A mattress rested on the floor in the opposite corner. Sean could see bloodstains on that, too—just like the rope. No illusions about how they got there, or how up close and personal he would soon be with those very stains. He'd leave a few of his own before the night was through, no doubt.
But Jesse would get away. He'd find the SIG where Sean had stuck it under the sheet before letting Paco's men in the room, and he'd know what it meant. He'd know to take his chance. Make his run for the border. North, south ... it didn't matter, so long as he got himself gone.
Sean went back to working his watchband back and forth under the frayed spot on the rope.
* * * *
They weren't expecting him—that much was clear. Jesse was almost disappointed. To be underestimated that badly ... his rep must've been in worse shape than he thought.
The farmhouse sat just where Manny'd said to look, down a nameless dirty road off Route 101. He parked the truck on the side of the highway, got out and hiked in, trying to keep from breathing too deeply of the damp, scorched-smelling air. The hillside looked like just so much charcoal even by the sliver of waning moon that hung low in the sky.
He went in low and quiet, the SIG tucked into the back of his jeans. The Escalade sat next to the farmhouse like a fat, poisonous beetle. He thought about slashing the tires, then decided against it. He might have use for it later.
He crouched at a window and peeked over the sill. The pane was cracked and filthy, but he could see well enough to note two men playing cards at a small, round table. In the center of the table sat a pile of cash. The kerosene lamp in the corner threw long shadows on the walls.
He moved around the house to what used to be the back porch and was now a rotted death trap waiting to happen. He crouched lower, practically crawling to the far southern corner of the building, where the windows were empty of glass entirely. He heard voices.
"Listen, faggot. You eat this. Paco says we're supposed to keep you healthy."
"Paco pay you big money to baby-sit, dude? You gonna read me a bedtime story?” Sean's voice, loud and clear.
Jesse grinned big ‘til he heard the sound of a fist hitting solid flesh, followed instantly by a painful grunt, heavy footsteps, and the slamming of a door. Motherfuck. Asshole was gonna die for that. Slow, if Jesse had the time to make it happen that way. Which was unlikely.
He stretched up a few inches and peered in through the window, catching sight of Sean tied to a chair in the center of the room, barely visible in the dark. His head hung low, and Jesse could hear his breathing—shallow and raspy, like it hurt.
Yeah. Asshole was gonna die bloody.
Headlights splashed over the side of the house, followed by the rumble of another vehicle approaching.
Paco. Had to be.
Jesse's fingers itched, wanting to grab the SIG and take the bastard out as he left the protection of his car. But so long as Paco's men were only a few feet away from Sean, and Sean was incapacitated...
He heard Paco enter the house. Listened to muffled conversation from the other room. And then the door slammed open, and there was the man himself—all five-foot-three of him—dressed in a dark, expensive-looking suit and shoes far too shiny for his present location. Two bodyguards stood behind him, one of them carrying the kerosene lamp. Paco had an unlit cigar in his hand and a shit-eating grin on his face. The itch in Jesse's fingers deepened.
"Sean! You crazy bastard, how are you?"
Jesse watched Paco cross the room and take Sean's chin in his hand. He leaned over him, pushing his face into Sean's, and Jesse knew he was kissing the kid. He ground his teeth together and forced himself to hold still.
Paco pulled away, smacking his lips. Then he lifted his hand and landed a ringing slap across Sean's jaw. Jesse saw Sean's head fly back at the blow.
"That's for getting mixed up with that chingón, Bonham. Nutty son of a bitch wants to kill me, you believe that?"
Sean said nothing. Good boy. Smart boy.
Paco turned to the two bulky shadows near the door and gestured with the still-unlit cigar. “Leave us alone, boys. And leave the lamp. I like to see what I'm doing."
The bodyguards did as they were told, setting the lamp in the corner of the room before they went. That made five men in the other room, plus Paco, against Jesse and Sean, who was unarmed and tied to a chair. Crappy odds.
Paco was talking again. “You been a bad boy, Sean-baby. Running off with that Bonham shit—that's bad. You let him fuck you? Huh?” He grabbed a handful of Sean's hair and yanked sideways. “You let him fuck your mouth? Your ass?” He slapped Sean on the other side of his face. “I guess maybe I'll have to punish you, huh? Guess maybe we'll have to see about making you sorry.” He leaned in and kissed Sean again.
