Cantata

[joegoda]

Martin dropped his arms from around his friend, looked at the dead serious eyes looking back at his own and said, "Mind if I get a beer first? Assuming that there's still some here?"

Wells nodded. "There should be. I left pretty quickly." As Martin's back disappeared into the kitchen, Wells called out, "Might as well bring one for me."

Martin came back, popping the cap off two bottles and handing one to Wells. He sat heavily on the sofa, saluted with the bottle and drained the top quarter. "All right," he said. What's this theory?"

Wells sat in the chair at his computer desk and wrapped both hands around his bottle. "It's more a hypothesis, but there is enough evidence to make it a theory. Almost." He took a small sip of his beer, and then placed it on the desk.

"Let's say that, years ago, in a country far, far away, two brothers were born. These brothers were probably never very close, and in fact, may have even hated each other." He let that sink in, briefly. "But not at first," he continued. "Their ages were close enough that they might have been twins, maybe they were twins, maybe they were born just nine or ten months apart... I don't know. But at first, they were best friends. They went everywhere together, did everything together, were inseparable and mirror images of each other. I'm sure they drove their parents crazy."

Martin's eyes developed a little crinkle at the edges. He nodded and said "Okay. Go on."

Wells scratched his chin where a day's growth of beard was itching. "Then, sometime, they had a falling out. Maybe it was a girl. Maybe it was money. Once again, I don't know, but they fell out. I think it was sometime after they both joined the military."

"One brother went one way, honorable and decent, finding the travesties of war to be stupid to the point of cynicism. He left the military a changed man, left the country even and became something he could be proud of."

"What was that?" Martin asked, quietly.

"In a minute," Wells replied.

"The other brother became just the opposite. I am thinking the other brother got a taste of power and it went to his head. Maybe it even went to his heart. And the travesties of war had a different effect on him. He began to crave more of the power that the military had given him. He started, maybe some small black market operations. A little gun running, a little smuggling. Maybe even a few deaths by hire. I don't know. But eventually, he hit upon a big money operation." Wells took his eyes away from Martin, took the bottle from the desk and had a long drink. "He decided to get into human slavery. Sex slaves."

He paused, and looked back at Martin. Martin sat on the sofa, bottle in hand, but otherwise untouched. "And that was what broke the brothers apart." He stated, simply.

Wells nodded. "And that was what broke the brothers apart. They had a fight, and the honorable and decent brother decided to come to the Americas, where his skin color could be mistaken for a Mexican. The other brother stayed behind, continuing his evil work."

"Then came the September of 2002." Wells paused again. Martin betrayed no reaction, although the crinkles were now joined by a tightness of his lips.

"In that month, in that year, the evil brother's plans ran into a snag. They picked the wrong place at the wrong time to do a transfer of their..." again, a pause, "goods. A man, a very good man, who had seen atrocities enough in his lifetime, decided to take action. He placed a phone call, the Yugoslavian Underground got wind of the transfer, and the transfer never took place."

"A few weeks passed and the attack on the evil brother's plans grew and grew in his mind. He wanted to get revenge, so he paid someone to locate the Undergrounds safe house. He went there himself to enact the revenge, but when he got there, it was empty. So he went down the street to grocer and waited. He probably watched for a few days, saw the comings and goings, and all he saw was two girls, two young girls like the ones that he sold, go in and come out."

"One day, he saw the two girls leave and after a while, one of the girls came back. He decided to act then. I don't know if he planned to kidnap her and sell her, or if he planned to kill her, but I do know that he attempted, and quite possibly raped her. The only thing that stopped him was when the other girl came back and took a knife to him."

Wells stopped. He took a long drink from his bottle, emptying it. Martin sat and waited.

"The girl that was raped was my daughter, Martin." He took a deep breath. "I have to ask you a very serious question. And you already know what it is."

Martin nodded sharply, his eyes sad and angry at the same time. "Go ahead, Amigo."

"What is your brother's name?" Wells asked calmly.

Martin sat quietly for a very long time, looking at his friend's face. Then he said, "Murchek." He took a drink from his bottle and placed in on the coffee table. "You know," he said, standing, "I have worked very hard to become someone other than Martin Grobchik. Years, in fact." He walked over to the bookcase by the front door and pulled a book from it. "I tried very hard to put all that behind me. My brother, the war, the stupidity, the cruelty." He leafed though the pages, not reading anything. "I've done pretty good, don't you think?" He placed the book back on the shelf, carefully, then turned and looked at Wells.

"I came here," he continued, "to this great land of opportunity in 1982. I came across the border of Mexico, by way of Africa, then South America, and up. I thought it was pretty darn near untraceable."

"I forged my papers in Mexico and became Martin Gonzalez. I joined the police force and did pretty well there. When an opportunity opened up to patrol the border and stop some of the human trafficking there, I jumped at it. It was a way to undo some of the evil that my brother was doing, you see?" Wells nodded. "I should have known, that Fate, that fickle fingered bastard would follow me and shove the past back up into my face." He crossed back to the sofa, grabbed his bottle from the table and took a long swig.

"How did you figure it out?" he asked Wells. "Sarah tip you off?"

"Not really," Wells said. "I ran one check to see when you entered the country, and that was all. The rest I figured out. But I had to ask you, I had to see your face, to be sure. You understand?"

Martin nodded. "Yes. I do." He covered his face with his hands. "You're a good man, Herbert."

"Well...," Wells said, "that could be debated by a number of people tonight." He took a drink from his own bottle and then said, "I'm glad I didn't have to kill you, Martin."

"I am too, Amigo," Martin said, raising his bottle in a toast. "Of course, it would have been a helluva battle, what with you being out of shape and all."

Wells let a silence build before he said, "Martin, you know I'm..."

"Don't, Herb," Martin interrupted. "I don't want to know, I don't want to hear. Yeah, he's a bastard, and I know it's got to be done." He turned to Wells and looked him hard in the eyes. "But he's still my brother, you know?" A pause. "And you're my best friend." He took another drink. "And I need another beer. Helluva night."

When Martin came back, carrying two bottles, he said, "I took good care of Morlock while you were gone." Handing one bottle to Wells, he said, "When I didn't hear anything from you for a few days, I figured somebody had best check on him."

Wells accepted the bottle and sat it next to the one on the desk. "I'm glad you did, though I knew you would. I figured your love for Morlock would bring you here tonight, so I just waited."

"I had to be sure the kids and wife were asleep," Martin said.

"How are they?" Wells asked.

"Fine, fine." Martin cracked open his bottle and took a sip. "Pains in the ass, but fine."

"Good." Wells opened his second bottle and joined his friend.

"So," Martin asked, "When are you going back?"

"I took a round trip here, and leaving tomorrow, about noon."

"Ah." Martin placed the bottle on the table. He glanced at the clock on the VCR. "It's almost midnight thirty, Herb. You should get some sleep."

"I'd agree with you normally," Wells said, "But I'm starving. How bout we go to Denny's and talk and eat?"

"Sounds like a plan." Martin agreed. He drained his bottle, carried it to the kitchen, rinsed it out and tossed it in the trash. "No sense letting beer go to waste." He pointed to Well's own bottle. "You gonna finish that?"

"No, you can have it," Wells said, handing the bottle over. "I'm driving, though."

"Deal," Martin said draining the bottle dry.

"One question, though, Martin," Wells asked, "Does anyone else know you come here?"

Martin laughed. "Hell no. I'm not that bad. That's why I come at night. It's harder to hide when the roads are clear."

"Fair enough." Wells grabbed a hat and a jacket from the back of a chair. "Let's go."