Ricky turned sharply at a stand of cypress trees and then killed the motor. The bow of the boat grounded softly in the grass. Ricky grabbed one of the suitcases and hopped onto a small wooden platform that led to a tiny enclosed structure.
When he first came here, Ricky had been told the site was an abandoned blind for hunting wild boar. Then he was later told no, it was originally a secret outpost of the Seminole Indians for one of their three wars against the U.S. Army. Ricky didn’t bother to ask more questions. He didn’t care about the location’s history. All that mattered was that it was hidden among the trees deep in the swamp and no one could ever find it. It was undetectable to the naked eye at water level from every direction. And, most important, invisible from the air.
Ricky scanned the horizon through binoculars for any signs that someone had followed him. He listened for any sounds of an engine. All clear. But he couldn’t relax.
Ricky knew from experience that all clear could change. Without warning.
—
That day, way back in 1983, was like a zombie movie. One moment, all was quiet; the next, they were coming at him from everywhere. The beasts, black head to toe, snarling faces hidden behind black shields and black helmets, swarmed like it was the Apocalypse. They came by land, they rose out of the water, they dropped from the sky. There were so many, he couldn’t count.
Ricky’s mind was dizzy and time slowed to a crawl. A cocktail of narcotics and adrenaline churned through his bloodstream. The flashbang, the shouting, the swarm, the pain—it was all a blurry haze.
The next thing Ricky knew, he was in a room, collapsed in a metal chair at a metal table. He was cold but could taste warm salty blood from his busted lip. A beefy man in some kind of police uniform was glaring at him.
“Who are you working for, Ricardo? Who’s the big boss, Ricardo? We already know everything. We just want to hear it from you.”
Ricky had looked around the room, confused and scared. It was bare except for the table and chairs, a single lightbulb in the ceiling. And a long mirror along one wall.
“Where am I?” Ricky slurred. “Who . . . is ‘we’?”
“Fuck you, Ricardo. We ask the questions.”
“Who’s behind the mirror? Who am I really talking to?”
“Your worst fucking nightmare, Ricardo. Who are you working for?”
“I . . . don’t know anything.”
“You don’t know? You don’t fucking know? You’re carrying all those drugs and you don’t know?”
“I don’t know anything. I . . . I . . . I’m just a kid.”
“You’re eighteen, Ricardo. You’re in deep shit. You’re gonna be charged as an adult. Narcotics trafficking, racketeering, conspiracy, assault on a federal officer. This is some heavy shit.”
“No . . .” Ricky muttered.
“You’re gonna do some serious time in a serious place. They’re gonna love you in the hole at Pensacola. You know what a skinny eighteen-year-old Cuban boy looks like to a monster serving life in federal prison?” The interrogator licked his lips and chortled.
“No . . .” Ricky whimpered.
“Then you better answer my goddamn questions. Have you ever met Escobar?”
“I don’t know him. I mean . . . I’ve never seen him.”
“We know you were carrying for him. You know what Escobar’s going to do to you in prison when he figures out how much money you’ve cost him?”
“No . . .”
“You know what happened to the last kid?”
“No . . .”
“You want me to help you, Ricardo?”
“Huh?”
“You stupid fucking shit-eating punk. If you want me to help you, then you have to help me.”
“Like what?”
“Give me something. What do you know?”
“Are you DEA? FBI?” Ricardo wheezed. “I want witness protection!”
“You think you’re gonna get witness protection? For what? What can you give me, dipshit?”
“I know where the money is.”
“What money?” asked the man, stealing a glance at the mirror.
“The big money. More than you can imagine. I know where it is. I know where—”
Before Ricky could finish his sentence, the lights went out.
“Hey, what’s going on?” he squealed.
“That’s enough,” said a new, deep voice. “We’ll take it from here. He’s the one.”
Ricky was blindfolded and taken away.
“Hey! Hey!” he shouted into the dark, but no one replied.
He was then thrown into the back of a car and driven for what could have been five minutes or five hours. The next thing he remembered was his feet being bound and the sudden rush of blood to his head as he was hung upside down. A few seconds later, the blindfold was removed and Ricky found himself staring straight down into the yawning jaws of an alligator.
“Ahhh!” he screamed and wriggled, his pants suddenly soaked with the warmth of his own urine. “I’ll tell you whatever you want!”
The gator hissed and snapped.
“I know you will,” said the deep voice, attached to a man he’d never seen before.
“I’ll take the deal! I want witness protection!”
“You’ve got the wrong guys, Ricardo,” said the man. “We don’t do witness protection. You’re going to take us to the money.”