Chapter 10 – Wheels Up

COLE WOKE LATER in the afternoon and stepped back into his regular routine as best he could. With no messages from David and nothing to do, he worked out then ate at the sports bar downstairs, finishing off a few Panamas with his Cuban sandwich. With the afternoon sun starting to fall, he headed to Habana’s and lit a cigar before taking a prime seat for the nighttime show. Sipping a Dos Equis, he put his feet up on the railing in front of him and crossed his cowboy boots over each other, then pulled the brim of his hat down low.

All things considered, he felt good. The sleep had cleared his mind, but the previous night still hung heavy on his conscience. He had escalated and figured out quickly that David had to answer a lot of questions. The drug trade was a tricky thing, and Cole felt isolated without any information beyond David’s facial expressions. As with anything else, not knowing was gnawing away at him. Taking a long deep drag from his cigar, Cole blew the smoke up and over his head and tried to think of something else. He spent several hours making light conversation with the girls before heading back to the Marriott and falling asleep again.

g

Several days, each the same as the first, passed before David caught up with Cole. They met at the coffee shop across the street early one morning and David explained at length. He spoke with his hands and seemed to use very deliberate words in finding a delicate way to explain Cole’s predicament. “There is an understanding down here among the different families that we like the status quo.”      

Cole let David continue searching for words for some time before he cut in, saying, “I get it, David. Just tell me what you need to tell me.”

David shrugged his shoulders before taking a long sigh. “Cole, for my boss, you did good bringing the money in—but for the other bosses, it’s not so good. There are more boats now, more planes, and a lot of people think you made things worse. Trust me. Everyone, and I mean everyone, knows about it.”

David was back to talking with his hands. Cole could tell that despite trying to hide it, David was concerned.

“If there is more pressure from the United States because of this, that means more drugs will be caught and less money to be made. You see?”

Cole knew that already. “Well, what the fuck was I supposed to do?”

“No, no, you did OK. There is no good answer. Some guys would not shoot, some guys maybe they do. You, you’re a damn cowboy, so you shoot.” David laughed a bit and pointed at Cole’s boots with a smile. Cole looked away, partly amused, but still mad at the situation.

“So what do I do now?”

David shifted in his seat and leaned in a bit. “You take it easy for a bit, let things calm down, and everything goes back to normal in a few weeks. OK?”

The thought of sitting around his hotel room for a few weeks with nothing to do wasn’t particularly pleasant. Cole wanted to make money and more importantly, he wanted to push the throttles up as the sun faded and feel salt spray against his face as he roared north with a load of cocaine.

“This is shitty, David, but there’s not much I can do, is there?”

David shook his head. “I’m afraid not, my friend. You sit tight. Things will be OK.”

g

Days passed and Cole could do nothing but sleep in, lounge around the hotel pool, and spend his nights across the street at Habana’s. He kept waiting for a call or message from David, but nothing came. No one at the hotel or across the street seemed to act any differently, but Cole couldn’t help but be tense. The heat and the smell of the city bothered him more with each passing day. Even with the heat, he always wore his jeans after sunset to blend in with the locals, and would take short walks around the surrounding blocks most nights before turning in for the evening. He usually left his cowboy hat in the room to avoid standing out too much. His hair was a blond shaggy tangle on his head, and he knew he drew enough attention as is.

Almost a week after he and David had last spoke, Cole was once again on the last inches of a cigar when he smashed it out on an ashtray at Habana’s. He shared a few drinks with Maria and as she sat across the table from him, Cole smiled at how pretty she looked with her long dark hair and light blue dress. She laughed at him for it. It was only nine o’clock, but the night was slow. Cole smiled to say goodnight and stood up to take a walk. They kissed each other on the cheek and she held his hand for just a moment with a flirtatious smile before walking back into the crowd. Ever the businesswoman, Cole thought as they parted ways.

Cole walked down the concrete steps and onto the sidewalk, heading left towards a casino. With his boots on, a button-down shirt only half buttoned across his chest, and well-worn jeans snug against his waist, Cole blended in as well as he could. His Glock in its holster felt natural now that he’d been carrying it for over two months.

The night was warm and he meandered past the casino, up a quieter street, then down towards a main drag. He knew the city streets well enough to explore them and still find his way back to familiar parts. No one paid any particular attention to him on his nightly strolls, and it gave him some time to stretch his legs and gather his thoughts.

