The Chupacabra: A Borderline Crazy Tale of Coyotes, Cash & Cartels (The Chupacabra Trilogy - Book 1)

by Stephen Randel

  “Okay, okay,” replied Avery as he released the dead coyote. “Just don’t hurt the chupacabra.”

  “It’s dead.”

  “That’s not the point,” Avery replied as he began looking around the headquarters and wondering where the shipment might be. “Three bundles, three burlap bundles,” he muttered as he paced around the room, opening file cabinets and storage lockers. Avery spotted what looked like an office on the far side of the room and shuffled toward it with El Barquero, his pistol still aimed at Avery, in tow. Avery frantically searched General X-Ray’s darkened office, doing anything possible to buy himself some time. El Barquero entered the General’s office and turned on the light. He walked over to the desk and pressed the “Play” button on the answering machine.

  “This is Avery Bartholomew Pendleton of Austin, Texas,” the message began. “This message is for one Private Zulu. I made an earlier departure than I thought and with one minor mechanical…”

  “Is that you?” asked El Barquero.

  “Yes. I told you I wasn’t one of them,” replied Avery as he looked inside a coat closet. Maps and paperwork tumbled out as he opened the door.

  “Then I guess I really don’t need you,” El Barquero said as he aimed his weapon at Avery.

  “Wait! Stop!” Avery pleaded. “I’ve still got thirty seconds. Hold on. In the back, come on.” Avery hustled out of the office and toward the back room where he’d entered through the window. El Barquero followed him. Spotting the closets in the back room, he quickly searched one and then the other. There in the second closet rested three large, square burlap bundles with improvised shoulder straps attached to them.

  “Move them to the front.” El Barquero ordered. For the next few minutes, Avery struggled to drag the heavy loads into the main room.

  “Voilà!” said Avery as he wiped the sweat from his brow, not sure if it was from the physical exertion or nervous perspiration. “Now, you’ve got what you want, and I’ve got what I want. I suggest we both head off with our respective possessions before Private Zulu arrives, and none will be the wiser. Fair deal. Good trade, I think. Happy ending for us all, mister, uh, I didn’t catch your name, did I?”

  “His name is El Barquero,” came a voice from the back room. “Don’t move, El Barquero. It’s time to pay the Padre.”

  “Is that you, Sandro?” El Barquero asked of the man behind him. “The Padre must really want you dead if he sent you after me.”

  “It’s the other way around, El Barquero,” Sandro said as he stepped into the headquarters’ main room. “Put the gun on the table and turn around.” El Barquero placed his gun down and slowly turned to face Sandro. The tall Mexican covered in tattoos held a large-caliber chrome-plated revolver pointed at El Barquero in one hand and El Barquero’s silver case in the other. “Back up against the wall, both of you,” Sandro ordered. Avery and El Barquero complied. “Who are you?” Sandro asked Avery.

  “No one,” Avery nervously replied. “I really should be on my way. Give you gentlemen some time to catch up.”

  “You’re not going anywhere,” Sandro said as he walked to the table in the middle of the room and placed the silver case on it. “The Padre will be upset to know you left his money in an unattended car. Very sloppy, El Barquero. But I’m glad you kept it with you. Just follow the money.” He reached into his pocket and removed a phone and tossed it onto the table. A red dot flashed on the phone’s screen. “Finding you was easy.”

  “You didn’t check the case for a tracking device?” Avery asked El Barquero. “Jesus, what an amateur. I myself perform a weekly bug sweep. It’s standard operating procedure for any operative worth their salt.”

  “Shut up,” snapped El Barquero and Sandro at the same time.

  “I’m going to be needing your head, El Barquero,” Sandro said as he reached behind his neck with one hand and removed a long machete from the diagonal sling across his back, the whole time keeping his revolver trained on the muscular giant. “You want me to take it now or once you’re dead?”

  “Now, you piece of shit,” El Barquero snarled. Sandro took a step toward the two men. Quick as lighting, El Barquero reached over and grabbed the back of Avery’s tracksuit and threw him toward the advancing Sandro. Sandro pistol-whipped the stumbling Avery across the face, knocking him to the floor.

