Silver Lead and Dead (Evan Hernandez series Book 1)

by James Garmisch

  “Good night.”

  Jorge hung up and looked at Gerard. “Mario has brought more of his bodyguards than expected. Are all of our men here?”

  “Yes. Mr. Pena is all set too.”

  Jorge looked visibly worried, like a coach before a Super Bowl. “Tomorrow begins a new era for this great nation.”

  Jorge smiled and slapped Gerard on the back. “Don’t worry, my friend.”

  “And if media personalities do not cooperate?” Gerard asked.

  “They find themselves in a vat of acid, ha!” Jorge chuckled and continued. “I have arranged for millions in charity to be given away over the next few weeks to show my loyalty to the”—Jorge used his fingers to make quotation marks—“people. Yes, as far as the people are concerned, the drug wars will end, the violence will cease, and we shall eventually become legal businessmen…Well, in a few years. I may not even live to see it all transpire, but, nonetheless, this is my legacy.”

  Gerard nodded and crossed his arms as if in thought.

  “Brilliant. One question: what really changes—if I may be blunt?”

  Gerard put the scope up to his eye and watched a group of men walk from a helicopter toward the house. Mario and his entourage moved slowly, like celebrities. Ladies swooned, and men bowed and shook hands.

  Jorge answered honestly. “Nothing. Nothing really changes, except perception. People talk about the crisis for a few weeks and then lose interest. Perception, my friend, is everything. All of the cartels will work together until someone screws up, but, nonetheless, we are creating a perception. You, Gerard, are going to be rich and in charge of an army!” Jorge laughed again and finished his drink.

  A breeze was picking up, and the two men stared for a moment from their perch on the top deck of the Happy Mermaid. The beach house was fully lit, and people could be seen moving in and about it, eating, and socializing. Jorge could smell food grilling and hear intermittent chatter.

  “You know, boss, I am hungry.”

  Jorge nodded and was about to answer when his walkie-talkie crackled. There were no cell phone towers on the island. “Yes?”

  “Jorge, sir, Mario wants to say hi to you. Will you join him to eat?”

  Jorge shrugged. “Is the pig ready?”

  “Sir?” The voice on the other end sounded offended for a second.

  “The roasted pig, you fool! I have been smelling it cooking all day. In fact, it is my recipe. Is it ready?”

  “Yes!”

  The two men made it off the observation deck and down to the main deck and off the yacht. Four members of the Scorpions waited for them as an escort.

  “Ah, you men look sharp! Tomorrow you had better be on your toes. Mario’s thugs out number us.”

  “We can handle them, sir!”

  CHAPTER 30

  Gang Plank

  Tommy prayed. He opened his eyes, looked out at the buoys and lights of the sleepy town on the Isla Mujeres, and prayed some more.

  “Look, I know you heard me. This time just don’t ignore me, please. You let me, my little Carla get out of this freaking…Sorry, sorry, I know I should not curse. At least save her! Keep her safe.”

  Tommy removed his fourth “this time for real” last cigarette from a plastic box and put it to his lips. His fingers trembled as he opened the flame of his gold Zippo. “Lord, this is also really my last cigarette!”

  “Tommy!”

  Tommy cursed and closed his eyes as a massive hand slapped his back. He smelled tequila, aftershave, and oil from somewhere on the boat.

  “Hi, Evan.” Tommy said and groaned, not attempting to cover up his disappointment.

  “Sorry, know it’s late. Looks like you dropped your smoke in the water! Sorry, dude; you gotta quit anyway.”

  Evan’s voice was a little loud, and he steadied himself against a coil of cable on the fishing trawler’s deck. “Wow, is the ship moving? Did we hit a storm?” he teased.

  “No, you’re wasted, Evan.”

  “That’s what I get for trying to keep up with Roger.”

  “He’s a little bigger than you,” said Tommy.

  Evan nodded. “OK, OK, Tommy. Look, I’m on my way to bed, and I just wanted to ask you one thing.”

  “Yes? Can you talk quieter?” Tommy asked.

  Evan took a deep breath and checked himself. He regained control and spoke clearly. “Did you do what I asked?” Evan sat on a large spool of wire, folded his hands in his lap, and waited for an answer.

