A smile creased her lips at the thought.
Ready or not, God, here I come.
And then an unlikely hero, codename Hammett, aka Betsy, aka Rebecca, closed her eyes for what she knew to be the very last time.
Chandler
“Your body is a tool,” said The Instructor. “Using it, either to overpower or to seduce, means no more than using a shovel to dig a hole or a hammer to drive a nail. Nudity is an instrument for distraction. Sex is a trap to ensnare. Your tits, your pussy: they make you strong, give you power over others. It’s your feelings that make you weak. Eliminate them.”
The implications of what Heath had asked of me swirled in my mind. To let himself be that vulnerable around me was a big step, and ultimately a foolish one. Of course, if we didn’t get out of this mess, we wouldn’t have to worry about Heath’s tracking chip. He wouldn’t be going anywhere but a shallow grave, and neither would I.
“What are you thinking? Over the roof?”
“Beautiful and smart.” He pointed at the boulevard running in front of the hotel’s entrance. “We circle around, approach the truck from the other direction. Good?”
“And what’s to keep our friends from meeting us in the street?”
“I’ll take care of our friends.” He grinned. He let his rifle hang from the strap and started digging in his duffel. “It’s a surprise.”
Footsteps clanged up the stairs. A gunman emerged onto the walkway, then tried to reverse his direction.
Too slow.
I blasted him, his head and torso flashing red before collapsing on top of the first man, then I turned back to Heath. “Now would be a good time for that surprise.”
Heath held up two M67 fragmentation grenades like the one he’d left me holding in the Mexico City apartment, the one that was now in my backpack.
“Nice.”
“This should be enough,” he said. “You can save yours for later.”
So he knew I had it. Not that it mattered since at the moment we were on the same side. “Planning to pull the pin this time?” I asked.
“I just might. Ready?”
I eyed the clay tile. “Not really, but let’s do it anyway.”
He pulled the first pin and lobbed the grenade over the rail. Then he ducked back, shielding me with his body as we both crouched. The explosion shook the building. And once again, I couldn’t hear a thing except that incessant ringing.
Heath stood up, leaving me with a view of his body that made my mouth feel a little dry. Strong shoulders, washboard abs, his V-shaped torso angling down to his cock, positioned right at eye level.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he said. “I need my blood to stay in my brain.”
I smiled, soaking in another second of the view before I pulled my attention away and stood alongside him.
The clay was slippery, some of the tiles that were in disrepair breaking under the soles of my boots as I climbed. Gunfire spat below. I was about four meters up when the second explosion went off. I flattened to the tile, holding on to keep from sliding back the way I’d come.
“Hurry, bonita.”
I scrambled, feeling Heath behind me even though I wasn’t able to hear the sound of his movement. I crested the top of the roof, then flipping over, I half slid, half scrambled down the other side.
The streets were still clear, as far as I could see, and when I hit the eave, I let my body keep going.
The fall was only about three meters, but it felt like ten. I took the impact with my knees, bending deep, but then stopped before flowing into a shoulder roll. The road was paved, a boulevard with cactus lining the median in the center instead of the bushes or small trees you might see in the Midwest, but the pavement was rough and littered with gravel and dirt from the surrounding roads and lots. The thought of road rash all along my naked back was less than pleasant.
Heath landed behind me, also forgoing the shoulder roll. He waved in the direction of the OXXO convenience store, and I fell into a run behind him, keeping my shotgun ready. Heath was fast, even faster than me, and he crept into the lead.
I watched his cute little butt and pushed to keep up. The only thing worse than running without a bra was riding horses without one, and I’d done both in the past week. My breasts bounced and jolted with each stride, and for the first time since I’d seen Hammett naked, I was grateful to be a cup size smaller.
A car swerved toward the median and stopped in the street. I swung my weapon toward it, but instead of the armed men I expected, an older man stepped out, craning his neck as if to catch a better view of the well-armed streakers.
