by Eric Meyer
Clarence and Curtis wandered off to do routine maintenance tasks on the Bell 600N, and they were alone beneath the palm fronds. She checked his forehead for the tenth time, and her hand stayed touching his face. He didn’t ask her to remove it.
“There’s no way I can persuade you to hang fire, is there?”
He looked up and met her eyes. “There isn’t, no. But I want you to stay here and be safe. Just in case.”
“I’m coming along. I never told you, but you know Manuel gave Juanita a Colt .38?”
“That little gun, yeah, I remember.”
“He slipped me one, too, just before we got away from the house.” She grinned, “So I’m packing.”
“I don’t want you along, Eva. You’re a reporter, not a damn gunslinger.”
“I’m also a woman in love.”
He didn’t understand at first. “In love? That’s wonderful, who’s the lucky guy?”
“You.”
His eyes flared with surprise. He’d felt something between them, but love was an altogether different thing.
“Say something, Kaz. Am I pushing you too hard?”
“Well, I, uh, I didn’t think…”
“Men never do,” she pouted, “I meant after losing Sheryl, you may not want anything to happen with any woman. Although it’s long past time you moved on.”
His eyes were fastened on her face, almost seeing it for the first time, her full, luscious lips, the smooth skin, high cheekbones, and eyes that burned with passion.
Okay, I’ve been wrong about her.
“You’re not like a normal reporter.”
“You’re not like a normal sheriff.”
He chuckled. “I’m not a sheriff, not anymore.”
“And I’m not a reporter. I already decided to quit.”
“Why?”
She grimaced. “I’ve been thinking these past couple of days. You’re an honest guy, Kaz, and that’s the way people see you.” She shrugged, “I know you have problems now, but they’ll be resolved, and you’ll get your job back. Lewes needs a sheriff like you. Otherwise, the city will fall apart if people like Rick Tolley and William Bridges are running things. Doc Weatherby, too. People see my job as fundamentally dishonest, you know. Like the saying, never let the truth get in the way of a good story. That’s not me, Kaz, and I’ve had enough. I’m going back to my old job.”
“Computing?”
“That’s right. Data security, designing software packages to keep companies safe from hacking attacks, and ransomware attacks, those kinds of things. It feels clean, like your job. Keeping people safe against the bad guys.”
“That sounds like a good plan.”
She smiled. “So how do you feel?”
“About what?” She gave him a playful punch of the shoulder, and he hid the wince of pain, “About us?”
He sighed. “Ask me tomorrow.”
“There may not be a tomorrow. You know that.”
He hesitated, drowning in her huge, liquid eyes. “The answer is yes.”
She nodded. “Like I said, there may not be a tomorrow.” In his weakened state, he didn’t have any fight left in him. He didn’t want any fight left in him when she said, “Make love to me, Kaz. In case this is all the time we have left.”
It was almost surreal, stripping off their clothes beneath the cool shade of the palms, and their bodies were quickly damp with perspiration. Afterward, he held her to him, ignoring the pain of his wounds, just enjoying this woman who’d come into his life so unexpectedly. He dozed until a noise brought him back to full consciousness. It was the sound of someone coughing. Clarence.
“We’ve done all we can. The Bell is ready to take us out of here anytime we’re ready.”
They were scrambling to pull their clothes back on. “I’ll come and look. Damn, it’s hot in here. We needed to strip off to cool down.”
“Did you cool down?” He was grinning like a Cheshire Cat.
“A bit.”
He tried to take an interest in the helicopter, but all they’d done was a few routine checks, and he suspected they’d got out of the way so he and Eva could spend some time together. They still had the Browning M-60 and two M-16s, and Clarence showed him a pair of MAC10s they’d discovered in a pocket in the cabin.
“There’s two spare magazines for each gun, so that’s extra firepower when we go in.”
He didn’t reply, thinking of the scores of assault rifles and other weaponry Martinez could bring to bear, although much of it would have been destroyed when they poured the burning fuel down from the roof. He’d replace it, but he felt his instinct had been correct. They had to hit him now before he had time to get over it.
Manuel returned driving a beat-up VW Rabbit, with so many dents in the bodywork it could have been used in a before and after promotion for a body shop.
“It’s all I could get, and the engine is not so good. It splutters when you put your foot down on the gas pedal too hard, but it’ll get us there.”
“We have some news,” Juanita said, “We know where he is. He’s taken over the top floor of the brothel in Guadalez.”
“Anything on Rivera?”
“The Beast is back. He’s on the same floor of the same building.”
* * *
Martinez was alarmed as he watched his friend snort four more lines of coke. Yet he said nothing. He had enough problems after that gringo sheriff almost destroyed his home. And the main problem was finding him and killing him. He knew the other traffickers would be laughing like crazy after some hick sheriff had done so much damage, and even worse, it had made him vulnerable. His reputation was in tatters, and there was a single way to restore that reputation. Kill the man who’d done so much damage.
Diego looked terrible. He still wore a dressing on his head wound, although it was clean after he’d called a doctor to attend to it. But his skin was pasty, and he looked sick. Even worse, the eyes, normally cold and hard, had changed. As if there was nothing behind them. They were like bottomless pits.