  “Yes,” Tommy said as if under duress. He was referring to a conversation he and Evan had had earlier about securing the giant seaplane for an escape. Evan claimed he had struck a deal with the admiral. Tommy was not sure if he should believe him or not.

  Evan leaned forward and raised his eyebrows. “Aaand?”

  Tommy removed a small device from his pocket. It was a tiny satellite-enabled texting device. Looked like a cell phone, yet sent texts only and could take pictures. “Carla is on the island, working as a server.”

  “What does she say?”

  Tommy ran his fingers through his hair and for a second did not look as old as he was. Evan had finally annoyed him to the point that his confidence was bigger than his fear. Anger does that. Evan smirked to himself.

  Tommy read the text from his daughter out loud:

  Daddy, don’t worry, doing fine. I have been here on many occasions. They don’t let anyone touch US girls. They already got girls for that kinda thing. I made friends with the guy guarding the plane and smaller boats like u said. I can be on the pier when u say and do what u want. Wrapped around finger. LOL, XO XO.

  Tommy shoved the thing back in his pocket and stared at Evan. “Don’t get my baby killed. She has no clue how bad it’s going to get, and you won’t let me tell her!”

  Evan frowned. “You know why! Ignorance is bliss. They can’t get anything from her. Make sure she is fishing and at the plane the whole morning. Tell her what’s going down when we get there—then and only then. Just as I told you.”

  Tommy looked shrewdly at Evan. “I am not stupid, Ivan, or Evan, or whatever. Been in the shit before, flew out of Vietnam with heroin and guns for the spooks with bombs going off, just never with my daughter before.”

  Evan shrugged. “That plane is our ticket home if we need it. I got clearance from the admiral to take it as a spoil of war and run once things go down. When the mission is complete.”

  “Or if everything hits the fan!” Tommy said.

  “When,” Evan countered and then finished. “We just don’t want to get shot down. I also don’t want your daughter anywhere near the house.”

  “How noble of you. She can’t fight off any thugs who try to get it before us.” Tommy spoke while he played with his lighter.

  “I’ll get there as soon as I can or Roger will,” Evan said.

  “Well, I am heading there as soon as we land. I have a suspicion about who owns that flying boat. Gotta make sure it’s ready to fly.”

  Evan stood and spoke. “It’s been a long, crazy day. Bedtime. See ya.”

  “Night, Evan—I mean, Ivan.”

  “Night.”

  CHAPTER 31

  Scrambled Eggs in Paradise

  The sun rose slowly in the east, as it had for thousands of years. The pink ball stretched its glow out across the terrain. The sun did not care about morning people, non-morning people, drunk people, or despised people. It always came, and it always shone light on the obvious. Night and day had been locked in such a long game of tag that neither knew who was really chasing whom.

  Jorge Valdez and three of his henchmen, including Andre Pena, sat outside on the back porch of the beach house. The final guests had arrived late last night, putting the mansion at capacity. Jorge knew the list of VIPs, all of them on one side or other of the law depending on the day and who was handing the briefcase of cash across the imaginary line.

  “Silver or lead?” Jorge spoke out loud with a chuckle.

  “Boss?”


  His three bodyguards looked up from their newspapers and coffees to listen to their leader. Without cell phones, and with the satellite-connected Wi-Fi turned off, guests had to read or use nonelectronic means to amuse themselves. This was preferable to Jorge. When did people ever just sit around and talk without staring like little monkeys at a screen?

  Jorge sipped his coffee and smiled. His spirits were high despite being slightly hungover and drained.

  “Silver or lead?” Jorge repeated. “You choose.”

  His men nodded. They understood the term. You can take a payoff, silver, or you can take a bullet, lead. Jorge motivated his aides like a good general.

  “Listen to me. This is a great day. Do not worry!”

  “Yes,” Andre Pena agreed.

