Cartel Queen

by Keller O'Brien

  When he finished, she said: “So what I do now?” She still wore her hair in a pony-tail, loose strands down either side of her face, the wind whipping at those strands and making her periodically brush them back.

  “Still a few days on the house,” he said. “It would be a shame to waste it.”

  “You want me to stay here all by myself?”

  “Call your other boyfriend.”

  “I have ten other boyfriends,” she said. “That’s no answer.”

  “Invite them all over and have a gang-bang.”

  “Gang-bangs stopped being fun when I was 18.”

  Stone blinked, words failing him as Victoria laughed.

  “You exhaust me, sweetie,” he said.

  “Just be careful, okay?” she said. “I want you back in one piece.”

  “All of me?”

  “Mostly just your dick.”

  “That’s the nicest thing you ever said to me.”

  “Don’t let it get around.”

  Stone drank some beer. “I’ll be back. Then we’ll pick up where we left off.”

  “Is that a promise, or a threat?”

  “Let’s say it’s a prediction,” Stone said.

  They sat in silence for a while, the crashing of the waves and cries of seagulls the only sounds. A gentle wind blew.

  Stone finished his beer, conscious of the fact that he was about to leave paradise for hell.

  Chapter Five

  Nogales, Mexico

  The jet touched down at Nogales International Airport. Devlin Stone looked out the window at the dry mountains in the distance and the blue sky above. It was a tragedy that so much violence plagued an otherwise gorgeous area.

  As the jet rolled along the taxiway to the terminal, Stone flipped through the file on Nogales stored on his tablet computer. The latest details on the city, and the cartels, had been downloaded to the device prior to his departure. A story from only a few days ago had his attention. The assassination of a police commander in broad daylight.

  The killing occurred while the commander was stopped at a red light; the killers had pulled up alongside in another vehicle, and opened fire with a shotgun.

  To Stone, it was yet another example of senseless violence that had to be stopped. With violence. Such an attitude might upset the peaceniks and make philosophers scratch their heads, but Stone wasn’t in the business of talking. He was in the business of killing men who thought murder was a tool of their trade, who saw no shame in ripping a loved one from somebody’s life, all in the name of what? It made no sense. And the only kind of response that type of person deserved was a bullet. The peaceniks could wave their signs and wear their pussy hats all day, but in the end, they were nothing but a bunch of naïve children who probably still thought Santa Claus was real. He gave away free stuff, after all, and since they didn’t work for a living, they liked anything free. Never mind that somebody else always paid for “free” stuff.

  Stone turned off the tablet, took a deep breath, and put the frustration aside. Being mad wasn’t productive. He needed focused concentration, a cold anger, a steady trigger finger.

  His mission on Nogales was about to begin.

  He would start with meeting a go-between for Jackeline Guardado named Amaya Olmos. Her file stated she was number two in the organization, very close to Jackeline and her kids, and would provide additional details that Stone could pass along to the strike team.

  The jet reached the terminal and stopped. As he joined the flow of off-boarding passengers, Stone found his anticipation of the coming fight electrifying.

  The cartel was about to pay a heavy price for their sins.

  In blood.

  Amaya Olmos drove along Av Ruiz Cortinez and knew the blue sedan two cars behind her contained two men who wanted to kill her.

  She’d spotted the blue sedan as soon as she passed the town limit, and had taken them on a winding tour of the city as she tried to ascertain whether they were truly following her. The blue sedan became as constant a companion as her nose.

  Amaya was second-in-command of the Guardado cartel, working closely with Jackeline Guardado to keep the operations running smoothly. They were an interesting contrast when standing close to one another. Jackeline was tall, busty with wide hips and long hair and big brown eyes. She looked ravishing in any outfit, and her pink AK-47 was a trademark. Amaya was shorter, stockier, with shorter black hair and small dark eyes. She was a judo expert, and a crack shot. Jackeline couldn’t claim those attributes.