Shouting erupted behind me, followed by shots fired.
Ahead, Heath reached the convenience store. He dropped to a knee and fired at the men behind me, providing cover.
I reached the store’s door, yanked it open, and rushed inside, Heath right behind me.
A clerk stood behind the register, his phone to his ear. Upon seeing us, he raised his hands and started backing away. “No disparar! No disparar!”
“Get down!” I ordered in Spanish, but the man only cowered more, his whole body shaking. The scent of urine tinged the air.
“Here.” Heath grabbed my arm, pulling me behind a shelf of candy just as the door chime sounded and footsteps thundered inside.
“¿Dónde están?” a gruff voice said.
The clerk stammered, his words unintelligible.
“¿Dónde están?”
I thought I heard weeping. Then a gunshot shook the small store.
The clerk cried out, in pain but still alive.
“¿Dónde están?”
Heath and I exchanged looks. He reached into his duffel and pulled out a small canister I recognized all too well. I held up my hand, asking him to wait while I reached into my backpack. My fingers closed over the item I was looking for. I pulled out the gas mask Harry had provided and put it on.
Hell if I was going to risk breathing in tear gas again.
Smiling, Heath pulled the pin on the gas grenade and tossed it to the front of the store.
Gas hissed, and bullets flew, shattering the glass cases at the rear of the store. As soon as the first wave of gunfire ended and the coughing began, we made our move.
I shot first, blasting into the smoke, pumping the shotgun, then blasting again. It was hard to say if the clerk was dying, dead, or just injured, but I had to assume he was on the ground, which gave me free rein.
Heath fired by my side, and soon we realized the return fire had ceased. Grabbing my arm, Heath pulled me toward the door, not saying a word, not that I could have heard if he’d shouted.
I stumbled over one body, then another. The third reached up to grab my leg, and I shot him in the head. Glass crunched under my boots, the tile slick as ice underneath. By the time we reached the shattered door, I was shaking, the adrenaline finally catching up to me.
We circled the outside of the store. A tall corrugated steel fence loomed behind the OXXO, separating the Dumpsters in the back from the hotel picnic areas.
Heath bent down, his hands joined together, palms up, offering me a leg up. His eyes were red and tears wet his cheeks, and I had to admit, I felt a certain amount of satisfaction as I pulled off my gas mask.
“Too bad you forgot yours this time.”
He smirked. “I thought all women liked a sensitive man who wasn’t afraid to cry.”
I gave him a quick kiss. “That’s bullshit. We like bad boys.”
I stepped into his hands, and he gave me a boost, throwing me high enough to grasp the edge of the fence and pull myself up.
He took a run at the fence and leaped, then pulled himself up, and we both dropped down into a picnic area adjacent to our truck.
From here we could see a handful of men near the entrance, and somewhere in the distance, a siren screamed.
“We can wait. They won’t want to be around for the police.”
“I don’t want to be around for the police, either.”
As if on cue, the Sinaloa troops clambered into a pickup. Heath and I crossed the picnic area and slipped into our truck, then eased out onto the street and wound our way out onto the highway, only meters behind the men who were hunting us.
“Where to?”
“A safe house, but not for Hydra Deux. I know the woman who lives there.”
“Old girlfriend?”
He tilted his head to the side, not committing to yes or to no. “She makes her money from the polleros.”
I nodded. I’d heard some use the term—literally chicken herders—to describe coyotes who led people across the border into Arizona. “So she works for the Sinaloa cartel, too.”
“All this area is controlled by them.”
“Do you trust her?”
“Are you kidding? She’d just as soon slit my throat as look at me, but I don’t intend to give her the chance.”
We continued north and then angled west, just two heavily armed, stark-naked spies out for an afternoon drive.
“I’ll need to find some shade soon,” I said, wiping sweat off my brow with the back of my arm. “I definitely don’t want to get sunburn where the sun doesn’t normally shine.”
