The Dragons of Styx

by John E. Siers

  “Looks like Rivera’s assessment of the local political situation was a bit optimistic,” Ramirez said. “Before you whacked him, the shooter said he was delivering a message from Don Diego.”

  “Right…sounds like war’s been declared—and we’re in the middle of it.”

  Though nominally still a democracy, Mexico was in fact controlled by an oligarchy of gang warlords. The official government resided in Mexico City, where its members met, made laws, and conducted business with greater regard for international relations than for what went on in the rest of the country.

  The Baja Peninsula was no exception. Guerrero Negro was located in the southern state of Baja California Sur near the border with the northern state of Baja California proper. By coincidence, that also put it near the border between the territories of two rival gangs, both of which sought control of the entire peninsula.

  Before setting up for business, Rivera had approached the southern state’s dominant warlord—known simply as Don Pedro—to discuss the matter. Don Pedro had seen the advantage of being able to have rivals and enemies eliminated by an impartial third party with no connection to his own people. Rivera had expected him to be a frequent customer.

  It appeared, however, that the northern warlord—whose people would have likely been targets—was somewhat less sanguine about the idea. He’d not only sent the two shooters to eliminate Rivera, but had also decided to take out Don Pedro’s operatives in Guerrero Negro as well.

  “I think we need to un-ass this AO,” Morgan muttered.

  “Speak English! You’re not in the Marines anymore!”

  “Once a Marine—sorry, Babe. I meant ‘get our asses out of this area.’”

  They’d managed to exit the office by a rear door that let them out into a narrow alley. Heading down the alley in the direction of the least amount of gunfire, they’d almost reached the end when a pickup truck carrying armed men—faction unknown—crossed the other end of the alley, stopped, backed up, and started firing at them.

  “Keep moving—got to get out of this alley,” Morgan insisted. “Those are AKs, and they’re at least a hundred yards back. If they manage to hit us, it’ll be just luck.”

  Ramirez responded in Spanish. He managed to catch cabron estupido and hoped she wasn’t talking about him, but she kept running, and they made it around the corner.

  They immediately drew fire from both directions. Seeing no other option, they’d crossed the street and ducked into the cantina. The bartender and waitress, seeing the two of them with weapons deployed, had ducked into the kitchen, and locked themselves in. There were no other customers, so Morgan and Ramirez had the place to themselves.

  Unfortunately, somebody had noticed their evasive tactic, and shooters lurking in the alley entrance across the street were now targeting the cantina with sporadic fire. With the two locals barricaded behind the steel-clad kitchen door, there was no way they could get out the back. Sheltering behind the bar, Morgan checked over the AK he had liberated from the dead woman.

  “Wonder which side is shooting at us,” Ramirez mused.

  “Probably both,” Morgan responded. “Don Pedro’s people probably think we set up Rivera, and the other side knows we took out their shooters. Honestly, Babe, we’re in a jam, and I really am sorry I got you into this.”

  “We could probably use a dragon about now,” she said.

  “Thought of that—got no cell service, or I’d have called Mark.”

  “Try a text,” she suggested. “Sometimes those go through even when you can’t get a voice connection.”

  Mark Marshall was a hacker, an electronics wizard, general all-around builder, handyman, and first-class geek with an idea for a homing device that might, might, be able to detect and track insect-sized drones using one of DARPA’s Exacto homing rounds. The problem was the maneuverability of such a drone, but if the bullet arrived fast enough, before the controller noticed him tracking it with a gun and firing, it just might work. Because, after having time to think about it, Mark had no doubt the spider he’d seen while recuperating had been another mini drone. He didn’t know who, but somebody was tracking him.

  He’d also come up with a system that intercepted and screened incoming calls and texts for his number and Lisa’s and had just added Sparkling’s number to it as well. Calls with a bogus ID—common practice for telemarketers, scammers, and identity thieves—were routed to a special voice mail that advised them to go screw themselves. Calls from anyone not on Mark or Lisa’s authorized list were routed directly to regular voicemail. Likewise, texts did not produce an alert unless from a known source. Otherwise, they went silently to a special inbox for review at leisure. It made for a quieter day at the Ferry, but it also meant the calls and texts that did come through got immediate attention.

