Alejandro
Igaze at the streetlights through the floor-to-ceiling hospital waiting room windows.
Night fell long ago, and I’ve been waiting near enough in the same position for the last ten hours.
Early last year saw me doing the same thing for my friend.
I can’t believe the darkness of our world has placed him here again, in the same situation where he’s fighting for his life.
The only difference between last year and now is that Cristiano was at least awake when we got to the hospital. He’s not now. He’s still in a coma.
He had to have surgery because the impact of the bomb damaged a few of his internal organs and the doctors have been running various tests all day.
I got off easy with a concussion. Had I been just a little closer, the bomb would have taken me out, too.
I keep replaying the whole event in my mind because I thought Cristiano wasn’t far behind me. He wasn’t, though.
Eric is with some of the other men investigating the scene. What he said so far is that someone dropped the bomb into the container, so there was someone behind us, and obviously someone followed us.
Whatever tech person El Diablo has, has placed him one step ahead of me.
Now Carlos is dead and Cristiano in a coma.
I lift my head at the echo of footsteps approaching the door. I expect to see one of the doctors, but it’s Marcus.
He stops by the door and stares at me.
As I look at him, I don’t feel the angst I felt that morning days ago when we last saw each other.
Instead, I see a man I’ve called a friend for years, and something inside me opens to the possibility of trust when I think of how he took a bullet for me.
“Don’t you fucking dare tell me to leave.” He straightens. “I just heard what happened, so I came.”
He walks over and sits in the chair opposite me so we’re facing each other.
“Thanks for coming.”
“You don’t have to thank me for that. This is Cristiano. He’s my friend. Is anyone else here?”
“No.” I called the office to let them know I was at the hospital with Cristiano. The others are on jobs, so I didn’t expect them to come, and I hoped no one would. Having him here, though, feels different.
“What happened?”
“There was a bomb. He’s still in a coma. He had surgery, and they’re doing tests.”
Eduardo’s container is torched. Anything more that could help me is nothing but ashes. All I have is the letter in my pocket, and I don’t know if that pushes me in the direction of clues, or if it’s just a letter I wasn’t supposed to find.
“Is there anything I can do, Alejandro? Anything you trust me to do.”
I sigh. “You understand why—”
“If you were me, you’d be the same way. You know it, so don’t tell me about understanding. I got kids, too, so I know the worry of this big threat. I have waited for you to talk to me, and I have tried to think of ways to prove my innocence, but I can’t think of anything besides my word and the scar on my chest that reminds me of the kind of friends we’re supposed to be.”
It’s not him. He’s not my traitor.
I stare into his eyes, and I know it’s not him, so I nod.
“I’m sorry.”