“We have to get to the compound.” Leeland wiped his sweaty face. “They have guns and men.”
“Leeland, we need to head back home.”
“No, the compound is here and they have guns.”
“Tanya, that might not be such a bad idea,” Baylie said. “At least for now.”
“Compound,” Leeland mumbled.
“Can we get there without driving through that damned town?” Baylie asked.
“Yes.” Tanya nodded as she grabbed the wrinkled map off the floor and started to unfold it. “I think there’s another road that bypasses it.”
“Sweet,” Baylie said, relieved to be back on the road and away from whatever evil lie in the town. As she cranked over the engine, the stereo kicked on and started playing Riders on the Storm by The Doors. Baylie fumbled with the channel knob, trying to find something upbeat and mind-numbing. After a few tense seconds of channel surfing, she found a station playing Walking on Sunshine and cranked the volume all the way up.
“Compound,” Leeland mumbled again. “Got to get to the compound.”
BALLS ON A STICK
CAMACHO’S COMPOUND
“Did you get it?” Salazar asked anxiously as he watched Remiro start to unload packages from the rear of his Dodge Durango. The portly gun runner/smuggler nodded as he handed off several boxes to some of the other men that were gathered around the rear of the SUV. “Did you get it?” Salazar asked again.
“Si.” Remiro nodded back to the cartel captain. “Don’t worry, Salazar. I got El Jefe’s piñata right here. Had to drive all the way to Austin, but I got it. You should see the border; it’s more of a mess than usual. American military and Federales all over the place. I guess there is some kind of big trouble brewing in Guerrero. Riots or some such nonsense. I had to detour and take Fed 40 to get here.” He grunted as he withdrew a life size papier-mâché replica of Bob the Butcher’s mother from inside dusty vehicle. “Is beautiful, no?” Afraid to let the piñata touch the ground, Remiro held it reverently in his dirty hands.
“Uncanny.” Salazar stared dumbfounded at the blonde copy of his boss’s dear mother. “I think El Jefe may have not been thinking straight when he commissioned it.”
“Salazar, El Jefe should be very happy with this. It is kinda beautiful.”
“I know he loves his momma and all.” He couldn’t take his eyes off the handcrafted identical twin of Gloria de La Paz Camacho. Down to her dyed blonde hair, the piñata maker's had gotten it right. Scary. “Remiro, I don’t think Robert will be happy when his guests start to beat his beloved mommy with sticks. No?”
“Ah, no.” Remiro chuckled. “I see what you mean. Want me to take it back?”
“No. The party is tonight. El Jefe ordered it himself so who am I to countermand it. We shall let El Jefe see his folly. Maybe he will come to his senses before the piñata is brutalized.” Salazar shrugged. “Now if it was my momma … beat away.”
“Where do you want the piñata?” the smuggler asked.
“Dirty Sanchez!” Salazar shouted over to the cartel man who was walking one of his goats nearby. “Sanchez!”
“Si?” Dirty Sanchez walked over to where Salazar and Remiro stood. He stopped behind the Durango and patted his goat on the head. “You need something, Salazar?”
“Yes. Take this piñata and place it in the main dining room. Be real careful with it or El Jefe will have your balls on a stick.”
“Si.” Sanchez easily hefted the piñata in one hand. “I’ll treat it like one of my girls,” he said, carefully carrying the five foot papier-mâché party favor in one hand and pulling one of his goats along with the other.
“He smells worse than his goats,” Remiro said, holding his nose.
“Dirty Sanchez says his goats like the smell.”
“What?” The smuggler frowned. “Why does El Jefe keep him around?”
“He is a good soldier and loyal. You really care what he does with a few goats? It’s not like he’s cooking you dinner. Now where is it?” Salazar asked. Remiro just turned and reached deeper inside the back of the Durango. Pushing some other packages aside, he dragged out a cardboard box and handed it to the cartel captain.
“Complete and unopened. You want to have a look?”
