Breaking Bad: Heisenberg - Tuco's Revenge (Heisenberg Book 1 / Breaking Bad)

by Dustin Brubaker

  Tuco shoved Luis to the floor and drove a knee into his chest, “Then you’re meeting me tonight, sunset. Paguate Reservoir. If you have the balls, bring one car full of men, if you don’t, then bring as many as you can fucking find you coward piece of shit mother fucke…” he finished his sentence by throwing the phone across the garage. It slammed into the concrete wall and shattered into a half dozen pieces.

  Without word or warning Tuco dug his fingers into Luis’ throat. Luis screamed as much as he was able, he kicked and thrashed as long as he could but all of his resistances dwindled rapidly as air stopped and blood ran and the shock set in, eventually numbing him from the swelling pain and overwhelming fear.

  He was dying, he knew it, he could feel it, fighting it, struggling, but then giving into it, sensing it was over as sensation left, everything turning cold and fading, blurring into a tunnel that stretched outwards into a silent blackness…

  Tuco stood and stared at his hands, blood coated them, chunks of flesh under his nails. He laughed, staring down at Luis’ body, “Holy shit,” he said, “Fucking shit, look at that mess. That fucking dude is dead as shit.” Tuco looked around, finding it hard to focus in the rush of adreniline. The ugly red Saturn. Tools. Thirty-gallon gasoline barrel. Fifty-gallon oil drum. Rolling tool box. “Burn this fucking place down,” Tuco told his crew, wiping his hands off on his pants, “I’m going to the car for a minute. I need to...”

  A car horn honking outside the garage cut Tuco off. Before he could do more than turn to ask his companions what the hell that was, the familiar thunder of a sub-machine gun roared outside and the windows shattered, glass sprayed everywhere and bullets bit into the concrete walls.

  Tuco dropped to his knees, the wild anger in his eyes momentarily replaced with fear. He looked around and found his crew, his old friends and cousins, crouching down beside the standup toolbox, next to the Saturn, wondering what they were up against and what would they do.

  Each of them, Marco, Leonel, No Doze and Vegas, had the question in their eye: what do we do next, Boss? That’s all Tuco needed. He needed to know his amigos were there and were ready. He needed to know they were there to do, possibly die. Whatever gets the job done. Tuco knew the next move was his, and as whizzing bullets, flying glass and violent noise all increased, the chaos rapidly building, he had an idea.

  He stared at the Saturn a moment, wondering. A stray bullet sunk into its passenger door a few meters from No Doze. Tuco smiled. He knew it was just irrational enough to work.

  10.

  Vegas would have given anything for his gun. It was a sweet .44 Magnum with a custom grip. Dirty Harry style. Unfortunately his gun, like Tuco’s, was currently outside in the Lincoln. Outside where some unknown amount of men had some unknown amount of firepower concentrated on them.

  No Doze had a pistol tucked in his back waistband and both Leonel and Marco had .33 in their boots. That was it for guns. Three small pistols. No other firepower.

  Besides small handguns, Tuco’s crew had knives, and a fire axe they found hanging on the wall. Not much. No advantage to be found. All they really had going for them was Tuco’s plan and the plan was questionable at best. They all knew it but none would dare say it. It was their only choice. It had to work.

  “All right, brothers,” Tuco said, taking one last hit of meth and handing it to No Doze, “once its going, we get behind it and run. Fucking pray that some of those things blow.” Tuco made sure No Doze and Marco had their pistols ready. “You two,” he said, looking back at the 2006 Saturn they had hastily rigged, “aim good.”

  The ugly red Saturn was idling in ‘Park,’ the gas pedal wedged down with brake pads and wrenches. The interior and exterior of the Saturn had been doused, saturated, in gasoline and oil. The car was filled with cans of oil and the barrel of gasoline; they tried a dozen different ways to make homemade explosives out of whatever they could find.

  The plan was simple, brute and hopefully enough to take some of Filipe’s goons out. Throw the car into gear and hope it exploded. They needed to open up space to retrieve their rifles and machine guns from the Lincoln and make it back to the garage. Tuco would give the signal and it was go.