Jesse rose to a standing position, stepped back maybe ten feet, and ran straight for the window. He dove headfirst through the frame, hearing the wooden slats meant to hold the nonexistent glass break around him as he cleared the sill. He landed in a roll and was up on his feet before Paco could react.
He pointed the SIG at Paco's face and smiled. “Let go of him. Keep your hands where I can see ‘em and your back to the wall."
Paco froze just an instant. Then he moved, quick and slippery, around Sean's chair to stand behind him. “Bonham, what a surprise. I have men looking all over Nevada for you. Never thought you'd be stupid enough to come back here. So glad to see I was wrong.” He reached into the pocket of his suit jacket, pulled out a gold lighter, and flicked it open. “I assume you don't mind if I smoke."
The door opened with a bang, allowing one of the bodyguards to enter. Jesse kept his gun trained on Paco, just ten feet in front of him, and said, “Tell him to stand down, Sanchez, or I'll take your left knee and your right nut, in that order."
"You'll die before you get a single round off, chico.” Paco lit the cigar and puffed a ring of smoke into the already rank air of the room.
"Oh,” Jesse said, “we're all gonna die. Take that on faith, Sanchez. Nobody walks outta here alive tonight.” He hadn't looked directly at Sean yet, needing to keep his focus on Paco, but he glanced at the younger man now and saw his eyes widen. Trust me, kid. One last time.
The bodyguard took this opportunity to speak up. “Don't worry, boss. I got this faggot. He makes a move, he's dead before he hits the floor."
Sean laughed. The sound was sharp, like the bark of an angry dog. As he drew in breath to speak, Jesse tightened his grip on the SIG, because this was the moment. The few seconds when everything counted. He could feel it, like the slow beat of good music thumping through his blood, getting faster and louder as it approached the climax of the piece. Almost like sex, but with more guts dripping off the walls in the afterglow.
Sean was looking at the bodyguard. When he spoke, his voice was even and deep and sort of thoughtful, like he'd given real consideration to the question at hand. “Tell me, asswipe—if I'm a faggot, and he's a faggot, what does that make Paco?"
The bodyguard shot a look at Sean, then at Paco, and opened his mouth to answer. Nothing came out but a grunt that sounded more confused than angry. The gun in the man's hand dropped a fraction of an inch as he plainly struggled to hold up his end of the conversation.
Jesse glanced away from him just in time to see the piece of rope binding Sean's wrist to the arm of the chair fall away. Sean reached up and snatched Paco's cigar from his hand, swung his long arm down and around the back of the chair, and pushed the lit tip into Paco's groin.
Paco screamed. Sean threw himself sideways, taking the chair with him. He hit the floor with a crash. Jesse started shooting.
He took out the bodyguard first, who'd never seemed to recover from Sean's question. Two rounds to the temple. He went down hard against the door, just as someone hit that same door from the other side. Men shouted in Spanish and English, a noise as loud as the gunshot that put a bullet in Paco's left knee, just like Jesse'd promised. The little man screamed a second time and writhed on the floo
r a few feet from where Sean lay, struggling with the ropes that bound him to the chair.
Jesse put four bullets through the door and heard a shout of pain and another crash. Two down, three to go, not counting Paco. The remaining men returned his fire, apparently forgetting their boss was in the room. Lucky for Paco, he wouldn't be standing upright anytime soon. Jesse rolled to the right, crouched over Paco and stuck the muzzle of the SIG in his ear.
"Tell ‘em to back off, Paco, or you die."
Paco grinned up at him, his face a mask of twisted agony. “You said we all die, Bonham. I'll hold you to that, chingón.” He lifted his hand from the floor, near the pocket of his jacket. In it he held small pistol. A .22 by the look of it. Hardly enough to swat a mosquito—except up close like this, where it would take out Jesse's eye and bounce around in his brain a while before making him dead.
And that would be fine, but if he and Paco killed each other now, there was no way Sean would get out of here alive.
He pressed the SIG deeper into Paco's ear.
