The Cursed

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Garcia said.

 

Dallas leaned closer to him, shrugging. “I think you do. And, at this point, you should talk—and you should stay here just as long as we let you. Because I’m pretty sure the Wolf kills those he suspects of disloyalty—which would certainly include giving the police any information on him. And if you leave here, I’m going to hold a press conference and announce that we’re close to finding the Wolf because of information we’ve received from an informant.”

 

The blood drained from Garcia’s face, and he turned a sickly shade of taupe.

 

“I didn’t kill anybody,” he said quickly. He tried to regain his composure. “And I don’t know what you’re talking about. Los Lobos. Yeah, I’ve heard of them—everybody has. So what?”

 

“Tell us about the Wolf,” Dallas said.

 

“I don’t know anything about any wolf!” Garcia protested.

 

“Well, then,” Dallas said, sitting back and turning around to look at Liam. “We might as well just release him. He doesn’t know anything about the Wolf. He won’t wind up like Jose Rodriguez or Yerby Catalano or, more importantly, the man who died on the bridge last night. Admittedly, the Wolf didn’t kill him. The poor bastard committed suicide by cop. He’d rather have us shoot him than face what he knew was coming from his boss.”

 

“Sure. We’ll let him go right now,” Liam said. “Littering—what were my guys thinking, picking him up on a charge like that?”

 

Everything about Martin Garcia changed then. He shook his head. “Don’t. You can’t. I’d tell you what you want to know, but I don’t have anything to tell you. Really.”

 

“See?” Liam said. “He can’t help us—really. We should just let him go. I mean, I’d offer him protection, a bunch of cops to stand around keeping an eye on him all day, but we don’t have that kind of manpower. He got himself into whatever, he can get himself out.”

 

“No!” Garcia was on his feet. “You don’t understand. I don’t know who the Wolf is. I got mixed up in the whole thing because of my cousin Billie.”

 

“Billie,” Dallas said. “Sit down.” He indicated the chair again. “So, tell us about Billie. Would he be Knife, Hammer, Pistol or Blade? Which one are you, by the way?”

 

Garcia’s eyes widened. “I don’t know what—”

 

“Get him out of here!” Dallas said with disgust.

 

“No, no! Billie is Blade. I’m—I’m Knife.”

 

“Knife,” Dallas said. “You like knives, Garcia? Slicing people up?”

 

“I never killed anyone, I swear!” Garcia protested. “I just needed a name—you know, one that would make me sound tough and cool. None of us are supposed to know each other’s real names—or even know each other at all, most of the time. If a job calls for more than one person, we meet at a predetermined location and use the names we’ve chosen.”

 

“But you and your cousin did know each other. There were four of you the other night—getting to know the new guy. Jose Rodriguez. At least one of you knew him by name, because someone in the group recruited him.”

 

Garcia nodded. “Yeah, my cousin. Billie. Blade. He recruited him.”

 

“Great. Tell us about your cousin Blade.”

 

“Blade didn’t kill him, either.”

 

“But you all knew he was going to be killed,” Dallas said.

 

“No.”

 

Dallas started to turn away in disgust.

 

“No, no! I swear we didn’t!” Garcia cried, his voice high-pitched and tense. Sweat suddenly appeared on his face.

 

He was telling the truth.

 

“That’s just it, don’t you see? You have to protect me.” Garcia hadn’t wanted to talk, but he suddenly couldn’t stop, the words pouring from him. “I never saw the guy before that night. Billie—Blade—met him in some bar. He was talking about his sucky life—how he was ready to do more so he could get more. Blade talked to the Wolf, and the Wolf said to bring him in. Blade brought the new guy—Pulpit—when we got together the other night. Wolf’s orders. We were going to get our assignment when the Wolf called Blade.

 

“So we’re in the bar and Blade gets the call. He just tells us to leave the bar and walk down Duval toward Mallory Square. Then the phone rings again, and the Wolf tells us where to turn off. We’re just walking. Just walking, I swear it! Then suddenly there’s this noise behind us and I...I turn around and there’s blood and your guy is trying to fight off some guy and Blade says ‘Run!’ So we ran—the rest of us, we ran like hell. I have no idea who actually killed the guy. I’m telling you the truth. Finally Blade says we gotta split up. Then he tells me that I gotta look different, so I cut my hair and all. I bought preppy clothes...I did what I was told.”

 

Dallas stared at him. “And you never killed anyone?”

 

“No.”

 

“What happened to the girl who went diving?” he asked quietly. “Yerby Catalano.”

 

Garcia shook his head. “I swear I don’t know. I overheard one of the guys saying that call went to Machete.”

 

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