by Chris Draper
“Byron please.” Martinez dropped down to his knees to plead with him. “Don't do this to me, not like this. Don't shoot me down like a dog. I beg you.”
“Some dogs are better put down.” Byron said then, “Open your mouth.”
Martinez opened his mouth and Byron stuck the muzzle of the gun inside. Martinez could taste the cold metal against his tongue like a lead popsicle.
“So long old friend.” Byron said and started to squeeze the trigger.
When they reached the corner of the building Hawk held out his hand for Cleetch to wait and peeked around the corner. Although it was pitch black he didn't see any Syndicate near the front parking lot where the trucks were parked and knew they must now be inside Fiesta Lochez. A loud thunderclap ripped across the sky followed by a quick flash of lightning and he realized he hadn't heard any gunfire inside which meant that Byron hadn't started his ambush yet. He wondered why it was taking so long. Perhaps something had gone wrong? In any case he couldn't think about that now, or about why the police hadn't shown up yet, so he grabbed Cleetch and pushed him forward.
“Head straight forward toward the trucks and remember I will shoot you if I have to Cleetch.”
They moved along the side of Fiesta Lochez, Hawk careful to avoid any windows in case they spotted him. The cracked pavement was full of potholes and several times he stepped in a deep one that flooded over the top of his rubber boots and filled his socks with icy water. It was colder now and the dampness crept into his body like a ghost. The trucks were just up ahead now, only a few more yards and he would be there. Cleetch was trudging about a foot in front of him, limping a little from the fracas they'd had back there and the highway up ahead looked deserted.
He noticed the music inside the bar was off now and could hear voices inside – Byron's and possibly Martinez' as well – and knew his time would be running short. He reached the truck with Cleetch and stopped when they were both beside the driver's side and Hawk took the keys from Cleetch and opened the door. Then while still keeping the gun on him Hawk searched around with his left hand for the rope that had been used to tie his hands earlier. He found it a second later flung in the backseat and quickly took it out, told Cleetch to turn around.
“You're gonna tie me up?”
“Just like you did to me.” Hawk said tying the knot with his free hand. “I'll spare you the blindfold though.”
“Why's that?”
“Because you're going to be my tour guide back to the Everglades.”
“Like hell I am.”
Hawk applied some pressure to his neck with one arm and Cleetch winced. “Don't forget I'm the one in charge now, not Byron.” He said and relented a little and the colour returned to Cleetch's face. “And until we back to the Everglades what I say goes. The quicker you understand this the easier it'll be on you.”
“But Byron will kill me...”
“Byron will be history by tomorrow. Now get in through the driver's side.”
“And what if I bring you in a completely different direction?” Cleetch asked. “You was blindfolded on the way out anyways.”
“Then you won't have to worry about Byron anymore because I'll put a bullet in your head.” Hawk said. “Remember Cleetch I may have been blindfolded but I recall exactly how long it took us to get to Fiesta Lochez and if we're not back at the Syndicate compound in 2 hours than I'll know you would have lied.”
Cleetch blew a hard sigh and crawled over the front seat to the passenger's side and Hawk got in after him. He kicked up the engine, careful to keep an eye on the front of Fiesta Lochez and was on the highway heading back towards the Everglades a minute later. It was as empty as Mars with only an occasional semi zipping past and Hawk kept looking in the rear view mirror half expecting to see Byron and his posse trailing behind. He couldn't slow down until he reached the compound and had Dottie Wagner, then he would figure out his next move. First though he had to get there.
The wind on the interstate was brutal, slamming into the truck from all angles like they were driving through a hurricane's eye and even with the wipers on high it was hard to see anything. Hawk had driven through some pretty bad storms on the West coast but this was something else: Hurricane Hector was as bad as they'd said on the radio.
“You'll never get away with this you know.” Cleetch said. “Byron will come back, he always does. You won't be able to beat him this way.”
“I'm not worried about Byron. Just remember to call out the next turn when we're close.”
