CHAPTER FOUR: SCARRED MAN

Sean was jerked back to the present when he realized that Carlos had finally said something to him.  And it wasn't what he expected.

 

“What?” Sean asked as he brushed a shaky hand over his forehead, certain that he heard wrong.

 

“It wouldn’t matter to me if you were gay, Sean.  My uncle.  He’s -- you know.  Don’t make him a bad person.”  Carlos grinned big as he added, “Mi tio was the one to help me get through school, encouraged me to join the Department.  He was smiling and clapping louder than anyone at my graduation.  So I’m good with it.  Just others might not be.”

 

Sean nodded.  “I’m well aware.  But I can’t help what the Lieutenant does or what people say.”

 

“I know,” Carlos said.  “And I’ve told those assholes that are talking trash to shut the hell up.  But I thought you should know.  So that you’re careful.”

 

“I am careful, Carlos.  I don’t even have a life outside of work to hide.  You know that,” Sean answered.  "I'm almost a monk. I can't remember the last time I ever -- ever was with someone."

 

“Too damned true, Sean,” Carlos said slapping him lightly on the back.  “Look no one really knows anything.  I wasn’t one hundred percent until I saw your face just now—”

 

“You didn’t know anything?  You were just feeling me out?  Damn, Carlos!”  Sean shook his head at how he’d walked right into the big man’s trap.  Part of him felt numb that he’d blurted out the truth because of a simple ruse while another part of him was relieved that Carlos seemed okay with it.

 

Carlos just gave one of his shrugs and a lazy grin.  “So kill me, I’m good at making people talk.  It’s helped us a time or two, no, Sean?”

 

“Yes, many times.”

 

“But seriously, man.  Nobody thinks big, tough guys like you and the Lieutenant are, well, that way, but if they are around you enough and see some things they might think something,” Carlos said

 

“No shit,” Sean said.

 

“Does the Lieutenant know?  Is that why he’s always so in your face?”

 

“Maybe,” Sean answered, vaguely.

 

“Not that I’m saying you should have to put up with that bullshit just because you’re gay,” Carlos quickly amended.  Clearly, he thought Sean’s reticence stemmed from that rather than true unease over what Branish did know about him.

 

“I appreciate it.  All of it, Carlos.”

 

His partner clapped him on the back.  “Any time.”

 

They went silent then.  Sean digested this turn of events. His partner knew about him and was okay.  No reason to fear Carlos might turn on him if it ever got out that he liked men.  Carlos was still even taking his side against Branish.

 

“I’m glad we’re good.  I don’t like hiding stuff from you,” Sean said, slowly.

 

“No problem.  All is well, my friend.”

 

Only in moments, it wasn’t.

 

Sean pulled at the front of his t-shirt, unsticking it from his chest.  The scent of his sweat and fading cologne was whipped away as the wind suddenly picked up.  Wave ripples began to appear on the ocean’s surface.  That was when he saw the boat.  It appeared out of nowhere; its glossy black body gleaming in the low lights of the city.  It was heading towards the beach where he and Carlos sat.

 

“Looks like your famous luck strikes again,” Carlos breathed.  “They must see us, but they’re still coming.”

 

“They don’t know we’re cops,” Sean guessed, but a trickle of unease rippled through him.

 

“Don’t matter.  Should spook them off that anybody is here.  Something isn’t right,” Carlos said, confirming the wrongness Sean felt.

 

“You always say that,” Sean replied without heat.

 

“And how often am I wrong?”

 

“Not often unfortunately,” Sean breathed.

 

Carlos’ shoulders bunched as though he were about to jump to his feet, but both men remained seated, appearing unconcerned, even bored, as the power boat drove in fifteen feet from the sandy shore before its purring engines went silent.  The boat’s shallow draft allowed it to come in so close.  An anchor plunked into the water off the side.

 

How did we miss the boat until it was almost on top of us? Sean grimaced, but his thoughts were derailed as Carlos cursed.

 

“Mierda!” Carlos swore under his breath.  “We look to be in for quite a time.”

 

There were four men in the boat.  The wind plastered their clothes to their muscular bodies.  They looked hard, more like soldiers than street thugs with their close-cropped hair and the economy of their movements. They eerily reminded Sean of Branish.

