Verdugo Dawn

by Blake Banner

There were very few houses along this stretch of coast, and those there were, were deserted and dark. Only one had lights in the windows, and that was Mendez’s house. The moon was still low and casting an eerie, blue-green light over the beach, making ink-black shadows out of the sand dunes and the trees, but by its light, I could make out his launch pulled up on the shore. The small motor of the Zodiac made a lonely buzz over the water, but in the stillness, it sounded noisy and loud. I could only hope Mendez and his men would not hear it. I cut the engine as soon as I could and paddled in to shore, allowing the small surf to carry me. I came up beside Mendez’s launch, jumped out and dragged the Zodiac up onto the sand.

  Mendez’s house was a two-story Spanish-style villa, built among sand dunes and surrounded by eucalyptus groves, palm trees and, at the back, dense pine forests. The villa and a couple of acres of beach that surrounded it were enclosed by a low, wooden fence with a gate to the seashore and another into the woods.

  I pushed through the sand on the shore until I came to the dunes. Then I climbed up, picking my way through rushes and pine trees, until I arrived at the low, wooden fence at the back of the house, vaulted it, then pushed through the sand, making my way to the back of the house.

  All the way, I kept turning over in my mind the question, what the hell was Sole hoping to achieve? Did she seriously believe that she could still get close to him, redeem herself in his eyes and exact her revenge? Surely she must see it was an impossibility. She would be lucky to finish the night alive—to finish it in one piece; without having been disfigured or badly injured, was practically an impossibility.

  There was a back door that opened into the kitchen. It was open and I stepped through. The lights were out and it was dark inside. From the kitchen, a door opened onto a short passage. It too was in darkness. On the left, it gave onto a hall and a flight of stairs that ascended to the upper floor, and on the right, it gave onto a drawing room. The door stood ajar, a wedge of light stretching across the hall and voices filtering out.

  It didn’t sound like anybody being tortured, but it didn’t sound like a cozy fireside chat, either. I inched closer until, concealed in the shadows of the hallway, I could see, through the gap in the door, a set of sliding, plate-glass French windows that stood open onto a veranda. The sound of the surf sighed in the background and a cool sea breeze occasionally moved the drapes. I edged a little closer.

  Now a blue armchair came into view, with its back to me. It was right up close by the door. I could see a bare, female elbow on the arm. Beyond that, I could see the corner of a coffee table, and beyond that, the side of another armchair, though I couldn’t see who was in it.

  I slid another step closer, keeping in the deep shadows, and a blue-black head of hair, belonging to the elbow, came into view. I recognized it as Sole’s, and across from her, I could now see Mendez. He looked mad.

  Sole was saying: “How have I got to explain this to you, Eulogio? You fucked up. You should have killed me when you had the chance. You think you’re going to treat me like a whore, use me, promise me to some other man and I’m going to stand by and let you do that? And then you’re going to march in, torture me and kill me? And I am going to stand by and let you do that? You smell that, Eulogio? That’s the coffee. Time to wake up.”

  “You’re bluffing.”

  “Yeah? Maybe. Why don’t you touch a hair on my head and find out?” She didn’t wait for him to call her bluff. One slender leg came into view, with a cowboy boot on the end, and started dancing up and down, either with anger or nervous energy, and she started talking again.

  “Every damn shipment you have taken delivery of since we met, pal, filmed, recorded and uploaded to my cloud. Every hit you have ordered. You know the way you record the details in that black book in your safe, who did it and how much he was paid, in case you need to put one of the bastards away some day? Every damn page photographed and uploaded. All your damn protection rackets, and every damn woman you ever bought or sold. It is all recorded, Eulogio, every sick little transaction you ever made.”

  He was very still, watching her, while her foot danced to a steady rhythm. His voice, when it came, was barely a whisper.

  “If you hand me in, the Hermosillo will come after you. They won’t stop till they find you and make an example of you. You would be better off letting me kill you tonight.”

  She gave a single bark of laughter. “Dream on, Eulogio. When you are on the inside and I send Julio Menendez the information on what you did to his cousin, your life and your reputation won’t be worth an ounce of bat shit.”