I wonder what’s going on inside my hitman’s head, although I don’t care to ask. No, that isn’t true. I’m scared to ask. Paco Martinez, billionaire businessman, scared of this wreckage of a human being. It shouldn’t be possible. Yet it’s true. He doesn’t seem to remember I told him they killed his brother. What is wrong with him?
“How do you feel, my friend?”
Diego finished snorting up the last grains of powder. “Feel? I feel fine. Why do you ask, Jefe?”
“I worry about you, my friend. There was that business north of the border. You…” He glanced at the naked girl who was lying on the bed, waiting for him to go back to her. “Conchita, fuck off and wait in the passage. Don’t come back until I call for you.”
“Si, Señor Martinez.”
He chuckled as she left the room. “That’s the benefit of owning a brothel. You can pick and choose from the merchandize. I’m already bored with that one. I may replace her with someone younger.”
Diego looked at the door she’d just left from and recalled she was around fifteen or sixteen. “You should enjoy yourself, Jefe. You work hard.”
“That’s the nature of my business. So, that thing in Lewes, have you finished?”
The eyes flicked toward him. “Finished?”
“The killings.”
“Jefe, I still have work to do. A woman with her two boys, do you remember?”
“I want you to stop that, Diego. I have more important work for you. I want you to kill that sheriff who’s caused so much trouble for me.”
He inclined his head. “Of course I will kill him. And then I will finish the job in Lewes. Where is this sheriff?”
“We don’t know, not yet. He stole my helicopter, and we assume he went north with his friends, who I also want you to kill. But so far, he hasn’t appeared, so we must wait until we know. I’ve offered a large sum of money in return for knowledge of his whereabouts, so it won’t be long. A few days, no more.”
<
br /> Diego’s face moved a fraction, and his eyes took on a gleam of interest. “While we’re waiting, I can go back to Lewes and finish that job.”
He bit off the angry retort. “You are a good man, Diego, but that must wait. Be patient, and soon we will have him.”
“As you say, Jefe.”
He left the room, and Martinez assumed he was returning to his room, where he had his own whore to take care of his needs. He made up his mind to make sure his men put a bullet into Diego, the moment he’d killed that sheriff. He should have done it before, and instead his hitman had brought so much trouble down on his head. But he needed him to resolve it, to clean up the mess by putting a bullet in Sheriff Walker. After that, he’d have outlived his usefulness. He’d put four of his best men to kill Rivera, any less would be foolhardy.
He opened the door, and his girl was waiting at the end of the passage. “You, get back in here, and this time try to sound as if you’re enjoying it. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s an ungrateful whore.”
She reached the door and entered the room. “Si, Señor Martinez.”
“And when we’re done, I want you to find me another girl for my bed. Do you have a sister?”
A pause. “Señor, she is only eleven-years-old.”
“You will bring her to me. Tomorrow.”
* * *
He stretched his limbs, and he felt better for a further hour of rest after he and Eva had made love. At the time it seemed the most natural thing in the world to do, but afterward, he’d wondered if it wasn’t tempting fate. A final roll in the hay; eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow you die. Or tonight.
Juanita explained the layout of the brothel, which she knew well. “You’ll have no trouble getting inside. People come and go at all times.” She blushed red and looked away, “What I mean is it’s a business establishment. Just because Martinez is there doesn’t mean it’ll close the doors to trade. Although he’ll have plenty of guards.”
“How many girls inside?”
She looked at Clarence. “Perhaps twenty at any one time.”
He swapped a glance with Kaz. “You know what I’m thinking?”
“Collateral casualties.”
“Right. In his house we knew they were all his people, so they were fair game. This is different. If we go in spraying bullets every which way, we’re sure to hit innocent people.”
“You’re right. What do you suggest?”
“You know what I’m suggesting. This is a two-man job. Sneak in, do the job, and sneak out, hopefully with Martinez trussed and gagged, packaged ready to go to the United States to stand trial. Kaz, there isn’t room for any more. Manuel, Curtis, Juanita, Eva, they should stay here with the chopper. If things go bad, they could pick us up and evac from the hot zone.”
Curtis chuckled. “I can do that. Just like old times.”
“We had an army then,” Clarence reminded him, “You won’t find it so easy this time, although if things go right, we won’t need an evac. When the job’s done, we’ll borrow one of Martinez’s cars and drive back in style. Get aboard the helicopter and hop back over the border. Simple.”
He shook his head. “Too simple. Plans are the first casualty of war, as you know.”
“You got anything better to suggest?”
“No.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do.”
Eva didn’t like it, and she argued hotly. “Dammit, I refuse to stay here, not in a million years. I’m going.”
He glared at her and immediately softened, remembering her smooth, warm body beneath his, and the heat of their lovemaking less than two hours before. “I’d prefer you to stay.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
It took time, but she gave in. Seeing the sense of what he’d outlined. Two men, a covert attack, no fuss, no muss. Kill Rivera, grab Martinez, and they’d be away before they knew what’d hit them.
“We have to use knives,” he murmured, running through the weapons and equipment they’d need to get them through, “No noise. We don’t have suppressed weapons, so it has to be cold steel. Handguns for backup, that’ll have to be enough.”