“Why are you doing this for Blake? You are a cop aren't you? I knew Byron was right.”
Hawk looked over at him suddenly. Had Byron known about his disguise all along?
Cleetch grinned at his reaction then nodded. “That's right, Byron knew you weren't who you said you was. He ain't that stupid cowboy.”
Hawk looked back at the road, his voice even. “Well sorry to disappoint you and Byron but I'm not a cop. Afraid you've been barking up the wrong tree.”
“Bullshit you ain't. Why else you heading back there then? Unless you want Dottie's ransom for yourself and if that's the case then you're even worse than a pig cop.”
“I have my reasons. Now shut your mouth and don't open it again until we're closeby.”
Cleetch tried loosening the knot on his hands but his chubby wrists were secure in the rope like they'd been nailed onto his skin.
“Even if we get back there, Larry'll be there and and no way in hell's half acre is he gonna let you just waltz right in and scootch up Dottie Wagner, kid's got a few screws loose if you know what I mean.”
“I'll handle Larry.” Hawk said squinting up in the darkness ahead. There was something up there. Something just above the ring of darkness that lit up the black roads like the Northern lights. And when he realized what it was he thought of the kid at the gas station and smiled. Up ahead were sirens, tons of them, and Cleetch sat up and looked at them coming as well, a parade of red and blues lining up the dark road like bowling pins. They flew past a minute later and Hawk counted about 10 police cruisers and emergency vehicles.
“Wonder where they'd be heading.” Cleetch said watching them pass and wet his lip a little. “Maybe some sucker got lit up in a car accident somewhere.”
Hawk didn't say anything but knew where they were going, knew the kid at the gas station had come through after all and it made him happy that there there was still some decency left in the world. Seeing the police somehow increased his urgency to get to Dottie Wagner though and he floored the throttle, watched the needle rise to 150 clicks. Fiesta Lochez would be in chaos right now, and who knew what would happen when the cops got there. All he could do now was get to Dottie as soon as possible and wait for what the night would bring.
Martinez tensed the muscles in his face, slammed his eyes shut, waiting for the impact of the bullet to tear through his mouth and throat like a torpedo. But the bullet never came. Martinez opened his eyes, confused, saw Byron raise his head as if listening to something far off. His ears were perked up like a rabbits, and he slowly pulled the gun away from Martinez' mouth.
Byron did hear something, knew what it was right away. Sirens. Lots of them, coming from the interstate. At first it was a tiny trickle of shrill whines cutting through the wind like an air raid, and the shrills grew louder, more sonorous, until it seemed to fill the space around them.
His eyes widened, then he yelled, “Cops!” and in an instant the room exploded into a frenzy of activity. The Syndicate scattered to put their guns away and some of the Hombrez hurriedly began collecting cocaine from the tables in their hands, running to the bathroom stalls to flush the stuff down the toilet. For a second what had happened only a minute before became a distant memory as everyone bonded together to rid the place of anything illegal.
But Byron didn't forget. No, he was pissed. Someone had ratted them out and he had a good idea who it was. In the scramble all Byron could see was Martinez and everything else became blurred for a moment in his mind
, almost like the outer layers of the room were like a rotating kaleidoscope. Byron still had to finish the job, regardless if the pigs were almost there.
Martinez was up now, shooing the girls into a back room, and was now on his way back to the front of the bar. Byron looked at him, and for a brief moment in time they made eye contact and it was almost as if Martinez had accepted his fate, and at that instant Byron stuck up his gun and fired a shot that hit Martinez between his eyes. He stood there for a second, as if his brain couldn't figure out what to do next, then fell forward onto the ground dead. Hector cried out and took out his 9mm, started firing off rounds in Byron's direction, but it was too late. In the fracas Byron was already out the front door, racing back to his truck. He saw the cops up ahead, plowing down the interstate in a militia of red and blue strobe lights. They would be there soon and have them all surrounded. He dove into his truck, kicked up the engine, and in another minute was driving back behind the bar across the open fields away from the police and the interstate. Now with Martinez gone he had only one thought: Kill the rat.
