by AJ Adams
I meant it too. I wanted a peaceful life.
About ten days later I was looking at apartments for rent when Mitch drove by and stopped. He made a beeline for me, saying, “I’m glad I ran into you. I need your help.”
“Why should I help you? You tried to scare my friends away.”
“Yeah. I really am sorry. I was an ass.”
I hesitated. I really wanted to be happy, and fighting with him just wasn’t worth the hassle.
Mitch scented weakness. “Chica, all I want is your opinion.”
“You suck.” Okay, I’m a bitch.
He shrugged it off. “I need you to look at a bike. A 1950 Indian Chief Black Hawk.”
At that I was salivating. I’d give my eye-teeth just to see it. “You’re not into bikes.”
“Don Valentine is, and it’s his birthday next month,” Mitch explained. “Just come and look, okay? And if you think it’s a good deal, you restore it.”
“Sure.” The new me would go with the flow. “Where are we going?”
“Templado.”
Our neighbouring town. “Unusual place for a classic ride.”
“We’re expanding into Los Osos territory,” Mitch said. “I came across it by accident. I guess they didn’t realise what they had.”
“I’m not surprised. I’ve got overalls with a higher IQ than those bozos.”
So there I was, climbing into Mitch’s truck, without any bells going off at all. Talk about lamb to the slaughter. An hour later, Mitch pulled up outside of Templado at a gas station.
I hopped out, looked around and realised it was abandoned. There wasn’t a soul there. Except for Neto, leaning against a Santa Fe Sport.
“What are you doing here?” I was just gawping at him when he stepped over. He punched me in the gut, his fist practically touching my spine. I was on the ground, barely holding onto consciousness a split-second later.
“As promised,” Mitch was talking fast, “a personal gift from Don Valentine.”
“Aha.” Neto didn’t seem happy. He grabbed my arms, twisted them in my back and cuffed me. “Fucking bitch!” A boot in the ribs had me writhing on the ground. I was too full of pain to scream.
I was in a world of trouble. “You betrayed me!” I gasped at Mitch. “Why?”
“You dissed Don Valentine.”
“I did not!”
“But I told him you did, and he believed me!” Mitch laughed.
“We told Don Valentine you were in Barnyard, calling him a double-dealing coward,” Neto sniggered.
So I was dead. You don’t diss a cartel boss, not ever.
“And we gave him your message,” Neto smirked. “The one that said he could shove his money up his ass.”
I was struggling to think when Mitch kicked me again. He was wearing boots. I felt a rib go. “You shouldn’t have turned me down,” he snarled. “Bitch!”
Then Neto lashed out again. “Pinche puta!” He got me in the head, and the world faded on me.
In the distance, Mitch was talking. “So, we have a deal?”
“Tell Don Valentine thanks. I’ll come on board.”
“Excellent. You won’t regret it.”
“With you being promoted to lieutenant, I’ll want a better position than chemist.”
“Of course. I’m picking my own team, and you’ll be inner circle.”
“Excellent!” Neto was chortling. “I’ll be in touch after I sort this loba out.”
“Actually, I have issues too.”
They dragged me up, and Mitch punched me in the ribs, saying, “I’m a lieutenant now.” A smack in the face. “Told you I was going places.” Another punch. In the belly. “You could have been part of it, bitch.” A blow in the kidneys spreading fire. “For thinking you’re better than the cartel.”
He tossed me over to Neto, who promptly slapped me hard across the face. I felt my nose break and my lips split. Blood filled my mouth. “You destroyed my lab, bitch!”
I tried to ride the pain, but it was no good. I could barely breathe; my knees had gone, and my body was screaming with agony.
“Careful,” Mitch warned him. “Don’t punch her in the face. She’ll pass out.”
“Right.” Neto kneed me in the stomach, and then tossed me back to Mitch, “Your turn.”
I was a rag doll, unable to get it together to even stand. Mitch grabbed my hair, pulling me up. I was aware of it coming out at the roots and of being totally helpless as he punched me in the middle again.