  “What the hell?” Mark looked at the message that had just popped up on his pad, announcing itself with a special priority tone that indicated it came from one of his LifeEnders contacts. He was having lunch with Lisa and Sparkling in the cafeteria, and he presented the screen to let Lisa have a look.

  MAYDAY. WITH NYDIA IN MEXICO.

  BURP TROUBLE. NEED GITFOH.

  SEND DRAGON.

  The message showed Jay Morgan as the sender and was followed by a set of GPS coordinates generated by Morgan’s phone.

  “OK…I understand BURPs from being around you,” Lisa said. “Butt ugly rag-head pricks? Right? But what’s GITFOH?”

  “Get The Fuck Out of Here,” he replied. “He’s calling for an extraction. I’d better…”

  “You’d better stay right there,” she insisted. “I’ve got this one. You have a client termination this afternoon, and Sparkle’s got her first solo prospect interview. Besides, I may need to rescue Nydia from Jay.”

  “Lisa, this is serious. After what happened in Italy…”

  “He said BURPs, not rogue wizards. And—unlike you in Italy—I won’t hesitate to call for help if there’s a problem.”

  “But how are you going to find them?”

  “Easy…” She reached over and touched the GPS coordinates on his screen, which immediately popped up a map. “There…you see, nice little Mexican town of Guerrero Negro. Straight down the coast…should be easy to find. And I should be able to home on Jay and Nydia when I get close.”

  “But you’ve never been there…” The danger of missing the landing and having your head materialize inside a tree was something neither of them spoke about openly because there was no need to. His protest was cut short by the thump sound that accompanied her departure, though, as air rushed in to fill the space where she’d been.

  Sparkling looked at him through the rapidly thinning turquoise haze, then got up from the table. Without comment, she picked Lisa’s abandoned garments up from the chair and floor, folded everything neatly, and placed it on the next table. She looked at Mark and shrugged.

  “Yeah…I know,” he said. “Once her mind’s made up, there’s no stopping her. I almost feel sorry for the BURPs.”

  Like hell I do, he thought. Dragon or not, Lisa’s never been in a combat situation. He would stay put as requested—he didn’t really want to leave Spark alone to mind the store—but his nerves would be on edge until Lisa returned.

  One side in the battle had apparently retreated up the street. Morgan still didn’t know who was who, but the gunfire had receded in one direction and gotten closer from the other. Unfortunately, the side that now controlled the street in front of the cantina still had an issue with the two norteamericanos and was making a determined effort to get at them.

  The building was of substantial masonry construction, with small windows—now mostly devoid of glass thanks to random gunfire—fairly high up on the walls. One attacker, pistol in hand, had tried to come in through a window, but Ramirez had put a round in the middle of his forehead. His comrades had decided not to attempt that method of entry again.

  At least no one had lobbed a grenade or Molotov cocktail through a window, but
it sounded like someone was working on the front door with a serious breaching tool. The door was made of heavy, solid wood with a metal frame set securely in the masonry. They’d also blocked it with a couple of tables, but it wasn’t proof against a determined assault.

  Morgan decided not to waste ammo trying to shoot through the door. Instead he waited for them to get it open, whereupon he planned to empty the entire can of whoop-ass on them. Ramirez had spent about half of her Sig’s magazine and had one spare. He had two spares for the .45, plus the AK with its full 30-round magazine.

  Judging by what was going on in the streets, he estimated at least a platoon-sized group on each side. He wasn’t sure how this would end, but at least the bastards would know they’d been in a fight.

  He was still racking his brain for possible alternative strategies when suddenly the door burst inward, driven open by the mangled bodies of two attackers, who ended up in a limp, bloody heap in front of the bar. One of them was still clutching the Halligan tool he’d been using on the door. The other had a bent and broken AK-47 across his chest.

  Nydia…Jay…are you guys OK in there? The familiar mezzo-soprano voice sounded in their heads.

