The Gunman from Guadalez

by Eric Meyer

  "You what? Are we reading of the same page? The last I heard; a hot extraction was pulling guys out under enemy fire."

  "That's right, that's what I meant. We're holed up inside the home of Paco Martinez, and he's outside with a bunch of his gunmen. Thing is, the only way out is from the roof, and it'll be under fire."

  "The roof? You mean like when they took them out from the American Embassy in Saigon in '75?"

  "Just like that. Except they'll be trying to kill us at the same time."

  Kaz heard a chuckle from the other end.

  "Goddammit, that was really something, pulling those people out from under the noses of the Vietcong. Buddy, if you can wait, I'll do it. Give me the directions, and I'll need your exact location. Can you put a marker on the roof?"

  "We'll find something, and I'll call you back to let you know. Curtis, make it as fast as you can, we don't have long."

  "I'll tell the mechanics it's urgent, life or death. But it'll be a couple of hours, so you have to hold on for that long."

  "We'll hold on."

  "I'll see you then. And good luck, buddy.”

  He ended the call, and they were watching him. “You heard what I just said. The Huey will be coming for us in a couple of hours.”

  Clarence grimaced. “I’m not sure we have a couple of hours, Kaz. Those people won’t wait much longer. I don’t know we can hold out that long.”

  “We have to. There’s just two ways into the house, front and back. Juanita, look after Eva. Clarence, you can cover the rear. Manuel, that leaves us to cover the front.”

  “It’s not enough. They’re gonna hit us real hard.”

  “It’ll have to be enough. We have the explosives. Maybe we can use those as artillery.”

  He grimaced. “I don’t see it working. What we need is bullets, and plenty of them.”

  Juanita heard him. “Paco has weapons and ammunition stored in the basement. The door is opposite the freezer.”

  “I’ll take a look. Keep your eyes skinned, they could come at any time.”

  He raced down the staircase into the basement and found the door he hadn’t noticed before. It was unlocked, and inside weapons and ammunition were thrown everywhere in untidy heaps. Wooden cases with MAC10s, boxes of ammunition, several M-16s leaning against the wall, and even some hunting rifles, Remingtons, and two bolt action Rugers. What interested him most were the boxes of cartridges for the M-60. He hurried up to the hallway where they were waiting and watching. He explained about the armory down in the basement.

  “The M-60 is the best chance we have of holding them off, and I have an ammo belt almost empty. I’ll reload it with 7.62mm rounds while we’re waiting for something to happen.” He told them about what else there was down there, “If anyone wants anything, then help yourselves. Ammunition will be the clincher. If we run out of bullets, we’re finished.”

  He watched the front while Manuel went down to pick up supplies of ordnance. He brought back an M-16 apiece for him and Clarence, with plenty of spare magazines. Kaz patiently loaded the belt with bullets until it was full, keeping one eye on the back and the other on the front. Several times he saw a head look around the corner and duck back behind cover. They were gearing up to attack, and it would come soon.

  But it didn’t come, and they stayed watching, scanning the ground outside, hunched over their weapons. Juanita made sure Eva was comfortable, and she went to the kitchen to fetch bottles of water that she gave to the injured girl and distributed to the men.

  “When will they come?”

  She’d addressed the question to Manuel, and he shrugged. “They’ll come when they come. And when they do, we’ll kill them.”

  “All of them?”

  He didn’t answer. They swigged down the cold water, and still they waited. Manuel and Juanita exchanged glances several times, and he felt sorry for them. She’d been abused for so long, and now she’d found someone, and he’d found her, it could be too late. Almost certainly was too late. The Mexican was about to lose everything. First his ranch, and now the girl he was getting close to.

  They almost caught them unawares. One moment there was absolute silence, and then they came. Charging across the open ground in a mass of twenty shouting men, firing from the hip, the little MAC10s inaccurate, but when twenty small submachine guns are peppering your position with 9mm rounds, accuracy is not critical. Suddenly, the hallway became crisscrossed with flying lead, and they had to lie flat on the floor to avoid being hit. The bullets ricocheted off the stone walls, and he felt a round slice skin from fleshy part of his leg, another gouged his already injured hand, and yet another scored a furrow in the top of his head.