Paco cocked the .22 and held it, trembling, in Jesse's face.
Stalemate.
The door opened, pushing the dead bodyguard out of the way. The three remaining men charged in and froze when they saw Jesse and Paco, looking like big, stupid statues in the middle of the room.
"They shoot and it's over, Paco. You tell ‘em to back off and maybe you live. I need you to get the kid outta here alive and in one piece. You do that, you can have me."
Sweat glistened on the little man's face. His lip curled as he looked at Jesse and said, “Man, he's some fine ass, ain't he? Tight, every time. And those noises he makes when you ram him just right—music, baby. You got good taste, Bonham, I'll give you that."
Jesse dug in with the muzzle of the SIG and had the satisfaction of seeing Paco wince. “We got a deal or not, Sanchez? Sean goes free, everybody left alive gets to keep on living—except me."
Sanchez smiled. “You got yourself a deal."
Sean made a noise then. Something like a sigh. Jesse almost didn't catch it, but he looked and saw how the kid had managed to free himself from the chair and was reaching for something shiny on the floor near Paco's feet. Then Sean rolled in the direction of the corner, and when he came up again to kneel with his back to the wall, he held an aerosol can in one hand, and Paco's shiny gold lighter in the other. He pointed the can at Paco's legs, maybe five feet from where he was kneeling.
Jesse yanked the gun out of Paco's ear and scrambled backwards along the floor. He opened his mouth to yell.
The room exploded.
Chapter Eleven
"You stupid, stupid fuck!"
Jesse shouted it like maybe Sean wasn't sitting two feet away, hanging onto the inside handle of the truck's passenger-side door for dear life and trying not to puke from the pain in his legs and face.
"I'm sorry,” he said for what felt like the millionth time. “You were gonna let them kill you. I couldn't—"
"Shut up. Don't talk to me. You shouldn't even be alive.” Jesse glared at him through the dim light in the cab. “Because you, cowboy, are too stupid to live."
Sean said, “Watch the road, Einstein,” and Jesse swerved to miss oncoming traffic. Sean could hear the fading whoop of sirens—police, fire department, who the hell knew? So long as they weren't coming after Jesse's truck, it didn't matter.
"Where're we going?” It hurt to talk due to the burn across the left side of his jaw. The burns on his legs hurt worse, though. Much worse.
Jesse didn't answer. They blew past a sign that said San Rafael, 2 Miles. Manny and his girlfriend. All right then. So long as Jesse wasn't going to do anything stupid like take him to a hospital where they'd ask a lot of damn questions nobody could answer, it was fine. He could afford to pass out in peace.
The next thing Sean knew, he was being moved from the cab of the truck. He knew this because his legs screamed at him in the voices of a thousand angry demons.
Manny said, “Shit, Jesse, what'd you do to him?"
Sean licked his blistered lips and said, “Didn't do nothin'. My fault. Leave him alone."
Manny laughed. Sean felt the gray coming for him again, trying to drag him down. Before it could get him, he reached out and snagged the sleeve of Jesse's coat. “Don't you leave me here, Jesse. Don't you do that."
"I won't, kid. I'll be here."
"Jesse,” Manny said, “they'll be looking for you. The Chief of fucking Police. You need to get gone, man."
As the gray pulled him under, Sean gripped Jesse's jacket and held on tight. He wouldn't leave. He'd said so, and Jesse hardly ever lied.
Next time he came to, he was in a medium-sized room with striped blue wallpaper, lying on a bed. Manny and a woman he assumed was Manny's girlfriend were wrapping his legs in long, white bandages. The pain was better. Sean kept his eyes to slits and listened to them talk.
"I'm telling you, Jesse, it's not that bad. Mostly second degree, a couple third, but not full-thickness. Probably won't even scar ... except maybe that one on his face."
"I don't care, Manny. He needs a real doctor—"
"You doubting my abilities, amigo? This old army medic was good enough when you got the shit kicked outta you a few months back.” He paused. “Seriously, Jess, all they're gonna do in the ER is slap some Silvadene on him and bandage him up. And ask a lotta fuckin’ questions. I got the meds and the bandages covered. We're good."