  “Lisa!” Ramirez exclaimed. “What…?”

  You asked for a dragon and I won the toss…Hey! Ow! That hurts!

  A long burst of gunfire from somewhere nearby was the apparent source of the pain. Morgan looked at Ramirez and shook his head.

  “Yeah…I asked for a dragon,” he said, “but…”

  Outside, Lisa swung her head around to look behind her—an easy task with a neck about eight feet long—and quickly located the guy on the roof of the building who had just emptied his AK’s entire 30-round magazine into her back right between her wings. Her armored scales had stopped or deflected the bullets, but the hits were painful enough to make her wonder whether she’d wind up with bruises.

  The attacker was now fumbling to insert another magazine, and Lisa decided she didn’t want him to do that. With a flick of her powerful tail, she sent the would-be dragonslayer spinning off the roof into a non-survivable collision with the wall of the building across the alley.

  That went pretty well, she decided. I’m still learning how to use this big body, but…ow! Not again!

  Another shooter had opened up on her from the side, this time with an AR-15. The shots produced a sharper stinging sensation than the AK-47 rounds, but not as heavy or painful overall.

  She had no time to contemplate relative ballistics. The shooter was firing from the bed of a pickup truck that had pulled across the next intersection about fifty yards away, and his companion in the truck bed was deploying a heavier weapon. Lisa was not a combat veteran, but she’d seen enough Hollywood action flicks to recognize an RPG when she saw one.

  Uh-uh! Not gonna happen, she thought. She whipped her head forward like a striking snake and spit a ball of fire at the target, incinerating the shooters and producing a spectacular explosion as the truck’s fuel tank let go.

  Wow! I really can breathe fire! And, like Sparkle said, I didn’t even have to think about it.

  She looked around, finally realizing she was in a high-threat environment and should really be more alert. She didn’t know what would have happened if that guy had fired the RPG at her, but she had a feeling it wouldn’t have been pleasant.

  She looked up and down the street, but all she could see were what Mark or Jay would have called “assholes and elbows”—guys running away from her as fast as they could with their heads down. OK—focus! Get back to your mission!

  She turned and stuck her head into the cantina—through the ceiling, without disturbing the structure of the building. Again, she didn’t have to think about it, she just did it.

  I repeat…are you guys OK in here?

  “Madre de Dios!” Ramirez recoiled in shock. “Jeez, Lisa! Next time warn me before you do that!

  “Are you seeing this?” She turned and gave Morgan a sharp elbow to the ribs. “You wanted to see the hot, sexy blue dragon. Are you happy now?”

  “Uh…” For once Morgan was at a loss for words.

  In case you guys haven’t noticed, there’s a small war going on out here. Jay, you wanted GITFOH…where exactly do you guys want to go?

  “Uh…” Morgan swallowed hard. “Right now, I’m wishing I was home in bed, just waking up from this crazy dream…”

  You got it…hold on tight. Two huge dragon arms with clawed hands reached into the bar and carefully wrapped around each of them.

  “Hey…wait…” Ramirez started to protest.

  Hearing a heavy thump sound, one of Don Diego’s fighters got the nerve up to look around the corner of the building. To his surprise, the street in front of the cantina was empty. Further down, the wreckage of the truck still sent clouds of oily black smoke into the sky, but the huge beast was gone.

  Slowly the fighters emerged from cover. Deciding they’d had enough for one day, Don Diego’s men piled into their surviving trucks and headed north. Don Pedro’s men came out and began to clean up the mess around the neighborhood. By nightfall, all of them would find refuge in some local watering hole, where—with liberal application of beer and tequila—they would convince themselves they hadn’t really seen what they saw.

  “Lisa! I’m gonna get you for this, you big blue lizard!”

  Echoes of departing dragon laughter filled her head as Ramirez swung her legs out of the bed and stood up. Straightening her clothing and pushing her hair back, she glared at Morgan.

  “Babe…I didn’t mean for her to actually do it. It was just a half-assed joke. I’m really sorry.”

  “Got to be a new record,” she muttered. “That’s the third time you’ve apologized today.”