“No, no.” Salazar glanced around. “I have it. Thank you, Remiro.” He hefted the box gingerly in his hands, feeling the weight of the treasure inside. “Nacho, finish helping Remiro unload. Radio if you need me, I’ll be in my room.”
“Si.” Nacho sighed, clearly annoyed, and climbed down off a ladder. The cartel member had been busy hanging decorations all morning in the courtyard. The compound was starting to look very festive. “Anything else?” Nacho asked, but Salazar was long gone.
I’VE GOT A SECRET
CAMACHO’S COMPOUND
If Salazar could have run to his small hacienda condo, he would have. The tall Mexican walked as fast as he could without drawing any undue attention to himself. Along the way, several of his men had tried to stop him and ask for instructions or help with setting up for the party. The captain just waved them off and told them to talk to Juarez or Nacho. Once he reached his door, he shoved it open, stepped inside, and quickly locked it behind him. Looking around and making sure the spacious air-conditioned room was empty; he set the box on an oak coffee table and drew out a switchblade knife. Flicking the blade open, he carefully cut open the box before shoving the closed blade back in his jeans pocket. He took a deep breath and dug into the Styrofoam packing. He let out the breath and reverently lifted a brightly colored package out of the opened box. A big smile forced its way across Salazar's lips. The big man laughed loudly as he held his prize high over his head.
“Yes! Yes! Remiro you are a prince.” He danced happily. Salazar sat down on his leather couch and intensely studied the green and silver colored box. Laughing out loud, he couldn’t believe his good fortune. Months and months he had searched for this and now he finally had it in his hands.
“Mint in box,” he said to himself as he studied the box. The plastic on the outside was nice and clean and clear. He’d gotten a steal at seven hundred American dollars. “1994 Holiday Barbie,” he read the front of the box. “Happy Holidays. Yes, happy holidays to me, Señorita Barbie.”
He stood up and carried the doll box toward his extra room. The door was shut and locked. He dug into his pants pocket and pulled out a wad of keys. “You will be the centerpiece to my collection, señorita.”
Salazar found the right key and unlocked the door to the extra room. Stepping inside, he flicked on the light, revealing a bedroom covered in dozens of collector Barbie’s. The queen-sized bed had a pink canopy and a bright white ruffled comforter that had a picture of Barbie printed on it.
“I have a place for you, Holiday Barbie.” Suddenly, his radio crackled to life, tearing him from his wonderful secret fantasy world.
“Salazar… Salazar…” The cartel commander could tell Domingo was clearly agitated by something on the other end of the radio.
“Yes?” Salazar said angrily, never breaking eye contact with the Holiday Barbie. The captain was almost afraid if he looked away, the doll would somehow disappear. “What do you want?”
“There is a gringo down here at the gate with a couple of women. Says he’s a friend of yours.”
“He say his name?”
“Si. Leeland.”
“Si.” Salazar shook his head and glanced sadly at the Barbie; such timing his American friend had. “Let him in.”
“Salazar, this gringo? He’s acting kind of loco.”
“Domingo, just bring him to the parking area. Hold them there.” He sighed. “I’ll be right down.”
“Si.”
“Well,” Salazar clicked off his radio and clipped it back on his belt. “I must go for now, Señorita Holiday Barbie, but I will be back soon.”
He ran his hand across the box longingly then slowly backed out of the room, locking the door behind him. If Bob the Butcher ever got
wind of his precious collection, he’d probably be beheaded and fed to the tigers. No one—not even his sister, Bianca—was aware of his treasures. The smuggler, Remiro, thought he was gathering all of it for Salazar’s niece in Guadalajara. No one could ever find out his secret and that made him sad and lonely.
As Salazar opened his front door, Hana Gomez—one of the serving staff—walked by pushing an empty dining cart. The teenaged girl was on her way back to the main kitchen area. Smiling at his sudden prosperity, the cartel captain smiled as the dark haired Hana struggled along with the squeaky wheeled cart. She was the only one besides Domingo that knew his sister was pregnant with another man’s child. Salazar quickly called out to her. Hearing her name, Hana turned around and was relieved when she saw it was her best friend's older brother.