I was crying, trying to get away, when Neto’s face swam into view. “Welcome to hell, bitch.”
“Fuck you.” It was a whisper but I got it out.
His eyes were dark brown and filled with evil. “I’m going to put you in a whorehouse. And I’m going to make sure you live a long, long time.”
“I’ll get out.” Rage was blasting through my pain. “You’d better watch your back.”
He was snarling, “Your sister cried a river.”
“Fucker! I’ll kill you!”
Stupid, really, because they went to town, taking it in turns to hold me up while the other punched me down.
“Whore!”
“Bitch!”
“Puta!”
I couldn’t think, couldn’t see, and then I couldn’t breathe. Pain ripped through me, searing my senses.
“Don’t let her pass out!”
“Hold her up!”
They passed me from one to the other, punching mercilessly. Although they weren’t hitting me in the face, my eyes were swelling shut, I was gulping down blood, and I couldn’t breathe. I was seeing spots, too filled with agony to cry even, yet they weren’t stopping. They were hitting me systematically, getting me in the chest, liver and kidneys, paralysing me completely.
“Your turn.”
“Hold her up, for chrissakes!”
“Careful, pull your punches. Keep her conscious.”
I knew I was dying, that they were going too far, but they didn’t stop.
Pain killed my body and then my mind. I couldn’t cry for help or mercy. I was breathing my last in utter silence. I blacked out, not even aware that I was going.
When I came to, I was blind and numb. There was a terrible smell, and then searing fire, too painful to make me even moan.
“She’s not faking,” Mitch sighed. “Shit, and I wasn’t even half done with her.”
“No worries, I’ll make sure she gets what’s coming to her.”
“Have your fun, but make sure she dies after,” Mitch ordered. “Don Valentine says she’s to disappear.”
“She won’t come back from where I’m taking her.”
I heard the impact of a boot, but I was beyond feeling it. “Make sure you fuck her up the ass from me.” Then Mitch’s truck was roaring away.
Another blur of pain, and when I came to, I was lying in the back of a truck, hearing Neto say, “I’m in Nuevo Laredo. ICE have just dumped like a thousand fucking illegals. I’m going to have dinner and give them time to clear.”
The door slammed. Neto was gone. I had seconds to make my move. I couldn’t make it to my feet, so I crawled. I moved blindly as my eyes had swollen shut. Every inch of me was screaming with agony, and I was certain I was leaving a trail of blood.
“Yeah, I’ll be a couple of hours.”
He was still there. Fear pushed me upright and got me moving. I ran precisely two steps, bounced against a hard surface and jack-knifed. Sliding into the dark, I floated in space and landed in water with a splash.
The darkness sucked me down, but the cold had me kicking. My head popped up above the surface, and I was gasping in blessed air. Treading water wildly, and cursing the cuffs that gripped my hands in the small of my back, I turned over automatically and floated, just as they taught us in school.
“Pinche loba!” The curse rang out into the velvet dark. “Fuck!”
I was drifting, invisible in the dark.
“Goddamn bitch!”
There was more cursing and t
he feeble light of a torch, but the river was taking me away rapidly.
Chapter Seven: Rip
“I’m fighting a war, and I need a weapon,” Arturo said comfortably. “You.”
We were in his office, just the two of us. Kyle had said something low and rapid in Spanish, nodded at me, and then vanished. He was a big bloke, but he made no sound when he moved. It was a trick I was dying to learn.
Kyle was not a man to show his feelings, but Arturo was all smiles. “Do you know anything about our situation here?” he asked. “Do you know how it is between us Zetas and those fuckers, the Gulf?”
“I read a little but not much.”
“Then let me lay it out for you.”
Arturo had a gift for summary. “In the past, all this was Gulf territory. There were the soldiers, the people who fixed everything, and the bosses, the fat cats who took the cream off the top. Fifteen years ago, we split. We soldiers started our own syndicate, the Zetas. Of course, we’ve been at war ever since.”
