by James Samuel
“You would let your own mother die.” James rushed up to Vargas and whipped him with the butt of his gun, knocking him out. “Diego, help me with Vargas before the house collapses. I need him alive.”
James heard only stunted breathing in response.
“Diego?”
He turned and found Diego lying on the floor, his shirt torn, his body armour riddled with bullets. Blood gushed from his wounds. James listened to the symphony of the death rattle. The final moments he’d heard from so many people during his career.
James cradled Diego’s head. “We need to get you to Dr. Silva.”
“No,” said Diego. “No. I’ve killed enough people to know when the end is here.”
“I’ve seen men take this many bullets and live.”
Diego smiled. Blood flowed from his mouth. He coughed to clear the blockage. In that moment, James knew Diego was done for.
“Go. Take Vargas. Let this house be my funeral pyre.”
Diego died before James could reply. James didn’t need a doctor to tell him he’d run out of options. With a trembling hand, he closed his eyes before lying him down on the kitchen floor.
James lingered for a moment as he looked upon his fallen comrade. Loyal to the end and never once had he betrayed the slightest hint of treachery. He grabbed Vargas by the arms and dragged him across the broken glass away from the burning house.
Juliana’s house burned uncontrollably. He could only watch as he dropped Vargas on the front lawn. The soft whimpering of the mother made James wipe a tear from his eye. Not for a beloved piece of real estate but for the man who had sacrificed himself so he could save two others. He didn’t want to imagine his body burning. What the fire was doing to the flesh and those handsome features.
James turned his attention back to Vargas, who had started to stir. A hatred erupted inside him and he kicked him in the testicles.
Vargas coughed and writhed on the ground, holding himself.
“You,” said James from between clenched teeth. “This is your doing.”
Vargas moaned as his leg bled and his testicles screamed in pain.
James gripped him in a headlock from behind and forced him to sit up. Vargas, the man-mountain of the Santa Maria de Guadalupe cartel, had no choice but to confront the consequences of his actions, perhaps for the first time in his life.
“You were willing to sacrifice the woman who gave birth to you, just to get to me. Someone you don’t even know.”
Vargas tried to wrestle himself away from him, but James’ firm grip locked him down.
“You brought all this on yourself. Your mother is homeless. You’ve broken her heart. Although I’m sure you broke her heart years ago with everything you’ve done. What do you have to say for yourself?”
“Fuck you.”
James slammed a sharp elbow into the side of his cheek. He grabbed him before he could even fall. The smoke shrouded the two women from view.
“For once in your life, look at what you’ve done to your family.”
“What do you want from me?”
“You know why we came for you. Quezada kidnapped Jessi Montoya. He wants to marry her.”
“How do you know that?” Vargas spat.
“I know a lot of things. I’m coming for Quezada. For everything he’s done to your country. For all the people he’s killed in cold blood. You’re only the beginning.” James spoke directly into his ear. “I’m coming for your friend Parejo too. I’m going to tear your cartel apart because you don’t know who you’re dealing with.”
Vargas said nothing. All the fight drained out of him.
“You’ve got a lot of money,” James remarked. “A lot of money, I’m sure. When Quezada is gone, a lot of money to take away with you. That could happen if you say the right things. You love your mother, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“What would it do to her if I killed you in front of her?”
Vargas tried to jerk himself away again. “Please… don’t.”
“Then tell me where Jessi Montoya is. She has nothing to do with this business. She’s an innocent woman.”
“I… I don’t –”
James smashed another elbow into his crushed cheek. “Where is she?”
“I can go if I tell you?”
“Yes.”
“In a hacienda. A red hacienda north of Yuriria. Quezada’s cousin owns it. One of his aunts lives there. You won’t have any trouble. We don’t keep it guarded. We knew Montoya would never look there.”
James nodded. He knew Vargas had told the truth. Narcos were not the mafia. They would squeal if they could spot a chance of escape. Either way, his time had elapsed. Soon the authorities would come. He couldn’t be seen here.
“Now can I go?”
“For everything you did for Quezada, yes.” James unsheathed his combat knife from his belt. “For the death of Diego Gutierrez, you still haven’t paid the price.”
James drove the knife into Vargas’ stomach. The narco screamed like he’d never screamed before as nerve endings were cut and flesh torn to pieces. He dragged the knife clean across his stomach, like the Sicilian mafia of old. There he let him die. Not even the greatest doctor in the world could save him now.
“You never saw me,” he warned the two women.
James stalked away from the bleeding Vargas as his mother hurried to cradle her accursed son. He felt no pity for him, or for her. Vargas made his choices and choices came with consequences. Quezada had a lot to answer for.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Guanajuato, Guanajuato, Mexico
A solemn atmosphere descended upon Dr. Silva’s home like a mourner’s veil. Only when James found himself sitting in the courtyard with Sinclair did the magnitude of Diego’s sacrifice dawn on him. He left the chair where Diego liked to sit empty as a memorial.
“I’m sorry for Diego,” said Sinclair. “He was a good man.”
James stubbed out his cigarette and immediately lit another one. “You told me not to trust him. Don’t pretend like you thought much of him.”