19
Byron's cousin Larry Grimes had been ordered to stay behind and guard Dottie Wagner while the rest of the Syndicate were away on the El Hombrez raid. He liked being alone there, liked the authority of feeling like he was the king of his own domain. But more than anything he especially liked being there alone with Dottie. He'd liked her the minute Byron brought her back with him one night telling them who she was and what she was worth. Larry had met her before that though, back when Byron had first started seeing her after meeting her at the Shark Club where she worked in Miami. They went to watch her dance one night and Larry remembered feeling the adrenaline course through his body as she gyrated up there on the stage with those other girls, she had even let him stroke her thigh briefly when he went up and planted a $10 bill down on the stage. He'd first felt the urge then, a need so powerful that it overpowered his other thoughts, taking control of him like a marionette controlling his every move. He'd wanted her then, wanted to jump up on the stage and take her like an animal. And he'd promised himself then that one day he would do just that.
Larry had never been one to hit it off with the girls though, and having the mental capacity of a 14-year-old he never made it past grade 9. He flunked out and ended up hanging around with Byron more, getting into deeper trouble with the law and riding with various biker gangs around Florida, doing whatever it was Byron asked of him, even if it involved a little extortion or bribery. After all what else was he going to do with his life? He didn't know anything about math, couldn't read and write worth a dime, and all the good jobs went to those prudes who had the money for college. What did he have? A big fat nothing.
And so eventually he wound up a member of the Syndicate. It was only natural to join the same criminal group run by your cousin. Keeping it in the family, and all that sort of thing. He liked the way it made him feel like he was part of something important, and especially got a kick out of how scared people looked whenever they rode into a town. No one had the guts to tango with them, that was what Byron had always said. And Larry believed it too. The only thing he longed for, wished he could have to himself more than anything was a woman. He saw the other Syndicate, how easy it was for them to meet women at the bars they stopped at along the highway, wished he had the same effect on them, yet they were always just a little out of reach. That was until Dottie Wagner came along.
Many times Byron and the rest of the Syndicate had left him alone with her, and he started getting that urge again, tugging at his insides like a demon taking over. And seeing her there, alone and helpless in that room, knowing that they were completely isolated made it even harder for him to bare. He'd tried taking her many times, but always ended up chickening out. She'd scream at him, hit him, call him names, threaten to tell Byron and the other Syndicate about what he was doing. That scared him the most. Byron had told him before that if he ever laid a hand on her he'd kill him – and Larry believed it. Sure they were blood, but when it came to money, nothing was more important to Byron than the green stuff. So Larry had cooled down a bit, managed to keep the demons inside at bay for a little while.
But tonight was different. The Syndicate were away on the raid and would be gone for hours, maybe some of them wouldn't even come back. He'd been drinking heavily all day, had even stolen some of the cocaine stashed away in storage meant for street suppliers and now he was flying, feeling the drips in the back of his throat.
He got off the couch with a bottle of vodka, started staggering down the hallway towards Dottie's cell when he had an idea. Maybe he'd have some fun with her tonight – no harm done, just a little excitement for Larry. It would do him some good to get some laughs in while the rest of them were out killing Hombrez. He walked back to the kitchen, pulled out a long butcher knife from one of the drawers, then made his way over to Dottie's room. When he got there he stopped in front of the steeldoor and lifted up the flap, peeked inside.