  Amaya knew all about Jackeline’s arrangement with the U.S. government, and helped pass along information when Jackeline had to stay below the radar. Amaya had no family of her own, and it was Jackeline’s kids that made her sympathetic to Jackeline’s concerns. She wanted all of them to have a better life after so many years of living on the edge. It had been fun and exciting in her youth, but she wasn’t young anymore. When most of your friends have died violently, one has to come to terms with the fact that one made bad decisions. And find a way to correct them.

  She hoped it wasn’t too late.

  Amaya presently turned off Av Ruiz Cortinez onto Monterey, which wound through a housing tract on a slight incline. Down the block, the developers had left a cluster of hills and borders with a few trees here and there. If she had to face the goons in the sedan, she wanted them on her terms.

  A glance in the rearview showed the sedan turning with her. No other cars on the road now. Just them. She slowed as she followed the curve of the road to the left, passing the hills, noting the mostly deserted homes. It was still mid-afternoon, and most of the occupants would be away.

  She stomped the gas pedal. Her car lurched forward, tires screeching, as she finished the curve and stopped alongside the hills with a large fallen tree trunk a welcoming piece of cover. Jumping out of the vehicle, she pulled a Beretta Model 92FS from behind her back, the nine-millimeter with the checkered wood grips a comforting feeling as her shoes dug into the dirt. The grip was a little large for her hand, but she found the 15-round magazine capacity very reassuring. She headed for the trunk.

  The blue sedan screeched to a stop at the bottom of the hill and the two men who climbed out carried submachine guns. They looked at her with hard eyes. Amaya felt a twinge of doubt. Her pistol wasn’t much of a match for full-auto hardware. She dropped low and watched the two gunmen through a gap in the trunk. They started climbing, moving at a swift pace.

  What was going on? Why was she being targeted? Was there a similar murder attempt happening to Jackeline as Amaya waiting behind the trunk?

  If what she suspected about Manny Valdes was true, the scenario fit perfectly. He couldn’t kill Jackeline without also getting rid of her. There’s no way she’d switch her allegiance to Valdes no matter what the circumstances.

  She hoped the Americans could help solve the problem.

  But she had to survive the two goons first.

  One of the gunmen stumbled and fell to one knee, putting a hand out to break the fall, and Amaya seized on the opportunity. She aimed the Beretta 92FS and fired twice. The sharp snaps of the rounds leaving the pistol echoed through the neighborhood. One bullet gouged the dirt near the gunman’s hand, the other barely missed based on how the man dived into the earth. Amaya fired again, the round going wide as she tried to shift to the second shooter, but the trunk blocked the movement of the muzzle.

  She moved quick, kicking up a small cloud of dust as she continued further up the hill to the top. Another tree trunk to her left exploded and sharps of bark pelted her skin, the crackle of the submachine gun continuing as she rolled into the dirt and let the opposite slope carry her further away. Coming to a stop on her belly, she crawled behind a bush only to realize she had lost her pistol.

  One look up the slope located the gun, in the middle of an open path, just lying there waiting for somebody to come and collect it. Amaya started to rise as the gunman appeared over the top of the hill. She dropped again. The gunmen spoke to each other
rapidly, splitting up. One found the Beretta and jammed it in his belt. He started calling to her, telling her to come out from hiding and “take it like a woman”, whatever that meant. Amaya had no need or desire to die this day. She watched through the bush as the shooter started down the slope to her spot.

  She leaped out when he was within range and struck hard with a series of kicks and punches, including an elbow strike to the jaw which put the man down and out. She fell with him as his partner yelled, landing on her side and using the man’s larger body as a shield. She grabbed his submachine gun. The second shooter ran toward them, his steps landing hard on the earth. She put the submachine gun’s stock firmly to her shoulder, lined up the sights, and started to squeeze. The gunman stopped short, his eyes wide, clumsily bringing up his weapon to fire, but it was too late.

