by John Silver
Alanzo thought about it. "Sounds reasonable."
"Come packed. I'll call you back. Later, dog."
"Adios," said Alanzo, terminating the call.
* *
Peabody and Washington picked up the transducer signal and followed Vlad to the Roostertail. They saw the CTS parked near the front door. Exposed on the wide open, abandoned spaces on Marquette Drive, Washington turned around and slowly drove the other way.
"Just make sure that signal stays strong," said Peabody.
* *
Vlad sat inside facing the channel and drank a vodka and tonic, thinking of Albania. It was time to go back for a while, let things around here cool. With a little luck he could take both of these budallas out at the same time. He was looking at the empty slips across the street at the Detroit Yacht Club when his phone rang.
"How far are you from Atwater and St. Aubin?" said Lincoln.
"Just a few blocks," said Vlad.
"Our friend will meet us there in a half an hour. Near the old Globe warehouse."
* *
Lincoln got there first, stopped near the derelict Globe Trading Company building and turned off the Tahoe's lights. Alanzo swung around the corner in his Land Cruiser and did the same. Lincoln got out of the Tahoe and walked to the Land Cruiser and got in. An Uzi sat on Alanzo's lap.
"Where the fuck is your friend?" said Alanzo.
"He'll be here," said Lincoln.
A set of headlights turned the corner.
Seeing Lincoln and Alanzo both in the Escalade, Vlad pulled along the driver's side. Might make it easier, killing both with just a few shots. He rolled down the window and looked up at Alanzo.
Alanzo rolled down his window. "Why the fuck do you want to dump the junk in such a hurry? Now I take all the fuckin' risk." Alanzo stared at Vlad. "You got the junk and the money?"
"Money?" said Vlad. "What money?"
Lincoln looked straight ahead as Vlad pulled his Glock and shot Alanzo in the head, twice. Alanzo bounced back and forth in the driver's seat, momentarily hitting the horn.
"What the fuck are you doing?" yelled Lincoln.
Vlad got out of the car. Lincoln slammed the shifter into drive and the Land Cruiser crept forward. He tried ducking as far as he could beside Alanzo, slumped dead against the wheel. Lincoln pushed down on Alanzo's leg, hitting the accelerator and reached for the Uzi. The Land Cruiser surged forward. Vlad ran and held on to the steering wheel. He shot down at Lincoln, drilling him in the neck and chest. Lincoln gasped, his mouth moving like a fish out of water. Vlad shot again hitting Lincoln right above his left ear, spraying the passenger's window with red mist.
Peabody and Washington saw the last shot being fired. The Land Cruiser slowed and rolled along the open parallel to Atwater on the left and the abandoned row of buildings on the right.
"Move!" said Peabody and Washington gunned the engine and raced across the field after Vlad, just missing the Land Cruiser. Washington pulled his weapon. Vlad turned and fired. Peabody saw the orange muzzle flash and pop pop pop the windshield spider webbed around three bullet holes, one bullet hitting Washington in the shoulder.
"Shit," cried Washington, stunned by the sudden pain.
Peabody opened the door. Vlad fired three more shots, pinging the door twice. One bullet grazed Peabody's ear, stunning her. Vlad stood and aimed. Peabody knelt and fired, hitting Vlad in the chest with two clean, well placed shots.
Vlad dropped to his knees and raised the Glock. Peabody rolled off three more rounds hitting Vlad in the top of the head, skull fragments flying. Vlad dropped face first into the dirt.
Peabody, blood gushing from her ear looked at Washington. "Hang in there," she said. "Just hang with me."
Chapter 38
Sami and the Field
"Sanja," said Milos. "Hide in here. This is not a game. You must stay in here and not say a word." Sanja hid in a small broom closet at the back of the kitchen. "No matter who you hear you stay here until I come and get you. Promise?"
"Promise, Papa," said Sanja, peering out from between two brooms.
"That's good girl. I will be back soon."
