“You think he’ll be okay?” I asked.
“Hard to say,” Paul replied. “Some patients recover fully and are then faced with the memories of what happened to them. Others never regain the memory of what caused the disassociation, yet go on to live a normal, productive life.”
“I’m glad you’re here with us,” I said. “Is there anything we can do to help him remember?”
Paul looked up at me. “He’s had a hard life up to now. Chyrel got into the hospital records so I could look at his file. The physician who treated him wrote in his notes that he guessed he might be as old as eight or nine, but a lifetime of malnourishment had stunted his growth.”
Paul paused and looked over at Alberto again. “It’s probably best not to push it. If his memory returns, it returns. If it doesn’t, he may be better off for it.”
“King me,” Alberto said.
The game was progressing swiftly.
“How?” DJ asked. “I don’t have any more of your checkers.”
Alberto took one of the checkers he’d already captured from DJ and put it under his piece on the back row. His hand, in midair, began to shake. He sat back suddenly, clasping his hands together between his knees, and tightly closing his eyes.
DJ quickly moved around the table and sat beside him, pulling him close. “It’s okay, little man. You’re safe here.”
Savannah went to his other side and wrapped her arms around both of them. “DJ’s right,” she whispered. “Nobody can hurt you here.”
“He’s just had a flash of memory,” Paul whispered to me, watching the boy closely. “He’s frightened—terrified.”
DJ Martin was usually a boisterous, fun-loving guy, but being a former Army spec-ops soldier, he could turn instantly dangerous. To see him gently holding Alberto and stroking his hair was so out of character. It was something I’d have expected from his partner, Jerry Snyder, but not DJ.
After a moment, Alberto looked up at him with a pitiful expression and tears in his eyes. He looked down at DJ’s prosthetic, festooned with stickers from bars, dive boats, and military organizations. I could see a bond between them. What it was, I didn’t know.
“Did you remember something?” Savannah asked. Then she looked up at Paul. “It’s okay if he talks about it, right?”
“If he wants to,” Paul said.
The rest of us knelt on the deck around Alberto.
“You can think of me as your grandpa,” Tank said, chucking the boy on the shoulder. “And the rest of us are your aunts and uncles. We’re all family and we take care of each other.”
Alberto looked around at each of us, wiping his eyes. Then they fell on Tony. “You too?”
“Me too, kiddo,” Tony said. “Me, Tank, DJ, Paul, and Jesse are all just like real brothers.”
He looked at Savannah. “I remembered someone,” he said, then pointed to Tony. “Someone like him.”
“Someone black?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he replied. “I think he was my dad.”
After a late dinner aboard the Revenge, Savannah and I took Alberto down to Sea Biscuit’s forward stateroom. He either wasn’t able to or didn’t want to recall anything more about the black man in his memory.
We sat with him for a while, Savannah reading from one of Flo’s books, until he fell asleep.
We’d changed our plans up a little, since we had three cars. Tank and Paul would stand watch on Sea Biscuit, just as an added measure of security, while DJ and Tony took separate cars to hit the drug dealers and I’d take the third car to pick up prostitutes.
Chyrel had her laptop set up in the large salon and was going to sleep on the couch. “How’s he doing?” she asked when we came back to the salon.
“He’s sleeping,” Savannah replied. “It’s been a long day.”
“It’s going to be a long night, too,” I said.
Savannah kissed me and then I headed over to where the guys were waiting on the Revenge. I opened the cabinet where my laptop was located, removed a small box, then passed out communication devices. I only had four, but Tank and Paul could share as they relieved one another on Sea Biscuit’s flybridge. I doubted there would be any trouble, but with Alberto aboard, I didn’t want to take any chances. Chyrel could monitor all the comms from her laptop.
We waited until 2200, then went over to Mark Ramsey’s 27-foot Hunter. There was a light on, so I called out quietly. Mark’s head popped up out of the companionway.
“We’re heading out,” I said. “I’ll take the first girl I can find to the center myself, but I’d like it if you’d come with me, so I can introduce you to Dr. Lopez.”
“No problem,” he said. “I usually sleep in the salon anyway. I’ll be ready.”
“Give me your number,” I said. “I’ll call you and you can meet me out by the road.”
He gave it to me, and I punched it into my phone, then hit the Talk button. When I heard his ring tone down below, I ended the call, storing his number in my recent call log.
The three of us set off for the parking lot where the three rentals were located. We were all well-armed.
“Don’t take any chances,” I told Tony and DJ. “As soon as someone produces drugs, pull your weapons. Make sure they don’t have a knife or anything, and flex