  Andre wore a modest outfit and looked as if he could have been going to the beach or working in the yard. He kept a baseball hat down low over his eyes and expensive sunglasses low on his nose. Only a trained eye could tell that Jorge was wearing a bulletproof vest under his untucked Tommy Bahamas button-down. He wore cleanly pressed khaki pants with a custom-made leather holster. His weapon of choice today was a silver-and-gold Smith & Wesson handgun. It was a huge weapon that fired .50-caliber bullets. The custom etching and grips made it plain beautiful to look at and even more fun to shoot. Jorge had killed a grizzly bear with the same weapon on a hunting trip to Alaska.

  Andre was clearly uncomfortable about being so blatantly in public and mingling with people he was about to blow up.

  Jorge seemed to sense this and spoke calmly, “It is one thing, my friend, to hide in plain sight. It is another to sit near people who are merely walking corpses yet do not know it. Small talk with them, smell them, flirt with the senators’ wives, talk soccer. Easy to watch a fireball in the distance, but meeting the soon-to-be-charred souls up close? This makes for a better time, huh?” Jorge smiled. He was calm this morning. His nervousness was gone and his anxiety dissipated. He was ready for the fight.

  “I have no delusions about what I do, Jorge. I just prefer to not be around people. I will watch, yes. I always have. I have always studied my targets. I am at the stage of my life now where I like to teach others, the new generation, to make the bombs. This is my grand finale, a fireworks display to bring in a new era. No, Jorge, you misread me. The smell of bodies, it does not bother me. I am numb to it.”

  Jorge leaned forward and touched Andre’s arm. “I did not mean you any disrespect. I just talk sometimes.”

  “None taken, Jorge. Since I have been here, the men I have trained at your camps have taken care of about seventy-five of your enemies. Pablo himself used to say, ‘Have them fear you. Have the mention of your name cause them to pee their pants.’” Andre paused to put a strawberry in his mouth. “Your enemies, after today, will take notice.”

  Jorge nodded and smiled. “Andre, I hope you will stay in Mexico after this.”

  “No, no, I have to go.”

  “At least let me show you the Pacific side, where I come from, very rural, welcoming. Different world from all this.”

  Andre crossed his hands and considered for a moment.

  The two men drifted off into conversion about the beaches of their respective countries, food, climate, and, of course, sports. After about ten minutes of friendly chatter, a girl in a bikini walked by the table carrying a fishing pole and a tackle box. She had a brilliant tattoo across her back of a leopard—the tail extended down beneath her bikini bottoms.

  “Hey!” One of Jorge’s men stood up. “Where are you going?”

  The girl, who was thin yet still shapely, paused and removed the pink headphones from her ears. She wore large bug-eyed sunglasses and chewed gum. Jorge could hear some form of obnoxious rap music even at this distance.

  She smiled very shyly and respectfully. “Good morning, señors. I am going down to the pier. It’s quiet and away from everyone. I like to fish.” She smiled, and everyone softened. Jorge’s man sat down on the direction of his boss.

  “Over at the pier?” Jorge turned to address the young girl.

  “Yes, where that big seaplane is and the little boats. Great spot. Quiet.” She shifted from foot to foot, swaying her tiny hips.

  She was still too young to know the hypnotic effect that had on men, or perhaps she wasn’t.

  “Yes, she’s OK. She can go.” Jorge waved at his guards to relax and began to pick up his paper. “You are Carla, yes?”

  The girl paused and, for a second, almost looked concerned. “Yes?”

  “I know your father, Tommy. You should be proud of him. He has worked with us for years. You, I have seen too, working the tables. You work hard, my dear. You go fish! Anyone tells you otherwise, you send them to me!” Jorge winked at the girl and then waved her off.

  “Thanks, sir.” She turned and walked quickly away.

  “So, Andre, you have any children?”

  “Did.” Andre looked down at his hands and pretended to be inspecting them.

  “I have upset you?”

  “No, no. A lifetime ago. My three sons were butchered by rival cartels, a notorious hit man named the Snake…It was years ago.”

  “Tell me. I like to know the stories behind people. I have never heard this from you.”

  Andre sighed. “Must I?”

  “No, no, my friend, but that anger of being wronged, it is the fuel that you will need to make it through the day.”

  Andre shook his head. “Ah, you are good—a shrink by trade?”

