An Eye For An Eye by L.D. Beyer Page A

close yet somehow far away. Struggling, he opened his eyes and felt a sudden sharp pain as the white light stabbed him. He shut his eyes again and took a few deep breaths before he opened them once more. The room was blurry and seemed to be swimming around him. For a moment, he remembered scenes from his childhood: the shimmers on the pond after he had tossed a rock, the fun house mirror at the amusement park. He felt dizzy but fought it, concentrating until the room came into focus. He suddenly remembered where he was. He heard the noise again and shifted his eyes, searching for it.
    Patty stood in the doorway. He could see the tears welling up in her eyes. Her hand flew to her mouth, and she rushed to the bed.
    “Oh my God! The instant I heard it on the news, I knew it was you,” she said as she wiped her eyes. “Are you okay? How do you feel?”
    “Like I’ve been hit by a train,” he said, his voice hoarse.
    “Where?” she asked as she sat on the edge of the bed.
    He slid the blanket down. His right arm was in a cast. “I was hit in the shoulder. The bullet broke the bone, the humerus. They had to piece it back together.” How did he know that?
    His mind was cloudy, thanks to the Demerol, but he forced himself to concentrate. The surgery had lasted five hours. That’s what the doctor had told him, right? Then he must have been in the recovery room for a while. He glanced up at the clock on the wall. It seemed to shimmer and move. He gave up trying to read it and closed his eyes, trying but failing to stop the spinning.
    “It’s nine o’clock,” he heard her say through the fog.
    He opened his eyes, nodded briefly, then closed them again. Nine o’clock? In the evening? When he opened his eyes once more, he saw that Patty was crying again. He tried to smile.
    “How long have you been here?” he asked.
    “Since eleven,” she said with a sniff. She wiped her eyes again.
    He struggled with the numbers. Ten hours? Was that right?
    She gently laid her hand on his. “It might be time to find another job.”
    Didn’t his mother say the same thing? he thought. Wait , was she here too? Had he spoken to her?
    It was too much effort to think. He closed his eyes again and surrendered to the darkness.
     

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
    Pablo Guerrero let his guest wait. He knew it was a risk to bring the man here, but he was used to taking risks. Besides, the man worked for him. Why should he not come when his boss summoned? He would let the man sit by himself for a while, alone with his thoughts, waiting, wondering.
    After reading several reports—he had brought a level of sophistication and order to the operation over the years—he stood, then glanced in the mirror before leaving his office. He was pleased with his new Italian tailor. He made a mental note to summon the man again and at the same time, perhaps, have him bring some of the latest fashions from Paris for his wife.
    The colonel was sitting on the terrace. There was a small garden below the balcony, surrounded by a twelve-foot high wall. Under the broad expanse of the roof eave, the terrace was protected from the sun.
    “Buenos días, Colonel. Thank you for coming.”
    “Buenos días, Señor Guerrero. It is my pleasure.”
    Guerrero suppressed a smirk. Being picked up before dawn, having a hood thrown over his head, followed by a five-hour car ride with armed men at his side wasn’t a pleasure, he was sure. But the colonel didn’t have much choice. Not if he wanted to continue to earn his pay, now fourteen thousand dollars a month. And not, Guerrero mused, if he wanted to continue to live.
    Guerrero poured himself a cup of coffee from the silver service on the sideboard and sat across from his guest. He noticed that the colonel didn’t have a cup. That could wait.
    “What news do you bring me, Colonel?”
    His guest shifted in his seat. “It appears that the Americans are considering a new offensive.”
    Guerrero nodded and took a sip. The man, he could