“If you like, I can shade those sensitive parts of you with my hands.”
“You’re so gallant.”
“But then, my sensitive areas will be exposed. I will need you to return the favor.”
“Quid pro quo. An entirely reasonable request.”
“How forgetful of me. I noticed some sunblock in the glove compartment. Perhaps we should rub some on right now.”
“Do you ever stop thinking about sex?”
“Only when I am sleeping. And then, I dream about sex. With you.”
“Right.”
“Would I lie to you?”
We managed to keep our hands off of each other until we reached the Mexican border town of Sonoita and the area ironically called Hombres Blancos, or White Men. The town looked like so many others along the border: dry, dusty, a patched-together jumble of recycled building materials and a few more conventional-style buildings.
Heath swung onto a dirt road veering off the dirt road we were on. Shacks built from cinderblocks, corrugated steel scrap, and bits of wood flanked the road. The neighborhood was poor, but here and there, a pot of flowers sat on a carefully swept step or a colorful bit of fabric framed a glass window. People cared, even if they didn’t have much money to show it.
Heath parked the truck at the end of the road, behind a tangle of mesquite. “Filena should have some clothes to fit you,” he said as we climbed from the pickup.
Filena? Pretty name.
I hated her already.
“That would be appreciated,” I said.
“But I don’t know. I could get used to this nude thing. Maybe we should buy some land on the Sea of Cortez, build a private resort. No clothes allowed. Just you and me, bonita, naked all the time.”
I gave him a smile. I wanted to tell him it sounded lovely. It did sound lovely, but all I could think about was Heath’s chip, the Ebola, and what I needed to do next.
He led me back to our destination. Merchants pulling carts filled with ice cream, newspapers, and cheap corn liquor stopped to stare. Faces peered from windows, wide eyes watching the naked people brazenly walking the street. There was still no sign of the cartel’s men. We’d lost them for the time being, but now that we were stationary, they would be coming, as soon as The Instructor told them where to find us. Or more accurately, where to find Heath.
We had to hurry.
He led me to a house that was half cinderblock and quite a bit larger than those around it and knocked on the worn door.
A lizard darted up the whitewashed wall. A truck that had lost its muffler roared by on the street. The floorboards creaked inside, and although I couldn’t see anyone peering out the covered windows, I was certain someone was.
The lock rattled, the knob turned, and the door inched open, a privacy chain spanning the gap. A dark eye with long lashes peered through, then a face, beautiful enough to be a movie star. “Armando?”
I glanced at Heath. So that was his real name. Interesting.
“Filena.” Heath offered his hands, palms up, asking for help. “Necesito tu ayuda.”
Filena scowled at Heath, then at me. “Why should I help you? Where are your clothes?” she rattled off in rapid Spanish.
I watched Heath, waiting to see what he’d come up with to explain the situation.
“We were having sex when some men with guns interrupted.”
I almost laughed. The truth: I hadn’t seen that coming.
“What men?”
“El Cártel de Sinaloa.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Un momento.”
She closed the door.
Heath shifted to the side.
I had a feeling that I knew what was coming next, and his reaction confirmed my suspicions. A few seconds later, the privacy chain rattled. Then the door opened and the nose of a Rossi .38 snub emerged from the dark interior.
Already positioned to the side, Heath grabbed Filena’s gun hand at the wrist and yanked her forward. She stumbled, off-balance, and let out a shriek. He stepped behind her and brought his left down hard just above her elbow. Then he jerked her hand up and back, forcing her elbow up to her ear and ripping the gun down and out of her grasp without a shot fired.
It was like a dance, effortless and beautiful, a thrust upward and a little pivot of the feet, and Heath was holding the gun, leaving Filena cradling her own arm and grimacing with pain. “Inside,” he ordered in Spanish.
“Pinche buey!”
He ordered her to sit and then handed me her revolver. “Need to find something to tie her with.”