“I read an article that said there was a new peace between you,” I ventured.
“Someone’s PR exercise.” Arturo shrugged. “We Zetas aren’t one group. We’re an affiliation.”
“I see.”
“The Zetas who were doing peace deals weren’t talking for me. Mind you, I’m all for taking the fight away from the civilians. The war’s killing the towns, and we’re better off when the economy is good.”
A practical man, Arturo.
“The Sinaloa are a force too,” Arturo concluded. “Those fuckers are allied with the Gulf, and they’re a royal pain in the ass.”
“I’m sure you can handle it.” Because everyone likes a compliment, right?
Arturo grinned. “Well, yeah, but I want you to take out the Gulf.”
Like before, I wondered if he was kidding. “All of them?”
Arturo burst out laughing. “I wish! But not even you can do that.”
See? Even you, he’d said. That was charm at work. I don’t have many feelings, but even I felt it. Pride in my work and respect from him, a man of respect. I filed the thought for future reference. It was something I’d copy.
“What do you want me to do?”
“I want to expand my territory,” Arturo said. “Basically, I need to shift the Gulf out of southern Texas.” He pulled out a map. “Look, my territory runs up the border and just enough beyond it to get our product into the States.”
“I see.”
“We want this parcel of land.” He pointed at an area as big as Berkshire. “It’s just a couple of little towns at the moment, but it’s within striking distance of the international airport and Lake Casa Blanca. They’re going to build a hotel, a golf course, and a theme park.”
“Sounds nice.”
“And thanks to an old law, this valley next to it will be declared Native American territory.”
“Yes?” It didn’t mean a thing to me.
“Casinos,” Arturo said simply.
In other words, millions in turnover every year in gambling, prostitution, and services plus plenty of opportunity to launder money.
“This land includes Templado, Halford, and Modesto, territories controlled by the Gulf,” Arturo informed me. “I want you to clear them out.”
It sounded way beyond my scope. “How do I set about doing that?”
“I’ve got it all worked out,” Arturo grinned. “We’re going to fracture the relationship between the Gulf and the Sinaloa. Then, when the Gulf are on their own, we take out their key men and move in.”
“Sounds like a winner.”
“I want you to be my personal assassin,” Arturo said. “I’ll tell you who and when. You decide how they go.”
My dream job.
Arturo grinned. “Sounds good, huh?”
“Yes.” But I was curious. “You have plenty of staff who could do it.”
“Sure, but this is special.” The brown eyes were intense. “I need an unknown, someone nobody connects to the Zetas. Moreover, I need a man who can improvise. We don’t always know where the enemy are. The way you find people is a rare skill.”
He needed a hunter. It was a delicious prospect.
Arturo laid out his plans for me. “Officially you’re here because I’m grateful. You don’t take part in our business, but you come to a couple of family parties. I want everyone to think you’re protected but not part of my team. Only my closest associates will know your true role.”
I would have work I loved without having to be with people day in, day out. Definitely heaven. Even better, I’d have a cover story. I was remembering how the Kiev Bratva had tracked me to Budapest and Stalingrad. I had no doubt that they would still be looking for me, as might the Rossi and the Balchunas. Although they were halfway around the world, I preferred living under the radar.
“You will have the best intel,” Arturo assured me. “But Rip, if the Gulf catch you, they’ll be merciless.”
I shrugged. “Life is dangerous, right?”
“I can see you’re interested,” Arturo said, “but there are ground rules. You take orders from me, and you don’t kill unless you have my permission.”
“A full-time job then. As staff.” That might not go too well. I’d not been around people enough to welcome co-workers. Also, I hadn’t taken orders since my pantomime days. “I have some ground rules of my own.”
Arturo nodded. “I thought as much. What are they?”
“I don’t kill civilians. Or coppers if they’re clean. It’s players only.”
“That’s not a problem,” Arturo said happily. “My list consists of mean motherfuckers.”
Worthy targets. Now that was worth taking on a boss for.
