Saint Death

by Devan Sagliani

  A smile of pure evil lit up the short man's face, causing the blood in Alexis's veins to freeze anew. He turned around and motioned to the cage with Christie in it. His bodyguards opened the door with a big skeleton key and began to drag her out. Christie tried to bat at them, her limp arms flailing about like overcooked noodles, her exposed breasts jogging back and forth. The larger of the men held her by a fistful of hair and punched her square in the face, causing Alexis to gasp as her friend went limp once more.

  “No,” Alexis cried, her voice barely above a panicked whisper. “Where are you taking her? Please no! Oh God please help us. Please!”

  “What's the matter?” Francois roared suddenly, causing everyone to turn his direction in shock. “You fucking scared of taking on a real man you fucking cowards? You have to pick on helpless little girls because you got no balls? I'm talking to you, pretty little man. You try to act tough but underneath it all you're a fucking pussy. I bet you wouldn't last five seconds with me. Come on! Let's see what you got you fucking midget.”

  “Shut up Francois” Alexis screamed at him. “You're going to get yourself killed!”

  The bodyguards shifted uncomfortably, watching their boss for some sign of how they should handle it. Alexis got the distinct horrifying impression that even the slightest nod would mean a nasty end for the nihilistic stranger she'd been imprisoned with. Instead the short man laughed, causing a fresh wave of chicken skin to crawl up Alexis's arms and legs. He walked over to Francois's cage, studying him with pleasure, like a spoiled child about to pull the wings off a fly. Francois glowered at him, not backing down an inch.

  “Let's go asshole,” Francois barked. “Me and you. Winner takes all.”

  The short man laughed again, a high pitched sound that got under Alexis's skin like nails on a chalk board. He turned back to his bodyguards who joined in nervously like drooling sycophants fawning over a petty dictator. He took the handgun from his waistband, chambering a fresh round and pointing it at Francois' head. Alexis noticed Angel shifting nervously, as if his sneakers were suddenly hooked up to an electrical outlet. His eyes dashed quickly back and forth between the short man and his bodyguards.

  “Any last words Gringo?” the short man snapped.

  “Yeah. Avale mes couilles grosse pute!” Francois spit in the man’s face, cupping his balls in a provocative gesture of insult.

  “Chupa mi verga tu pinche puto guey!” The short man erupted in anger, dropping the gun down and shooting Francois several times in the groin. His eyes never left his victims face as the Frenchman howled in agony.

  Alexis’s screams were drowned out by the sound of gunfire in the confined area. It was so much louder than she'd imagined, not at all like it was on television. Her ears were ringing from the proximity. Francois slumped forward against the bars, sliding down them with a low groan of misery. The short man placed the barrel of the gun to his head and pulled it one last time, spraying Alexis with bright red blood and pieces of brain matter. She recoiled in horror, unable to process what she'd just seen, scrambling back to the edge of the barn's cool wooden boards.

  Angel began to argue vehemently with the man in Spanish, gesticulating towards the bloody corpse now laid out flat in the cell not far from her. Alexis became aware that she was cold now, the little voice in the back of her mind letting her know that shock was setting in. She shook violently and uncontrollably all over. The terrible urge to scream again at the top of her lungs clawed its way up from the depths of her soul but she fought it back, knowing full well she'd only accelerate the inevitable. The two men argued like traders bartering over the price of a side of mutton. Eventually the short man produced a wad of American cash and thrust it at Angel, who thumbed through the stack quickly before pocketing the money and signaling they had a deal.

  Alexis watched Christie for signs of life but her friend was out for good this time. The bodyguards began to drag the helpless blonde coed away, her limp legs dragging in the dirt and leaving lines as they removed her from the wooden structure. The short man calmly followed them out. Alexis cried out to him in despair.

  “Please don't hurt her,” she wailed in agony, anxiety climbing through her chest like burning acid. “Please. Take me instead!”

