Operation Zulu: Dos

by Gamboa, Allen

  “Mexico,” Baylie groaned and turned her back to Ricky. “And buy a freakin’ watch.”

  “Funny, Baylie. You’re a regular Bennie Hill.”

  “Don’t know who that is and I don’t care.” She grabbed her sunglasses off the dashboard.

  “Course ya don’t. Gotta have a bloody sense of humor and some culture.” He glanced over at the two sleeping under the blanket in the backseat. Bailey was lucky last night, she had popped in her IPod earphones and drifted off to sleep. Honestly, the Brit didn’t understand what that bird saw in Leeland. Starting to get turned on by the thought of Tanya under the blanket, he adjusted himself and looked back over at Bailey. “You know, luv, the pub on my street is older than your whole country.”

  “And?”

  “And you Yanks have no bloody culture.” He cranked down the window and leaned out. The morning air was starting to warm up. "Benny Hill is funny; Dane Cook is not.”

  “Poor example, Ricky.” Bailey sat up and slid the sunglasses back on her nose. “Nobody thinks Dane Cook is funny and I still don’t know who Benny Hill is.”

  “Monty Python then?”

  “My pops was a fan when he was sober.” She ran a hand through her hair. “Or was it when he was drunk? Hell, I can’t remember. Those guys used to dress up like girls, right? “

  “Right.”

  “Not funny.”

  “Whatever, Baylie. It’s just over your ‘ead, luv.” He pushed open the door. “I gotta take a piss an’ grab a smoke. Let me know when Leeland and the bird are up.” He stumbled out of the car, still a little woozy from the cough syrup and slammed the door shut.

  “Easy!” Baylie shouted. Her pop had rebuilt the Chevy from the ground up and it’s all she had left of him, drunk or not. As she was shaking her head at the wiry Brit, she heard Leeland and Tanya stirring in the backseat.

  “Morning,” Baylie said without looking back.

  “That what the fuck it is?" Leeland said pushing the blanket down into his lap. Tanya pushed some hair out of her face and sat up.

  “Gonna be a hot one, baby.” She kissed him lightly on his stubbled chin.

  “How can you be so cheerful this early, Tanya?” Leeland was notorious for being a straight up asshole in the morning. He grabbed for his jean shorts that were crumpled on the floor of the car while the stripper adjusted her dress and sat up.

  “I get to wake up next to you in another country, babe.” She kissed him again.

  “Bullshit.” Leeland pulled back. “Bullshit, baby.”

  “Leeland…” Tanya pouted.

  “Never trust a stripper.” He struggled into his jean shorts and grabbed up his handgun. “I have to take a leak. I know it’s about the money, Tanya baby.”

  “Sugar…”

  “I ain’t hurt.” He looked her up and down. “I ain’t with you ‘cause you’re a rocket scientist. Don’t try and snow me, Tanya, we both need something from each other.” He ran a finger across her lips. “I still love ya, babe, I just don’t trust ya. Now I gotta take a leak. Smile, baby.”

  He grabbed her chin and forcefully kissed her. “When I get my money, you’ll get some too.”

  “I hate you, Leeland,” she said hollowly then grabbed the blanket and covered herself with it.

  “Sure ya do.” He glanced over at Baylie and winked slyly. Baylie just sunk down in the driver's seat and wearily shook her head. “Let me take care of business and we’ll find someplace to eat and get some damn coffee. Where’s the Brit, Baylie?”

  “Said he had to piss and smoke.” She shrugged. “I say we leave him.”

  “You wish.” Leeland groaned while pushing the passenger seat forward. “Help me get out of this damn thing, will ya?”

  Ricky groggily mumbled to himself as an unlit cigarette dangled from his lip. He’d been in business with Leeland for a while and though he trusted the big man, Ricky knew it wasn’t reciprocated. The Brit looked around for a place to piss. The Chevy sat on the side of a torn up two-lane road with nothing but power lines and telephone poles. There were a few scattered copses of trees, but that was about it. Next to the Impala was a six foot berm. Ricky frowned and figured he could empty his bladder on the other side without Tanya seeing him. He didn’t want to give her any more reasons not to like him.