  The weapon in Amaya’s hands spat flame. She kept the trigger back, watching as the salvo split open the gunman’s belly and spilled chucks of sticky red flesh all over the ground. The rounds shattered both arms, smacked into his chest, opening wounds, a bloody mist hanging in the air as the gunman dropped first to his knees, then toppled to one side. He slid along the slope until he came to a natural stop.

  Breathless, Amaya jumped to her feet, tossing aside the now empty submachine gun. She retrieved the Beretta and put a round through the unconscious gunner’s head, shuffling back to avoid the blood spray, but red spotted her shoes and pant legs anyway.

  She ran. Back up and over the hill, hustling to her car. Diving behind the wheel, she left a trail of rubber on the asphalt as she executed a quick U-turn.

  As she rejoined the flow of traffic, Amaya stole a glance at her watch. She had to wipe dust off of the face to read the time. She’d be a few minutes late to her meeting, but didn’t think the American would mind a further delay.

  She didn’t mind the blood spatter on her pants, but she needed a new pair of shoes.

  Valdes gripped the phone tight as he paced the room.

  “What do you mean they didn’t come back?”

  He listened. He was at his personal residence in Nogales, not anywhere near the Guardado mansion, which is what he required in order to plan his takeover. The living room was well-appointed and mostly white as a contrast to the desert tones outdoors.

  The voice on the other end of the line said, “They haven’t reported, and the police are responding to calls of a shooting and two dead.”

  “Have our informers checked in?”

  “They have not called to confirm, but it’s likely Amaya escaped.”

  Valdes cursed.

  “Do not kill Jackeline,” he said. “That’s an order. They both need to die at the same time. Especially Amaya Olmos. If she lives--”

  “I anticipated your order. The team has been called back.”

  “Good. Keep me informed.”

  Valdes ended the call. He tossed the cell phone on a chair and looked behind him at the open bedroom door.

  One of his regular hooker friends waited on his bed, but business had taken priority, and he wondered if she’d dozed off.

  He walked through the doorway and stopped. She lay on the bed, smoking a cigarette, totally naked, her smooth olive skin a desirable sight, along with her curves and other amusements.

  Her name was Esmerelda. She smiled. “I’ve been wet for an hour,” she said. She parted her legs and showed him the glistening between her thighs. “Are you done talking boring talk?”

  Valdes grinned. He needed some stress relief, and this was probably the exact prescription he required. He quickly undressed and climbed onto the bed, his erection growing as he began thinking about all the naughty things he wanted to do to her.

  He hovered over her in knees and elbows. His skin touched hers; the warmth of her body spread through him. She was warm and soft; her hair smelled like strawberries and jasmine wafted from her rounded thighs. She bumped her bare snatch against his stiffening cock and they kissed a short one first, then a second with more passion, their breath coming hot and heavy as they pressed their bodies closer. He felt along her skin to the back of her leg, her warm skin electric, feeling his way around her tummy and up to her left nipple. He circled it with fingertips; she moaned and bit his lip. He twisted her nipple and she squealed.

  He pinned her at each wrist, grinding against her. He kissed her chest and her nipples and proceeded to suck, lick and nibble down her stomach, sending her into more waves of pleasure.

  Valdes held her wrists and stabbed his cock straight into her, the tip of his shaft easily parting her chubby thunder dungeon and gliding inside. His eyes rolled back into his head as the heat of her snatch flashed through his body and her sticky wetness made a squishy slap-suck as their flesh collided.

  Esmerelda thrust against Valdes, forcing him deeper. His grip on her wrists held firm. She was breathing hard, her breasts rising and falling. Her skin was soft and sticky with sweat, the contact between them electric, and Valdes plunged as deep as her good. She let out a gasp and mumbled something. Valdes pushed in some more. The tips of her erect nipples tickled his chest.

  She wrapped her legs around his waist, Valdes stabbing in and out, going balls deep again and again, their skin slapping together in a constant rhythm.