  Angel froze in his tracks at the sound of the words. Alexis fought the urge to piss herself as he slowly turned his head towards her, locking his glossy black eyes with hers once more.

  “No te asustes flaquita,” he said with an evil grin.

  “I can't understand you,” Alexis cried.

  “I said don't worry skinny one,” Angel said, his English now barely comprehensible over his thick Mexican accent. “You're get your chance soon enough.”

  He blew her a kiss and Alexis recoiled in disgust. He turned and left. Alexis retreated to the darkened shadows in the back of her cell, her fear now a hard lump in her stomach. She listened for the sound of her friends tortured screams but never heard them. For a while she imagined that Christie might have escaped and gone for help. She closed her eyes and did her best to ignore the smell that had begun to waft down from the cell with Francois' decomposing corpse. Hours went by but Christie never returned. She wept until she no longer had tears, until every ounce of self-pity had left her and the dry sobs gave way to a feeling of perpetual dread.

  He's right, the voice told her as she trembled uncontrollably. Your time is almost up.

  Chapter Four

  The line through customs was longer than Zack expected, but despite Dave’s constant bitching they managed to work their way to the front in a decent amount of time. That's when the trouble started. The customs official barely gave Zack’s passport a second glance and didn’t ask him any questions at all, but when Dave got to the counter the whole line stopped for nearly ten full minutes as they examined all his paperwork in detail. Two guards came over and went through all of his stuff, pulling it out and checking his carry on for any secret compartments. Zack felt like his guts were full of heavy cement as he watched in fear as they fired one question after another at his travel companion.

  “Where are you coming from Señor?” asked the official in a monotone voice.

  “Los Angeles,” responded Dave.

  “Where are you staying?” the official prodded.

  “Cabo San Lucas,” Dave laconically replied, offering nothing more.

  “Which resort?” the official probed further.

  “It’s on my paperwork,” Dave said, doing his best to fight back his building anger.

  “And do they know you are staying there?” the official demanded, pouring back over Dave's paperwork again.

  “I sure hope so,” Dave said sarcastically, his voice rising several octaves in frustration. “Considering I've already paid for the full week. That’s generally how things work in my limited experience.”

  “So if I were to call them they would verify that you are a confirmed guest?” the official asked accusingly.

  “How many ways are there to say this? Yes. Do I have to spell it out for you?” Dave looked like he was doing everything in his power to keep from losing his calm and screaming in the man's face. Zack wondered how long his friend could hold up under this kind of treatment before he finally snapped. He knew it would get ugly for both of them if that happened.

  “And you are not just giving us a fake address so you can go about other business while you are here?” the official asked, staring hard at Dave.

  “I’m not here on business,” Dave said, his face turning beet red as his temper began to flare. “I’m here on vacation. You know? Spring Break? Pretty girls and buckets of Yesenias? Comprende amigo?”

  Zack looked back at the line of impatient college students waiting to make their way through security to see the girl in the Delta Nu sweatshirt staring at him. She was the only one still smiling, although it looked more like sympathy than excitement. They made eye contact briefly before he turned away, a feeling of guilt and self-loathing crashing over him for liking her.

&nb
sp; Jesus man, he thought. It’s not like I’m still with Lily so why do I feel so guilty? Hell, after what she’s done I have every right to look at other women. Dave’s right about that, even if the way he put it was way grosser than I would. I may not be ready to hook up with someone new but at least I can enjoy a little extra attention without feeling like a total dirt bag.

  It was no use. The truth was that his heart still hurt. He knew that meant that he still loved Lily, that he belonged to her in some way, even if she no longer wanted what he had to offer. He thought about what she’d said to him, the words burning a hole right through him. It was all so unreal. How could she treat him like that? He was one of the good guys, wasn’t he? He resolved that he’d make an effort, and that just because he wasn’t ready to stamp out his ‘pussy passport’ didn’t mean he couldn’t have fun flirting with cute girls, especially if they started it. Besides this vacation was a dream come true for him, something he’d never have been able to afford on his own. There was no point in spending it moping over a girl who couldn't even be trusted when she did want to be with him. He resolved that he’d try harder to put Lily behind him and go on with his life.

