The Gunman from Guadalez

by Eric Meyer

  “Roger that.”

  Clarence took up position at the rear, and Manuel stayed watching the front. He raced up the staircase to the second floor and went from room to room. Just bedrooms, and he climbed to the third floor, the security office, and the body of Rivera lookalike. He entered the office next door. Inside he found a laptop computer still running, although it required a password to access the hard drive. He shut the lid, placed it in a canvas satchel lying nearby, and pulled it on his shoulders. There was nothing else, and he retraced his steps to the first floor.

  “Anything happening out there?”

  Manuel turned his head. “Nothing, and that worries me. They’re about to try something, and I hope to hell that helicopter gets here before things get any worse.”

  He nodded. “We’d better go up to the roof. When Curtis arrives, he won’t have time to wait. As soon as they realize what’s going on, they’ll hit the Huey with everything they have.”

  He frowned. “Can he get us out of here?”

  “If anyone can, it’s Curtis Brand. He helped us out a few times in the Gulf. But if they hit something vital like a rotor blade…”

  He didn’t finish, and Manuel called to Juanita, “Help get Eva to the top, querida. We’re getting out of here.”

  She passed the message on to Clarence. “We’re leaving. They said to get up to the roof.”

  “On the way.”

  Manuel helped her with Eva, who was beginning to recover, and pushed them toward the staircase. Juanita shouted down, “The helicopter, it’s here. I can hear it getting nearer.”

  Kaz took a last look out the front. They were out of time.

  “Get up there fast, they’re coming! Three trucks coming at us from different directions, and they’ve protected the drivers with steel fitted in front of the windshields. Jesus Christ!”

  They were crude, improvised armored cars, and he ducked down as three automatic weapons opened up. In seconds they’d arrive, spitting a hurricane of bullets and disgorging men straight into the house. He followed Manuel and Clarence up the staircase, and below heard a crash as they used the same tactic they had to get inside. Smashed through the door, or in this case, the walls next to the door.

  “We have seconds to get on the roof and get aboard the Huey. Make sure the marker is out for Curtis!”

  But in his head, he’d done the calculations, and they weren’t going to make it. Men were shouting from below, and a line of bullets tore into the wall next to him.

  “Kaz, move it!”

  Clarence fired a short burst down the staircase, and he pounded up toward him. Too late. The bullet tore into his injured arm, yet another wound, and he dropped his rifle. Another bullet slammed into his leg. He started to go down, knowing they were finished.

  Chapter Nine

  Clarence, still carrying the M-60, reached back to help, and with Manuel’s help they half-carried him up to the roof. The Huey was descending, less than fifty feet above their heads. Below, Martinez’s men were pounding up the staircase to head them off. He felt weakened by the pain and the blood loss, but maybe, just maybe, they were going to get away. Curtis hovered five feet above the concrete roof, and he glanced down at them, waving an arm in an unmistakable gesture.

  Hurry the fuck up!

  Juanita pushed Eva through the open door of the cabin and leapt nimbly after her. Manuel and Clarence were facing the door to the stairwell, covering him.

  “Kaz, get aboard. We’ll hold them!”

  He stumbled across the roof and put his hands on the landing skid, ready to hoist himself up. He wobbled and didn’t have the strength, but Clarence ran across and pushed him into the cabin. Inside, Eva was slumped on the floor, but Juanita took his arms and pulled him up. He sprawled on the floor, and where his body had been a second before, a line of bullets tore through the cabin. He looked around quickly, and they’d appeared in the doorway to the roof.

  Two men appeared briefly, firing off a few shots. They ducked back before Manuel and Clarence could shoot back. One burst had torn through the Huey, and now they reappeared together. Both Mexicans emptied the magazines of their stubby weapons, and one fired the stream of bullets that narrowly missed Kaz. The second burst was fatal. Manuel put a bullet into the shooter, but as he fell, the remainder of his magazine emptied into the gearbox positioned immediately below the rotors.