Sinclair looked taken aback. “I was only passing on information Gallagher already knew.”
“He was one of the best partners I’ve ever worked with, Sinclair. The times he put himself in the firing line makes him a hero in my mind. I don’t want to hear about Gallagher’s opinion on him.”
Sinclair drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Very well. In any case, did you get the information you needed?”
“I did. Jessi Montoya is in a hacienda north of Yuriria on the lake. One of Quezada’s aunts lives there.”
“Interesting. I wouldn’t have thought they could keep Jessi there without guards. Is the aunt really that formidable?”
James shrugged. “They’ll have some way of keeping her there. Maybe she’s already got Stockholm Syndrome.”
Sinclair smirked at that. Many hostages gave up after a few weeks and became friends with their captors. Sooner or later, they would agree to anything just to avoid any violence. It was how many hostages stayed put for years without end.
“Scope out the place and don’t go out unarmed. You never know what Quezada has up his sleeve.”
“Well, this time I’ll have to do it alone. I’m lacking a partner.”
“No, Gallagher knows about Diego. He passed on his condolences and said some nice words about him. He said you need someone else if you’re going to continue the contract. It was an order, so we don’t have any choice in the matter.”
James frowned. “Who?”
“Blake Miller.”
James slammed his fist on the table. “Is Gallagher playing a joke on me or something?”
“He’s from America. it only makes sense that Gallagher would want to assign him so he could start working as soon as possible. We must capitalise on this momentum before Quezada can reorganise.”
James muttered under his breath and looked away from Sinclair. He detested Blake with all his heart. That brash, high and mighty America
n had been a royal pain in the neck since he joined Blackwind. Nothing was ever good enough and he believed he knew everything. Secretly, James had hoped he would hear the news that Blake had failed a mission for once, just to take him down a peg. It never happened. Blake had always been one of Gallagher’s favourites.
“It doesn’t matter what you think about it, James. It’s happening, so you will need to put your differences aside for the sake of the mission.”
James shook his head in despair. “How many times has he screwed us?”
“I know.” Sinclair sank lower in his chair. “But what can we do? You don’t think I like having him around either, do you?”
He cast his mind back to all the contracts involving Blake. James had saved his ass on more than one occasion. Without him, Blake would be lying at the bottom of Hong Kong’s Victoria Harbour. He’d still had the gall to claim all the credit and pretend like nothing had ever happened.
“Anything for a pat on the head from Gallagher.”
Sinclair threw his hands in the air. “I bet he’s here on some other contract from Gallagher. I don’t trust him in the slightest, but we’re stuck with him.”
James shoved his chair back and quick-marched to his room to let himself cool down. Some people had two faces. Blake had countless. He wondered what secret contract Gallagher had assigned him this time.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Cancun, Quintana Roo, Mexico
Santa Maria de Guadalupe wallowed in disaster. Vargas had taken some of their most effective soldiers and seen them all obliterated. Fernando hated the gringo, he hated his comrades, and he hated Montoya. So many of their best men and most effective brothers wiped out in less than an hour.
Alex looked despondent. Fernando glanced over at him in their little boutique hotel, wondering what he felt. People like them didn’t talk about their feelings. It was a sign of weakness. Fernando wondered if Alex thought the gringo would come for him next.
“Come on, Alex.” Fernando stood from the painted table in the stone courtyard. “We have to carry out Quezada’s orders. We’ll get the gringo. He’s only one man.”
Alex sighed and waved a hand, his cigarette drooping listlessly. “Vargas was a good friend of mine. A real good friend. We met each other in high school.”
“Now’s not the time for that. Let’s take our revenge. Francisco Seco is here on vacation. He won’t have any protection.”
Alex waved another hand. Fernando just looked at him. He’d given in. For the first time, he didn’t look up to Alex as an inspiration. His mentor had become a shadow of his former self. How could a single setback make him submit like this?
“Are you going to do this or not?” asked Fernando.
“I don’t have the mind for it.”
“Then cover me. I’ll do it myself. We know where he’s staying, and we know the bars he’ll be hanging out in.”
Alex shook his head and dragged himself up from the table. Fernando analysed his partner. He wouldn’t be much use to him, but he could do it himself. Quezada would praise him to the heavens after this. Why wouldn’t Quezada make him a lieutenant with Vargas gone and Alex showing such weakness?
Alex joined him in the taxi and kicked the back of the seat. They each had some small arms that they’d managed to bring to the city via a long intercity bus ride. Killing an enemy in Cancun was like killing an enemy in Queretaro: unheard of. But Quezada had made the decision and Fernando would deliver his revenge to the peaceful resort city.
“I want you to know that I’m sorry for Vargas, and I understand this is a major problem for us, but doing nothing is not the answer,” said Fernando.
Alex touched his lips with two fingers as he gazed out of the window. “I know. But I just don’t have the heart for this.”
Fernando tapped the Glock 19 inside his belt. He knew he wouldn’t get Alex in the game at this rate. No, he would push Alex aside and take the glory himself if he had to.