 

Sean tightened his hands into fists against the sand.  His heart rate soared as adrenaline poured into his bloodstream.  How long would it take for Branish to get more officers to their location?  His gaze darted to the pier.  It hadn’t looked so far away before.  Lily and Rob’s boat wasn’t moving.  Didn’t they see what was going on?  Had Branish told them to hang back?  Sean pressed the microphone hidden in his collar.

 

“Lieutenant, we have company,” Sean whispered, but the earpiece was silent.  “Lieutenant?”   Nothing.

 

“Do we wait for backup?” Carlos asked while he pretended to turn and crack his back as if he’d been sitting too long on the coarse sand.

 

“Don’t know.  Might not have a choice,” Sean said through gritted teeth.

 

One of the men swung himself easily over the side into the water.  The water reached up to his waist.  He sloshed towards them, carrying a single black duffel clenched in a large hand held above the water.  Two others followed him, each carrying identical duffels, leaving one man behind in the boat.  Sean looked for a weapon on the man who remained with the boat, but he didn’t see one in the failing light.  The man who stood by the controls of the powerful vessel looked completely relaxed and unconcerned; his hands resting lightly on the wheel.

 

“That’s it?  Three damn duffels that they can lift one-handed?  How much are they selling this stuff for?” Carlos asked with an explosive huff of breath.

 

“Maybe they plan to cut it with something else,” Sean said.

 

The first man was already out of the water, his boot-clad feet leaving distinct impressions in the wet sand.  His eyes were deep set and a jagged scar ran down one cheek trailing off into the collar of his black shirt.  His gaze swung over to them lingering for a moment on the brightly colored shirt that Carlos wore as if he hadn’t seen anything so vivid in a long time.

 

“Do we move or do we wait?” Carlos hissed.

 

All four men were on land now and were striding up the beach. They would pass Sean and Carlos’ position in moments.  Lily and Rob were supposed to cut off the dealers’ boat’s escape, but Sean spotted no movement on the fishing vessel.  He swallowed shallowly.  Something was very, very wrong.

 

A black Hummer with polished trim pulled up to the road that bordered the beach.  Its windows were tinted so dark Sean couldn’t see inside.  There should be cruisers coming in on their position, other undercover operatives filtering down the street, but Sean saw no one.

 

“We have to move, Sean.  They’re going to get away!” Carlos whispered fiercely.

 

Sean knew that even if they got the men on the beach, those in the Hummer and boats would escape.  But this might be their best and only chance to get any leads on the Powder and its makers.  These men didn’t look like typical couriers.  They would know something.  The empty look on the dead boy’s face in the hospital and Dr. Vostok’s frightened expression was seared into Sean’s mind.  He had to act.  No matter what the risk.   He jumped to his feet and reached for his gun.  He pointed it directly at the men with the duffels.  Carlos mirrored his actions.

 

“Freeze, police!” Sean shouted.

 

The men stopped moving.

 

“Drop those bags on the ground!  Hands over your heads!” he ordered.

 

Sean was moving rapidly towards the men.  Carlos flanked him.  Yet despite what was clearly a bust, none of the criminals seemed concerned.  The Hummer remained idling.  The cigarette boat’s powerful engines were silent.  It was quiet except for the hum of far-off traffic and the slap of the waves on the shore.  Acid flooded Sean’s stomach.  This was all wrong.  Wrong.  Wrong.  Wrong.

 

The scarred man was directly in front of Sean now.  His scar was more livid close up.  It carved deep into the flesh, puckering the skin on either side of the divide it created.  The eye it crossed over was milky white.  Damaged.  Yet it still tracked Sean’s movements. The scarred man put the duffle he carried down.  When he straightened up his hands remained at his sides.  His right one was half-curled shut into a fist.

 

“I said get your hands up!” Sean ordered.

 

The man tilted his head to the side.  The scar seemed to shine in the center.  He lifted up the half-curled hand in front of him and unfolded it.  It looked like he was holding a palm full of embers.

 

“Hands over you head or I will shoot you!” Sean threatened.

 

But the scarred man didn’t listen.  Instead, he merely smiled and blew across the palm of his now open hand.  The embers morphed into a fine shimmering red powder, as soft as pencil shavings, which sprayed across Sean’s face.  They flowed thickly into his eyes, nose, and mouth; blinding him, suffocating him. The last thing Sean saw before falling into oblivion was a strange glow emanating from the center of the man’s scar.

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