The city was chafing him and Cole was getting restless, just like he had in Key West. Perhaps it was time to cut his losses and find something new. He’d made a good deal of money, enough to keep him living well for the next few years, provided he picked back up with Mickey running the straits. He thought and walked and went back and forth with his ideas for some time. Maybe David was right and things would settle down, but he had been dormant for more than a week and there were no indications of things picking up again any time soon. Cole had no way of knowing what conversations were going on about him.

Cole walked farther than normal when he finally turned for home. Continuing down a main street amongst the bustling Panamanian night life, he zig-zagged his way back up to the Marriott. Up a side street, he saw the main road for the hotel two blocks further up another smaller side street. Cole turned and walked, his mind now settling back down as he thought about one more drink before turning in for the night. The street was dark with no traffic on its narrow two lanes. He could see people up ahead on the cross-street two blocks in front of him in the street lights, but it was close to total darkness where he walked and the tall buildings on both sides blocked most of the sky.

Cole heard a car behind him and instinctively turned to look for just a second. It was a dirty white sedan, no different than the million other cars that clogged Panama City. As he turned back and continued walking, something didn’t sit right. He thought about it again and looked behind once more. The car was driving too slowly, even for a side street. It was 30 yards behind him. No one drives that slow in Panama, he thought. With his second glance, he knew whoever was driving had seen Cole look twice. Keeping his same pace, Cole saw a set of elevated cement steps in front of him leading to a doorway. Beyond the steps was a driveway with a few trash cans tucked against a low concrete wall. As he passed the steps, he side stepped to the right and into the driveway before turning around to see the car still approaching.

The back window was rolled down as the car came within ten yards and slowed even more. Cole couldn’t see the driver or anyone else, but he felt his heart pound in his chest and he gritted his teeth, exhaling as he lifted his shirt with his left hand and postured the palm of his right hand against the backstrap of his Glock. As he methodically wrapped his fingers around the grip, his fears were confirmed. From the backseat, the barrel of a gun appeared with a dark figure sitting in the middle seat. Cole drew as the gunman opened up. From less than ten yards, the muzzle blast lit up orange inside the car three or four times in rapid succession and the sound was deafening. In the middle of those first shots, Cole dropped to his right knee and pressed his side against the low concrete wall, gripping the gun with both hands. The back of his left shoulder burned like a fire as he pressed it against the wall. Fixing his eyes on the white dot of the front sight, Cole steadied his aim for a split second, and he touched the trigger with the pad of his finger. Surprising even himself, Cole methodically returned fire at the car. His first shot rattled him a bit and he sent the next three rounds high over the top of the car.

With the gunman still firing at him, Cole regained his composure and his next two shots silenced the gun in the backseat. He couldn’t see his target, but at such a close range, he had aimed at the center of the rear window and found his mark. The car’s tires smoked as the driver stepped on the gas for a quick getaway. Cole, now holding the advantage, swept his sights to the front passenger door as it passed by him. Still crouched, he sent four more shots in rapid succession at less than five yards through the window as it sped past him. At least one of the bullets also found its target as the car veered hard to the left and smashed head first into a light pole. Still running when it came to a stop, the brake lights were on along with the left blinker.

From his crouched position, Cole looked back up the street from where the car had come and he saw nothing. It was quiet again. His ears were ringing and his shoulder still burned, as if he’d cut it against the wall. The faint smell of gunpowder quickly blended in with Panama City like nothing had happened. Cole scanned back to his right, then left again before standing up. Looking at his shoulder, there was blood. So much so that he felt it running down his arm. He couldn’t see it, but the thought sunk in that a bullet had caught him behind his shoulder. He held the Glock with both hands and kept it pointed at the car as he took a few steps towards it.

“Damn it,” Cole cursed when he realized he’d lost count of how many shots he’d taken. Halfway to the car, the passenger door opened and Cole saw a man step out, seemingly unhurt until he turned to face Cole with blood all over the front of his shirt. The man seemed startled to see Cole approach and turned back to reach into the car. Cole took no chances and fired off two quick shots at center mass and the man slumped onto the pavement, one arm still reaching into the car. Cole raced to the trunk before swinging around to the rear window from where the gunman had opened up. Inside, Cole saw the shooter slumped over in his seat. He then looked up front and saw the driver’s head smashed partly through the windshield. Cole walked forward and kicked hard at the man on the ground. Seeing no reaction, Cole stepped over him and looked more closely at the driver. Cole couldn’t tell if he had shot him since the impact of the crash had done so much damage to the driver, but he was also clearly dead.