“I have a knife,” Manuel said, “When I got the supplies from the house, I managed to retrieve it at the same time. I thought it might come in handy.”
He rummaged in the case they understood carried just medical supplies and produced the blade. A huge, heavy, oversized Bowie knife. He gave it to Clarence’s eager hands. “This should do nicely.”
“I also got this.”
He delved into the case again and produced a well-worn bladed weapon, his face wearing an expression of pride. “It’s a tomahawk.”
“I guessed.”
“Not just any tomahawk, this one has history. It belonged to a local Indian chief, until my great granddaddy killed him during a battle. He was fighting for Pancho Villa during the Mexican Revolution, what they called the Civil War. This Indian chief jumped him with the tomahawk, and he almost had him. He always said it was a lucky tomahawk.”
“What happened to the chief?”
“My granddaddy killed him with one shot from his Colt .45.”
“So it wasn’t so lucky for the chief.”
“I believe he tripped.”
“Some trip. But thanks, I promise you if I get close enough, I’ll make sure to bury it in Rivera’s brain.”
He said a brief farewell to Eva, ignoring her request to go along. “You have to stay here. It’s a two-man job.”
“Kaz, you’re not up to it. You were unconscious for two days. You need more time to recover.”
“And how many more people does Rivera kill while I’m lying around doing nothing? How many more bloodbaths does Martinez order to keep his empire afloat? It has to be now. It can’t wait, not any longer. We have to go. It’s almost dark, and we need to get there and take a good look around. Find the best way in and the best way out. It’s called recon.”
Juanita had given them an idea of what they’d face when they got there, and he was confident they could pull it off. Catch Martinez unawares while he was outside of his fortified mansion, enjoying himself with the girls in the brothel. He kissed her a final goodbye, and she held onto him.
“Come back soon, and stay safe, Kaz.”
Clarence was waiting in the VW, the engine running, and smoke pouring out from the tailpipe. He shook hands with Manuel. “Are you sure this thing will make it there and back.”
“The guy who lent it to me said it’d never let him down.”
“He’s a farmer?”
“No, a used car dealer.”
“So we can rely on his word.” He grimaced, “Not that it makes any difference. Either it’ll make it, or it won’t.”
He shook hands with Curtis. Eva kissed him on the cheek and wished them both luck, and he climbed into the car. Clarence drove away, and he watched the sparse Mexican countryside slide past. The region of Samalayuca was a national park, but he didn’t see much to entice any visitors. Just endless scrub, sand, and when they passed clusters of dwellings, they looked like Brazilian favelas. Fragile shacks built from scrap timber with plastic tarpaulins on the roofs to keep the rain out. In some cases, the inhabitants were sitting outside the front, watching the world go by. As if they lived their lives without hope, an existence of quiet despair.
It was dark when they drove into Guadalez. Anonymous, unnoticed in the shabby, misfiring car. Clarence drove past the brothel just off the main street and parked two streets away. They climbed out and stood in the shadows, watching.
He looked at Clarence. “We should take a look around while they’re busy doing what they’re doing in there.”
He nodded. “Let’s go.”
They were about to step out when headlamps lit up the street. They stood back as a white Jaguar sports car roared past, picking up speed as it headed out of town. When it had gone, they walked toward their destination, invisible in the darkness, tripping over abandoned garbage in the rank and s
tinking street. Ahead of them, the brothel loomed. Large, well lit inside, and with the sound of Mariachi music playing on the first floor. Men shouted, but they were shouts of enjoyment, probably at the expense of the girls.
They were at the side, and he nodded toward the rear, which was in darkness. “Let’s go.”
* * *
Diego Rivera sat listening to Martinez assigning his men to their posts. He wasn’t interested and didn’t see the point of standing around when there were people to kill. He took out his Beretta .22 and absently checked the magazine, sliding it out and back into the butt of the gun. He noticed several men gave him nervous glances when the gun came out, but he ignored them.
“Diego, my friend, I want you to watch the rear and keep your eyes peeled for strangers. You have your phone? If you see anything, don’t do any shooting. Call me first. Got that?”
“Si, Jefe.”
“You’re sure?”
“I said so, didn’t I?” Diego turned away and laid out two more lines of coke. His head hurt, and he felt exhausted. The coke helped, although not as much as usual, and he snorted two more lines. He turned back to Martinez, who was waiting for him to pay attention.
“You all know what to do?”
They nodded, men murmured their understanding, and they left the room to go to their assigned posts. Picking up their assault rifles and MAC10s on the way, they each took a window, so no one could approach without being seen. Diego was still standing in the room, staring into space, and Martinez stepped forward to join him.
“What are you waiting for? You said you know what to do.”
He nodded his head in agreement. “I know.”
“This is a difficult time, my friend, but it will end soon. When we find him, you can kill this Lewes Sheriff, and we can get things back to normal. You and me, Diego, are on the way to building the biggest narcotics business in the whole of South America. Something to be proud of, yes? We’ll be rich, rich beyond our wildest dreams.”
“You are already rich, Paco. As for me, I have everything I need.”