The Terror of Tijuana

by S. J. Varengo

  Marc was forced to halt in mid-sentence as Tony burst into laughter. “’Richard Peters?’ Are you making shit up now?”

  “It was his name!”

  “Oh, for fuck sake. It may very well have been, Marc. I pray it wasn’t, but it could have been. Even still. He has a penis for both names.”

  Marc frowned, thinking about this. A moment later, his eyebrows shot upward and let out a single, loud laugh. “Oh my God. I never caught that!”

  “Seriously? I wonder if they picked that name after they found out that Biggus Dickus had been co-opted by Monty Python.”

  “Tony. That is so not the point.”

  “That’s what you said about the Nob too. But the fact that it’s a cesspool kind of makes me think the Hugh G. Rection there was probably right in his element.”

  “Holy hell, you sound like vintage TV. Did your parents force you to watch The Untouchables with your eyes wired open or something? Who hurt you?”

  “Now you’re the one straying from the point.”

  “Your fault. So Bill and Dick… Oh, shit. I forgot that he told us to call him Dick.”

  “Killing me.”

  “They get to telling me that they met online through this group of artists that specialize in ultra-detailed drawing and drafting. We didn’t get to talking about it until several beers had come and gone. But eventually, they started talking about how they’d seen some of each other’s art posted on this group’s page, and after a while, Bill said if Dick could come to Colorado, he might be able to find him work doing what he was doing.”

  “Which was?”

  “If they explained that to me, that information was blocked from forming any kind of bond with my brain by a legally significant amount of alcohol.”

  “You don’t know or know but don’t remember.”

  “Yes. Both. Probably. But the weird shit hadn’t even started yet. Because about then Billy has to go to the can, and while he’s gone, Dick starts getting chatty. Told me Bill had told him about Fran and about the three of us in school. Then, out the blue, he asks me if I knew the name of her best friend from elementary school.”

  Tony’s mouth dropped open. “What the hell?” The hairs on his neck were no longer just standing on end. It felt like they’d burst into flames.

  “Oh, believe me. At that time, in that barroom, I was what the hell-ing all over the place. I mean, first, I had to remember those mentions of J.J. I mean, to be fair, she really never said that much other than talking about her ‘first best friend,’ I think she called her. But the brain is a horrible thing in the wrong hands, and they just hand them out to everyone. I’m sensing, at the core of my core, that this feels off, but some other dumb-ass part of me is like, ‘Maybe she’s hot and he’s seen her picture.’ Like that somehow explained anything. But I was drunk enough so that even though I’d just fabricated that scenario in my head an instant before, I quickly became convinced that was exactly what was going on. He just thought that she was cute. The skeptical drunken Marc wondered how this stubble-faced kid with his greasy southern drawl would have had a chance to see a picture that proved she was cute. But ‘I’m trying to hang out with Billy’ drunken Marc just wanted everything to not be weird. So when Bill came back, I let it drop.

  “And it was a nice visit. At least the parts that I remember that aren’t… that part. But sooner or later, even the Nob has last call, and I went home. Didn’t hear from Bill again for a while.” He paused and seemed to look around to make sure no one was listening in. “I did hear from Dick, though.”

  “Uh oh.”

  “Exactly. He asked if I wanted to grab a beer and talk about a business opportunity. Well, I hadn’t even landed the T-Bell gig yet, so I said I’d meet him as long as it wasn’t at the Nob.”

  “Thank God not the Nob.”

  “Nope. We met at the Ace-Hi.”

  “The Ace-Hi? In Golden? The only bar in the Rockies that makes the Nob look classy? That Ace-Hi?”

  “It’s not really about the bar, Tony.”

  “It most certainly is. If this story has a happy conclusion and I don’t end up hating you, we’re going to a real bar.”

  “Look, I’m almost finished. He gets right to the point. Bill and him had kind of parted ways over something Bill was doing that he could get in line with. That’s all the explanation I got about that, but he didn’t even slow down. Next thing he said was, ‘You remember us talking about Fran’s friend… what did you say her name was?’