Dottie was laying on the cot facing the wall with her back turned away from him. Sleeping. Dreaming. Whatever. He had to take her now, he'd already waited 30 minutes to make sure the gang didn't come back and couldn't contain himself any longer. He slowly unlocked the door and crept inside. Dottie stirred gently, took a look back over her shoulder to see who it was. When she saw him she flipped around quickly, her eyes fearful and her voice a quiver. “No...please go away,” she said but it only made him want her more. That scared little girl thing he'd seen in the movies. He climbed up on the bed, put the knife down beside him, unzipped his pants and...was he smiling? He thought so but couldn't tell anymore, everything was being controlled by the demon now, all warped and misconstrued. She went to slap him but he grabbed her wrist hard, grabbed the other one too, forcing them behind her back. He got on top of her and she screamed, screamed again, tried biting his hand, thrashed around wildly, kicked out her feet but Larry was too heavy for her. He bent over and licked her ear, moved his face down her body to her breasts, placing his free hand on her neck as he did so. Her skin felt smooth which made him feel excited.
He continued moving his face further down to her naval, then took the knife and cut along the centre of her shirt. She whimpered and tried to look away, but he took her face in his hand and held it there for a second, looking into her pearl green eyes. Then in a sudden motion he grabbed the side of her flimsy shirt and with a strong tug ripped it away and tossed it on the floor. She wasn't wearing a bra underneath and her nipples were a bright pink - this excited him even more and he rubbed his face against her bosom feeling the warmth of her body flow through him. She screamed a long wail, somehow got one of her legs free and gave him a hard knee to the groin. He dropped the knife on the end of the bed, rolled off onto the floor clutching his groin in pain, shouted “Bitch!” and stood up again. She saw the knife on the end of the bed, scrambled to grab it, had it in her hand, then Larry grabbed her arm and wrestled it away from her. Then he threw it down on the floor and laughed, kicked it a few feet away, grabbed her by the arm and held her down on the bed.
They were both breathing hard and he stood over her a minute, catching his breath, then he got back down on top of her, making sure her knees were secure under his weight, and forcibly tugged her jeans down to her ankles exposing a pair of purple panties underneath. The urge was unbearable and he decided he would take her now. The demon inside him had to be satiated.
≈
Hawk was on the dirt road leading back through the Everglades to the compound. Cleetch had told him where to turn, and Hawk didn't have a choice but to trust him now, hoping that the threat of using Cleetch's own gun against him was enough to make him tell the truth. The bumps in the road felt familiar, like the ones he'd felt while being blindfolded on the trip outward hours ago. The dirt path they were riding on was a narrow one with tall mangroves rising up on either side like sentinels around them, ancient watchers of the forest that blotted out most of the rain and lighting that lit up the dark skies ove
rhead. The road was also so overgrown with tall grass and trees that it was no wonder it had been hidden from outsiders for so long. The darkness outside seemed to grow more intense by the minute and the surrounding forest all looked identical as it flickered past the window.
Hawk had already been on the dirt road for close to an hour now, was starting to get nervous that maybe Cleetch hadn't been truthful about the way to the compound after all when he spotted a faint light up in the distance, a solitary beacon in a pool of black, and sighed with relief. He kept on towards the light and in a few minutes the large compound came up fast in his headlights, rising up in the forest like a medieval fortress.
“So there it is.” Cleetch spoke up and Hawk heard the faintness of a tremble on the last word. “So what are you going to do now? Kill me?”
“No, I'm not going to do that.” Hawk said cutting the lights on the truck and bringing it to a stop in front of the entrance. “But I'll need to keep you busy while I'm inside. I'll figure out what to do with you later.”
“Keep me busy?” Cleetch asked looking over confused. “Whaddaya mean?”
“You'll see.” Hawk said. “Now get out and don't even think of running away, doubt you'd get far in that darkness anyway.”
Cleetch got out, then Hawk got out the driver's door and came around to the passenger's side to where he was standing. “Now what did you mean about keeping me busy -” Cleetch's words were cut off by the thhhack of the buttend of Hawk's gun hitting his forehead and he went down shakily for a moment, then fell face first into the mud. Hawk crouched down and felt around Cleetch's neck, breathing, then tucked the gun into his pants and quickly made his way towards the front door. Thankfully it was still unlocked and he opened it, slipped inside keeping his head on a swivel for any sign of movement.