* *
Milos sat in the dining room holding the double barrel shotgun when Sami's Mercedes rose over the hill and pulled in front of the cottage. He got out, knocked on the door, and when no one answered walked in. He turned the corner from the main room to the tiny dining area. Milos steadied the shotgun and pointed it at Sami's head.
"What is this?" said Sami, looking down the barrel. "What are you doing? Are you crazy?"
"Crazy to have trusted you with my daughter," said Milos, his finger tightening on the trigger.
Sami opened his mouth to say something, then stopped and hung his head. "Where is Rada?"
"Gone. I will kill her if she comes back," said Milos.
"What? Where will she go?"
"That is not my concern," said Milos. He hefted the shotgun. "Now turn around. Go. Out the front door."
"You aren't going to shoot me, are you?"
"Move," said Milos.
Sami turned and Milos nudged him with the shotgun.
"It was just a business decision, for a debt I owed," said Sami. "It was nothing to do with you, or her. It was just business." Sami walked out the front door followed closely by Milos, who held the shotgun a few feet from the back of Sami's head.
"Turn toward the field," said Milos.
Sami stopped. "The field?" he said.
"Go," said Milos. "Or would you rather face this?" Milos motioned with the shotgun.
"Think about this," said Sami. "I have friends. In high places. You do something to me, something happens to you."
"Where are they now to help you?" said Milos. "Now walk. With your hands up."
Sami turned and started walking in the direction of the open field. "I can make you very rich."
"Rich how? By selling daughters? Mothers? Children? Rich how?" said Milos, his arms feeling the weight of the shotgun. He suppressed a cough.
Sami stopped at the edge of the field. The field, filled with small anti-personnel mines left from the war, was flat and grown over with short grass and tall weeds.
"Walk."
"You really are crazy," said Sami. "The mines."
"Walk."
Sami took two steps forward into the field then turned and rushed at Milos.
"I'll kill you, you stupid fool," he said.
Milos took careful aim and fired, taking off Sami's right hand. Sami dropped to his knees and screamed.
"Get up and walk," said Milos. "Take your chances with the mines. If you make it across, you are free to go. I will not bother you," he said. "If you stay, I will take your head off." Milos aimed the shotgun at Sami's head.
Sami stood on his feet unsteadily, turned and started walking through the field, holding his arm to stop the bleeding.
"I will come back and kill you, I swear," he said, looking toward the end of the field, then down before taking each step.
Sami got fifteen paces and thought he might have a chance of making it to the other side when he heard a small click.
The anti-personnel mine was especially vicious, filled with ball bearings and razor shards. It ripped off Sami's left leg above the knee, destroying his groin and shredding his inner thigh. He dropped screaming to the ground. He lay in a fetal position for a moment then crawled forward. His left elbow triggered another mine near his head.
Milos watched smoke rise from what remained of Sami's body. He lowered the shotgun and walked back to the cottage.
Chapter 39
At the Station
Milos took Sanja into the village, passing the Wolf's Head tavern. He wanted to go inside, have a couple of stiff ones, but not with Sanja. How many pleasant hours had he spent in here? Especially in his younger days. He stopped and looked in the wood framed front window. The bartender saw Milos, put down the towel he wiped glasses with and waved, motioning for Milos to come inside. Milos looked down at Sanja
, opened the door and walked in.
"Milos," said the bartender. "I have not seen you in ages. I was going to come out and see you today."
"Why?" Milos felt a sense of dread. Had Rada come here?
"There was a call for you."
"A call?"
"Yes. From your daughter. She said this was the only place she knew to call and get word to you. She said to tell you she is arriving tomorrow. Twelve o'clock. At the train station."
Milos squeezed Sanja's hand. Over and over again.
* *
Elena, exhausted from the flights from Detroit to Athens to Tirana fell asleep on the train. The ride from Rinas International went by surprisingly fast. The train slowed and she woke. She gazed out the window. Winter would set in soon. Most of the leaves had fallen and the trees were bare. One thing she noticed after landing in Tirana. The birds were still here, still singing. Elena couldn't remember the last time she listened to birds sing.