  “I told him, and he said, ‘That’s right, J.J. You know it’s the damnedest thing. I know this guy from back in South Carolina name-a Conrad Barker who seems to think that J.J.’s mom is someone he mighta know’d once.’ Now I had no idea what your mom’s name was, and I told him. So he says, ‘Didn’t suppose you would.’”

  “You do that Southern accent really well.”

  “LSU, remember? Anyway, he goes on to say that the dude from back home might be willing to part with some money if I could gather a little information for him.”

  Tony no longer felt like complimenting Marc on his voice inflections. He liked a good rollercoaster ride as much as the next guy, but not the one he was on right now.

  “Alright. So far, I’ve been confused, pissed off, stunned and amazed by the name Richard Peters, and back to pissed off again. You are really going to need to turn this story around. Fast.”

  “Be cool. It gets a little worse…”

  “Come on!”

  “But then it gets better! I promise. Just be cool for a minute more. I didn’t really see any harm in reaching out to Franny and asking her your mom’s name. When she told me it was Nicole, I passed it along. I was still trying to deny that this was a fucked-up situation, so I told myself it was no big deal. An old friend from back home. Dick gave me fifty bucks and bought me a beer. Couple weeks later, it was, ‘What street do they live on again, Conrad was wonderin’?’”

  “And you’re still cool with this?” Tony asked. “Even sober, you we’re willing to roll with it?”

  “No! No way. I told him I wasn’t going to do any more of this shit, and didn’t he know how to work the fucking internet, and…”

  “And?”

  “He started telling me that Conrad had him record me taking the fifty, and that was evidence of a crime, and that I had to help them, or I’d go to jail.”

  Tony said nothing for almost an entire second. “You bought that? From a guy with two dicks for a name?”

  “It sounded like the biggest line of shit I’d ever heard,” Marc said. “I was going back and forth, trying to decide whether to get up and leave, or pop him in the mouth, then get up and leave. That’s when he showed me the gun and the five bills bearing the face of someone who looked an awful lot like Benny Franklin. He told me I could have my pick, but one was going to hurt and one wasn’t.”

  Marc stopped talking and his eyes dropped to the floor.

  “I took the money.”

  “So that’s why we’re here, isn’t it? This Conrad guy paid you to get me and J.J. to San Diego so he can… what? What, Marc? Kill us?”

  “No.”

  “Gonna need more.”

  “No, I didn’t bring you to Conrad. We’re running away from him. We’re here because he was coming to Denver. And yes, I think. To kill you.”

  16

  The Great Convergence

  Nicole gasped and jerked her head upwards. She’d drifted off to sleep and awoke in the total darkness of her metal coffin disoriented and on the verge of panic. She forced herself to regain control of her breathing and quickly remembered where she was and why she was there. It required another minute to realize what had awoken her.

  She heard digging. Having had, on more than one occasion, to dig a hole to quickly dispose of unwanted clutter, such as an unsightly dead body, there was no mistaking the sound, although she had to admit that it took on a different timbre when hearing it from below the soil that was being disturbed.

  She felt for her
phone. After the battery charge had become depleted, she’d continued to hold it in her hand, but when she fell asleep, it must have slipped out. After a brief tapping search of the floor, she recovered it and hid it once more in her underwear. It’s worked out for me thus far, she thought. No more vibrator effect, though…

  A few minutes later, she heard the shovel strike the metallic roof of the enclosure, followed by scraping as the dirt was cleared off the hatch, under which she was now crouched. Eventually, the digging and scraping stopped altogether. She waited for the door to be pulled open, tensing her body into a dangerously coiled spring, her fists balled, her face a mask of rage.

  But the door did not open.

  Okaaaaay, Nicole thought, mentally elongating the word. She stayed poised to strike for a moment, then let herself quietly reach up until her hand made contact with the top of the box. She winced because, even with her precautions, there was a tiny metallic report as her hand made contact. Using only her fingertips, she slid across the surface until she found the hatch. Even though the dirt above it had (apparently) been removed, there was no guarantee that the door hadn’t been secured in some other way. After a rather intense but brief internal debate, she placed both hands on the door and pushed ever so slightly. It gave way.