They’d found Francisco staying in a hotel in Downtown Cancun the night before. The box-like array of buildings resembled a child’s playset. Someone had painted them in garish colours and some local artists had tried to give this soulless Mexican Disneyland a personality by painting murals.
The taxi wound its way towards the bus station. A hotel tower, the Hotel Paradise, hid the bus station from view. The Hotel Paradise had hundreds of beds, making it difficult for anyone to keep track of their guests. That gave them the advantage.
“He should be in a bar at this hour.” Fernando checked his phone. “He won’t have altered his routine from yesterday because he thinks he’s untouchable here.”
Eight in the evening meant partygoers descended on the bars. They’d followed Francisco over the last couple of days to gauge his movements. He never deviated from his course. A smug smile on his face as he enjoyed the sunshine and a curvy young woman hanging from his arm.
“You do as I say,” said Fernando to the driver.
“Yes, you explained over the phone. You got the money?”
“Alex?”
Alex took a deep breath and dug into his wallet. As arranged, he handed over crisp, used US dollar bills. A taxi driver in Cancun wouldn’t earn that much in a year, no matter how much they overcharged the tourists. Even though the driver knew their line of work, he hadn’t hesitated to go along with them.
“Stop here,” said Fernando. “I’m going to get in the front. Drive slowly past these bars, understand?”
“Yes, señor.”
The main strip of downtown Cancun boasted various clubs, bars, and restaurants lining both sides of the road. Reggaeton banged out of the speakers at vulgar volumes. Patrons cajoled at the decorated tables in shiny shoes and fake designer sunglasses.
Fernando got into the front of the car and took his gun out from his belt. Alex, in the clutch of his depression, held back.
“Drive slowly. I want to see everyone in every bar, understand? If we don’t see him, you turn around at the end of the street and we drive back the other way. We do this until the job’s done.”
“Anything you say. And afterwards?”
“Just drive away as fast as you can. I’ll tell you where to go.”
The driver nodded as he cruised down the strip. Cancun had become so clogged with traffic that getting up enough speed to do anything but cruise seemed impossible. Fernando rolled the window down and inspected each bar. A narco like Francisco wouldn’t be difficult to spot here.
Their car rolled down the street as Fernando did his best to not attract too much attention. The faces passed like flipping through a high school yearbook. All of them just ordinary people on vacation.
“You see anything?” asked Alex.
“Nothing.”
They turned around and made their way down the other side. Again, Fernando studied the faces but saw nobody resembling Francisco. For the sake of Vargas and the honour of their cartel, he would do this all night if he had to.
“We could be here for hours.” Alex reclined in the backseat. “This is a stupid plan.”
Fernando ignored him as the taxi conducted another couple of patrols up and down the street. Some new faces appeared to him, but none were faces he wanted to see. The more they drove the more Fernando started to doubt himself. Had Francisco already returned to Guanajuato?
“Pull up across the street from the Hotel Paradise. I want to see the doors.”
They left the offensive barrage of Reggaeton behind and stopped outside the Hotel Paradise. One of many new constructions from the boom period of Cancun, the glass and steel tower overwhelmed the skyline. When the sun caught it, the rays glinted off the windows like dying stars. Most of the population couldn’t afford to stay in a place like this, only gringos.
“Now, we wait,” said Fernando. “We know he has to come here sooner or later, then we’ll have him.”
“So you say. We should have killed him during the last two days when we had the chance. All this planning is going to make us lose hi
m. We don’t even know when he’s due to leave Cancun. If that happens, you’ll have to be the one to tell Quezada.”
Fernando ground his teeth together as he shut Alex’s words out of his mind. His gut told him Francisco would be here tonight. He didn’t need facts or logic to tell him he would get his chance.
The taxi driver pulled his cap over his eyes and dozed in his seat as the clock continued to tick. The attire of the guests soon turned from sandals and shorts to smart shirts and elegant shoes. Still, no Francisco.
“Soon,” Fernando said under his breath. “Wake up.” He slapped the driver across the chest. “I think that’s him.”
Alex scrambled across the backseat to look through the window.
There Fernando pointed out a man thick with tattoos and the luxurious accessories of his trade.
“Is it him?” asked Fernando.
“I think so,” Alex replied. “Go.”
The driver wiped the sleep out of his eyes and pulled away from the curb. Francisco lingered at the door with his tart of the day on his arm. The assembled taxi rank kept blocking his view of Francisco.
Fernando held his gun to the side of his face, his eyes never leaving the man he knew could only be Francisco Seco.
As their car approached, Fernando looked down the iron sights and pulled the trigger. He fired multiple shots even when Francisco went down. The unfortunate tart fled. Fernando fired. Her dreams of one day becoming a narco bride shattered in a spray of blood.
The taxi screeched away in triumph. Quezada wasn’t beaten yet.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Yuriria, Guanajuato, Mexico
Blake Miller brought both good and bad to the table. The only thing nice James could think about the man was that he’d brought his own car, an Audi black saloon, a new model driven over from the United States. The journey from Guanajuato passed in near silence. Neither man had anything to say to the other.
“So, we’re looking for a red hacienda north of Yuriria,” said Blake.
“Yes.”
“Did you manage to extract any more details about the hacienda?”