  His eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed with the astonishment of a man who sees suddenly what has been obvious to others for a long time. “This was your purpose from the start. You never loved me, you never cared for me. All along, you were simply using me!”

  Her voice was harsh. “Stop, you’re breaking my heart. What is this, The Pimp Who Loved Me? Get real, Eulogio. You played and you lost. I have you over a barrel.”

  “What do you want?”

  “What do I want? I want five hundred million dollars in a numbered account in Belize, and I want everything you have on the Vega cartel.”

  “That’s impossible!”

  “Everything! I am going to screw those bastards out of every centavo!”

  “Do you realize what they will do to me—and you?”

  She threw back her head and laughed. “No, Eulogio. It is what I am going to do to them!” Then her foot stopped and her voice was dead. “And there is one more thing. I want the Verdugo.”

  His face twisted into a knot of incomprehension. “You want… Why?”

  “I want that bastard dead for what he’s done to me.”

  Mendez stood and walked to the terrace. He stood framed in the open French doors, staring out at the faintly luminous surf. The room was silent for a long while. Then Mendez gave a short laugh, shook his head and turned to face the woman in the chair. Now he was smiling.

  “You have overplayed your hand, Sole.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You have put me in a position where, whatever happens, I lose. That was not skillful. If you want to motivate people, then you must make what you want them to do look attractive when compared to the alternative. But what have you done? Whatever I do, I lose. If I refuse you, I go to prison and die there in a punishment killing. But if I obey you, I also wind up murdered by the Vega cartel, for supplying you with information. It’s lose-lose for me. So my best option is to kill you.”

  Eighteen

  She laughed. It wasn’t forced or strained. It was a laugh of genuine amusement.

  “You have a number of options, Eulogio, but killing me is not one of them. All of those documents are on a cloud. One click of a mouse and they wind up at FBI headquarters in Virginia. And for the sake of completeness, there are printed copies that will arrive there by special messenger within a few hours of the appropriate signal. It’s the oldest trick in the game, and you walked right into it. The one thing you are not going to do, Eulogio—the one thing you will make damn sure you never do—is kill me.”

  An evil sneer twisted his face. “How long do you think it will take for me to get access to that cloud and those documents? And all I need is a sharp knife and a pair of pliers. Besides, you stupid bitch, we are in Mexico now. Nobody can touch me here. Agárrenla!”

  The last word came out as a snarl and there was a sudden rush of movement in the room. I backed up and retraced my steps, hearing her screams, Mendez’s shouts and the thrashing and crashing of a fight. I slipped out into the night and ran, agonizingly slowly, pushing through the deep sand, till I came to the veranda where the plate-glass doors stood open and warm light flooded out onto the beach. I jumped silently onto the decking and crawled along until I could peer in.

  Sole was lying on the coffee table. Her face was contorted with terror. There was a guy in a black sweater and jeans duct-taping her wrists to the legs of the table. Another guy was doing
the same to her ankles. A piece of tape over her mouth was preventing her from screaming, but it wasn’t stopping the hysterical rasping in her throat.

  Mendez was standing over her. His face was flushed with a volatile mixture of fear, rage and triumph. He opened his mouth and screamed.

  “You think you can fuck with me? You think you can fuck with me, you bitch?” He pointed toward the door. “Nestor, go get a big knife from the kitchen. This bitch got a lot of guts, I want to see them.”

  One of the guys left the room. Another, a short guy with a big belly, went and stood by Sole’s head. I couldn’t see any more, but from what I could hear, there were at least two more guys in there.

  Mendez was jerking his knees and kept moving his shoulders, like he was trying to adjust his neck in his shirt.

  “So, where should we start? You ever seen an arm after you cut the tendons in the armpit? That makes you laugh so hard you piss your pants. You want we should start there? You ain’t answering me, bitch? You don’t wanna talk to me? I tell you what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna take the tape off your mouth, and you gonna tell me every fockin’ thing you know about El Verdugo. And if you do that, I won’t cut on your tendons just yet.”