  Jorge laughed. “Only if you want to tell.”

  “I blew up a target, an empty car with dead bodies already placed thus so. A spectacle, a setup.”

  “A setup for you?”

  Andre Pena nodded. “A setup for me and this hit man.”

  “The Snake?”

  “Yes. I don’t want to bore you. It is painful.”

  “Please tell me.”

  Andre Pena paused for a few moments, drank some orange juice, poured some coffee, and popped a grape into his mouth. “I was contracted to kill a man’s family, his young wife and child. Only they would not actually be in the car. Other bodies were, already dead. The idea I guess was to make this man snap, make him think his family was dead. Only they were not even present. I did not know who this man was, only that his own people wanted him to snap. That was the rumor I heard years later. A mind game. Well, it worked. He snapped and killed my sons as if they were dogs. Sent me pictures and letters while I was in prison. Sent me an empty Skoal can with my boys’ teeth. I don’t believe that they quite knew what they were doing when they pushed this man over the edge. Once you start a maniac like that, how can you stop him?”

  “Skoal?”

  “A nasty habit. Tobacco that they spit. This is how I knew he was American, this Snake. Never saw him. Heard of him, his reputation, his involvement with Los Pepes. No one can tell how many murders he, or anyone, committed back in those days.” Andre finished his speech as if he were talking into the past. His eyes grew distant.

  “Pablo was a great man. He was brought down by savages such as these.”

  “He killed your family, yet you did not kill his?” Jorge asked.

  “Yes, ironic,” Andre said flatly, clearly uncomfortable.

  “And you explained it to him?” Jorge leaned forward, fascinated.

  Andre laughed for a second and looked away toward the peaceful ocean. He watched the girl in the distance sit down by the dock under the shadow of the massive seaplane’s wing.

  “Explain to a ghost? How?”

  Jorge frowned and poured Andre some coffee from a silver pot.

  “Well, I am sorry, Andre. Today let the memories go up in flames. It is time to let it go! I think, my friend, that you will find peace.”

  CHAPTER 32

  Floating Cans

  The Island, 0704 Hours

  Evan had never wanted to join the navy.

  He loved the ocean, he loved fishing, and he especially loved kayaking on the back streams and wild ri
vers of Virginia and West Virginia.

  His brother had made fun of him when he had joined the marines: “Aha! Evan, you’re going to be a bellhop for the navy. You’re going to live on a gator freighter packed like a sardine!”

  Evan shook his head and laced his boots. He barely slept with the thudding and whooshing and other strange noises on the sub. Evan had to concede that his brother was right; he did end up being on ships for long periods of time, flying his helicopters on and off.

  Ships I can deal with, but subs? No way! Evan stood, folded his sleeping mat, and rolled a poncho liner.

  “Morning!” Tanya said.

  Evan banged his head on a pipe when he stood up. “Morning, Tanya. Ouch. These things are not made for tall people.”

  She reached up and touched his head and pouted. “That will leave a mark. Maybe improve your looks, eh?”

  Evan regarded her for a second. She wore a zip-up green flight suit that was too big and a baseball hat that clearly had belonged to a male. “You seem perky this morning. Not hungover?”

  She smiled and raised a plastic cup of coffee. “This and my new outlook.”

  “New outlook?” Evan smirked.

  “Yes. Being negative is a choice. I have a lot to be thankful about. I could have been killed, and you rescued me. I still may be, but it’s, well, out of my control. I can’t be depressed, fearful, and angry forever,” Tanya stated boldly.

  Evan gave her a hug and then put his hands on her shoulders as if she was a child and he was leading her off to the playground. “Walk this way. Let’s go to the bridge.”

  Evan felt uneasy with the noises of the sub and the odd banging sounds. “Did you change your meds or something?” he asked.

  “Funny, ha-ha. No, did some cocaine, but that’s beside the point. I just realized that these brushes with death, they are a test. My battlefield is with computers, but I can’t hide behind them.”

  “Did you sleep at all?” Evan asked.

  “Like a rock. Valium is great!”

  “Liked it better when you were grumpy all the time.” Evan complained, “I need about a week’s sleep.”