  He started to step up onto the mound of dirt when he noticed tire tracks from the road leading over the berm. The marks looked pretty fresh and Ricky quickly forgot about needing to urinate and scrambled to the top of the dirt pile, intrigued by the tire tracks.

  “Leeland!" he shouted. “Leeland!”

  “What the fuck?’ Leeland growled as he finally was able to release a wonderful morning stream. The big man stood next to the rear fender of the car making his own little mud puddle.

  Squinting and looking over his right shoulder, he saw Ricky standing on the dirt berm waving his skinny arms. He finished, zipped up, and turned in the excited man's direction. “Ricky?”

  “Come see this, Leeland! Hurry!”

  “Freakin’ idiot.” Leeland made sure his pistol was secure in his waistband and hurried over to where Ricky stood flailing about. As soon as Leeland joined him on top of the dirt mound, Ricky pointed downwards.

  “Bleedin’ car wreck!”

  “No shit.” The bigger man rubbed his chin stubble. A yellow Nissan Xterra lay crumpled on its side. To both men it looked like the driver had lost control at a fast rate of speed and hit the berm, flipping it hard on its passenger's side.

  “Wanna have a look-see, mate?”

  “How the hell did we miss this?” Leeland noticed a stream of red and black fluids slowly leaking from the front end of the Xterra. “Must have happened when we were sleeping.” Leeland started walking cautiously down the other side of the berm.

  Leeland looked up to see that Ricky had started to follow him down. He noticed the dried blue crust around Ricky’s lips—the squirrely Brit had been hitting the cough medicine again. That shit always knocked Ricky right out. Leeland shuddered at the thought of swigging a bottle of cough syrup. You had to be pretty desperate to down that crap. No wonder they hadn't heard the car crash; Ricky was zonked out on Nyquil, Baylie was sleeping with the headphones on, and he and Tanya had been too busy getting it on.

  “Bloody hell.” Ricky joined Leeland at the bottom of the berm. “Doesn’t look so good, mate.”

  “No, no it doesn’t.” Leeland wiped his hands on his jean shorts and the two men walked cautiously over to where the twisted undercarriage of the wrecked vehicle greeted them.

  “Think someone's inside?”

  “Fuck if I know.” Leeland shrugged as he walked over to the rear of the Nissan. The big back window was tinted too dark to see inside.

  “Might be something good in there.” Ricky grinned and wiped his mouth.

  “Yeah…” Leeland had a sudden feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. “Hey, Ricky, let’s get outta here.”

  "What? Come on.” Both men jumped as a loud thumping came from inside the SUV. “Bloody hell!”

  “Ricky?”

  The thumping inside continued.

  “You hear that, mate?”

  Leeland quickly nodded and moved farther down the wrecked vehicle.

  “Climb up there and see if you can get the driver's door open.”

  “Me?” Ricky sized up the crashed Xterra.

  ’‘You’re better at climbing than me.” He patted his stomach. “Come on, buddy, you can do it.”

  “Right, I can do it but I don’t want to.”

  “You said it yourself, might be something good in there.”

  Chambers pointed a thin finger at him. “I’ll do it but the best of the spoils are mine.”

  “Fine, Ricky. Just get your ass up there and let’s get this done.”

  “Yeah, yeah…” He pulled off his jacket and shoved it into Leeland’s stomach. “I thought you Americans were all Clint Eastwoods; all tough and shite.”

  “Just get up there, Ricky. The dri
ver might need some help.”

  “Like you care.” Ricky used the Nissan’s aluminum sports rack and pulled himself up onto the now horizontal driver's side of the imported utility vehicle. Squatting on the driver's side door, he could feel whoever was in the front seat pounding violently on the tinted window; the trapped owner of the SUV really wanted out.

  “What’s going on?” Leeland asked.

  “Someone’s alive inside all right.” He looked over at his partner as the pounding continued. “Door must be stuck or something.”

  “See if you can open it.” Leeland made a visor with his hand. “We don’t have all damn day.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Ricky slowly reached for the vibrating door handle. “Calm down!” he shouted warily. “Help's on the way.”