  Nicole gradually stood, eventually to her full height, opening the hatch carefully as she did so, until she could see the sky. She could immediately tell that the sun was nearly set, and was about to poke her head out of the hole, when she heard two gunshots.

  They seemed to linger in the quiet mountain air for a long time, echoing in the distance like slowly splintering wood. She squatted back down, but when nothing further was heard for what she considered a safe amount of time, she stood again, this time pulling herself through the hatch.

  Aside from the brief moments that her phone flashlight had illuminated the interior of the coffin, this was the first time she’d been able to see for… who knew. Even in the sun’s dying rays, it took a moment for her eyes to adjust. But when they did, the first thing she saw was a man she didn’t recognize, still holding a shovel in his left hand. He was wearing filthy jeans, unbuttoned, the zipper part-way down, and a formerly-white tank top. The term “formerly-white” seemed appropriate as it was more than a little covered with traces of the soil that had recently been the barrier to Nicole’s freedom, and, even more of a laundry nightmare, two rapidly expanding patches of blood. Clearly, he’d been on the receiving end of the two shots she’d heard. Looking at his face, she felt exceptionally lucky that he hadn’t opened the hatch, because he didn’t look like the sort of fellow who would have been coming to talk to her about flower arranging. He was an ugly son-of-a-bitch, made even more so by the contortions his stubble-covered face took on as it settled into eternity. Death rarely makes one more handsome, she thought. Sure as hell didn’t in your case.

  A moment later, she scanned her surroundings. Someone in the area was clearly armed and dangerous, and even though the first target had been Digger, as Nicole immediately dubbed him, she could not be sure the shooter was on her side.

  “Mom!”

  Nicole turned toward the immediately recognizable sound of J.J.’s voice and found herself squinting into the setting sun. A moment later, the forms of her daughter and husband seemed to solidify before her eyes and they ran towards her. Dan reached her first, and he wrapped his arms around her. Holding her tight, he whispered into her ear, “You smell really bad.”

  Nicole’s spontaneous laughter instantly encouraged J.J., who now reached her side. The laughter increased as J.J. pinched her nose and groaned.

  “Okay, you two. I get it. I need a shower. But that’s way down on the priority list right now.”

  She looked again at the hole from which she had emerged and saw that about three feet to the right of the opening there was a black metal pipe extending a foot from the ground. She realized she had it to thank for what little bit of stale air there was in the coffin. Nearby, she saw five identical vents, and together with her own, they formed two neat rows.

  “Manny and Luis are probably buried in two of these,” she said pointing to the ducts. She moved to the closest and called the men’s names into the pipe.

  “Who are Manny and Luis?” Dan whispered to J.J., who could only shrug.

  It wasn’t until she’d moved to the second row of vents that she heard the muffled, weakened voice of Manny. She ran to the corpse, his wife-beater now completely red.

  “Need to borrow your shovel, Digger.” Grabbing it from the death-slackened grip of the ugly brute, she looked at the orientation of her own grave and began attacking the ground where she calculated the hatch would be. “J.J., keep your eyes on the buildings. It seems like the gunshots should have drawn the attention of anyone that’s inside, so this guy may be the only one here, but we can’t be sure.”

  J.J. held the gun at the ready. “Got it,” she said.

  Dan whispered, “You should have said ‘Roger.’ Way cooler.” It earned him a scowl. He wisely moved to where Nicole was working.

  It took only a couple of minutes to reveal the opening to the coffin, and Cole yanked it open. Manny, who was still heavily bandaged, needed to be helped out of the coffin. She grabbed his left arm and Dan moved to get his right. When they’d extracted him fully, Cole instructed Dan to gently lower him to the ground. “He’s been through the shit recently,” she said, indicating the mummy-like wrap on his face.

  “Who’s that?” Manny asked, weakly nodding his head in Dan’s direction.