  The grinding noise of tortured metal was loud, and chunks of the helicopter flew off in every direction. The rotors slowed and canted over at an angle, as the UH-1 plummeted to the roof, hitting the concrete with a rending crash. Curtis was quick to stop the engine, and as the noise died away, he raced into the cabin to evacuate the passengers.

  “Everyone out and get as far away as you can in case it explodes. The fuel tanks are half full of gas.”

  They half ran, half crawled over the roof, looking back at the wrecked rotorcraft, waiting for it to explode in a fireball of smoke and flames. It didn’t. Manuel and Clarence were still covering the door, but they were staying well back. Probably just as concerned about the gas tank exploding.

  Curtis took a good, long look around and grinned. “I guess this is the time to say hello. How are you, Kaz, and your friends? Clarence, is that you? And Eva, this is a hard way to increase your ratings.”

  She grimaced, and although lying on the concrete, she managed to get onto her knees, and adjusted herself into a sitting position. She regarded Curtis.

  She looked at the Huey, “Can you fix that thing?”

  He coughed and almost choked. "Sure, I can fix it. Give me two weeks and a fully equipped repair shop, and it shouldn't be a problem."

  "You're saying there's no way off this roof?"

  She looked around, seeing the grim expressions on their faces, and frowned. "I guess I’m still not thinking straight. Of course, it can't be fixed. What do we do now?"

  No one replied, and Kaz felt the agony of defeat more powerfully than the agony of his wounds.

  He glanced at Clarence. "What're they doing out there?"

  "I wish I knew. Nothing good, that's for sure." He glanced at Eva, who was struggling to get to her feet. Juanita helped her, and she surveyed the compound that surrounded Martinez's mansion.

  "Even if we did make it to the ground, I assume it wouldn't make any difference. We'd never get out of here."

  "There's always Martinez's offer to let us go." Clarence shrugged, "We don't trust him, but right now it's the only thing we have going for us."

  "It's not an option. Think about what led us to this place, the hitman, Diego Rivera who killed all those people in Lewes. He works for Martinez, and even if we did get away, which I doubt, he'd send him after us. And Rivera will never give up. Especially when he finds out I killed his brother. We've given Martinez a bloody nose, and he’s not the kind of guy to forgive and forget either. Talking to him is like walking toward our own graves."

  Curtis grimaced. "You're telling me you brought me all the way down here just to get my helicopter wrecked and become a target for these drug scum?"

  "I'm sorry. I didn't think it would end like this. I don't believe there's a way out of this."

  He shook his head. "Nope, I guess not. The helicopter was the only way, and now it's finished." He grinned, refusing to be too downcast, "All we can do is call the local Hertz office and ask if they can fix us up with a rental, except they don't hire aircraft, which is a shame. There's no way we'll get another one, and I doubt there's anything inside of twenty miles, even if we could persuade the owner to hire it to us."

  "That's… not strictly true."

  He looked at Juanita. "Which bit isn't strictly true?"

  "The bit about there not being another helicopter within twenty miles."

  He gave her a dubious glance. "Okay, what're we talking, five miles, ten miles? It doesn't make any difference. I doubt our friend Martinez would allow us to walk out of here."

  "Four hundred yards."

  "Excuse me?"

  "I said fo
ur hundred yards."

  "What's four hundred yards?"

  "The helicopter. It belongs to Señor Martinez."

  They stared at each other, and Curtis said, "Tell me about it. Does it fly?"

  "Yes, it flies. I've seen it several times. He uses it to go back and forth to Ciudad, and sometimes to carry shipments across the border. It's painted black."

  "Do you know what type?"

  "I believe it's a McDonald Douglas MD 600N. I saw it close-up once, and that was painted on the tail."

  "Eight seats?"

  "That is correct."

  Curtis whistled. "That's a honey. It's light and fast, very maneuverable." He chuckled. "Kaz, why not ask him to lend it to us?"

  "So, we're fucked," Clarence grumbled, "The only way out of here is by helicopter, and we may as well shoot for the moon."

  But he was thinking hard. "If we could reach it, could you fly it?"

  "Sure, I can fly anything. But you know and I know, there’s no way we'd make it to the ground, let alone four hundred yards to this chopper. We're here, and I reckon this would be a good time to make sure our wills are up-to-date."