  She looked around the bedroom. She’d never been in Morgan’s Malibu townhouse, but she saw pretty much what she’d expected. He obviously hadn’t bothered to make the bed before departing on the Mexico trip. There were a couple of empty beer cans on the bedside table, and a rather disreputable bathrobe lay carelessly tossed across a chair. The whole place looked in need of a good cleaning.

  Strangely enough, she found the disorderly mess comforting—proof that Jay Morgan was exactly what he seemed to be, a rough, tough ex-Marine somewhat short on social skills, but a no-bullshit honest man. And a handy guy to have around when things got nasty.

  He was still sitting there on the bed with a sorrowful puppy-dog look, waiting for forgiveness.

  She peeled off her jacket, slipped off the shoulder holster and set the Sig down on the bedside table next to the beer cans. She took a deep breath and began to unbutton her blouse.

  “Don’t just sit there, dummy,” she told him. “Take your clothes off. You’re not going to get a better opportunity.”

  Chapter Eighteen: The Tontine

  I’m home, Lisa’s mental voice lifted a heavy weight off Mark’s shoulders. I’m upstairs, finding something to wear.

  Spark folded your clothes and left them on the table in the cafeteria. So…how did it go?

  No problem, I picked them up and dropped them at Jay’s place in Malibu.

  He picked up a hint of amusement in her voice, but also a touch of pain.

  You OK?

  Yeah, just a couple of little nicks. No big deal, only small arms fire.

  Never underestimate small arms fire. There’s some pretty nasty weaponry out there. What does ‘a couple of nicks’ mean?

  Bruise on my back, couple of small bruises on my ribs. Nothing that’ll slow me down tonight. Hey…tomorrow’s a Time Out day.

  The humor was back in her voice, and he felt better.

  OK…Spark’s prospect is with her now, my client is a no-show so far. Just relax upstairs—we’ll see you at dinner. Chinese tonight?

  Sounds good…I’ll order it.

  Mark’s termination did, in fact, turn out to be a no-show. He and Sparkling closed up shop and locked the building down at 4:30. Mark stopped by the cafeteria to pick up Lisa’s clothes, then they
went upstairs.

  Since tonight’s dinner—delivered by drone to the rooftop garden—didn’t require extensive kitchen facilities, they decided to dine in Sparkling’s living room on the fifth floor. By tacit agreement, they didn’t talk about business until the main course was finished and they were into the tea-and-fortune-cookies phase.

  “So…want to tell me about those bruises you mentioned?” Mark gave Lisa a stern look.

  “Guy tried to empty an AK into my back from a rooftop behind me. Stung, but those scales are tough. Nothing got through. I whacked him with my tail.

  “Damn!” she exclaimed. “Did I just say that? That sounds sooooo weird! Whacked him with my tail!”

  “Weird, maybe…but probably accurate.” Mark grinned at her. “So what happened after that?”

  “Nothing much. Oh, I had to barbecue some guys who were shooting at me from down the street, but after that, I just grabbed Jay and Nydia and got out of there.”

  “And brought them back here—to California?”

  “Yeah, well, I asked Jay where he wanted to go, and he said he wished he was back home in bed—so that’s where I dropped him.”

  “And Nydia?”

  “She didn’t say where she wanted to go, so I just dropped her off with Jay.”

  “With Jay?” Mark’s jaw dropped. “In his apartment? In bed? Let me guess…you forgot to bring their clothes along for the trip.”

  “Hey!” She snorted. “I may have an evil sense of humor, but even I wouldn’t go that low. They were both fully clothed when I left them.”

  “Hah! I’m sure that’ll be an interesting story next time I meet him for beers down at Murphy’s—assuming he’s willing to talk about it.”

  He turned to Sparkling, who was obviously sharing his amusement.

  “Okay…Mommy whacked a few BURPs and played a nasty joke on our friends, Daddy’s date for the afternoon stood him up—decided she didn’t want to die after all. No problem—we got paid. So how did your day go, Spark? I see you got the contract—and a very juicy one at that.”