  Who knows? Maybe this vacation is exactly what I need after all.

  Zack turned back to Dave, who by this point was working himself into a full lather.

  “Calm down sir,” the official said, signaling for more officers.

  “I will not calm down,” Dave shouted. “This is outrageous. I've got rights! You're treating me like I fucking brought a bomb in my carry on, like I'm some kind of terrorist or something! It's fucking bullshit!”

  “Turn around and put your hands behind your back now,” a commanding voice said. Dave spun around to see several officers were making a beeline directly for him, the biggest of which was closing in cuffs already in hand. They formed a small semi-circle in the off chance he decided to make a run for the door. Dave shook his head in disbelief but complied with their orders. “This is unbelievable. You guys are something else.”

  The customs official ignored him, picking up the phone in his booth and listening as someone gave him further instructions. Zack got the distinct impression that they were intentionally messing with Dave, giving him a hard time and causing him extra delays for their own amusement. He was just beginning to wonder if they would make it into Mexico at all when the customs official finally relented and stamped Dave's passport. He motioned for the officer to uncuff him, but before he could Dave stepped forward, bringing his arms around front of him with the open cuffs dangling from one wrist. “Ta da!”

  The burly officer wasn't amused. He snapped Dave's hand down hard before unlocking the second cuff and pocketing them. He glared at Dave who stepped past him and held out his hand for his passport but the customs official took his time passing it back to him.

  “Be careful while you are here, Señor,” the man said ominously. “And remember that we take narcotics charges very seriously in Mexico. You will not get another warning.”

  Dave snatched his passport out of the man’s hand, shooting him a cross look before walking over to his violated luggage. He mumbled a series of unforgivable curses under his breath as he quickly stuffed his belongings back into his bags and headed for the exit. Zack had to hustle to keep up with him. Once they were outside Dave made his way down towards the end of the taxi line. Zack dogged him as they passed a line of college kids with earbuds or Beats on, all listening to music as they waited.

  “What was that all about?” Zack asked.

  “It’s bullshit man,” Dave shouted. “I got busted one time in Tijuana with a joint. The cop made us sit in the cell for an hour then asked for a bribe. It wasn't even supposed to go on my record but obviously that was a fucking lie too. They’ve red flagged me. There is no way that was random.”

  “Since when do you smoke weed?”

  “I don't,” Dave erupted. “You know that. That's the most fucked up part about this whole story. Kendra kept saying she wanted some and I kept telling her it was a waste because all she was likely to find was Mexican dirt weed when she was used to smoking Humboldt green. Instead I got hauled off to jail and you wanna know the worst part? She left me there and took a cab back to our hotel in San Diego! Can you believe that?”

  “That's crazy,” Zack said lamely, not sure how to comfort his friend. “Well it’s over now. Let’s grab a cab and get over to the resort. I’m itching to try the swim up bar. First drinks on me.”

  “It’s all inclusive man,” Dave reminded him. “Which means all the drinks are technically on me.”

  “Either way,” Zack said, pushing his bags into the cab line, “you definitely need a drink.”

  “What are you doing?” Dave asked, still hot from his run in with the customs official.

  “I’m getting in line before all the angry people behind us make their way out here,” Zack patiently explained.

  “Fuck that. I’m not taking a cab all the way there,” Dave said.

  “What’s all the way there?” Zack asked. “We’re in Cabo. How far is the resort?”

  “Dude,” Dave guffawed, the first hint of a smile returning to his face. “The airport is like almost an hour from town. I’m not sitting in some stinky cab with broken AC all the way there. No way. It's hot as shit out here. Let’s go find ourselves a better form of transportation.”