  She gave him a shove and he pulled out. She flipped over on knees and elbows and grinned at him over her shoulder. Valdes pushed his dick home again. Her pearl crusher milked him, almost drawing jizz straight out. He spanked her. Hard. His hand left a red imprint. She yelped, laughed, throwing her head back. He spanked her again and then gripped her hair, pulling back, pounding her. Her bottom jiggled. Her breasts flopped from the thrusting. His balls slapped against the lips of her swelling flaps.

  “Almost. . .almost,” she said.

  Valdes shoved in as deep as her could; she grinded against him as her body shook with spasms. “Yes! Yes!” Her clenching sugar hole set him off as well; he unloaded deep inside and collapsed on her back. She settled beneath him and let out a satisfied sigh.

  He rolled off of her and landed on his back. Esmerelda remained on her belly. She put her arms under the pillow top prop her head up.

  “Too much business,” she said.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Why so much business?”

  “You want to get paid, don’t you?”

  “It didn’t used to be like this.”

  “That’s enough.”

  “What’s been--”

  She yelped as he slapped her rump once, twice. The giggling flesh wasn’t arousing this time. A red flush crawled up Valdes’s neck as he sat up and leveled a finger at her. Her eyes were wide with fear.

  “Stop. Talking.”

  He glared at her another moment, then stretched out again, taking a deep breath.

  Esmerelda remained quiet.

  Chapter Six

  Amaya Olmos drove by the café. She saw the American sitting in the window, alone, as arranged.

  He’d better at least be armed, she decided.

  Amaya parked in the rear and entered through the back entrance, avoiding the busy kitchen and any odd looks. The owner of the café was familiar with her comings and goings as she spoke with the federales or Americans.

  She joined the American at the table.

  “You’re late,” he said.

  “I had to buy shoes.”

  “You what?”

  “After I got blood on the ones I was wearing when two killers ambushed me.”

  The man’s face softened a little. “I’m Devlin Stone, by the way.” They shook hands. He offered to buy her a drink but she declined. A mug of tea sat in front of him. “Tell me what happened,” he said.

  Amaya explained, and then added: “That’s why I needed shoes.”

  Stone actually laughed. “My job is to get Jackeline Guardardo and her kids out of here. Does today mean you’re included in the trip?”

  “Yes. And we have to move fast. We told you that the other cartels were building up their forces, but there’s a reason
for that.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Manny Valdes is one of Jackeline’s main people. He’s in charge of the troops,” she said. “The build-up is happening because Valdes is aligned with the other two cartels to get rid of Jackeline and form a larger cartel that will dominate drug traffic through the U.S.”

  Stone said nothing, his eyes never leaving Amaya’s.

  She said, “It’s not about intelligence drops anymore. Now she’s trying to save her life.”

  “You think today was part of that?”

  “They need me out of the way if they’re going to get her,” Amaya said.

  “Why?”

  “The troops are loyal to Jackeline, and if she’s gone, they’re loyal to me. Valdes may be a commander, but he’s not signing the checks.”

  “What’s your position?”

  “Second-in-command overall.”

  Stone nodded. “All right.” He sighed and looked around. She knew the gears were turning in his mind, but couldn’t read his face. He had the sharp jaw of so many American agents, but his eyes stood out the most. They were looking into the past. He’d lost somebody. He hadn’t healed from the loss yet.

  Amaya knew what that felt like.

  “Do they think she is the informer?” Stone said.

  “This has nothing to do with that,” Amaya said. “I know Valdes suspects somebody in the cartel of leaking information, but he hasn’t moved on any suspects because Jackeline is holding him back.”

  “That won’t help her cause.”

  “At this point it doesn’t matter what he thinks. He’s going to kill both of us, Jackeline’s children, and take over. Then all of our work will be for nothing.”

  Devlin Stone’s face had a hard edge to it. Amaya remained confused about his thoughts. Most of the Americans she dealt with were a little more helpful. This one didn’t seem to want to talk, didn’t seem to care.