by Glenn Trust
Seated across the aisle from each other, Billy and Isabella exchanged apprehensive looks. Luis Acero sat in a seat facing Billy. The look on his face was more than apprehensive. He trembled uncontrollably, a leaf clinging to a tree in the midst of a gale.
“Who are you?” Isabella asked him.
“Shut up!” one of their kidnappers called out from behind. It was Chico Saludo.
“It is no matter,” another voice said. It was the tall man, the one who seemed to be in charge. “Let them speak if they want. It will change nothing.”
Isabella turned back to the man cowering in the seat across from Billy Siever. “Who are you? Why did they bring you here?”
Luis stared wide-eyed at the woman for several seconds before he managed to force his mouth open and say in a croaking whisper, “Luis.”
“Why are you here, Luis?” Isabella asked. “What do you have to do with this?”
“Nothing.” He shook his head, and tears began to stream down his face. “Nothing. I swear it.”
“Stop your blubbering, Rat,” Chico Saludo cackled from behind.
“You know John?” Isabella asked.
“I don’t know nothin’,” Luis said, but there wasn’t much conviction behind the words.
He knew that the tall man, Alejandro Garza, had already decided his fate. Unlike the others, he had no illusions about what would happen to them. The moments he had been clinging to were dwindling.
Billy Siever leaned over in his seat and spoke softly. “A friend of John’s. He helped arrange your new identities.” He motioned with his head to the men seated behind them. “That’s probably how they found him.”
Isabella nodded. And through him, they had found her and Billy. Everything John had worked for, all of his efforts to protect them, had been for nothing. She thanked God they had not taken Sandy and Jacinta as well, or even Sam Goodwin.
Her heart ached for them, and she wondered what they were all doing now. Sandy would be desperate, as would Jacinta. Sam would be trying to understand what had happened and why. No doubt he notified the police, and by now there would be a search for them.
She remembered John’s warning about that. There was no place they could go, he said, where the cartel could not find them, reach them, do what they wanted to them. She looked out the window as the jet turned and taxied along a narrow concrete strip of runway to a small block building in the middle of a barren desert, landscape.
There were no trees or shrubbery, not even a cactus. Just barren, rocky plain extending to the surrounding mountains several miles away.
“Where are we?” she whispered to Billy.
“No, idea. Can’t say how long we were drugged.” He gazed around at their surroundings. “Someplace out west in the desert.”
“You are correct.” Garza stood as the plane rocked to a stop in front of the block building. “Someplace in the desert … in Mexico.”
“Mexico?” Isabella opened her eyes in surprise. “Is that legal … crossing the border without going through …”
Her mouth clamped shut at the absurdity of her question. Legality meant nothing to these men. The tall man’s expression displayed a trace of humor at her comment.
“I see you understand that legality is not an issue for us.” A thin, mean smile spread briefly across his face, and he turned to the front where one of the pilots opened the door. “Bring them inside,” he called to his two assistants.
“Up! Let’s go,” the one who liked to do the talking said.
Chico jerked Isabella up by the arm. Roman motioned to Billy Siever to stand and then leaned over and grabbed Luis by the shirt to drag him to his feet.
“Go,” he said. “Down the stairs and outside.”
They moved to the front of the plane. The pilot had returned to the cockpit, going through the post-flight checklist with his copilot. They made a point of ignoring the three passengers whose hands were still bound with duct tape.
Billy, followed by Isabella, led the way down the short stairs to the desert floor. Luis came down in front of their guards, his knees barely able to support him. He stumbled on the last step and fell face first in the dust.
“Get up, rat!” Chico ordered and gave him a kick in the ribs.
Luis groaned and struggled to his feet. “Please,” he whimpered. “I swear I don’t …”
His plea was cut short by a sharp slap to the face. “Shut up, rat! Move!” Chico motioned to Isabella and Billy. “You too. Get inside.”
They plodded through the dust to the block building. Isabella noted a larger adobe-style building to the side, farther away from the runway. A windmill to bring water up from a well stood to one side. Two small palm trees stood in front of the adobe’s entry stoop, out of place in the barren landscape. The attempt to beautify the desolate homestead seemed ludicrous.
She wondered who would have picked a place like this to live, and then realized the answer. Drug runners, of course.
They walked through the door into the block building. The air was stale and musty, not from humidity, but from the dust and odor of assorted reptiles that sought shelter in the building to escape the blistering sun.
No doubt, some made their nests there, birthed their young, deposited their droppings in the corners, and did their best to stay out of the heat. That was until the humans returned. Isabella noticed small shadows skittering away in the corners, as they walked in.
The square block building held four rooms, each about ten feet by ten feet. The room they entered had connecting doors to two of the others and they had doors into the fourth room. That last room held the toilet and a small sink and water tap.
The only way in or out was through the door they entered. The windows were high on the wall and not much more than slits, covered with steel bars. To say it was an uninviting place would have been an understatement. To Isabella, it looked like purgatory, a place where lost souls paid the price for their sins.
Garza waited for them inside. “You will stay here.”