Cole looked at the guy in the backseat who was not moving and took a moment to release the magazine. There was one round left in it. With one in the chamber, he had two shots left. The Marriott was not far away, and the street was quiet. Pain was setting in and Cole could feel his shoulder muscles tightening. Blood stained the back of his shirt. He saw people a block ahead on the main street, and none of them seemed to know or care that there had just been a shootout 50 yards away.

Cole reholstered his gun, and realized he was panting. He tried to swallow, but couldn’t. His mouth was dry. Sweat covered his forehead and he felt it running down his chest as he crossed the street back to the sidewalk and walked quickly towards the busier main street. He wiped his eyes and tried to swallow again, but still couldn’t. He shook a bit and his ears were ringing even louder now than they had before.

When he hit the main intersection, Cole scanned all four corners, then wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his right hand and then against his jeans. He turned right on a sidewalk congested with people. It was just after ten when he saw the lights from the casino and he knew the Marriott was close. He felt more secure on the busy street among the pedestrians and heavy traffic. No one seemed to notice the left side of his shirt was stained with blood.

As he walked, Cole processed. Whatever had just happened wasn’t good. It wasn’t a robbery—it was an attempted murder. Someone wanted him dead. Cole’s mind raced as he played scenarios in his head. Was it another cartel? Was it his cartel? Was it David? His first reaction was disbelief, but he shook that from his head and scolded himself for thinking he was any different than anyone else in the business.

He again tried to swallow but couldn’t. Needing a drink in more ways than one, Cole turned for Habana’s. A few of the regulars smiled at him with no idea what Cole had just done. This fucking city, he thought. The music thumped, still not loud enough to drown out the ringing in his ears. His breathing had slowed and he could no longer feel his pulse in his chest, but his nerves were still on edge. The pain in his shoulder was a dull, constant ache and wasn’t going to fix itself anytime soon.

He stood back against the bar and watched the crowd for any signs of trouble, but saw none. Taking a beer with his right hand, he cupped his left hand around the neck to wet it, then pressed his palm against his head. It felt cool for just a second and it was enough to give him a pause to gather his thoughts. He wondered if the cops had found the car yet. Perhaps someone had called the police by now about gunfire. Perhaps not. It was Panama, after all.

If anything, the cops would collect the dead like they did every night and bring them downtown. They would gather their evidence and Cole knew he had left spent brass cases. He tried hard to think if he had touched anything on the street or the car, but was confident he hadn’t. A gun was easy to replace, and if need be he would lose the Glock on his hip for another one. He’d have to tell David and this was certainly going to escalate things again. The thought made him take a deep and reluctant breath.

Cole also knew he’d just won a gunfight, and with that thought he finished off the beer with a second long sip. He ordered another, took a smaller sip, and suddenly felt that same tingling feeling from when he was on the open sea. It was nothing to celebrate, but being alive always felt better when death had just moments ago been so close. The beer didn’t stop the pain from spreading beyond his shoulder. And unlike crossing the reef off Key West or shaking the P-3 in a thunderstorm, this time Cole was left in bad shape. This time there were consequences and the warm blood against his back reminded him of his own mortality.

He took a deep breath and another sip from his Dos Equis. Maria caught his attention from a table in the middle of the fray. She was sitting with another girl and they were sipping Red Bulls. She smiled at him and mouthed something in Spanish. He smiled back and walked a direct path to her and pulled a chair in close. Sitting down, he put one hand on her lower back and leaned in to her ear, whispering, “Vamanos.”

She sat back and looked at him with an inquisitive smile and asked, “Donde?” She shook her head just a bit with the question and her long hair swayed with it.

When she said it, she curled a finger around the ends of her hair and couldn’t hide her curiosity. Cole leaned in again, a bit unsteady, and spoke in English, “Let’s go.”

She was still playing with her hair and looked at him with a suspicious grin, before she spotted the blood on his shirt and her jaw dropped. Her eyes stayed locked with his for several seconds as she went back and forth in her head before she mouthed, “OK.”