  Ricky timidly reached for the door handle. With a shaking hand and hoping it was worth it, he pulled the door open. As the driver's side easily lifted up, a horrible smell wafted out from inside. Ricky almost choked on the vile scent. Suddenly, terrible hands grabbed the Brit's arms and tried to pull him inside. Screaming, Ricky tumbled backwards off the SUV. As he fell to the ground, he pulled the driver of the vehicle along with him.

  “Ricky!” Leeland yelled as he ran to where Ricky lay on his back struggling with the female occupant of the Xterra.

  “Get her off ah me!” he cried, almost out of breath.

  Leeland grabbed the woman and forcefully yanked her off Ricky. The crazed female snapped and clawed at the bigger man as he tried to subdue her. Leeland noticed a putrid smell as he wrestled with the apparently psychotic woman.

  “Calm down, lady.” Then Leeland repeated it in Spanish. “Calmese, señora!”

  The woman still didn't seem to comprehend and continued her attack. Leeland dodged her chomping jaws and threw her heavily to the ground. Wiping the women's slobber off his face, he noticed the woman was trying to get to her feet.

  “Stay down, you crazy bitch.”

  The woman made a haunting, moaning sound and, moving like a weird marionette, jerkily got to her feet then stumbled back toward Leeland.

  “What the fuck?” Ricky struggled to his feet.

  “Stay back I said!” Leeland yelled again. He could see black slobber running out of the woman's mouth as she hungrily ground her damaged teeth together. She was dressed in a yellow pant suit that had several black stains splattered across it. An expensive purse was wrapped haphazardly around her shoulders.

  “Listen, lady, we were just trying to help,” Leeland said, putting both his hands out in front of him and slowly backing up.

  “She looks fucked up, mate.” Ricky limped over to where his partner was deliberately retreating.

  “No shit.” Leeland rolled his eyes. “Listen, lady, just stop where you are and we’ll leave. No harm, no foul.” Leeland smiled at his last statement; made perfect sense to him. Apparently, it didn't make sense to the crazy woman who just growled and charged.

  Ricky froze as Leeland found himself backed up against the wrecked Xterra. Gnashing teeth and grabbing hands reached out to the big man.

  “Fuck.” He raised his hands in front of him and closed his eyes, fully expecting to be torn apart by the insane driver. Leeland let out a loud scream, fell backward, and smashed his head into the undercarriage of the SUV.

  FREDDY GOT FINGERED

  CAMACHO’S COMPOUND

  “Ah, I-an.” Camacho clapped his hands together. “Come, come, have a seat.”

  Black looked around the palace-sized main dining room of the cartel leader's compound hacienda. A huge, beautiful, polished oak table sat in the middle of the gaudily decorated banquet hall. The millionaire noticed a fountain ran softly behind El Jefe. It was a monstrous thing shaped like a woman's breast and made of marble. Black smirked as he sat down at the table next to Camacho.

  “Thank you, El Jefe. We haven’t dined in this room before. Is this a special occasion?” Black said pleasantly as he noticed the black velvet paintings of various celebrities that covered the dining room walls.

  “Yes, it is, I-an. There has been some unfortunate business in the States so it is just you and I tonight.” Camacho fussed with his white linen suit coat.

  “Anything I should be worried about?”

  “No, no.” El Jefe waved a pudgy hand. “Just cartel business. The good news is my mama is coming in from the south tomorrow. Wednesday is her birthday and we are having a big party in her honor. You, I-an, will be here for it, yes?”

  “Yes,” Black said quietly. More of his host preening bullshit; maybe Black could get El Jefe’s mama up on his carving table. “I thought you were hosting some kind of soirée on your yacht?”

  “Si, but the Americans are watching the Chico de Mama. Safer here.” Black nodded and smirked as his memory of high school Spanish kicked in; Camacho had named his yacht ‘Mama’s Boy’. Definitely table worthy, Black thought as the smirk turned to a smile.

  “I do have a present for you though.” Camacho snapped his fingers and one of his valets hurried over to the table. Stopping next to Black, the man sat a small bowl of ice cubes and a glass down in front of him followed by a bottle.

  “Why, thank you, El Jefe.” Black gave a genuine smile, his shark teeth showing. “Fourteen-year-old Wild Turkey.” He frowned at the orange-ish brown bottle. It was better than the swill he had been drinking, but not even close to the Glenfiddich he was accustomed to.