  He wasn't listening. "Clarence, Manuel, how many men can you see on the ground?"

  They went to the edge and peered over each of the four sides. "One on each side, but there's a lot of noise coming from inside the house. I'm guessing they're massed inside, getting ready to attack the roof and finish this."

  "We need a diversion. Manuel, can you take out the man watching the house from the rear?"

  "Sure, no sweat. He's standing beneath a palm tree, getting some shade. Like he doesn't have a care in the world."

  "He soon will have. Curtis, how much gas left in the tanks?"

  "Kaz, I told you, there's no way it'll fly, not without major repairs."

  "How much gas?"

  A shrug. "One hundred, maybe one hundred and fifty gallons."

  "Okay, here's what we'll do."

  He talked for several minutes, outlining his plan, and Curtis told him he was mad. Manuel said it would never work, and Clarence pointed out the need a lot of luck to even have half a chance. Juanita was more practical and pointed out one major flaw.

  "Even if we could reach the ground, it means sliding down a downpipe, and Eva wouldn't make it. Neither would you, you have injuries to your arm and your leg."

  "I'll make it, and we can help Eva between us. It's all we have. Either this works, or we’ll stay here until they come charging out from below and kill us all."

  They considered for a few seconds more, and they were starting to prepare. Curtis pulled a flexible hose from inside the cabin of the Huey and coupled it to the fuel tank. It reached the doorway to the roof, and he checked the fuel cocks.

  "When I open the cocks, the tanks will empty, and the gas will flow down the staircase inside the house. All we need do is put the match to it and stand clear. One hundred gallons will make a big bonfire.”

  Manuel positioned himself on the edge of the roof, taking aim with the M-16. Curtis waited to open the cocks. Clarence was with Juanita and Eva, waiting to help them shin down to the ground. Kaz had a box of matches Clarence gave him, and despite their objections, he waited by the doorway, waiting to give them the word to begin the escape. He reckoned without Martinez acting first.

  The first indication was when a gun barrel poked around the doorway and started spraying bullets. This was no MAC10, but somehow, he'd got hold of a machine gun, and he should have responded quicker. Slowed by the injuries and blood loss, it took him by surprise, and as the machine gun chattered, the roof was peppered with bullets. It could have been an M-60, or any of the light machine guns in circulation, even one of the Soviet PK machine guns, which had flooded the illegal market lately. Not that he gave a damn which model it was, what mattered was the hail of lead sweeping the roof. Fortunately, they were lying down, looking over the edge to work out the best way down, and the bullets tore overhead.

  The gun stopped firing, and a man raced out onto the roof, carrying a MAC10 in each hand. Kaz double tapped him with the Browning Hi-Power, and he went down, but two more men raced out. They were carrying M4s hip high, blazing a path for more of Martinez's men to emerge behind a hail of gunfire. He fired again, and one man went down, but he was out of bullets, and with a start he realized he had no spare magazine. He made a frantic dive, ignoring the agony searing through his body from his leg wound when he launched into the air. He came up behind the body of the first man he'd killed. The remaining gunman followed him with the muzzle of the M-16 and fired, but Kaz lay flat on the concrete behind the body, which jerked as a stream of 5.56mm bullets impacted the corpse.

  The stream of bullets ended as he ran out of ammo, and he jerked out the empty magazine to insert a fresh one. Kaz snatched up the two MAC10s, aimed, and fired, stitching a line of bullets into the man who'd managed to insert the magazine but hadn't had time to use it. The 9mm rounds tore into him, and blood fountained from his neck as several bullets tore his flesh into bloody ruin. He was down, but more men were racing up the staircase, and below he could hear Martinez's voice shouting at his men. He didn't understand the Spanish, but the meaning was clear. Get up there and kill them.

  They were outgunned and outnumbered. The end was close. They had to do something fast, and he shouted at Curtis to open the fuel cocks.

  "Kaz, you're too close. If the bullets don't get you, the fire will."

  "Do it, now!"