  Dave turned and made his way down further to where a stretch of concrete separated the main road from the pick-up area. Once again Zack scurried after him. There was a black limo parked a ways down. The driver, dressed in a pressed white shirt, dark slacks and shades, was arguing with a tall blond kid in a bright neon tank top and retro 80's sunglasses. The sun glistened off the chauffeur's shaved head as beads of sweat rolled down his neck, running over what looked like an old gang tattoo barely covered by his wilting shirt color. Zack could just make out what they were saying as he approached.

  “I told you,” the driver informed the irate blond man wearing a loud Hawaiian shirt. “It’s a hundred American dollars cash. That includes AC and a full wet bar. That's a very good price.”

  “Come on buddy,” the guy haggled, his voice taking on a note of condescension. “I’ll give you sixty bucks. Take it or leave it. That’s a pretty good deal for you and you know it. It’s probably more than your whole family makes in a month. Besides, it’s not like you’ve got people lining up to beg you for a ride.”

  “I’ll give you a hundred dollars cash just to get out of this heat,” Dave said with a shit eating grin. He held up the money and waved it for effect.

  The driver turned to the guy he'd been arguing with whose face was now contorted with fresh anger. “You were saying?”

  “Fuck off man,” the man angrily spat at Dave. “I was here first. Mind your own business asshole.”

  “We’re ready to go now,” Dave plowed on ignoring him. “That is if you’re available.”

  “You can’t just come along and snake my ride man,” the guy pouted, puffing his chest up in a comical display of masculinity. “We were in the middle of negotiating here.”

  Zack noticed that while the angry stranger had intimidating biceps his gym workout clearly overlooked his lower half. His scrawny little chicken legs looked easy enough to kick out from underneath him in the event a real fight broke out. Zack had saved Dave from more than one fight he'd picked over the years so he was used to going into defense mode. The driver ignored the bully's whining and took the crisp bill from Dave’s hands.

  “Let’s go,” he said. Dave and Zack walked around to the back of the limo. The driver opened the trunk and helped them put their luggage in. The blond guy, not used to not getting his way, followed them the whole time whining.

  “Now wait a minute,” he said, looking desperate. “I’ll pay the hundred. I’m sorry. Just give me a minute. My friends should be out through customs any minute now. I don’t know what the holdup is.”

  “Lo siento,” the driver said, opening the door so that Zack and Dave coul
d climb inside. “Time is money for us poor people. I’m sure you understand. Better luck next time Güero.”

  “You can’t do this!” the blond guy indignantly roared.

  “I believe I already have,” he replied, walking past him and slipping behind the wheel of his limo. The driver turned on the car and all at once deliciously cool air conditioning replaced the hot sticky feeling that had enveloped them since they’d stepped outside of the airport. The angry loser slammed his fist onto the hood of the limo before storming off in a huff. The driver watched him go for a few seconds, then turned to his new passengers.

  “Wow,” Zack said. “What an asshole. I hope you don’t think all Americans are like that.”

  “Actually I was born and raised in Chicago,” the driver said with a smile, his English now dramatically improved. “My mom is American but my father was from here in Baja. I spent most of my life in America before coming here a few years back. The truth is I was enjoying seeing him get worked up. Names Oscar. Where to?”

  “We’re headed to Cabo,” Zack said.

  “That much I assumed,” Oscar chuckled, pulling out into traffic and turning on the radio. Rap music mixed with electronica filled the car, but Zack wasn't familiar with any of it. All the words were in Spanish.

  “Sorry,” Oscar said, seeing Zack's reaction and turning the radio down. “I'm addicted to Reggaeton. Any place in particular?”

  “Anywhere near resort row is fine,” Dave clarified.

  “Not a problem,” Oscar said. “I’ve got cold water back there, cerveza, and some Patron. If you need anything stronger let me know.”

  “Well now that you mention it,” Dave began, but Zack cut him off before he could get a pharmaceutical request out.

  “Dave,” Zack said sternly, giving his friend a dirty look.

  “What?” Dave asked, feigning innocence.

  “You know what,” Zack fired back at him, not backing down an inch. “You barely made it through security. Are you sure you want to start screwing around already?”