  Immediately, Sandro swung his gun toward El Barquero, who had somersaulted to the floor behind the table, using the table top as cover. Sandro’s pistol roared as the back corner of the table exploded, the bullet just missing El Barquero. In one fluid motion, El Barquero reached underneath his leather coat and grabbed a hand scythe. As he rolled up on one knee, he threw the curved blade at Sandro’s head as hard as he could. Sandro ducked just under the whirling steel weapon as he fired blindly. The bullet’s impact left a fist-sized hole in the cinderblock wall behind El Barquero.

  Sandro rose up to draw a bead on El Barquero, but it was too late. The powerful Mexican had launched himself at Sandro as soon as the scythe had left his hand. He closed the gap between the two men in a split second. Before Sandro could aim his pistol, El Barquero was on top of him. The force of El Barquero’s impact knocked both men to the floor. El Barquero was on top of Sandro, locking his pistol hand to the floor. From his back, Sandro swung the machete with his free hand at El Barquero. El Barquero rolled to his right to close the distance to the blade and trap Sandro’s arm and the machete to the floor. Rolling to stop the blade pulled Sandro on top of El Barquero, but El Barquero had his wrist locked in a vise-like grip and wouldn’t allow Sandro to bring the gun barrel down.

  “Jesus,” said Avery as he watched the two men’s deadly struggle on the floor. Wiping blood from his face, he got to his feet. Deciding this might be a good time to evacuate the scene and let these two men settle their differences in private, Avery snatched his precious duct-taped bundle from the table. Turning to the front door, he stopped and glanced back at the silver case on the table. Then he looked toward the two men on the floor. Avery grabbed the case and ran to the front of the building. Unlocking the door, he bolted for his car. Fumbling with his keys, he finally managed to unlock the back door. Avery dropped his taped bundle in the back seat. Then, opening the silver briefcase, he dumped the stacks of bills onto the floorboard. Throwing the case on the ground, he slammed the back door shut, climbed into the front, and peeled out backward down the bumpy drive. Slamming on the brakes when he came to the main road, he spun the car around and floored the accelerator. Avery’s hands shook as the car’s engine whined. Wiping the blood from the wound Sandro’s pistol barrel had left on his forehead, he sped down the road and toward the highway.

  Back inside, El Barquero’s crushing grip on Sandro’s wrist began to take effect. Slowly the heavy pistol began to wobble in Sandro’s grip. El Barquero stared into Sandro’s panicked eyes and smiled.

  “Still want my head?” El Barquero asked darkly. Sandro leaned forward and head-butted the much larger man. El Barquero didn’t even flinch. El Barquero shook Sandro’s weakened wrist and the pistol fell to the floor. El Barquero instantly rolled back to his left and on top of Sandro, this time keeping the machete pinned to the floor with his right hand. Climbing forward, El Barquero used his left knee to pin Sandro’s right arm down. Sounds of bones breaking filled the two men’s ears as El Barquero rained left-handed punches straight down on Sandro’s face like a pile driver. Six, seven blows, and Sandro’s face was a bloody pulp. Sandro, barely conscious, choked on blood and shattered teeth. El Barquero ripped the machete from Sandro’s slack grip and pulled the bloody man to his feet by his leather vest.

  “Look at me, Sandro,” El Barquero snarled. Sandro tried to peer through his swollen eyes but only saw blood. “I’m going to be needing your head, Sandro. You want me to take it now, or when you’re dead?”

  Sandro mumbled something unintelligible through his pulverized mouth.

  “That’s what I thought,” said El Barquero. With one vicious, powerful slash of the sharp ma
chete, Sandro’s head toppled sideways. It landed on the floor with a dull, wet thump. Sandro’s decapitated body hit the floor right after it.

  “Shit,” El Barquero said as he turned to the table. The silver case was gone. He grabbed his pistol from the table and raced to the open front door. The green car had vanished. The empty silver case lay next to a set of deep tire tracks in the gravel drive heading to the main road. He scanned up and down the main road, not seeing anything. El Barquero returned to the cinderblock building. He stepped over Sandro’s headless corpse, a wide pool of blood spreading out where his head used to reside. In anger, El Barquero kicked Sandro’s head with his heavy black boot. It flew across the room and bounced off the far wall near his hand scythe. Retrieving the curved blade, he loaded the three burlap bundles into his car parked out back. Returning to the building one more time, he walked to the General’s office. He pressed the “Play” button on the answering machine.