  He heard him mutter something about ‘it's your funeral.’ Then the acrid stench of gasoline was in the air, and the fuel began to pour from the pipe. He grabbed hold of the end and made sure it pointed down the staircase, and already men were shouting in alarm. He lit a match and tossed it inside. The result was spectacular, an explosion, and a huge wave of fire that spread out onto the roof, almost engulfing him. He catapulted to his feet and raced away, diving behind a huge air-conditioning unit just as the flames raced past him. They were heading toward Curtis, who shouted, "Jesus Christ!" before he dived flat behind the same air-conditioning unit. The heat was intense, with licks of flame plucking at them, their clothes smoldering and threatening to catch fire.

  “Kaz!” He glanced over at Clarence’s shout and at the same time heard a single shot from Manuel’s M-16.

  “What is it?”

  “He hit the guy guarding the side of the house, but we can’t use the downpipe. There’s flames pouring out of a window on the second floor, and there’s no way past it.”

  The heat on the roof was terrible, with flames licking everywhere, and he hoped the scumbags inside the house were getting cooked. But the way things were going it seemed the gasoline fire had been too successful. He snaked through a gap between the flames and reached Clarence, who was peering over the edge. He didn’t need to point out the problem. A gush of fire was pouring out from the window and engulfing the downpipe.

  "We'll have to find another way down."

  "There isn't another way down."

  "There's always a way. We just have to find it."

  He scanned around the roof, looking for something, anything. There was nothing. He shifted his gaze over the edge, but there was nothing that would enable them to shin down to the ground.

  We need a rope, and the chances of finding a rope on a Mexican rooftop… wait!

  The huge air-conditioning unit was connected to the electricity by means of a heavy-duty cable. Whoever installed it had done a sloppy job, and the black rubber insulated wire snaked over the roof, and around past the housing for the doorway. Presumably the electrical supply was on the other side, but what mattered was the cable looked to be very heavy-duty.

  He pointed it out to Clarence. "We can use it as a rope. Give me a hand."

  There was no way to detach the cable, and he fired several shots from the MAC10 to part the wires. They started to follow the cable around the stairway housing, but flames were leaping up from below. They held them back for several seconds, until Kaz started forward to blas
t them apart where they disappeared from the roof to the power supply below.

  Clarence stopped him. "You're not doing it. You're hurt bad enough as it is. Leave it to me."

  "I can do it. Besides, if they get away, they'll need you to fight off Martinez's men."

  His friend should his head. "I don't get it, what do you mean? You can fight as well as I…" He got it then, "Kaz, you don't think you're gonna make it, is that it?"

  The problems of getting off the roof and reaching the helicopter were enormous and getting worse. He doubted he had enough strength left in him to make it. “Promise me one thing, Clarence. Find the shooter, Diego Rivera. I know he killed Sheryl, and if I don’t get the chance to kill him, I want someone else to do it for me.”

  “Kaz, no, this isn’t right. You can do it yourself when we get out of here.”

  “I don’t think so. I have to know he goes down, and the best way I can guarantee it is to help you guys get out of here alive. Promise me, Clarence. Give me your word he won’t get away. I…”

  He didn’t get any further. His friend tripped him, and as he lay on the ground, struggling against the pain to get up, he was running into the flames. Kaz heard the gunfire. Seconds later, Clarence reappeared, clothes smoking. He was clutching the end of the cable.

  “I got it, so let’s get out of here.”

  The flames were increasing as more gasoline flowed through the pipe, down the staircase. Already the Huey was engulfed, and Curtis looked uneasy as they came to the edge of the roof.

  “There’s something you guys should know. About half the gas is still in the tanks, and the flames are all around it. My guess is we don’t have much time before it blows. A couple of minutes, five at most.”

  Clarence was fastening the cable to a ventilator, and he looked up. “I’m ready. We can go down. Let me try it first, and when I hit the ground, I can cover you in case he has more men in that vicinity.”

  Without another word, he grabbed the cable, stepped over the top and abseiled down to the ground, carrying the M-60 like a much-valued possession. The flames were spreading, and Manuel hoisted Eva on his back.