Jesse didn't answer for a long time. When he did, his voice was quiet. Shattered, like Sean had never heard it before. “I don't know what to do, Manuel. What do I do?"
Sean watched as Manny stood and laid a hand on Jesse's shoulder. “You go. Head for the border and don't come back ‘til I call you and tell you it's cool."
"That could be a while."
Manny nodded.
Jesse rubbed a soot-blackened hand through his hair and over his face. Sean could see the shadows around his eyes. He looked haunted.
"When he wakes up, tell him ... I dunno. Tell him I'll be back. But tell him...” He paused and wiped at his face again, leaving clean smudges in the black grit across his cheeks. “Tell him he doesn't have to wait. I don't expect that. Don't want it."
Manny nodded again. Jesse stood, shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned over the bed. “Stupid fuck,” he whispered. Sean smiled, and Jesse's eyes got big. “You're awake?"
"Sort of.” Sean's voice snapped like a dry twig in his throat. He coughed and said, “Just for the record, I didn't mean to burn the joint down. Forgot about the kerosene lamp.” He looked hard at Jesse. “What about you? You hurt anywhere?"
Manny appeared over Jesse's shoulder. “He's fine, chico. Can't damage this shit-head. He's indestructible."
Sean smiled again, and his jaw hollered at him to quit it. He didn't listen. “You should go. Put some miles between yourself and the Santa Rosa P.D. before morning."
"Sean, I—"
"It's okay, Jesse. And I'm sorry—"
"You've got nothing to be sorry for, kid. They threatened your brother. That's why you let ‘em in the room. Why you went with ‘em. But after the barbecue number you did on Paco, Bobby's as safe as he's gonna get. It's over."
Sean stared at Jesse. “That's what you think? You think I went with Paco's boys because they said they'd hurt my brother?"
Jesse squinted at him. “Yeah?"
"And you call me a stupid fuck. They threatened you, moron. Said they'd shot out your tires ten miles from the motel and had snipers pinning you down by the side of the road. Said they'd let you go if I went with them."
Jesse's squint turned into a scowl. “And you believed that load of shit? Jesus Christ, Sean—"
"I believed it ‘til we got all the way to Winnemucca, and there was no sign of you. Which is why I'm sorry...” He let his words trail off as a coughing fit overtook him. Son of a bitch, that hurt. “I should've used the SIG and killed all three of ‘em on the spot."
"All right,” Manny said. “Th
at's enough conversation. Jesse, you need to go. Kid, you need to rest."
Sean looked at Manny and said, “Fuck you. I'll rest when I'm ready."
Manny laughed, a big rolling sound that filled the room. “You're right, he really is a pushy bitch."
Jesse smirked. “You mind giving us some privacy?"
"No problem.” Manuel and his girlfriend, who hadn't said a word throughout the exchange, left the room and shut the door behind them.
"I gotta go."
"I know."
"I'll come back, but it might be a while. Maybe months."
"I know that, too."
Jesse glanced away from him, to a spot on the floor. “You should go on and live your life. Find another guy. Somebody with more money, less trouble."
Sean just looked at him.
"I'm not gonna kiss you goodbye. I know how you feel about that kissing shit."
Sean shrugged. “It's a special occasion. I'll make an exception."
When the door closed behind Jesse two minutes later, Sean shut his eyes and listened for the sound of the truck starting up. Then he lay there and stared at the ceiling, and told himself crying was for girls.
Chapter Twelve
Jesse leaned against the wall and waited. Around him, tourists made their separate ways through the Puerto Vallarta airport baggage claim. The general air of the place was happy. Relaxed, but brimming with anticipation of good times in the near future. Jesse stuffed his hands in his pockets and tried not to fidget.
Sean's flight was late. A storm off the Pacific coast, forcing incoming planes to circle the tower. No big deal. Except Jesse wasn't a hundred percent sure Sean was even on the plane. They'd not spoken—not directly—in four months. The ongoing investigation into the murder of Chief of Police Gus Sanchez's nephew made it too dangerous for even a quick conversation, especially after they'd brought Sean in for questioning. But even with the kid's obvious burns, Sanchez couldn't prove he'd been at the farmhouse where they'd found what little was left of Paco.
Phaze Fantasies, Vol. III Page 28