The train slowed and Elena jumped to her feet, straining to see the platform from the window. She rushed down the aisle and walked off the car, looked around and saw them, Milos standing with Sanja. Sanja smiled and waved. Elena rushed to them, dropped her bags and held Sanja with her eyes closed for a very long time.
* *
Two days later in the village, Elena stood in the phone booth holding Sanja's hand and dialed Chris's number.
No one answered.
THE END
If you liked this book, chances out you'll like the sequel:
Reckoning in Escobara
by
John Silver
After taking down Vlad Dragovic in Detroit, Ann Peabody quits the DEA and heads to Mexico to investigate and avenge the murder of her brother Jason Peabody, a U.S. Border Patrol agent. The trail leads to Escobara, a suburb of drug cartel controlled Juarez. Peabody becomes a bodyguard and security consultant to Olga Espinosa, the newly elected Mayor of Escobara, and works with Olga and her brother Manuel to rid Escobara of the drug trade and gangs. A certain ex-DPD Inspector Freeman Washington shows up to help Peabody out.
Along with the multiple, horrific drug-related slayings a serial killer is on the loose around Escobara, and he's prolific. Peabody discovers that Jason was killed elsewhere before being found on the Texas-Juarez border. Why? Was he connected to the drug trade, or worse, the serial killer?
…then there's the CIA...
Stand tall with Ann Peabody and Freeman Washington on the vicious streets of Escobara as they build a force to protect the people, unravel the mystery of Jason's murder and uncover the rabid serial killer in RECKONING IN ESCOBARA.
Here's the first chapter:
Chapter 1
Near Escobara, Mexico, Two Years Ago
The pickup truck pulled off the dirt road, drove across the flat earth then eased down an embankment and out of sight. Jason Peabody put the truck in park and killed the ignition and headlights. He looked at the radio clock display. Juanita put her hand on his leg, moved closer and Jason put his arm around her. They sat motionless, looking at the moonlit desert.
"You know I have to get back," said Jason.
Juanita pressed against him. "So soon?"
"What do you mean, so soon? It's almost midnight. I have to report in early tomorrow."
"I bet I can get you to stay." Juanita flipped over and wrapped herself around him, her back pushing against the steering wheel. She was warm, her body heat a haven in the cool desert air. "I'll show you," she said. "Get the blanket. Let's go in the back."
Jason looked up at Juanita and smiled. He spoke to her in Spanish. "Why do you always do this to me?" He glanced at the clock, then said, "What the hell. Should be an easy shift tomorrow. It's Sunday." Juanita hugged him and he kissed the little bluebird tattoo on her shoulder.
Jason's Spanish wasn't the best, but he was learning above what was taught at the Border Patrol Academy. An eight-week language training program taught him the basics but was focused on law enforcement tasks and how to solicit information from detainees and illegals. He learned some slang, and he tried to use it, but the words he chose were usually out of context or made no sense. That always made Juanita laugh.
She slid off Jason. He grabbed a green army surplus blanket from the rear jump seat, opened the door and stepped out into the night. He took a deep breath and felt the cool desert air fill his lungs. Jason stood for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the dark, then opened the tailgate and spread the blanket. Juanita got out of the truck and Jason helped her into the pickup bed. She laughed and started taking off her top.
"It's cold out here," she said. "Hurry up."
Jason hopped into the bed and slipped on the blanket.
"What's the matter?" said Juanita. "Do I make you nervous?"
"Nervous, no. Turned on, yes." He dropped down on his hands and knees and crawled slowly toward Juanita, like a cat. "Here I come."
This gave Juanita a little shiver. "Don't do that. It scares me."
"I'm coming to get you," said Jason.
Juanita curled up and wrapped her arms around her bare legs. "Don't," she said, her voice rising and falling.
Jason stopped crawling and cocked his head.
"Hear that?"
