaned back in his chair and ran his hands tiredly down his face. “But I can’t get involved. Do you hear me, Fido? I can’t do this anymore. I have enough blood on my hands as it is; I can’t have yours too!”

“That’s funny,” Fido said through his teeth, taking a step towards him. “You make it sound as though you have a choice. One way or the other, you are going to help me, General!”

“What are you saying?”

Fido took another step forward, his hands clenching into fists at his side. “I’m saying that you have no idea who I really am, what I’m truly capable of, or how far I’m willing to go to get what I want!!”

***

The late rays of afternoon sun were still fierce as Fido walked across the boardwalks alongside the Port of Balboa an hour later. High up above him in the orange sky, seagulls were squawking. Fido envied the birds for their freedom; their carefree life. He sure wished he knew what that felt like, to be free. Even though deep down he still believed in what he was doing, sometimes what he really longed for was a second chance at life; a chance just to start over and forget about all the bloodshed he had been born into.

Ever since Fido had awoken from a coma without any recollection of anything outside of the immediate present, he had been driven by an insatiable need to find out why he had been shot, and with it a desire to inflict bloody retribution on all those responsible for his plight. The constant pain and confusion he still felt from his injuries, and his inability to remember anything from his past regardless of how hard he tried, had driven Fido to the brink of insanity on numerous occasions. And each time the hatred he felt for those responsible grew stronger.

Fido’s recovery from the shooting had been a slow and painful process. It had taken him nearly six weeks of agonizing therapy before he could even move his arms and legs. With his blank memory, Fido had felt like a new-born baby learning to walk all over again. General Gomez had helped Fido through the recovery process, visiting him every day, and then eventually taking him home once he was ready to leave the hospital.

Gomez had always been good to Fido, like the father he never remembered. He had provided everything for him for four years, until Fido had built up sufficient strength to make it on his own. Gomez had even tried to include him in the business side of his operations, giving Fido a job under his employ for as long as he wanted. During this time Fido had made friends with most of the General’s employers, growing particularly close to a lovely young woman named Evita Torres.

But ultimately what Fido really desired was not to settle down and start a life of his own, but to end the life of another; Loa Lacroix, the man responsible for the shooting that had left him the way he was. And no matter how hard he tried, Fido simply could not let his hatred for the man go.

Six years ago his burning desire for retribution had all become too much. He could no longer concentrate at work, nor find any comfort in speaking to General Gomez or Evita Torres about what he was going through. He knew in his heart he just had to leave and find Lacroix, acting out the malicious thoughts of retribution that kept plaguing him. It was the only way he might ever find peace.

Lacroix was not exactly a difficult man to track; the psychopath left behind countless corpses in any city he visited, many of whom had their hearts cut out in a ritualistic voodoo manner. Fido simply followed the murders in the newspapers, all up and down Central and North America. Wherever a body showed up matching Lacroix’s MO, Fido would travel to the location. For his part, General Gomez would wire him money whenever he was running low on funds. During his travels, Fido had caught up with several of Lacroix’s men, whittling away at the posse’s numbers one by one fashion. But always somehow Lacroix would just be out of his reach, finding a way to slip through his fingers.

Over the past few years Fido had tried to convince himself just to walk away and quit on several occasions, especially during the darker times when Loa Lacroix’s trail would suddenly go cold. But alas, he could never quite bring himself to stop. Always, like an irritating rash that needed to be scratched, the urge to spill Lacroix’s blood would return, stronger than ever before.

Suddenly Fido stopped walking as he passed by a pile of old shipping crates. He could sense the presence of a woman standing there behind him. The smell of her perfume was on the wind. Fido didn’t turn, but he could hear her deep, shallow breathing nearly as clearly as his own. Evita Torres.

“Fido,” Evita whispered softly, taking a step towards him. “Saria told me you were back.”

“I won’t be staying long,” Fido said quickly. A little too quickly. He wasn’t really sure what else he should, or could say to her. Once he had felt closer to Evita than anyone, even perhaps General Gomez. But that time had passed. Fido was no longer close to anyone, as he had just demonstrated by threatening Gomez back at the warehouse.

Evita brushed back a strand of long dark hair from her eyes. “Fido… I…” She looked down to her hands, folding them gently together at her belly, her words catching on the end of her tongue. She turned away, looking out across the water. “Will you be coming back again soon?”

Fido glanced back over his shoulder at her, but thought it best not to respond to the question. They both knew the answer.

“You’re not ever coming back, are you?” Evita’s voice was now barely a whisper in the strong breeze.

Suddenly Fido’s heart started to race out of control. His body was telling him he didn’t want to be there anymore. He started to walk away.

“Fido, wait!” The desperation in Evita’s voice stopped Fido in his tracks.

“I understand you better than anyone, Fido,” Evita said, pausing for a second. “Whatever keeps pushing you away, tell me. Let me help!”

Fido took a deep breath, his eyes remaining directed down the long boardwalk in front of him. “You couldn’t help me even if you wanted to, Evita.” He turned around to face her again, his face stoic and expressionless. “Can you even begin to imagine what it feels like to wake up in a hospital room one day and not even remember your own name?!”

“No, but…”

“I remember nothing at all, Evita; not even way I talked, walked… or felt.” He shook his head. “All I have inside my head are fragments; tiny pieces of a life that I can’t put together. One second I see a picture, a face, a seemingly trivial occurrence or event, but then it’s gone before I can make any sense of it, just like that; it’s like there’s a jigsaw puzzle sitting right there in front of me with all the answers, but I don’t know how to begin arranging the pieces.”

“Talk to me, Fido.” Evita’s eyes moved up, searching for his. “Tell me what you’ve seen. You can tell me anything. Maybe we can make sense of it together.”

“Don’t bother with me, Evita. I am nothing but a fucked-up shell of a human being.” Then Fido simply turned away and kept walking. There was no stopping him this time. His mind was already made up.

He was gone before Evita could find any more words to speak.

...

As he walked, Fido suddenly felt his phone vibrating in his pocket and took it out.

“Yes?” he answered.

“It’s me,” General Gomez said after a brief moment of hesitation. “I just got word from one of my contacts over in the Paravinchis.”

“Who?”

“Princess. She says their surveillance team intercepted a call from some rival gang members; word is that several of Lacroix’s men are gearing up for a hit tonight.”

“Will Lacroix be involved personally?”

“I don’t know. But Kirby Kosta was mentioned.”

Kirby Kosta. Fido felt his blood boil at the coward’s name. The two of them had exchanged bullets on several occasions. The last time Fido had put a bullet through the savage’s arm, before Kosta had taken a hostage and scurried away to a waiting car to make good his escape.

“Where is the hit going down?” Fido asked. “Do the Paravinchis know?”

“Fido, listen, it could be dangerous…”

“I don’t have time for this fatherly bullshit, General. Just tell me where the fuck Lacroix’s guys are going to be!”

“The Marino Nightclub, over in Calle Uruguay.”

“What time? When?”

“The Paravinchis don’t know for sure, but it will be sometime tonight.”

“Thanks,” Fido mumbled, then he hung up just as Gomez was starting to say something else.

It seemed Fido was going clubbing tonight.