They both stood up and Maria left her Red Bull on the table, bidding goodnight to her friend. Cole walked her across the street and into the Marriott. The air conditioning gave him the chills immediately and he realized how much he had sweat over the past 15 minutes. His shirt was soaked. Maria walked by his side through the lobby and held his forearm with her soft hand as they made their way to the elevator. As it started climbing to Cole’s floor, she grabbed him close and they faced each other.

“Are you OK, cowboy?” she asked as she turned Cole a bit to look at his left side. As she tilted her head to one side, Cole ran his fingers behind her ear and tucked some of her hair away from her face.

“Stop it,” she said as she examined his left side. “You’re bleeding, Cole.”

She was leaning in close to him, her chest pressed against his, when the elevator door opened and they walked side by side down the hallway to his room. Cole was starting to feel dizzy, perhaps from the beer, or the loss of the blood, or the air conditioning chilling his soaked skin. She held his right arm and leaned in to support his body against hers as they walked into the room.

Closing the door behind them, Maria took Cole to the bathroom and helped him get the shirt off his back. She cursed in Spanish and with the mirror, Cole could see a good-sized gash behind his left shoulder. It must have been one of the first shots that got him, or maybe even a ricouchet off the cement wall, but it had nicked him bad enough to be a concern. Cole knew he was lucky. It hurt like hell, but it could have been far worse. If he’d crouched a foot in the wrong direction when the car passed, he’d likely be dead.

Maria went out of the bathroom to the phone by the bed and called someone. Cole didn’t know who nor did he care. He pressed both his hands against the counter of the sink and dropped his head down, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth. He was in bad shape. He sat down on the edge of the bathtub and worked his boots off with his right hand. His socks took longer to pull off with one hand. Maria came back and in and helped him to his feet.

“I called a doctor,” she said while kicking Cole’s boots out of the way.

Cole looked at her and asked, “How long?”

Maria patted him on his back and replied, “Soon. He is a friend and will help you. Why don’t you try to take a shower and clean up a bit?”

Cole nodded his head in agreement. With that, Maria went back into the main room and Cole slowly worked his way into the shower. He tried to clean the wound, but it hurt beyond his tolerance even to get wet, so he left it alone, opting to wash away the sweat and blood from the rest of his body.

When he finished, Cole dried off as best he could with his one good arm and awkwardly held the towel around his waist as he walked out of the bathroom. Maria’s dress was on the floor by the bed. He stopped in his tracks and found himself dizzy once again, this time in a good way. Turning away from the bed, he saw that Maria had pulled on a pair of his boxers and one of his Delaney t-shirts. For the first time since she’d seen his wound, she smiled and laughed, saying, “Don’t get any ideas, cowboy. You’re in no shape for anything.”

Cole laughed because Maria knew the thought had crossed his mind. She brought him a pair of shorts and helped him pull them on. With his right hand, he cupped the side of her face and stared at her until she looked away.

“Thank you.” It was all he could manage. Maria held his hand and helped him lie down on his side. She then sat with him until someone knocked at the door. Cole had left the gun in the bathroom and sat up quickly to retrieve it. Maria stopped him and held his shoulder until he laid back down.

She answered the door and brought in a middle-aged man with a duffel bag. Introducing himself as a doctor and friend, Cole relaxed enough to let the man examine his shoulder. Maria and the doctor spoke some more before the man patted Cole on the shoulder and assured both him and Maria that he could stitch Cole up with no problems.

On his side facing away from Maria and the doctor, Cole could only guess that it was iodine that burned on the open wound. Maria reached across his chest to hold his hand. Stitches followed and Cole passed out before the work was done.

g

He woke the next morning with daylight creeping through the curtains and saw Maria laying next to him. She was on her side facing him and her arms were curled around a pillow. She was still asleep, and Cole didn’t want to wake her. He stayed in bed for some time, in and out of sleep himself with his one good arm intertwined with hers. When she finally did wake up, Maria was quick to smile at him, and Cole wondered if she hadn’t been up for some time and had simply kept her eyes closed to avoid the morning. Cole smiled back at her and paused to take in her pretty features. His left shoulder was stiff, but his arm didn’t feel all that bad.

He fired up the coffee maker by the mini-fridge and made two cups. Passing one to Maria, the two sat in bed sipping their coffee and touched their feet against each others under the covers, laughing when they did. It was close to noon by the time Maria put her dress back on and fixed her hair as best she could in the bathroom. When she came out, Cole watched her around the room as she looked around for her things. He tossed the Delaney t-shirt she’d worn the night before back at her, saying, “Keep it.” She smiled and stuffed it into her purse.