“Señor Salazar, can I help you?” She wiped her hands on a cleaning rag.
“Yes, Hana, I have some dirty dishes from breakfast in here. Could you take them for me?” Salazar asked, stepping back into his front room.
“Si.” Hana nonchalantly strolled through the front door and headed toward the small dining area. “You know you can always call me to pick them up.”
“I did not want to trouble you.”
“It is no trouble. How is Blanca doing?”
“She is fine, Hana,” Salazar said as he quietly closed the door behind him and quickly pulled off his woven belt.
“You don’t have much.” Hana scooped up the two plates and the glass that were on his small kitchen table. “You can just place these outside your door—”
“I’ll be sure to remember that, Hana.” Salazar said as he silently slunk up behind her with the belt taut in his hands.
NEW TOOL
CAMACHO’S COMPOUND
“I’ve been dying to try this new tool. It looks very interesting. I don’t know what your people call it but it looks pretty neat,” Black said as he held up the odd looking saw so the wide-eyed man strapped to the table could get a better look at the nasty blade. “How about el beasto? Sound good, esé?” He smiled. Pilot’s Magic done muzak-style played on the torture room’s sound system. Black loved when this song came on, it always made him very happy; at least as happy as he could be without a scalpel or saw in his hands.
“I will tell you something no one else knows, my amigo; this is one of my favorite songs.” He set the saw down on a tray full of tools. “You should feel privileged, my friend. It’s not often—if ever—I share. It’s a shame we can’t just sit and share some fine Bourbon and talk about music. I do think our likes and dislikes would not be the same.” He picked through the implements on the tray until he found the tool he needed. “This should do. Don’t worry; we’ll get to El Beasto a little later.”
The man struggled a little and tried to scream through his gag. Black patted him gently on the head. “Just relax. I know what I’m doing. After all, I was a doctor once, a very good one, but I got bored.” He deftly flicked the scalpel, causing the man on the table to flinch and let out a muffled cry.
“Nice and easy. Other people are so much messier and careless than I am.” He grabbed up a gauze square. “I like details. You know that old saying ‘the devil is in the details’.” He dabbed the gauze on the wound. “Of course, you probably don’t understand a word I’m saying, do you, my amigo? Too bad.” He flicked the scalpel again. “You sure are jumpy. I like that.” Black set the scalpel down. “When I first started, I used to administer a local anesthetic, but what fun is that? Might as well use one of Volkov’s zombies. You live and learn.”
The phone buzzed in Black’s front pants pocket. “Always interruptions.” He pulled off his bloody spattered gloves and tossed them in the garbage. “This is rude of me, sorry, It’s my fault. Once you get me talking…” He shook his head and drew his phone out his pocket.
“Yes?”
“Mister Black, it’s a go,” said the familiar voice on the other end.
“Perfect.” He covered the cell phone with his hand and glanced down at the man on the table. “I’ll be just one moment.” Black uncovered the phone. “Everything in place?”
“Yes. You have the coordinates?”
“Of course. You going to let me know when it’s safe?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“Anyone else?”
“I don’t know yet,” Black said thoughtfully. “I’ll update you when you call back. Would you like me to bring you some cake?”
There was a chuckle on the other end of the phone. “An end piece, please, lots of flowers.”
“Anything else?” Black asked.
“Just answer your phone. It will happen real fast.”
“Regime changes always do.” Black hung up and slid the phone back in his slacks. “Again, I’m sorry about that. Business matters. My dream is to someday be unfettered with all these petty dealings and just spend my days at the table.” He gave the man a quick smile. “We all have dreams, I’m sure you did to, my friend. Anyway,”—he reached in a box and pulled out some black latex gloves—“enough musings. Shall we get back down to our business?” The music changed to Highway to Hell as El Beasto whirred to life.
SUCH A PUSSY
CAMACHO’S COMPOUND
“There is not a problem,” Domingo said, trying to both calm down the visibly shaken Leeland and check out the two women that had arrived with the gringo. “Just leave your vehicle here and one of my men will park it for you. Señor Salazar is on his way down to see you.”