Juanita looked at him. "No. Quit messing around and come here."
"Shhh. Listen," said Jason. He stood up and looked toward the embankment.
They heard a motor and saw headlights over the crest of the hill. Jason and Juanita looked at each other.
"Who's that?" whispered Juanita.
"Don't know. Looks like a truck or SUV." Jason put his index finger to his lips. "Quiet."
A door opened and someone stepped out of the vehicle. The sound carried in the dense air. Jason and Juanita heard a rough, sliding noise, like sandpaper over wood, canvass over metal. Then clump- something heavy hitting the ground. They heard it again. And again.
"What's going on?" said Juanita.
"Shhh. Get down."
Jason and Juanita heard the shloop of a metal shovel pitching into dirt and rock, then dirt being thrown and hitting the ground.
"Stay down," said Jason, motioning with his palms. "I'm going to take a look."
Juanita clung to him. "No. Stay here with me. Maybe they'll go away."
"And maybe they won't. I don't want to take any chances. Sounds like only one person, could be a narco. I need to get my gun. And a flashlight."
"Hurry back," said Juanita. "I'm scared."
The digging stopped. Jason pulled away from Juanita and slid over the side of the truck, careful not to make any noise. He crouched down, walked to the driver's side door and reached in the window for his Glock G2. He picked up the Glock and felt for the flashlight. Jason pulled out from the open window, turned, and glimpsed the metal shovel blade before it hit the side of his head, a flash originating on a distant horizon then filling his internal field of vision. The taste in his mouth was metallic. He swooned and dropped the flashlight, but still held the Glock in his right hand.
The man holding the shovel looked at Juanita.
She screamed and saw the shovel blade swing again and hit Jason in the back of the head. Jason fell, his eyes lifeless and mouth open. Juanita scrambled down the tailgate and ran into the desert, her bare feet cut from brush and rocks with every stride.
The man took the Glock from Jason's hand and looked it over. He flipped off the safety, aimed at Juanita and fired. She lurched forward, her eyes bulging from the shock of impact. She fell face forward into the hard-packed earth. The man stood and watched Juanita for a moment, then turned and looked at Jason. He shot Jason in the back and in the side of the head, watching his body bounce slightly with each shot.
He strolled over to Juanita and dragged her up and over the hill and placed her next to three dead, naked women lying in a half dug shallow grave. Each woman had an X carved into their abdomens. He pulled out a small digital camera and snapped a couple of pictures. He took an extra shot of Juanita and her bluebird tattoo. The flas
h from the camera cut through the dark like lightning. He buried Juanita last...
…he waited until dark before loading the three dead females in the back of the SUV. The naked bodies were wrapped in blankets bound by gray duct tape. The women looked alike. They could have been cousins, even sisters. That's the way he liked them, the whores, the putas de meirda he attracted. Thin, shapely, good looking, using female charms and the promise of sex to get men to make fools of themselves. Holding their power over them to gain control and take their money.
Not these bitches. Not so good looking now, the first being dead five days and the last two days. The smell seeped through the blankets. They were whores, evil sluts who deserved death. It gave him immeasurable pleasure carving an X in their stomachs.
They were so easy to find. Go to any bar or club in Juarez and take your pick. He liked the ones who were haughty and full of themselves. The ones that constantly checked their faces in makeup mirrors. The gold diggers, the aprovechadoras.
He dressed well, but not like a flashy narco, more reserved, and got their attention with his casual, confident way. He made eye contact, smiled and they came to him. If they asked him if he was a dealer he always said no. He told them he was a doctor, lawyer, architect, independently wealthy, or that he inherited money. He flashed cash, but subtly. It was best to be modest, but casually mention a car collection, or maybe a yacht on the Gulf and a gated hacienda. Just give them an inkling of wealth and they drool like dogs.
This little taste of real money unleashed a torrent of interest and questions. He saw it in their faces and personalities. The slightest hint of money and they hung on every word, laughed at every stupid joke. Bitches. Whores.