  The door opened and Nestor came in with a Sabatier knife. He handed it to Mendez. My mind was racing. I needed to do something and I needed to do it fast. But I knew it was suicide to take on an unknown number of armed men with a simple pistol. I needed a plan, a strategy, something! But all I had was desperation.

  Mendez stepped over and ripped the tape from her mouth. The scream she let out was bloodcurdling. It was so bad Mendez staggered back two steps. That was about the best chance I was going to get. Nobody noticed me step in. There were five of them, plus Mendez. There was the guy at Sole’s head; there was Nestor, who was standing beside him. A third guy was standing at the end of the sofa. A fourth was sitting on the arm of the sofa and a fifth was leaning with his back against the wall beside the sliding, plate-glass doors. None of them had seen me.

  I took it all in like a snapshot and double-tapped the guy by the window. His brains sprayed out of the far side of his head and the two guys at the end of the sofa shied away. I counted one beat—half a second—to line up Nestor. He was still gaping at his brainless friend when I put two rounds through his chest. His friend hit the ground and Nestor crashed onto the sofa. Two seconds.

  Mendez turned, screamed and charged me with his Sabatier. The guy who’d been at Sole’s head was pulling his piece, but the two at the end of the sofa were still wiping their faces. I dropped and spun and knocked Mendez’s feet from under him. His legs went up in the air and he landed with a whoof! on the floor.

  I heard a round smack into the wall and came up on one knee with the shooter five feet away from me. I plugged him twice in the head and he sat down with straight legs and no top to his head. I turned to line up the last two guys, but one of them was dragging Mendez to his feet and the other had Sole covered with his weapon. I rammed the table with my shoulder and sent it flying. I heard the crack of a semi-automatic, then another and a searing heat tore through my left shoulder. I swore violently and emptied four rounds blindly at the door. The plate glass shattered in a cascade of lethal glass, but there was nobody there. Mendez and his two boys were gone.

  Behind me, Sole was cursing. “Untie me! Maldito pendejo!”

  I picked up a shard of glass and went to where she was lying. I nicked the duct tape and she yanked free and clambered to her feet.

  “You let him get away.”

  “You let him tie you to a table.”

  “You’re hurt.”

  “Quite a lot, and we are in Mexico.”

  “You want me to…?”

  “It’ll keep. We’re vulnerable here and we need to get safe. We also need to get out of Mexico.”

  She was shaking her head. “No, if you don’t need medical attention, then we need to get after Mendez.”

  “Are you out of your mind? He could be laying an ambush for us right now! If we go after him, he’ll have the drop on us from the start.”

  Her face flushed and she spoke through gritted teeth. “He’s getting away! If you won’t come, I’ll go alone!”

  She reached down and grabbed Nestor’s piece, a Colt .45, and next thing, she was out the door, running for the dunes. I knew better than to shout after her, but despite the growing, throbbing ache in my shoulder, I followed her out into the dark, keeping her covered. She flitted fast from dune to dune until she came to the fence. There, she dropped and peered over. I knew she was looking down at the launch and the Zodiac. She was thinking he would return to them, to get back to the yacht.

  I thought she was wrong. I thought he would call for reinforcements from Hermosillo and try to take us out before we got away. I was thinking the Zodiac and the launch may well be our only way out.

  I was wrong. I scrambled up beside Sole and hissed at her, “We have to make the launch and head back to the yacht.”

  She shook her head and held my eye. “You go if you want to. I’m taking Mendez with me.”

  “You want to get us both killed?”

  She didn’t answer. She dropped flat on her belly and let off two rounds into a cluster of trees near the back of the house. A .45 is a hell of a weapon for a girl. It kicked up twice, but she controlled it perfectly and there was a scream of pain from the shadows.

  Then Mendez was rushing toward the back of the house, screaming like a madman.

  Sole was screaming too, but she was screaming at me. “Now! Kill him! Kill him now! Kill him!”

