Death Drones

by Christopher Fox

  “Maria?”

  “Yes?”

  “It's Detective Santiago, the one assigned to your rape case?”

  “Yes, I recall. What can I do for you?”

  “We want to let you know that we did get a DNA match on two of your attackers and have them in custody, along with the guy who you hit in the throat. Can you come by the station and file the complaint and agree to testify against them?”

  Maria considered this for a moment. The problem with rape victims is that it is them that seem to be put on trial and not the rapist. The idea of going through weeks of court testimonials and listening to the bullshit put forth by the defence council caused her concern. She wanted the perps to pay, but she wanted to dish out the payment herself, and it would be no good if they were in prison.

  “I'll pass,” she said.

  “What?”

  “I said I'll pass,” she repeated. “I just don't want to go through all that.”

  “But these bastards will get off if you don't testify.”

  “A friend of mine was raped and the re-living of it and the torment she went through at the trial was worse than the rape. ”

  “Look,” he said. “Think about it for a while and try to reconsider. Without your testimony, we won’t get these rapists off the streets.”

  “Can’t they be charged with assault?”

  “Yes, they can. And we have already laid those charges. But the rape is a more serious crime and carries a longer jail time. We would be lucky to get a few months for assault whereas rape can carry upwards of 10 years.”

  “OK, I'll think about it.”

  Detective Santiago became frustrated at the work the department had put in to apprehend these low-lifers, only to have them back on the streets to re-offend. It was often the same though with rape cases—without the notion of non-consent to the sex, it was merely a man having sex with a woman. But Maria was right in that the trial can be worse than the rape when having to re-live the whole process in minute detail and often being accused of encouraging the sex.

  Maria did consider Detective Santiago’s request but declined to testify. She had her own agenda about justice even if it was vigilante justice. Within the Federales, she had access to a wide range of police information, even that of the local city police. She accessed the files associated with her rape and printed the rap sheets of the three men arrested for her assault. Two of them, as the detective surmised, only received a six-month sentence, meaning with good behaviour they would be out in less than four months. The third one who sustained a crushed windpipe had been given a suspended sentence and sent home. She checked the date on the incarceration—three months ago—meaning they would be out soon. All three belonged to a local gang and had priors for drug dealing and possession, firearms possession, car theft, and break-and-enter. All-around low-lifers not worthy of the skin they inherited. She made a note to monitor when they would be back on the streets; then she would pay them a visit.

  Twelve

  Maria still woke up sweating in the middle of the night on occasion. There were several nice young men in her department; even one that she often was on patrol with, but she shunned any advances to the point that many likely considered her gay. That didn’t bother her though. Still very bitter about the rape, she had to find closure for herself, which wouldn’t happen until she dished out her own kind of justice to her violators. As much as she enjoyed her work with the Federales, she realized that if she took the law into her own hands and harmed the perps, she would be arrested herself and charged, but she had a plan for that.

  Maria’s cursory check on the perps’ files showed their due-for-release date was the following week, so she started her planning. The first thing she did was tender her resignation to the Federales declining to offer any information about her plans and humbly accepted all the ‘sure gonna miss you’ well-wishes. She had previously made an application to the San José Police Department in Costa Rica and was accepted, but told no one. For what she planned to do, she would be persona non grata in Mexico.

  Maria checked Google Maps for the location of the two addresses she had for the perps (two were brothers and apparently lived together with their sister). The other guy, Pablo Gomez, with the crushed throat, lived with his mother in the same building. By Juárez standards, they lived moderately in an apartment building in the downtown area. By US standards, it would be called a dive or something run by a slum landlord, but in Juárez, anything but a ramshackle lean-to is considered upscale. Of course, there are truly upscale apartments inhabited by wealthy locals; drug dealers, business owners, professionals, etc., but the average working-class citizen either lives in a run-down apartment or a slum. Much of the local work that sustains the city and its residents is achieved through low-cost labour performed in factories called maquiladoras . These factories import certain material and equipment on a duty-free and tariff-free basis for assembly, processing, or manufacturing and then export the assembled, processed and/or manufactured products, sometimes back to the raw materials' country of origin. Naturally, with the proximity of the US border, much of the manufactured product is returned there. Based on the damage she had inflicted to Pablo’s throat, and the fact that he did not take part in the rape, she did not concern herself with him. José and Diego Alvarez, however, were a different matter. She still harboured hateful feelings toward them and planned to get closure for the violation they inflicted on her. Their sister, Carmen, had a good position as a manager in a local hardware store and somewhat turned a blind eye to her brothers’ criminal misgivings, although she could not condone the rape. Family was family and after both parents' execution in a drug deal gone sour, she felt a sense of responsibility for her siblings. She had a two-bedroom apartment where the brothers shared a room, whenever they were there. Although she tried to get them to pay rent, they never had any money, or so they said.