  “This is Avery Bartholomew Pendleton of Austin, Texas…”

  • • •

  Back in Austin, Jackie waited impatiently in line in the women’s restroom of a small movie theater. It had been a relatively slow Sunday night for her restaurant, and she’d felt comfortable skipping out before closing to pick Kip up at his house so that the two could catch a movie. Jackie wasn’t much for standing still. She fidgeted in the small two-stall bathroom, waiting for one of the occupied stalls to empty. She checked her watch and rolled her eyes at the woman waiting in line behind her as the two women in the stalls chatted away, oblivious to the other women waiting in line.

  “What do you mean, we can’t invite the Greenhills to your wedding, princess,” a woman in one of the stalls said to the woman in the other. “Your daddy and I’ve known the Greenhills for years. They’ll be horribly upset.”

  “I don’t care, Momma. Billy used to date Melissa in high school. She’s a skank and I don’t want her there.”

  “But princess, that was years ago. She’s married to that Martingale boy and has two kids already.”

  “Stop bringing up kids, Momma! Jesus, I know I’m twenty-five and don’t have kids yet. Why do you always have to bring it up?”

  “Princess, all I’m saying is that the Greenhills belong to our country club and your daddy has sold them insurance for years. We can’t just go and not invite them. It’s not like they’d bring Melissa along with them, anyway.”

  “I don’t care, Momma. I don’t want anyone associated with that tramp invited. I guarantee she’d show up somehow and try to ruin my wedding day.”

  Jackie tapped her foot impatiently as she looked back at the woman in line behind her. The woman shrugged her shoulders at Jackie and checked her watch. The movie was about to start.

  “I just don’t know how your daddy is going to feel about this, princess. I mean, he’s got business with the man.”

  “Why is everything so much more important than my wedding day? It’s just one stupid client. It’s my day, Momma! You even said so yourself.”

  “It definitely is your day, princess. It’s going to be just perfect. I’ll talk to your daddy and see what he says.”

  “He better say they’re not invited. I swear to God, Momma, if they show up, I’ll walk right out of that church. We’ll see what that does for Daddy’s business!”

  “Calm down, princess. I’ll see what I can do. Oh, princess,” the older woman gushed, “you’re going to be so beautiful on your day. I won’t let anything spoil it.”

  “You promise?”

  “I promise.”

  “Thank you, Momma,” the younger woman said as she began to cry. “I just don’t know why I’m so emotional right now.”

  “Oh, don’t you cry, princess. Your momma’s going to take care of everything for you. Your wedding day is going to be just as perfect as you are beautiful.”

  “Do you really think I’m beautiful, Momma?” the younger woman asked through her sniffles.

  “Princess, of course you are.”

  “Momma…”

  “Yes, princess?”

  “I love you, Momma.”

  “Well, I love you, too, princess.”

  “That is just so sweet I can’t stand it,” Jackie interrupted loudly with a vague undertone of sarcasm. “Now, I think you two ladies should come right out of those stalls so we can all have a big group hug.” The woman standing behind Jackie covered her mouth with one hand to keep from laughing out loud and gave Jackie a high five with the other.

  “Oh, sorry,” the older woman said as she and her daughter both flushed their toilets and exited the stalls.

  “Sorry,” the younger woman said as she walked past Jackie and took a paper towel from the dispenser to wipe her tears away. Jackie and the other woman jumped into the stalls and slammed the doors shut. A minute later, Jackie emerged from the restroom and found Kip fiddling with his phone while he waited.

  “Thought you fell in or something,” said Kip as he took Jackie’s hand. “What was that gal who just came out crying about?”

  “You don’t even want to know,” replied Jackie as she pulled Kip toward the stairs leading to the movie theater’s upper balcony. The two could barely remember the plot of the black and white foreign film when it was over, they spent so much time ad-libbing over the subtitles. After leaving the theater, Kip and Jackie spent the next few hours patrolling the streets of downtown Austin. One bar, one jazz club, and a few drinks later, Kip couldn’t help but stifle a yawn.