  I sprinted after him, but the sand and the pain in my shoulder slowed me down. I saw his form cresting the dunes up ahead. Then I heard the roar of Sole’s. 45. The shot went wide, but instantly she was on her feet and running again. She was lighter than he was and, as he crested the top of the dune, she was gaining on him.

  I went after her again, but it was slow, painful and heavy going. When I got to the top of the dunes, I saw Mendez below. There was a road and he was sprinting across it toward a small parking lot, where there were three cars parked. Sole was scrambling down the dune and I saw her stumble and fall. I started to slide-run down as she scrambled to her feet. I pulled the Glock from my waistband, realizing that I wanted to kill Mendez, not just because he was the scum he was, but, like Olaf, what I really wanted was to save Sole from having this murder on her conscience.

  I took aim, and was momentarily distracted when Sole hit the parking lot and, instead of going after Mendez, she made for one of the other cars, parked over to the right, half-concealed by bull rushes. She knew she wouldn’t catch him before he reached his bus, so she didn’t bother trying.

  As I slid to the bottom, where the sand met the road, I heard Mendez’s car roar into life. His lights came on and he reversed wildly into the road, spun, then accelerated away toward Hermosillo. Almost simultaneously, ten paces away to my right, Sole’s lamps flared on, blinding me. Her engine revved violently and I felt, rather than saw, her car scream past, just inches away. Then, all I could see was two sets of red taillights vanishing around a bend behind the dunes.

  My head was splitting open, my shoulder was on fire and I was exhausted, but I ran for the third car, an old model convertible Jaguar XJS V12. I vaulted over the door and hot-wired the beast into life. I hit the gas, spun the wheel and accelerated after Sole.

  There was a lot of sand on the road, and at every corner, it felt like the car was going to skid off into the dunes. But the Jag was built for speed and handling, and it stuck to the road like a magnet. As I crested the first hill, I saw that I was gaining on Sole. I heard her tires complain as she hit the next bend, and for a moment, it looked like she was going to lose control. She fishtailed and rode up into the sand. I braked hard and swerved to avoid hitting her. Ahead, I could see Mendez’s taillights receding. Sole’s wheels spun in a shower of dirt and she was away.

  I accelerated after her, cursing myself for not overtaking when I had the chance
. As I rounded the next bend, I saw that Mendez had slowed to take a hairpin and start climbing into low hills. Where he’d slowed right down, she had caught up and was almost on top of him. But when she slowed to take the same bend, he pulled ahead. I saw a flash and heard a crack and a whine, and realized that she’d started shooting at him again.

  I took the hairpin and then we were all climbing into the hills. As Mendez took the next bend, his rear end got away from him and rode up into the dirt, like Sole’s had before. Just for a second, he couldn’t pull free and he was a sitting duck. Sole played it too fast and instead of taking her time to aim, she rammed the side of his car. That knocked him loose. My headlamps picked her out, stepping down from the car, straddling her legs, leveling the .45.

  But his back wheels spun in a cloud of dust and his car tore loose just as she pulled the trigger. The shot missed and the recoil knocked her back. By that time, I was practically on her. We were on a strait, climbing gently, with a deep escarpment on the right-hand side. I was gaining on her and preparing to overtake. But she was tailgating Mendez, swerving from side to side to try and pull up beside him, and I couldn’t find my chance.

  I knew she hadn’t many rounds left, and suddenly I realized what she was going to do. She swerved to the left until her right wing was level with his trunk, and before he could pull over, she hit the gas and rammed his rear left wheel. His brakes screamed as he tried to control the car, but he never had a chance. He went careening to the right, toward the edge. He tried to correct it, but the saloon just lurched and rolled off the road and down into the gulch.

  Meanwhile, Sole had lost control of her convertible. It surged ahead, swerving right and left and headed straight for a large pine tree. She swerved violently and the over steer drove her trunk across the dust to smash right into the tree. I skidded to a halt, jumped out, ran across the road and pulled her from behind the wheel. She stared up into my face, her pupils as big as her dark irises. Her arms and legs were trembling and she clutched at my shirt with her fingers.