  Maria staked out the apartment for several days noting the time Carmen left each day on her mini-scooter, and when she returned. The same schedule repeated every day, including Saturday. Sunday was the only day she didn’t go to work, but dragged the brothers to church. Maria thought how hypocritical this was—living a life of crime and then going to church to have their sins forgiven. Bastards !

  Most of the time, the two boys stayed in the apartment and left only sporadically, so there was no routine. On a couple of occasions, a beat-up van would stop in front of the building, sound its horn and the boys would come out and get into the van. Maria, on her own mini scooter, followed them each time, and they stopped at a Mexican restaurant. No doubt one of the hang-outs for a cartel member. The cartels would hire these ne’er-do-wells, especially young males, to do their dirty work for them, often paying what they would make in a week at the local factory if they made a hit on someone. Or trade for fixes. Maria was well familiar with the process and had arrested many such misguided miscreants—and in some cases their cartel recruiters. After a week of casing the joint, Maria decided to make her move. A couple of hours after Carmen left, she entered the apartment. With no security at the door, she walked right in, past the array of mailboxes, stepping around several bicycles and pressed the button for the elevator. When the door opened, she selected ‘4’ from the panel of eight buttons. She read some of the graffiti scrawled on the elevator walls during the slow ascent. From her previous recon, she knew that their apartment, 405, was to the right after exiting the elevator. She walked up to the door and rapped on it as there was no doorbell. The peep-hole darkened and she turned her face away from the door.

  “¿Si? ” came the question from behind the door.

  “I have something for Carmen,” Maria said.

  “She’s not here.”

  “Can I leave it with you then?”

  “Sure,” said the voice. There was the sound of the deadbolt being retrieved.

  The door opened and Maria recognized the man who had been to her left and had thwarted the kick. From his rap sheet she knew it to be Diego. He looke
d at her somewhat puzzled, there being a hint of recognition in his face. Before he could react, Maria thrust the stun gun into his neck and he convulsed for a second or two before dropping to the floor. Maria withdrew her Glock G19 Gen4 9mm pistol and entered the apartment. A loud sound emanated from one of the rooms and she suspected that it was a TV. She performed the recommended process for entering a residence where an armed person may be present. As she passed the kitchen to her left, she swept it with her gun in a two-handed stance. Nothing. The living/dining room was straight ahead; it also was empty. A short corridor to her right showed a bathroom and another door half open. The door opened fully and an obese man stepped out.

  “Hey bro., who was at …”

  He froze when he saw Maria with her gun pointing at his head.

  “Whoa, señorita ,” he said as he raised his hands in the air. “You’re the girl …”

  “Yes, asshole. The girl you raped. Get into the living room and bring your brother in and sit him on the couch.”

  José looked at his brother slumped in the hallway by the front door.

  “And close the door while you’re at it,” she said.

  “Is he OK?” José said.

  “He’ll be fine in a few minutes.”

  José dragged Diego from the door and closed it. He hauled him over to the couch and lifted him onto it .

  “Now,” said Maria, reaching into her rucksack and pulling out some large disposable restraints. “Strap his hands together and his feet together. Then sit next to him and do the same to yourself.”

  “What are you going to do to us? Are you going to kill us?”

  “That’s not in my immediate plan, but you may wish that it was.”

  José took the plastic cuffs and threaded them onto Diego’s arms.

  “Arms behind him,” she said.

  José rolled Diego over and placed the cuffs over his hands and tightened them.

  “Tighter!” she barked.

  He gave the free ends another tug, placed a pair on his ankles and pulled the ends tight, then rolled him back over so that he was sitting on the couch. José placed cuffs on his own ankles and pulled them snug. He slipped a pair over his hands, but was unable to tighten them behind his back. Maria pulled his head forward and reached for the tabs on the cuffs, pulling them tight.

  “Ouch!” José said.

  “Poor baby,” said Maria as she pushed his head back against the couch. She rifled through her bag and brought out two lengths of rope. She tied one end of each rope around each of their necks, threaded the other end behind and underneath the couch, tying the other end to their feet. In the kitchen, she found a couple of cloths and rammed one in each of their mouths, duct-taping it in place.

  “Now,” she said. “The fun begins.”

  Diego came to and slowly took in the scene before him. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a muffled “mmmmmm”. He coughed as the movement of his feet served to choke him.

  Maria undid José’s belt, trapped by his overhanging stomach and pulled down the zipper of his jeans. Sweat started to bead on both their faces. She reached behind his ass and pulled the jeans and underwear down until they sat at his ankles. After she did the same to Diego, she reached into her rucksack again and pulled out a small kitchen tool.

  “Know what this is?” she said.

  “Mmmmmm.” They both said as terror showed in their eyes.

  “It’s a banana peeler. Also peels cucumbers and anything else that looks like it.”

  She pulled a banana out of her bag and started peeling it very slowly with the instrument .

  “MMMMM.” They thrashed their legs but realized that it only served to choke themselves.

  “Mmmm. Mmmmm.” They cried in unison. Dribbles of urine seeped from José’s penis as the sweat poured down both their faces. Diego now cried as he envisaged that he was likely going to be deprived of his manhood. Maria stood there and ate the banana.