That was it. He said nothing more and turned to leave them.
“Wait!” Billy Siever looked around the room and then to Garza, the person they referred to as the tall man.
“What is your name?” he asked. “We have a right to know that.”
“A lawyer’s question,” Garza said, smirking. “You have no rights here. You have what I allow you. Nothing more.”
“Then why are we here?” Billy persisted. “At least you can tell us that.”
“I think you know,” Garza replied. “If not, you are a stupid lawyer.” He looked at the others. “Think about it for a moment and you will see. You have one thing in common, one person, John Sole.” His cold eyes bored into them. “Your fate rests in his hands.”
Garza turned and stepped outside followed by Chico and Roman. The door closed. The sound of the locking bolt being thrown echoed inside the bare walls.
Only one thought held Isabella’s attention as the door to their prison closed. That was his name.
After everything they had been through, she finally knew his full name—John Sole. She whispered it, her mouth forming the sounds, testing the two syllables carefully, as if tasting a new food. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
All Our Asses
“What you doin’ here? You ain’t ‘sposed to be back.”
Monty Sole woke from his doze and blinked his eyes to clear away the cobwebs. He had just intended it to be a little power nap, but he didn’t feel very powerful. After the nonstop journey from Georgia to Albuquerque, he was exhausted.
“You’re an old man,” he muttered to himself and sat up in the seat.
Three men surrounded the pickup. One stood in front, his hand resting ominously on the butt of a pistol only partially concealed in his waistband. The others, their shirts pulled up enough at the waist to reveal the guns they carried, stood on each side of the truck. The one at the passenger window glared in at Monty. John Sole spoke to the one on the driver’s side.
“Here to see Big-C,” Sole said calmly.
“You ain’t ‘sposed to be back,” The hooded man repeated, his hand moving to the butt of his pistol as a warning to get the fuck out of the area.
Monty looked around. They were stopped in front of the bay door at an old gas station. It looked to have been abandoned for decades. The pumps had old-style rotary dial gauges. Monty sat up a little straighter in the seat, wishing he had armed himself before heading out with his son on whatever mission he had in mind.
There were supposed to be reinforcements here. That’s what John said. Where were they? These three gangbangers did not appear ready to enlist in their little army.
“True.” Sole nodded, maintaining his calm demeanor, unintimidated by the three threatening figures. “You remember me … what I did for you?”
“Yeah, I remember.”
“Good. I want to see Big-C,” he repeated and added firmly, “Now.”
The three men looked at each other for a few seconds. The one standing in front nodded, and they stepped away from the truck doors.
“Ar’right,” the man on the driver’s side said. “Inside.”
“Come on.” Sole exited the pickup and turned to look at his father. “It’s alright. They’re friends.”
“That’s not very comforting,” Monty said stepping from the pickup, his eyes riveted on the man standing a few feet away with his hand on his semi-concealed pistol. “They don’t seem to be the friendly sort.”
“Friendly enough,” Sole said and walked through the door into the old garage.
Inside, the three men led them to a small back office. It once belonged to the station owner and even after years of abandonment still smelled of grease, gasoline, dirty rags, and body sweat.
A large man sat behind a small desk, his feet propped up, swaying to the rhythm of the Latin tune he was listening to on his ear buds. He seemed relaxed and unconcerned about the unexpected visitors. Monty noted two monitors on a wall shelf showing high definition infrared views of the front and rear of the location. Their arrival had been observed.
The big man repeated the same admonition given by the men outside. “You ain’t supposed to be back.”
“Things changed. I have another arrangement for you. A profitable one.” Sole returned the man’s steely gaze and added, “And you owe me.”
“That a fact?” The big man took his three hundred dollar sneakers off the desk and sat up straight in the old chair. “We paid up after what we did to them Demonios de la Muerte.”
“That was for you,” Sole shook his head and insisted. And for your sister.”
“We been keepin’ things quiet like we promised,” Carlos—Big-C said.
“That is also good for you, isn’t it? Good for your business.”
“Hmmm.” Carlos’ eyes turned to Monty, standing quietly beside his son. “Who’s this old fuck?”
“He’s with me. We’ll need him.”
“He some kind of guru or somethin’?”
“He has skills.”
“Really?” Carlos cast a doubtful glance toward Sole’s companion. “What’s your name, old man?”
“Monty. What’s yours?”
There was movement behind as the three men crowded closer. Asking direct questions of their leader without an invitation to do so strained the protocols of gangbanger interactions. His dignity and stature as the one in the room with the biggest set of balls, or gun, or both, must be protected. Carlos shook his head, and they stepped back.
“Call me Carlos.” The big man grinned and looked at Sole. “At least, he don’t scare easy.”
“Like I said. He has skills and we will need him.”
“Alright,” Carlos said, resting his forearms on the desk like a businessman about to negotiate a deal. “You saved my sister and helped us get rid of the DMs. I’ll listen to what you got to say, but it better be good.”
Sole spent an hour reviewing his plan. Carlos’ skepticism transformed into acute interest. He listened attentively, asked a few questions, like a good businessman would, then sat back to think things over.