  He didn’t have any choice but to ignore the metal hissing and spitting around them. He jumped to his feet and pushed the barrel of the M-60 past the hood of the truck and into view of the front yard. They were close, too close, and they’d almost left it too late to hit back. Almost.

  “Manuel, hit them.”

  He didn’t wait for a response but aimed into the center of the charging men and opened fire. The bullets tore into them, and it was like a tsunami had hit them. The leading men went down, and those behind were tripping over their bodies, falling to the ground. He kept on firing until a few survivors had crawled back behind the outhouse. He glanced at Manuel.

  “That’ll hold them for a few minutes. If you need to get more ammunition, now would be a good time.”

  “I’m okay now. But we…”

  He didn’t finish the sentence. A burst of firing came from the rear, and Clarence opened up with the M-16. He emptied the magazine in the first few seconds, slammed in a replacement, and kept firing. Kaz glanced at Manuel.

  “Stay here. I’ll give him a hand.”

  He raced back with the M-60. Around ten men were already at the doorway, and the first two were inside. He opened fire, and once again the machine gun hammered out its lethal message of death. The two men went down, and two more coming in behind them joined them in hell. The rest pulled back, and they tracked them all the way until they were out of sight. This time, they’d killed six, and Clarence was chuckling.

  “You know, if these stupid bastards keep coming like this, we won’t need a helicopter ride, we’ll be able to drive out, because they’ll all be dead.”

  He didn’t believe it, and deep down, he knew Clarence didn’t either. He was trying to make light of a bad situation. Both men knew Paco Martinez hadn’t climbed to the top of the narcotics trafficking league by acting dumb.

  “This is just for starters. He’s got something else in mind, and whatever is, it won’t be long in coming.”

  Manuel called from the front. “Something’s happening out here. I don’t like it.”

  He rushed back in time to hear the noise of an engine that had just started. “They’ll use the same trick as us and drive in at speed. They’ll aim past the truck we used, and when it hits, it’ll open up a hole in the front of the house. We have to stop that truck. If it hits it’ll open a gap, and they’ll come pouring through. I need…” He stopped, “Forget it, I have what I need. The small pack I never used, fused, and ready to go. Clarence, forget the rear for a moment. You’re needed here.”

  He ran to the hallway. “What’s the plan?”

  “I’ll use the pack, set the timer for five seconds, and toss it in front of the truck as it comes toward us.”

  His mouth dropped open. “You cannot be serious. To throw the pack you’ll have to go out there, and…no! No, no!”

  He handed him the Browning. “Take this, and when I shout, pour it on. Give ‘em an entire belt, and you, Manuel, use up the magazines for the M-16 like they’re on special.”

  “I have the pistol Manuel gave me,” Juanita murmured, “I mean, it may help.”

  He’d loaned her a Colt .38 Cobra, short barrel. “Why not? The more bullets we put out there, the better chance I have.”

  She looked mystified. “Chance of what?”

  Manuel supplie
d the answer. “Of living.”

  “But…”

  She didn’t get any further. The truck had been idling, but the engine note increased to a roar, and it came around the corner. Four men were standing up in the rear, firing long bursts from their tiny semi-automatic weapons.

  “Hit them now!”

  He was already bounding toward the door, with one hand on the timer. As he ran, he selected five seconds, praying he’d got it right, because there wouldn’t be a second chance. He was out in the open, bullets hissing and spitting all around him. He threw the pack in a long, arching, overarm throw. It landed in the dust ten yards in front of him, and ten yards ahead of the vehicle charging toward him. There was no time to get back inside, and he threw himself flat on the ground, hugging the dirt. Above him the Mexicans fired repeatedly at him and at the defenders inside the house.