  “You like, Señor Black?”

  “Very much, Robert.” He couldn’t wait to crack the seal and pour himself some paradise. It was almost as satisfying as five minutes on his carving table.

  “Good. I thought with our profits going through the roof, a little celebration was needed.” He popped open a Zima. “You were right about how much of this chocodile we would sell. How is production going?”

  “Very well.” Black swirled the ice cubes around in the bourbon filled glass; to him, it sounded as pleasant as the muffled cries in his workroom. “Volkov assures me we’ll have plenty Krokodil to ship to Indonesia and Germany.”

  “I would have never imagined selling in those markets.” He grinned as a valet placed a steaming plate of carnitas and rice in front of him. “That is muy bueno. Very good.”

  “I agree.” A valet slid another plate in front of Black. The food smelled absolutely delicious. Black subconsciously rubbed his stomach; he’d gained ten pounds since the start of production. Camacho did like to eat. “Soon there won’t be a market we are not into. Krokodil is nothing if not addictive.”

  “Hmm.” Camacho shoved a forkful of meat into his mouth. “Yes. I need to ask you something I-an.”

  “Yes?” Black took a sip of the Wild Turkey.

  “Salazar has informed me that there was an issue among the Krokodil test subjects. Some kind of violence?”

  “Oh, yes.” Black nodded. How the hell had that information gotten out? He swirled the cubes around in his drink. “It was nothing, Robert, just a few junkies acting up. I assure you it’s nothing to worry about in the least.”

  “Good, good.” Camacho gave a quick smile then shoveled in some more food. “After dinner I have a movie for us to watch.”

  “Movie night?” Black said halfheartedly as he caught himself almost rolling his eyes. He hated the Butcher’s movie nights; the man had the shittiest taste in cinema. He was always glad when the little cartel leader was out and about. When Camacho stayed at the compound, Black had to be his buddy and rarely had any alone time for his own ‘work’. Tonight, Black had a very strong urge to be at his carving table. “What are we watching?” he asked, controlling himself.

  “Freddy Got Fingered.”

  “What?”

  “Tom Green is in it. He’s very funny, no?”

  “Funny? No.” Black fought to hide any trace of his true feelings. A nervous tick developed in his left eye so he glanced up at one of the velvet paintings to distract himself. “Is that John Travolta?” he asked, hoping against hope that Camacho would pick a Travolta movie instead.r />
  “Travolta?” Camacho chuckled, spitting strands of meat across the table. “That’s Andrew Dice Clay. You know… the comedian.”

  “I don’t think I’ve heard of him.”

  “Very good. I have his movie too. We’ll make it a double feature. Ford Fairlane and Freddie Got Fingered. Hurry and eat up so we can start.” Camacho dipped his fork back into his plate. “I-an, is it true you used to be a medical doctor?”

  “Surgeon.” Black poured himself another shot. “Cosmetic surgery was my specialty.”

  “Very good. I have this mole on the back of my neck. Can you have a look at it?”

  Black just nodded at Camacho and took a swig from his glass of whiskey. In the darkness of his mind, he could vividly picture Bob the Butcher struggling wildly on his carving table trying to get free.

  I COULD EAT THE RED OFF A BABOON’S ASS

  SIDE OF THE ROAD, MEXICO

  “Wake up, Leeland,” Tanya said as she gently patted the unconscious man on the cheeks. “Wake up, baby.”

  “Aw, shit.” Leeland coughed and slowly sat up. Tanya helped the big man to his feet and gave him a hard hug. He winced but smiled to himself, happy to have the stripper squeezing him tightly against her.

  “What the hell happened?” Leeland asked looking around. They were still next to the crashed Nissan but the woman now lie motionless face--down in the dirt. The back of her head was caved in, exposing grey brain matter and black blood. Leeland noticed a fist-sized rock covered in black goo down by her unmoving feet.

  “She was gonna bite you, Leeland,” Tanya said, still holding him tight. “You hit your head on the car and it knocked you out. That crazy slut was going to hurt you so I hit her with a rock.”

  “You hit her about twenty times,” Baylie said as she walked toward the two, hands in pockets.