I gave it back. “I have something.” Dipping a hand in my backpack, I located the paracord Harry had provided. I secured Filena’s hands and ankles and then tied her to a wooden chair.
The interior looked much like the house had looked from outside. Modest to the extreme. A washbasin and wood slab countertop lined one cinderblock wall, a cupboard on the other. Stacks of bottles and boxes and plastic tubing filled the corner, and the place smelled like chiles mixed with dirty cat box.
Heath made for the cupboard and rummaged inside, and as Filena continued the flood of profanity, I longed for a roll of duct tape to use on her mouth.
“Oh, I think we need this.” Heath held up a bottle of Herradura Seleccion Suprema. “No tejuino for you, eh Filena?” he said, referring to the fermented maize brew common in the area.
“Pinche culero!”
“But you don’t drink this yourself, do you? You have this for keeping the gangsters happy. You give them your body and your booze, you make their meth and help them rip off the polleros, and they let you live, obviously in high style.”
“Tu eres la venida que tu madre se olvido de tragar.”
Heath shot her a disgusted look. “How can you say something like that? So sad, what you have become.”
Leaving Filena shouting curses down the hall after us, Heath and I found her bedroom. The room smelled like body odor, and was furnished with a mattress, a chest for clothing, and a bucket in lieu of a toilet.
“Charming, no?” Heath said.
“She probably has to spend whatever money she makes on expensive tequila.” I pulled most of the remaining pesos from my backpack and set them on the chest.
“You feel sorry for Filena?”
I wanted to protest, but there would be no point. “Who is she? Why do you two seem to hate each other so much?”
He brushed my question aside, as if it was a cobweb he wished to clear.
“You see how it is here, Chandler? How people are forced to live? Corruption. Poverty. Their higher ideals wiped away by basic need. And then there’s Filena, who threw away her ideals with both hands out of selfishness and lack of honor. You and me, we can do more good than leave a few pesos so Filena can buy tequila for ca
rtel gangsters. We can force real change for people who deserve it.”
It was obvious where he wanted this conversation to go. Exactly the direction I didn’t. I shook my head, opened the chest of drawers, and picked through the neatly folded clothing inside.
Her jeans fit me, and I added panties, a T-shirt, and socks. Unfortunately, I still had no bra, but as long as I wasn’t riding horses or engaged in more foot races, I figured I’d survive.
Heath located a pair of men’s jeans and a shirt that fit him perfectly, and since I saw no other evidence of a man in the room, I had to wonder if the clothing actually belonged to him. He didn’t dress, but sat naked on the mattress with his bottle. And once again I found myself looking at him, a touch of longing, or at least lust, in the pit of my stomach.
He splashed a little of the tequila on his belly, then I threw him some alcohol wipes, and he finished sterilizing his skin.
“You sure have a way with women, Heath,” I finally said, pulling the syringe of Demerol from the first-aid supplies. “Seems every one you’ve slept with wants to kill you.”
“I don’t care about the women of the past. The only one who has the power to kill me, querida, is you. And the only way to kill me is to break my heart.”
I tried my best to give him a smile, but my lips wobbled.
“I know your secret,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“You put me under a love spell, didn’t you? La Santisima Muerte.” He gave me a wink. “From now on you might as well just cut it off and wear it like a rabbit’s foot around your neck, because it belongs to you anyway.”
I supposed him teasing me with Mexican folklore about spells of fidelity was a sign of his trust. It made me feel worse than I already did.
“We’re running out of time,” I said, approaching with the syringe. “It’s Demerol. Just a local.”
“Save your anesthetic, bonita.” Heath raised his bottle. “This is all I need.” He winked. “Besides you.”
“I don’t think you realize how painful this is going to be.”
“I don’t think you realize that I’m not planning to let you steal the truck keys.”
“What happened to trying to trust each other?”
Flee, Spree, Three (Codename: Chandler Trilogy - Three Complete Novels) Page 99