  “No Doze, hit the door. Leonel,” Tuco paused, cracked his neck and knuckles, “light this mother up and let’s get this party started.” Tuco howled and slapped himself, gunfire pounded and bullets ripped the air. Tuco gave the signal.

  No Doze hit the button and one section of the garage door began to slide open. Leonel lit a gas soaked rag and gave his brother a nod. Marco reached between the seats and pulled the gear lever, barely yanking his arm out in time as the car lurched into motion. The Saturn bucked forward, its tires screeching. The strap held true and the car sped forward out of the door. As it passed, Leonel tossed the blazing rag into the driver’s side window. Poof. It went up in a quickly spreading ball of fire as it left the garage.

  Outside, Diego Grande had no doubt he would fulfill his end of the bargain. As leader of the Kings, he had eight men and an over-abundance of automatic weapons at his disposal. Filipe Toledo wants some Juarez pricks held in place until he get here than that’s what he’s gonna get. Easy as a fucking pie.

  He fired another burst towards the garage, bullets pierced the metal door and shattered window. He looked around, watching his men shooting, smoking, out in the dust and the sun. Life is fucking beautiful, he thought, squeezing off another burst.

  Then something strange happened.

  The garage door began to roll open. A car revved its engine. Diego waved his men off. “Hold your fire,” he shouted, “keep your eyes out.” He would wait for it. It would be coming any second now. What a fucking stupid idea. Trying to drive through almost a dozen submachine guns. I just hope there’s someway to keep them alive for you, Filipe, but you’ll understand won’t you? The hood of the car was visible, it was speeding out of the garage. They we’re trying to get away.

  The car suddenly burst into flames and roared out of the garage. It was not turning, it was not following the road. It was… holy fuck…

  The Kings began firing again as the blazing car came speeding towards them. “Get the fuck out of the way,” Diego screamed diving to the side as the Saturn rumbled past. No one in that car. That means…

  From the garage, Tuco, No Doze and the Cousins came charging as close to the car as possible. Leonel and Marco had their two pistols blazing. Inside the garage, Vegas crouched to the side firing a pistol at the Kings. There was screaming and bodies leaping aside. Leonel fired, clipped a King in the shoulder. Tuco chucked a large wrench, stunning a skinny King as it banged into his eyebrow.

  Tuco and his crew peeled off to the side as the Saturn rolled forward, racing for Tuco’s Lincoln a few yards away. Tuco pressed the button on his keychain remote: the trunk popped open.

  Running around the back of the car, the Twins turned and concentrated on their opponents. There were eight Kings, all dressed in black and silver. Marco shot one and he fell to the ground holding his wounded shoulder. That left seven.

  Three were shooting at the Lincoln, two were returning fire at Vegas in the garage and two were picking themselves up off the ground as the flaming Saturn flew by.

  The burning car crashed into a pile of dirt and stones behind the Kings, its tires spinning and kicking up a spray of dirt and tiny stones.

  Tuco wrapped his hands around a shotgun. It was heavy. Solid. It felt good. He cocked it and grabbed an Uzi. “Marco,” he shouted, tossing him the submachine gun when he looked, “let’s show these cocksuckers who the fuck we are.”

  Before they could fire a bullet, before any offensive could be mounted, they were forced to the ground. Another car came around the corner, someone was leaning out of the back window with a machine gun blazing.

  A storm of bullets tore through the side of the Lincoln, missing Leonel by centimeters. Tuco cursed, Lionel gave Marco a quick glance. Is this it? The twins didn’t have to speak to know what they were thinking. Is this re
ally it? Are we dying here? Today? The new car skidded to a stop and five men piled out.

  Down behind the Lincoln, Tuco heard a screaming voice, “Tuco Salamanca, you fucking dog, where are you? Show yourself. Be a fucking man.”

  “Son of a…” Tuco shook his head, thrashing his fears away. “What?” he asked, looking around, “who the fuck do you…” Tuco growled and leapt to his feet, looking towards the voice. He stared at Filipe across the sweltering desert, “I’m gonna fuck you, Puto,” he swung the shotgun up, “I’m gonna fuck you all!”

  He pulled the trigger and a burst of flame blew from the shotgun. A shower of red hot pellets rocketed out, tearing holes through the back bumper of the car, shredding the face and chest of the kid standing next to Filipe.