“You’ll be well paid. I’ll also provide protection.”
I thought of the house by the river. If I could, I’d buy one just like it. In the meantime, a new killing ground and backup if anyone came looking for me. It was heaven. “How many jobs?”
“I figure about twelve targets. Some will have to be very fast, so you won’t have time to, uhm, scene. Say half a dozen slow ones. Most will be close to home, just over the border in the US, but a few will be in Sinaloa and Gulf territories in Mexico.”
Talk about a new hunting ground, right? “Sounds great.”
“This is just one project.” Arturo had a feral grin. “I’m always looking to expand our reach.”
Perfect. “I’m definitely in. What’s the compensation? And the length of contract?”
“I’ll pay you $20,000 a month, and you get $50,000 plus expenses for every kill. In dollars, in Switzerland or country of your choice.” Arturo picked up an envelope. “A new ID; you’re a Mexican citizen, and we’ll start with a year’s contract, okay?”
A quarter of a million a year as basic salary and a fucking fortune for every job. I was definitely in with the big boys. I didn’t even hesitate. “I accept.”
“Rip,” he was looking right into my eyes. “You must understand: if you work without my permission, the deal’s off.”
“I understand.”
“How often do you need to kill?”
“Excuse me?” I was actually taken aback.
“You’re a serial killer,” Arturo said patiently. “How often does the need strike you?”
So much for discretion. He didn’t seem worried or nervous. He was just showing a practical interest.
“I don’t have fixed needs.”
He nodded. “Good. That means we won’t have to work around a schedule. But let me know if you get the twitches.” He grinned. “We’ve always got someone we want to be rid of.”
I smiled back, wanting him to like me. “I imagine you do.”
“I’m going to give you a file for every target in this operation,” Arturo said. “All these men are extremely dangerous and have seen off multiple attempts to get rid of them.”
Yes, I was in heaven. These were prey worthy of my skills.
“They won’t be easy to lure into traps.” Artu
ro was grinning, knowing every word was fanning my excitement. “Make your plans and consult Kyle for any local support such as more background or weapons, but wait for me to give the order, okay?”
“Sure.”
“We start by clearing out command central in Modesto,” Arturo turned businesslike. “Your first target is a Gulf lieutenant, Christian Navarro. He’ll be at a hotel or apartment across the border, meeting his Sinaloa mistress, but I don’t know when or where.”
Excellent. A hunting job. “I’ll find him.”
“Make it brutal and have the girl picked up by the cops after.”
“As a suspect?”
“It doesn’t matter. As long as everyone knows they were fucking, it’s all good.” Arturo was grinning like a bastard. “The mistress’ brother is a senior Sinaloa man. Once he finds out his Gulf pal is fucking his sister, he’ll be screaming.”
“Now that’s real dirty pool. I love it.”
“Ideally, I’d like her to be a witness to his death.”
“Okay. How long do I have for the job?”
“Do it as soon as you can. But once you’ve got him, you have to be quick. If he’s not home by breakfast, they’ll be out looking for him. His wife’s a terror.”
“Terrific. I’ll get right on it.”
Arturo was laughing. “Here’s your starter pack.”
The envelope contained a passport, local ID, credit cards, some legal documents and a bunch of keys. When I looked up, Arturo was grinning like a bastard. “Chumillo said you liked the house.”
For once, I was totally taken aback. “Campello’s place?”
“Yours now. The deed is in your name. So are the cars, the bikes, and the boat. Call it a signing bonus.”
I couldn’t take it in. “Deed? Signing bonus?”
“Sure! It’s yours. Lock, stock, and barrel.” He stood up, came round the desk, pulled me to my feet, and embraced me. “I want you to be happy.”
I got my groove back. “Consider me ecstatic.”
“My God, you English—you’re as bad as Solitaire!” Arturo was laughing. “She never loses her cool either.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask if she was a serial killer, too, but thankfully the moment passed. The question though did not. “Arturo, mind if I ask you something?”