  “The problem,” Maria said, between mouthfuls of the fruit, “is that those dicks are too soft for this tool to work properly. Care to get a hard-on for me?” her sense of humour was somehow lost on the boys. “Or maybe I should just cut them off, what do you think?”

  Terror showed in their eyes and Maria was certainly enjoying her torturous antics. She wanted to make them sweat—to reflect on what they did. Now she was ready to conduct what it was she came here to do. She used the stun gun again to anaesthetize them, then went to work.

  * * * *

  Carmen came home at her usual time of 6:30 with groceries for tonight’s supper. She figured the boys would be home anyway as they seldom went anywhere. She had long urged them to find a job, but they were much too lazy. She opened the door to the apartment and could hear the television blaring; maybe they are home , she thought to herself.

  “I’m home,” she shouted as she walked into the kitchen to deposit the groceries, without looking into the living room. After placing perishable food in the ‘fridge and putting away the other items, she folded the bags and walked into the living room—and screamed.

  “Oh. My God!” she cried. “What …?”

  The boys sat there wide-eyed with the tape still around their mouths, naked from the waist down. Carmen race over to them and started to peel the tape off and remove the gags.

  “What the hell happened to both of you?” she said. “Were we robbed?” she returned to the kitchen to get a knife to cut the cuffs and the ropes around their necks.

  Both men exercised their jaw after having it forced open for so long.

  “It was that bitch, Maria,” Diego finally said.

  “Maria? The one you guys raped? ”

  José looked at her sheepishly. “I told you we didn’t rape her. She was into it all the way.”

  “And she got a concussion in the bargain?” she said. “You sorry pieces of shit. I’m surprised she didn’t cut your balls …” She stopped as she looked in horror at the blooded towels in each of their laps.

  “No,” she said. “She didn’t.”

  They both removed the towels and inspected the butchery inflicted on them. Between their legs lay two small oval shapes. A cut in the scrotum seeped a small amount of blood through which the testes had been removed.

  “Oh. No.” Cried José. “No, No, No,” he repeated as tears streamed down his cheeks. Diego also cried as he inspected the macabre scene between his legs. Carmen, rather than panic, picked up the ‘phone and keyed in 065 (for ambulance) and reported the incident. When asked what the emergency was, she hesitated for a while and then blurted out, “My brothers have been castrated.”

  “Repeat that please?”

  “My two brothers have had their balls cut off.”

  “Eh … Stand by please.”

  Another voice came on the ‘phone. “This is the paramedic assigned to your emergency. Can you please state again what the emergency is?”

  “My brothers have had their testicles cut off. It was in retribution for an earlier rape.”

  “OK. How long ago did this happen?

  “I’m not sure, just a minute,” she covered the mouthpiece and asked the boys, “When did this happen?”

  They looked at each other. “A few hours ago, maybe two o’clock.”

  “About four or five hours ago,” she said into the ‘phone.

  “Has the bleeding stopped?”

  “I think so.”

  “Keep the wounds covered with clean dressings until we get there. Have you called the police?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “Not to worry, I will call them.”

  “Thanks,” she said.

  Within a few minutes, sirens were heard and blue-and-white strobe lights reflected from the building across the street into the apartment windows. The police were first on the scene and started talking to the boys. The medics carefully picked up the testes and packed them separately with the patient’s name on the plastic envelope. It was embarrassing for the boys as one of the paramedics and one
of the police were women. Carmen sat quietly across from them, sobbing into a tissue. After dressing the boys’ wounds the medics loaded them onto gurneys and took them down the elevator to the ambulance. One of the policewomen stayed behind to take a statement from Carmen.

  “They say they knew who did this?” the policewoman asked.

  “Yes. It was a girl they supposedly raped a year or so ago. Her name is Maria.”

  “OK, should be easy enough to track her down. Did she press charges?”

  “No, they were each sentenced to six months for the assault. I don’t condone what she did, but likely in her position I would have done the same thing.”

  “No comment,” said the policewoman, giving her a wry smile.

  “Here is my card if you want to provide any other information.”

  She looked at the card—Lucia Romano.

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Carmen tidied up a few things, threw the blooded towels in the laundry basket—the couch, with all the blood stains, was ruined—and she drove to the hospital.

  Thirteen

  When Miguel arrived back in San José, he went home to take a quick shower and change his clothes, then off to the meeting he had arranged before he left Honduras. When he called Anna, she was not home. He reached her at work saying he would be away for a few days without elaborating why or where he would be. She would probably assume it was another charter. He had tried to get together the same team he had worked with on the last operation and fortunately; they were available. Alberto Caporalos would be coordinating the operation with Jimmy Llamas, the explosives and weapons expert and Alejandro Carillo, responsible for security and electronics. Alberto said that he had another person he would like to add to the team. He looked forward to working with the team again as he headed to Frederico’s offices.

  “Miguel,” Frederico boomed from his office door as he entered the reception area. “Long time no see.”