  “I didn’t think I’d bore you until our next date,” Jackie teased.

  “No way,” Kip replied. “It’s not you at all. I’m just beat from pouring that blasted concrete walk in front of the house.”

  “Start of a second career, maybe? It looked awfully professional to me,” said Jackie.

  “Not a chance. I try to kid myself, but I’m a desk man by nature.”

  “Well, let’s get you home, then, paper pusher. But I was thinking the restaurant is closed on Mondays. How about I cook for you and Bennett tomorrow night?” Jackie asked.

  “Over at our place?”

  “Sure, if that works best for you guys,” Jackie replied. “Will Avery be there?”

  “Not really sure,” replied Kip. “God only knows where he’s chasing monsters. Could be halfway to South America by now. I just hope he shows up with my car in one piece. Preferably sometime in the foreseeable future.”

  “Well, I’ll plan on him showing up, just to be safe.”

  “Nothing too fancy for dinner. Bennett’s a country boy at heart, and Avery, well, he’s just weird.”

  “No problem. Now, let’s get you out of here and into bed.”

  “Okay, deal,” Kip replied as he paid their tab and took Jackie’s hand as they left the dark bar and headed for her car.

  “You still planning on heading back to New York in a week or so?” Jackie asked as they walked arm in arm down Sixth Street.

  “Not really sure. Maybe I’ll stay a while longer,” Kip replied as he smiled at Jackie.

  “I was hoping you’d say that,” Jackie said as she paused and kissed Kip quickly on the lips. Kip kissed her back. He kissed her back for a long time as he held her tightly.

  “Get some, bro!” a young man in a pack of students called out as they passed by.

  “Old folk PDA, ya’ll!” a young girl in the group said as she snapped a picture of the tightly embraced couple with her cell phone camera. Kip and Jackie both laughed as they continued on their way back to Jackie’s car. A few blocks into their drive, Kip noticed they were heading the opposite direction from the big white house.

  “You miss a turn back there?” Kip asked.

  “I said I was taking you home, sailor. I just didn’t say whose home,” Jackie replied with a smile.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Midnight Run

  It was three hours into his drive home toward Austin, and Avery was still shaken by the incident at the headquarters. Evil visions of the two Mexican men filled his head. His hands w
ere latched in fear to the hard plastic steering wheel as he sped along the dark, empty highway. Thoughts crashed through his head. Were the two men dead? Were they alive? Why the hell did he take their money? Would they come after him? Avery panicked as he thought about the potential consequences in gruesome detail.

  “Too late now,” Avery mumbled as he rubbed his exhausted eyes with his fist. Avery glanced over his shoulder into the back seat and saw the dark face of the chupacabra in the dim light protruding from its silver cocoon. Its tongue was hanging out. It seemed to be laughing at him. Mocking him. Avery turned his eyes back to the road. The lines in the highway zipped past his car’s headlights. Avery flinched as a yellow warning light on his dashboard lit up. The fuel indicator showed that he was almost out of gas. He wanted to put Tornillo as far in his review mirror as he could, but he knew he needed to stop. A few miles later, he pulled into an all-night gas station just off the highway. Avery stopped next to a set of pumps and got out of his car. Noticing the stacks of money on the back seat floorboard, Avery took off his tracksuit top and draped it over the bills. Double-checking to be sure the money was concealed, Avery turned towards the pumps. The sign on the gas pump read Prepay Inside. Avery, shirtless and fatigued, wandered into the station to pay.

  “Hey,” said the wiry-looking man behind the counter wearing a battered Texas Tech ball cap. “You can’t come in here without a shirt.”

  “I just need some gas,” the weary Avery replied.

  “I don’t give two jackrabbit turds what you want. We got standards. Now put a shirt on, or get out.”

  “But there’s nobody in here,” pleaded Avery.

  “That ain’t the point. Now, vamoose before I get that lawman involved.” Avery turned and looked back at his car. A Texas highway patrol officer had pulled up to the pump next to Avery’s and was peering into the darkened back seat of the rental car. The officer’s back was to the station. Avery quickly exited the gas station and slipped around the corner. Hiding in the shadows, he watched as the officer walked around the car and looked in from the other side.