He asked, “How much do I owe you?”

Maria looked back at him, stopping momentarily before putting her shoes back on. She walked back over to Cole and sat on the side of the bed with him. “Nothing.”

Cole asked, “But what about the doctor?”

Maria shook her head, “He is a friend. There is no charge.”

She got up to leave and Cole grabbed at her hand. “Don’t leave. Please.”

The truth was Cole didn’t want to be alone. With a bullet hole in the back of his shoulder and no one he could trust, Maria was all he had and he owed her dearly. Maria nodded that she would stay and sat back down on the bed.

She smiled and asked, “So what do we do now?”

He flashed a grin and said, “I think I’ve got a plan.” Cole stood up, walked over to the phone, and dialed David.

Before Cole could get a word out, David asked in a sharp tone, “Are you part of this shit, Cole?”

Cole was not entirely surprised that David already knew something had gone down. “Would you rather me have rolled over and died?”

“Damn it, Cole. You’re more trouble than you know.”

Cole laughed to himself. “What did you hear?”

David replied, “What did I hear? What did I hear? I hear that some fucking cowboy is killing guys down dark alleys. I hear that some guy is shooting at the Coast Guard and then comes back to Panama and turns the city into the Wild West. That’s what I hear.”

Cole quipped back, “Yeah, because Panama was so peaceful until I got here.”

David calmed down a bit and said, “You sit tight. I fucking mean it. I’ll be over in a bit.”

Cole hung up the phone and remembered that he hadn’t reloaded from the night before. He took the gun from the bathroom and the bag of cleaning supplies over to the table, unloaded it, and gave it a quick run through with the oil and rags. Whatever pain meds he had from the night before were starting to wear off. Maria offered to get some more, but Cole preferred to tough it out and keep his senses sharp. Loading the gun again with a full magazine, he put his jeans back on and a new shirt then tucked the gun back in its holster. With gauze and tape over the stitches on his back, he buttoned his shirt, snugged up his belt to hold the gun’s weight, and sat back down with Maria, waiting for David.

He looked at her, sitting next to him on the bed and thought for a long second before he spoke. “I owe you a lot.”

She shook her head back and forth playfully. She could tell his arm was starting to hurt. “We should go and I can get you some more medicine.”

Cole declined, saying, “No, there’s something else I want to do. Just give me some time.” With that, she leaned against his good side and they talked like they had so many times before. Maria didn’t know it, but Cole had a plan in his head to repay Maria’s kindness.

g

Two hours later, David knocked at his door. It was after three in the afternoon. The two shook hands, and Cole pulled two beers from the refrigerator, passing one to David. David eyed Maria and looked back at Cole with a grin. Cole locked eyes with David and said, “It isn’t what you think.”

David laughed. “It never is.”

Cole replied, “I mean it. Don’t say a word.”

They both took large sips and got down to business. “Cole, I won’t lie to you. You pissed off the other cartels with the shooting at the Americans. You’ve disrupted a balance that we all like down here. On the plus side, you brought in some good cash that we would have lost otherwise, so my boss is still OK with everything, but some of the others are not so much.”

Cole processed for a moment and asked, “So who the fuck tried to kill me, David?”

David took another sip and paused. He looked at Cole as if to suggest he was going to say something heavy. “You gotta get the fuck out of town for a while.”

Cole was looking back directly at David. “OK. How the fuck do you suggest I do that?”

David laughed. “No worries, my friend. We’ll get you out of here. You go sit tight and let this thing settle down. You’ve got some cash; there are plenty of places to sit and be comfortable. We’ve got a plane going out tonight if you’d like.”

“Where to?”

“A couple of places, but he’ll end up in Martinique, I believe. Maybe Aruba on the way, just to drop off some things.”

Cole figured it was another run. With his shoulder, he was in no shape to push through the night. “Are we moving stuff?”

David shook his head and answered, “No, no, we don’t use planes much right now for that kind of business. The Colombians have gotten too good at shooting them down. All of it is legit, or at least as legit as it gets for us.”

Cole accepted the offer. “When do we leave?”

David finished his beer. “Now.”

Cole thought for a moment, looked at Maria, and replied, “We gotta run by the bank first.”

David asked, “Why?”

“Something I need to take care of.”