“Nobody drives my car but me,” Baylie said defiantly.
“Listen, señorita,”—Domingo lewdly looked her up and down—–“your automobile will be fine. This is just, err…protocol. If you wish not to, you can leave now.”
“Baylie, give him your keys… please,” Leeland said, quietly. Baylie glanced over at the big man to make sure she had heard him right; Leeland had never said please to her in his life. He must really be freaked out. With a sigh, Baylie reluctantly handed her keys to the Mexican who appeared to be in charge.
“Here. Be careful with it.”
“Do not worry, señorita, I’ll have my best man take care of it. Nero!” Domingo snapped, still eyeing Baylie and Tanya.
“Si, Domingo.” Nero walked slowly over to where the lieutenant stood and held out his hand for the keys. The thin man dropped them in the ex-soldier’s hand.
“Be extra careful with the señorita’s car.” Nero nodded and stepped over to where the Americans stood by the Impala. Tanya leaned against the driver's side door, angrily staring down Domingo as he attempted to undress her with his eyes. The former stripper was glad she’d slipped into a Seattle Seahawks T-shirt and jeans the day before; she could only imagine what would be going through that idiot's head if she was still wearing a dress.
“Excuse me, señorita,” Nero said as he reached for the door handle.
“Sorry.” She smiled at the tall man and moved quickly out of his way as he opened the driver's door. Tanya noticed the man Domingo called Nero hadn’t been eyeing her or Baylie like the others. He seemed to be somewhat respectful, almost out of place.
“Now,” Domingo said as the car rumbled to life and pulled away from the group. “Let us go see Señor Salazar. Follow me.”
“We need to see him now!” said Leeland, urgency deep in his voice as he trailed behind Juarez like a little lost boy.
“You will, you will,” Domingo said, becoming more than a little annoyed with Salazar’s buddy’s whining. The cartel man wondered how such a pussy could have such beautiful women in his possession. He adjusted his gun belt on his hip and used his peripheral vision to get a good look at the long-haired brunette that almost clung to Leeland’s side. She would be a lot of fun, he decided.
“Are you having some kind of party?” Baylie asked when she noticed the festive decorations hanging in the courtyard.
“Si, yes.” Domingo nodded. “Today is El Jefe’s mother’s birthday. You’re just in time to join in the celebration.”
“Fun,” Tanya said, not feeling like celebrating anything. She had noticed the leers and hungry looks from the men they’d passed on the way to the courtyard. The ex-stripper felt she was safer in the car than inside the compound walls. Leeland appeared weak and frail now; a man afraid of his own shadow. The bank robber even walked with defeat in his step. He would be no help at all.
“We need to get guns and lock the doors,” Leeland mumbled.
“You are safe here, Señor Leeland.” Domingo honestly couldn’t figure out what Salazar saw in this man. The cartel lieutenant just smiled and pointed at the armed guards that walked the walls and grounds. “Plenty of guns here. You are very safe.”
“Leeland!” Salazar, arms raised in welcome, yelled happily from the center of the courtyard. “Leeland, my friend!”
“Salazar,” the American said, trying to raise his voice above a whisper.
“Sorry for the hold up,” Salazar said, almost out of breath and smelling like fresh soap. “I was right in the middle of snuffing out a small problem.” He brushed his hands down the sides of his linen suit coat. “It is good to see you, my friend.” The cartel captain clapped him warmly on the shoulder. “So good to see you.”
“Salazar.” Leeland spoke so low it was almost a whisper. “Something bad is happening in Passado.” He pulled away from the other man.
“What?” Salazar frowned, uncomprehending, it was then he saw the vacant look in Leeland's eyes and the trembling of his hands. This man was so vastly different than the man he knew years ago. “What are you talking about?’
“We were attacked in Passado,” Tanya said firmly.
“You are?”
“Tanya Davidson. I’m… I’m a friend of Leeland's.”
Operation Zulu: Dos Page 15