“This some serious shit. Lot of risk in doing something like this.”
“Think of the return. It will be worthwhile, and like I said.” Sole nodded. “You owe me this … for your sister and for that little ambush we set up to eliminate your competition.”
“Told you then we was paid up.”
“Paid up for your sister?” Sole shook his head. “Really? Seems like a cheap price to pay for your own sister.”
“That was the deal.” Carlos paused and nodded. “But I suppose I do owe you something more. Juanita probably be dead if you didn’t show up.” Carlos leaned forward resting his elbows on the battered desk. “But after this, though, we paid up for sure … in full. We walk away and no one owes anyone anything.”
“Fair enough.” Sole put out a hand.
Carlos rose from his chair and gave it one firm pump, then looked at Monty. “And you, old man. You up for this?”
“I reckon I am.” Monty nodded.
“You reckon?” Carlos scowled and turned to Sole. “You really think this old man can do what it takes.”
“He’ll handle his end.”
“He best do like you say,” Carlos said, eying the white haired old man who would hold their lives in his hands when the shit hit the fan. “He don’t, and all our asses be hangin’ in the wind.”
Preparations
“I’m going,” Jacinta said firmly.
“No,” Sandy replied more firmly.
“He’s right Jacinta.” Sole spoke softly, knowing she was as invested as anyone in the success of their plan to free the hostages. “Not because you are weak, but because there are special skills required, skills that you don’t have.”
“Teach me the skills!”
“There isn’t time for that. No offense, but your presence would be a distraction that could cause someone to hesitate to look the wrong way. It could cost someone their life.”
“And Sandy and Sam? They have the special skills you need?”
“Sandy and Sam have limited experience, but hunting they’ve picked up some familiarity with operating in the wild, and they know how to shoot. Even so, we will be asking a lot of them.” He looked at Monty and nodded. “The two of us have had our share of this sort of thing … understand what to expect. If something happens, if things go wrong, there won’t be time to think or worry about another person. We will have to act quickly, instinctively. With you there, everyone will be worried about you.”
“Still, I can help somehow.”
“You can, but not at the exchange point. You will be waiting to help the hostages. They will be disoriented, confused. They will need someone to help them through the shock. That’s as important as the rest of the plan.” Sole leaned toward Jacinta. “Fact is, if we manage to get them out alive, it will be more important.”
They sat in the Dupart’s living room over the store. Maggie put an arm around Jacinta. “He’s right.”
Jacinta nodded without speaking, accepting the decision without liking it.
Sole looked at Sam and Sandy. “We start tomorrow.”
***
The next week passed in a flurry of preparation. Carlos and the Cent Killers worked at procuring the weapons and ordinance Sole and Monty requested. It was a long list with some specialized items that Carlos warned would be pricey. Sole reminded him of the increased profits the Cent Killers would see when the operation was successfully completed. They agreed to split the expense and Sole handed over the bulk of his remaining cash from the sale of his home in Georgia.
Sam and Sandy spent time out in the backcountry around Albuquerque, acclimating to the desert and shooting at targets. It wasn’t the same as pulling the trigger on a living person, but it was the best they could do with the time available to them.
Sole knew that there was really no way to prepare for the first time you fired a live round at another human being. If al
l went as planned, that would never be necessary, and Sam and Sandy would be safely back across the border with the hostages without firing a shot. If not, Sole figured it wouldn’t matter.
While Sam and Sandy honed their shooting skills, Sole and Monty crossed the border in his pickup, posing as a couple of hell-raising gringo tourists headed to Juarez for some R-and-R and female companionship. Once in Mexico, they drove through Juarez, picked up Highway 2, and disappeared into the desert.
A week had already passed and there wasn’t much time to select the exchange point. He did not doubt that the man on the phone would keep his promise to execute the hostages if he did not contact him with the details of the exchange.
In a remote dry wash that formed a broad plain between two long ridges, he looked at Monty and nodded. “What do you think?”
Monty scanned the surrounding heights. “Wish we could get higher … better field of vision that way but …” He turned and eyed the walls of the cliffs along the wash and the narrow canyon road they had followed into the wash. He nodded. “We can make it work.”
“Good.”
Sole took out his phone and opened a mapping app, noting his location in the wash and the GPS longitude and latitude coordinates.
“Let’s go.”
They crossed back into the states from the small Mexican town of Puerto Palomas. There were a few questions from the Customs and Border agents, but they carried no contraband in the pickup. Sole’s customary arsenal of weapons was stashed with Edgar Dupart.
As they drove back to Albuquerque, he made the call to the voice mailbox and read out the GPS coordinates for the exchange point. He ended the brief call and looked at Monty.
“Gonna have to turn you around quick. You’ll have to be in position.”
“Don’t worry.” Their eyes met and Monty nodded. “I’ll be there this time. I promise.”
This Ends
“Where are you going, Papi?”
Rosa Elizondo came into her father’s bedroom where he sat on a chair putting on his shoes. Without invitation, she climbed up into his lap, seating herself there with authority, like a queen on a throne.