  By some miracle they didn’t hit him, and when it happened, he could hardly believe the astonishing power of the explosion. The shockwave picked him up and smashed him back down to the ground, leaving him gasping for breath. It was all he could do to check his limbs to make sure they were all there, and all functioning. The noise of the blast was enormous. First a single sharp explosion; followed a split second later by another. His ears were ringing, and yet he couldn’t hear a thing. He wondered if the explosion had burst his eardrums, and he saw Clarence waving to him through a tiny gap between the truck and the entrance. He started to crawl, and a secondary explosion threw sheets of burning gasoline over the yard. Behind him, men who’d been following the truck screamed as the flames engulfed them. He kept crawling until he reached the house, and the two men dragged him inside.

  “What happened?”

  Their lips moved as they spoke to him, but he couldn’t make out the words. They signed for him to relax and take it easy. He was able to lip-read enough to understand they were saying his hearing would come back soon. It took several long minutes, while they watched the front and back for signs of another attack, but the destruction of their truck and the deaths of more men had made Martinez cautious.

  He sat up and looked around. They were all wounded, minor wounds, but each of them bleeding from multiple cuts. Out there he’d been peppered with fragments of stone metal, and he was aware his clothes were ripped in multiple places and stained with blood. The last thing he wanted was to look in a mirror, knowing he wouldn’t like what he saw. He glanced at Juanita. She had cuts to her ear and her arms, with blood trickling down her neck.

  “How is Eva?”

  “Ask her yourself. Her eyes opened when the truck exploded, and she’s fully conscious now.”

  He crawled over to her, and she stared up at him with a wan smile. “Kaz, you look like shit.”

  He grinned. “You should see the other guys. How do you feel?”

  “Cold.”

  “They put you in a freezer, so I’m not surprised. You’ll get warmer soon.”

  She pursed her lips. “I heard the explosion, so I guess that’s what you mean when you say I’ll get warmer. How much warmer, Kaz? We’re in trouble, aren’t we?”

  He couldn’t lie to her. “We’re trapped inside Paco Martinez’s house, and he’s outside with a bunch of his gunmen doing their best to kill us, so yeah, we’re in trouble. But it’s not all bad.”

  “It sounds bad enough. What’s the plan to get out of here?”

  He explained about the call to Curtis Brand, and how he was coming for them in his Huey. “He’ll land on the roof and take us off. We’re close to the border, and we’ll be back in the good old U.S. of A. in just a few minutes.”

  “How long before he gets here?”

  He checked his watch, and he was shocked at how little time had elapsed since he’d spoken to Curtis, and how much had happened. “About one hour and a half.”

  “An hour and a half? We won’t live for that long, that guy can call in an army. In fact, he probably has already. They’ll chew us up and spit us out.”

  “Maybe, but we have to hope Curtis gets here first.” He looked up. “Clarence, start getting the girls up toward the roof. They’ll be safer there. Juanita, find a way to mark where we are. He’ll know roughly, but we need to confirm our exact position so he can come down next to us and take us off.”

  “Like what?”

  “Anything, on the way up, you’ll find plenty of stuff. Small items you can arrange in a pattern, something to spell SOS would do it.”

  “We’ll find something.”

  She and Clarence helped Eva to her feet, and they started up the staircase. Outside, they’d changed tactics, firing single shots through the windows and gaps where the truck had smashed through the front entrance. They moved out of the line of fire, crouched below the windows, trying to work out which direction the next attack would come from. Whichever form it would take, they had no idea. Kaz set to thinking about how it had all gone down, and he looked at Clarence as he returned from the roof.

  “I don’t get any of this. I just don’t get it.”

  “Don’t get what?”

  “Back in Lewes, it was almost like Mayor Bridges didn’t care if the shooter got away. Dammit, he did everything possible to make it easy. You don’t think he has a connection to Martinez, surely it’s not possible?”

  His friend grimaced. “I’ve seen all things possible in my time, chasing down bail jumpers, and one thing I’ve learned is never rule out the impossible. Sure, it’s possible Bridges is bent, but then again, the guy runs a chain of fashion stores in the city. He’s not exactly big time, not like Martinez, who could probably buy half the city if he wanted to.”

  “Clarence, who owns the malls?”