  Four machine guns opened fire and Tuco dove back down. The Lincoln shivered as bullets tore it apart. Marco felt stinging in his shoulder and was surprised to learn he was bleeding He had been hit. A little more to the left and it would have been his brain.

  He hunched down even more, looking over at his brother, making sure he was okay. Leonel was staring at him with wide eyes.

  They looked at Tuco who was on the ground, the shotgun cradled in his arms as window glass showered down on him. Tuco said nothing. Nothing had to be said. They were all family. They knew. At least we’re going out together. At least we’re going to go out on our feet and we’re gonna take as many of these fuckers with us as possible.

  11.

  The chaos mounted. Pinned down behind the increasingly shredded Lincoln, Tuco, Marco, Leonel and No Doze were certain their time on this earth was minutes away from ending in a bloody, painful mess. Then…

  Boom. The first explosion inside the Saturn was medium sized, so were the second and third: gas cans exploding and setting off a chain reaction. The gunfire slowed for a moment as people turned to see what was going on behind them. A few were injured to various slight degrees by flying glass and metallic debris.

  The fourth explosion was a bigger, blowing the door off of the Saturn and sending it flying into two Kings, knocking them unconscious. Everyone was surprised. Gunfire ceased as people ducked and covered their heads.

  Tuco smiled at Marco and the others. Wait ‘til they get a load of the Showstopper. Tuco gave his comrades the nod, the one that unequivocally told them: let’s do it.

  Before Filipe and the Kings could react, Tuco was on his feet, shotgun firing. Next to him, No Doze’s Uzi and Leonel’s AK-47 ripped into dirt, metal and flesh. Tires popped, bullet holes dug into Filipe’s car and the King’s car.

  Filipe dove to the ground as lead whizzed over his head. The gangbanger beside Filipe was not fast enough, nor were two of the Kings behind him: they died before they could duck, cover or lift their guns.

  Tuco looked around before he ducked down to reload. Five of Filipe’s men were dead or incapacitated. That left Filipe, Hector and at least five others.

  Inside the garage, Vegas continued taking pot shots at whomever raised a head in his line of sight. He can’t have much ammo left, Tuco knelt down and jammed two cartridges into his shotgun, as soon as they get the Showstopper… machine gun fire interrupted his thoughts. The lull in the action provided by the smaller explosions was over and the melee had once again begun.

  “Grab all the guns and keep ready. That big ol’ bitch is going to go off any minute and when it does we move. We gotta get back to the garage before…” Boom. Big boom.

  The Showstopper was the barrel filled with gasoline and pressurized under the heat of the burning Saturn. Tuco had hoped it would be like a small bomb when it went off and much to his startled delight, it was. The Saturn ripped apart, twisted shards of metal came flying out of the ball of fire.

  Filipe and all of his men dove to the ground. Diego, the leader of the Kings, took a spear of steel through his gut. He screamed and stumbled forward, out into the open, holding the hot metal running him through.

  In the garage, Vegas had a clean shot at Diego as he stumbled distracted by the pain and shock of his sudden injury. Vegas stepped out of his cover and squeezed his trigger three times. Only the first two were effective: he had run out of bullets. Fortunately, his two shots were enough: Diego was dead before his body hit the ground.

  Tuco saw Diego go down as he and his cousins sprinted the twelve yards between Lincoln and garage. Tuco had his arm around Marco, helping his injured cousin move as fast as he could. Behind them, No Doze and Leonel fired their machine guns and ran.

  There was no way to know how many of Filipe’s men were left, he could see no one at the moment, they were all hiding, knocked down by the Showstopper and kept down by the razing of submachine gun fire.

  “Come on, guys,” Vegas yelled, taking another step out of the garage and waving.

  “Get back in there,” Tuco yelled, “Get the fuck back in and hit the door button.”

  Vegas couldn’t hear, not with the commotion and adrenaline. He hesitated, thinking, wondering what Tuco was yelling while running towards him, pointing towards wall, at the garage door control… ‘the button’… Oh… Vegas understood.

  He turned to dash back inside and hit the button that closed the garage door but he was stopped by a sudden sharp pain in his chest, a hot wound pushing him forward and knocking him to the ground. He crawled, gasping for breath.