  “Emmanuel Cruz, meet Dan Porter, my husband.”

  With a pained smile, Manny lifted his hand to Dan. “What a delightful coincidence that you would just happen to be in the middle of fucking nowhere.” He chuckled.

  “Well, not totally coincidental, but pleased to meet you anyway,” Dan said, shaking the cleaner’s hand.

  “And this,” Cole continued, indicating J.J., “is my daughter…”

  “J.J. Porter,” Manny interrupted. “I never made the connection.”

  “Connection?” asked Dan.

  “Well, you’re all going to laugh at me, but I happen to be a college softball fanatic. You’re a goddamn All-American.”

  J.J. turned to the injured man, her face a mashup of surprise and just a little pride at being recognized for something so distant from this moment.

  “My first fan. Nice to meet you, Emmanuel.”

  “Call me Manny.”

  “Easy, there, Casanova,” Nicole said, recognizing the undertone in her fellow cleaner’s voice.

  “Cole, you said something about a Luis?” Dan reminded her.

  “Right,” she said moving to the only vent down which she hadn’t yet called, but as she did, Manny shook his head.

  “Don’t bother, Nicole,” he said. “He’s not in any of those things.”

  Cole felt her heart sink. “What happened?” she asked.

  Manny struggled to sit up and Dan helped him. “Right after we got here, those two fuckers opened the van and pulled us out. Cara Rota began pulling off the burlap hoods, starting with me.”

  “I don’t remember,” Nicole admitted.

  “Not surprised. As soon as he pulled yours off, you tried to bite him, and his brother cold-cocked you with a rifle butt.”

  “Ha ha ha!” Dan laughed. “You tried to bite him!”

  “She didn’t miss him by much either,” Manny said, laughing himself, in spite of the pain doing so caused. “Anyway, he moved to Luis and pulled his off, and when Luis saw you on the ground, he went full-on wild man. He kicked Cara Rota’s leg hard enough for him to fall, but his brother was still holding the rifle and…”

  “And Luis is dead,” Nicole said.

  Dan, who now had some experience in seeing Nicole do her job, noticed the change in her voice instantly. She’d first sounded grateful to be alive, then even more grateful finding Manny in the same condition. But now her voice was cold and as hard as the metal box in which she’d been held. Shit. S
he just flipped the switch, he thought.

  She returned to the prone Digger and thoroughly searched his body. A decent-sized knife was sheathed to his belt. She pulled it and handed it to Dan. “Be ready for anything,” she said. “Especially for how messy it’s going to be if you have to use this.”

  Dan swallowed hard and looked at the blade. Since becoming involved in Nicole’s dark other-life, he’d experienced more spilled blood than he ever imagined a person could see in a single lifetime, but the thought of actually pushing a knife point into a human being still gave him serious pause. But then he looked at his bedraggled wife, her blond hair, now brown and dingy from dirt and sweat, and he knew he’d do anything he had to in order to keep her safe.

  Cole found nothing else on the man that could be used as a weapon, but she did locate a key in his pocket, which she held up. “If this is for the buildings, it’s another indication that Miguel and Cara Rota probably aren’t here.”

  “Broken Face?” J.J. asked, translating the name.

  “I hope you never meet him,” said Manny, still sitting on the ground, “but if you do, you’ll understand immediately.”

  “Not G.Q. good looks then?” J.J. asked, further impressing Manny with both her dry sense of humor and the fact that she knew of Gentleman’s Quarterly magazine.

  “Let’s just say that compared to him, Digger here is Fabio-like in his majesty.”

  “You ugly,” Dan muttered, replaying an old SNL sketch in his head.

  Nicole looked again at the small collection of buildings that made up the compound. In addition to several small sheds and out buildings, there was one that was larger than the rest by a significant degree. It was an unimpressive-looking house, painted a dull brick red, looking even more carmine in the last rays of the rapidly sinking sun.

  “Come on,” Cole said flatly. “If there is anybody in that house, we’re going to take care of them.”