  His head jerked around. “Who owns them? The usual, big investment funds, folks like Warren Buffett, a few smaller shareholders, property developers, you name it.”

  “Drug traffickers? Is it possible?”

  He shrugged. “Who knows? The way I heard it, a lot of these multi-million-pound schemes are run by offshore companies, and they tend to be mighty careful about revealing their true identities. I’d forget about the malls. You’ll never find out who owns them.”

  “But it could be Martinez with the help of the Mayor.”

  Clarence shrugged. “Maybe.”

  Kaz was thinking hard. Thinking about William Bridges, and the more he thought, the more it was unlikely he had a tie-in to Mexican drug traffickers.

  Sure, he runs a chain of fashion stores, but recently a couple have closed down, and I know he fired some of his staff to cut costs. Not the behavior of a man whose offshore bank accounts are awash with drug money. Yet there has to be a tie-in somewhere in the city.

  Diego Rivera had murdered his wife. He knew that now for a fact. He also knew Rivera worked for Martinez, and so the question remained why was Rivera in the city? During the shooting, he’d fired into the diner. The intended target had initially survived, when a waiter moved into the path of the bullet. He fired twice more, and when it failed, used an assault rifle they later identified as a Kalashnikov AK-47. Fired on full automatic, he gunned down people at random, including Sheryl Walker. Six people died in that attack.

  The Mayor’s involved with Martinez in some way, although he wouldn’t have gone along with the killing. No, there’s another connection, one I can’t work out. Not yet. But I will, no matter what it takes. Sheryl deserves nothing less.

  The breakthrough was that image of Diego Rivera, and now they had the connection with Paco Martinez. There had to be something else, of that he was convinced. Big bucks tied up in commercial property in and around the city, millions, more probably billions of dollars.

  The murder of his wife had shone a spotlight on what was going on in the city, and he’d missed it. If he got out of this alive, he wouldn’t give up until he’d followed every lead through to the end. And then he reconsidered. He was no longer a cop, but a felon, fleeing justice after the run-in with the cops inside Lewes International Airport, and if they nailed him for crossing the border ille
gally, he’d be facing jail.

  Now there was this pitched battle in Mexico, as well as the torching of Manuel’s ranch. It was all too much, and there’d been too many deaths. People would want answers, and when the local cops or the Federales got involved, Martinez was more than capable of using his considerable fortune to make sure they did his bidding. Like handing out a life sentence, always assuming he wasn’t shot ‘trying to escape.’

  “We have to get out.”

  The two men gave him odd stares. Clarence shrugged. “You don’t say.”

  “They have to go down.”

  “I’d sooner them than us. How long before that Huey arrives?”

  He checked his watch. “Just over a half-hour. We’ll be moving up to the roof in a bit.”

  “Not yet,” Manuel murmured, “Someone’s coming.”

  “You in there, am I talking to Sheriff Kaz Walker?”

  “Spit it out, Martinez.”

  “I assume it’s you, Sheriff. I want to offer you a deal. You’ve put up a good fight, and so far, you’ve managed to stay alive. Unlike some of the fools I pay for my protection. I have a vehicle fueled up and ready for you. I’ll bring it up to the front door, and we’ll stand back while you get away. You can take your guns. Take anything. I just want you out of my house and out of my life.”

  He wondered how they planned to kill them, perhaps a bomb in the car. That would make a lot of sense. They could hit it with machine gun fire as they left, but it would be less certain. Why the sudden urgency? It was like there was something inside the house he was desperate for them not to see. He checked his watch, twenty-five minutes before Curtis arrived to take them off the roof. Ten minutes to get up there, maybe they’d need to stage a fighting retreat.

  “I’ll think about it, Martinez. Give me twenty minutes.” That way they’d be inside the house when the Huey took them off the roof, which would make it more difficult for them to get a clear shot.

  “Five minutes,” he spat.

  “I said twenty. You’ll just have to wait.”

  He turned to Clarence and Manuel. “You heard, and I need a little time to go through his stuff. There’s something in here he’s desperate for us not to see. Give me a few minutes, and we’ll start moving.”