David looked back at Maria, then at Cole. “Does this have something to do with her?”

Cole nodded, “Yup.”

From the bed where she sat, Maria tilted her head as if to ask Cole what he was up to. Cole just smiled at her.

Cole packed up a few of his things, including some extra tape and gauze the doctor had left, and they all set off. David had a van waiting, and Cole climbed in with Maria, the two of them sitting in the backseat. David climbed in up front. She seemed uneasy and Cole reassured her with his hand on her knee. It was mid-afternoon, and Cole scanned Habana’s one last time as the van pulled away.

It felt like he was geared up for another run north, but the van took different turns as it made its way through town. Cole remembered the drive in on his first night and found himself almost nostalgic for the past few months in Panama. Part of him wanted badly to turn and drive north to set his hands on a panga again or spend a lazy morning in a hammock in Nicaragua sipping a rum drink. But with each adventure, Cole knew he was only deeper into a world from which he may not get out. Am I simply another cog in the wheel, or am I actually part of the problem? He questioned his decisions and he didn’t like the answers that festered in his mind.

He pushed those thoughts away as the van pulled up to a large bank. Maria, Cole, and David all stepped out and walked into the air-conditioned lobby. Cole asked Maria to wait for them up front, and David walked with Cole up to a well-dressed middle-aged woman seated at a desk in a corner. Cole explained to David that he wanted to sign his account over to Maria. David shook his head to say no, telling Cole it was a mistake. Cole persisted and reluctantly David translated Cole’s request.

As the woman drew up paperwork, David again tried to talk Cole out of it. “Cole, you’ve got a lot of cash here. Don’t be stupid because of one night. There are a lot of pretty girls here.”

Cole gritted his teeth. He’d made nothing but mistakes in Panama. Left for dead and unwilling to trust even David, Cole wanted nothing to do with the money he’d made over the past months. He looked over his shoulder at Maria. She was seated facing away from them and he thought back to how she’d held him up the night before. He thought about their first conversation and how she’d explained that one day she’d bring back her money to her family in Colombia. There were lots of pretty girls in Panama, but he held a special place in his heart for Maria. Not only had she been there for him at his lowest point, but Cole had gotten to know her over the months and, to him, she was so much more than just another working girl.

As the woman finished the paperwork and turned it around on the desk for Cole to see, he asked David to go get Maria. David shook his head one last time and stood up. “You are nuts, Cole.”

“Just go get Maria. Please.”

Maria walked over a few moments later and Cole asked her to sit down. The woman behind the desk sat expressionless as Cole took Maria’s hand.

He asked her, “Maria, would you leave Panama if you could?

She smiled a nervous smile and replied, “Well, one day, yes. Why?”

Cole pointed down at the papers. “I want you to have this.”

She looked down and saw a cash value of just over $120,000 at the bottom of the page. Confused, she looked back at Cole.

He explained it to her. “I’m leaving, but I want you to have this. I want you to go home, if that’s what you want to do. Or go somewhere, anywhere. Start a new life. Do you understand?”

Maria looked back down at the paper, then at Cole. “But why, Cole?”

Cole paused for a second, then answered, “Because I want to know what it feels like to do something good.”

Maria started to cry. She wiped the first tears away, but couldn’t hide her emotion. “Why me?”

Cole smiled at her, saying, “You’re the only good I’ve known in the world in a long time and it would make me happy to know you’re happy.”

From her seat next to him, Maria wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in close, pressing her face against his neck.

Cole laughed a bit. He hugged her back and held her for a moment to take in all of her charm. “Come on now, sign the papers for me.”

Maria complied and the woman took the papers off, leaving Cole and Maria to themselves.

Maria was still fighting back tears.

Cole asked, “Will you leave?”

She nodded yes. “I will go home, to Colombia.” When she said the word Colombia, she teared up again and Cole knew Maria meant it.

The woman returned with a credit card and a checkbook, discussing it for a minute with Maria in Spanish before all three stood up and shook hands. Outside the bank, Maria hugged Cole and didn’t let go for some time. Cole embraced her firmly with his good arm and managed to wrap his left arm around her as well.

Cole asked, “Are you good to go from here or do you need a ride?”

Maria replied, “No, I’m good. I’m going to get my things and say goodbye to some friends. I will fly home tomorrow, maybe the next day.”

“To Colombia?” Cole asked.