  “Get him,” Tuco yelled to No Doze, “Leo, get the fucking door.” His men did as they were told and Tuco laid Marco on the cold, greasy concrete floor of the garage. “You okay, Cuz?” he asked.

  Marco smiled, flexing his hand to make sure it still worked, “I’m good. Can’t raise my arm but my fucking hand works. Son of a…” he grunted, pain hitting him as he tested his inured arm’s limits, “I can hold a gun, Brother,” he said, watching the garage door slowly closing over Tuco’s shoulder, “I can fucking shoot one too.”

  Bullets ‘panged’ and ricocheted off of the closing metal door. Tuco handed Marco an Uzi, “The sooner we kill these fuckers the sooner we get some tacos, huh?”

  Marco clicked the Uzi’s safety off, “Viva.”

  The garage door finished closing, clanging down on the concrete floor. Bullets continued hammering the door, many of them piercing the metal and flying through the dim garage. No Doze dragged Vegas to the side and propped him against the wall. “You okay?” No Doze asked, holding his hand against the bleeding wound in Vegas’ breast.

  Vegas was having trouble breathing. He didn’t answer, he nodded his head and winced. No Doze grabbed an auto parts magazine from the counter and tore out a chunk of pages. He wadded them and pressed them into the bullet hole, “Hold this,” No Doze said, shoving the paper into Vegas’ hand and pressing it against his bleeding wound, “keep the pressure on it, I’ll be back.” No Doze left Vegas lying there and dashed over to join Tuco, Leonel and Marco.

  Outside the rain of bullets ceased. Filipe shouted, “Tuco, I’ll tell you what. I can make you a deal. Since family and honor are so important to you, why don’t you come out here yourself and me and you can settle this.” Filipe paused, Tuco could sense the smug smile on his face when he concluded, “Like men.”

  Tuco was angry enough to take the bait but Leonel stopped him with a hand on the shoulder, “We fight together.” Tuco smiled: Hermanos.

  Standing and checking his ammo situation, Tuco called out, “I’ll tell you what,” he had six shotgun shells, a clip for his Uzi, three bullets in his pistol, “how about go fuck yourself.” He turned to his comrades and asked, “How’s your ammo?”

  Their responses were not encouraging. Well, the good news is those fuckers outside can’t be in too much better shape. Tuco loaded everything he had into his weapons. He knew their best bet was to get rid of the guns, break it down to hand-to-hand combat. Six of them on… he didn’t think Marco could throw a punch, Vegas may not even be breathing… three of us. Tuco cocked the shotgun, ready for action. Fair enough.

  12.

  Everyone took garage door windows, spreading out across the ga
rage. They used their ammunition slowly, drawing it out. Knives and fists are better than guns when the numbers are not in your favor. That was Tuco Salamanca’s instinct.

  Tuco’s last Uzi clip was half finished. He had one shotgun shell left and one bullet in his pistol. Leonel only had his rifle and seven bullets, No Doze was down to a full ten-round clip in his pistol. Not much longer. Judging from the diminishing sounds they heard outside, their somewhat simplistic plan was working. The range of different guns firing at them was shrinking: at least some of their enemy’s weapons were empty.

  Tuco crouched and peeked through a bullet hole. He saw shadows moving outside, he heard footsteps somewhere close. They were creeping around, trying to get a drop. How many are there left? Tuco stood and held the shotgun near the small glassless window, listening, the footsteps were growing nearer, slower… the flash of a shadow across the window, Tuco jammed his gun through the opening and fired his last shotgun cartridge. There was a scream, a brief one, and the sound of a body slumping hard to the ground. Tuco screamed out, “Filipe Toledo, come and fucking get it.”

  Gunfire and bullets were his only answer. As he expected. Bring it on, Puto, fire away. The more bullets you pump into the walls the less you got for later. Tuco turned and met Leonel’s eyes, he hooted like it was Christmas morning.

  The gunshots ebbed and No Doze stuck his pistol out the window and squeezed off three quick shots. Ducking back down as submachine gun fire rained around him, he sniffed the air, he sniffed again. He had to be sure. Is that smoke?

  “Hey, Tuco, do you smell smo…” more gunshots and No Doze ducked down.