Maria smiled, teared up again for a second, and then shook her head, saying, “Yes, to Colombia.”

She paused for a second to compose herself, then hugged Cole one more time. As she held him tight, she asked, “Will you come with me?”

He patted her back, but shook his head to say no. “I can’t. I have to take care of some things. But maybe I’ll see you again one day, Maria.”

She hugged him again with force and kissed his lips. It caught Cole by surprise, but he kissed her back and it only reaffirmed the feelings he held for her. With one last hug and a smile from Maria, they parted ways. Maria looked back twice as she walked down the sidewalk and disappeared. He stood there for some time until David called out from the van and motioned for Cole to get moving. Cole stood for a few moments more, replaying the last few minutes over in his head, before he climbed into the van. With his drug money now gone, Cole was left with his severance, which was honest—albeit bittersweet—money to get along with for the time being.

g

As they drove east to the airport along the Pacific, Cole thought about the Caribbean and wondered if he would have the chance again to roar across the waves under a full moon. If he was washed up and simply didn’t know it, he felt sorry for himself. It was short-lived, but in many ways he was just happy to be alive. Even from inside the van, he felt a weight off his chest by being outside the city. It was time for something new. Maria would be his lasting memory of Panama City. One day he hoped to forget the blood and the death and the drugs, but he would hold onto the thought of Maria.

As they motored along in and out of afternoon traffic, David asked Cole for the gun back. “You gotta dump that thing. The cops are looking for it now.”

David extended his hand out for Cole to give it to him. Cole instinctively didn’t like the idea of not having a gun with him and reassured himself by patting it with his right hand.

He looked back at David. “I’ll give it to you at the airport.”

David laughed and said, “You worry too much my friend. Besides, now you got no money, so why would I even mess with you?”

They both laughed a bit at the joke. The truth was Cole felt better being broke than if he left a rich man. It was money he’d earned, but he valued a cleaner conscience more than cash.

The rest of the drive was uneventful and when they approached the airport, the van turned down a separate road from the main terminal.

“Where are we going?” Cole watched as they drove right past the main passenger area.

David pointed further down the road and said, “We don’t bother with customs. Everything is good, my friend. Don’t worry.”

When they finally pulled up to a nearly empty ramp, Cole saw a man step out of a smaller twin-engine plane and walk towards the van. David stepped out first and walked over, shaking hands with the guy. Cole was next and they all stood around the hot ramp in the afternoon sun sizing each other up.

David made introductions. “Cole, this is Murph. He’s one of our pilots.”

Murph extended his hand and Cole obliged. Murph was older than Cole by probably ten years, balding a bit, and wore sandals with khaki shorts and a wrinkled short-sleeve shirt. He was tan, but looked to be an American. He had a smile on his face. Cole could tell that Murph was trying to figure Cole out just as much as Cole was trying to sort out a new face.

“He’s running to Curacao and then to Martinique with some papers and documents for us,” said David. “You can ride along and stop wherever.”

Cole nodded to accept and walked to the van to grab his bag. As he walked back over to the plane with his bag over his shoulder, he reached into his holster and handed David the Glock. David took it, slipped it into the small of his back, and exchanged a firm nod with Cole. Without much in the way of goodbyes, Murph showed Cole to the step up behind the wing and Cole climbed in. He couldn’t stand up straight in the cramped cabin, but there were a few seats scattered about and two briefcases off to one side. Cole took a seat right behind a bulkhead that separated the cabin from the cockpit.

Murph pulled some chocks out from under the landing gear and threw them into the back of the plane. Through the small round windows, Cole saw him pulling at things and smacking different parts of the plane, giving it a once over. Once up into the cabin, he walked forward and whacked Cole on the back of the head and pointed forward. “This ain’t the fucking airlines, kid. Sit up front and do something useful. I don’t trust you if I can’t see you.”

It caught Cole off guard, but he followed Murph further forward, and after seeing Murph climb over a console and sit down, Cole repeated the same balancing act and settled into the right seat. Murph was furiously flipping switches and pulling handles and soon enough both engines roared to life. For the first time, Cole found himself somewhere hotter than Panama City. With no air flow, the cockpit must have been over 100 degrees. He was soaked in sweat, wiping it from his eyes and trying to figure out how to put on the headset Murph had handed him. For Cole it was completely foreign, but as Murph began a slow taxi, Cole realized he had his ticket out of Panama.