"Well, your secret is certainly safe with me," he offered.
"I hope so. I wouldn't want it slipping out."
Was she flirting? He was off his game. It had been a long time since he'd flirted with anyone. Nicky was the last woman he'd engaged with romantically. A few memories flittered in and out of his mind, but only sparse recollections of flirting appeared.
"I don't have any friends and I can't speak to my family. So, I'd say it's safer with me than in Fort Knox."
There was the cliche he was trying to avoid.
"Why do you think I agreed to meet you?" she asked. "My clients are one hundred percent referral only. Will vouched for you. While he didn't give me many details about your situation, he did say you were on your own and trying to keep a low profile." She held up a dismissive hand. "Don't bother telling me your story. I don't want to know. Will said you're good. That means you're good. So, what brings you to Guadalajara to my," she twirled a hand in the air, "fine establishment?"
Dak reached under the table toward his pocket. She shifted cautiously at the suspicious movement.
"Just a picture," he said, and produced an image slightly larger than a business card. He slid the picture across the table and spun it around, then withdrew his hand. "Luis Martinez," he said. "I need to find him."
She looked at the image for all of three seconds. When she lifted her head, she looked aghast.
A tentative chuckle escaped her lungs. "You need to find Luis Martinez? Why? You got a death wish or something?"
"No," Dak said. "I have something for him."
Surprise stretched across her face. Her wide, disbelieving eyes glowered back at him. "You're not a drug dealer. And you're not with the American government. What could you possibly have for Luis?"
"How do you know I'm not a Federale?" Dak joked.
She snorted. "Right."
"You're correct. I'm not a drug dealer. Luis Martinez tried to kill me. He and some of my…coworkers left me for dead in a cave on the other side of the world. I intend to repay that kindness."
The astonishment melted from her expression, replaced by incredulity. "You think you're going to kill Luis Martinez?" She said it as if he was trying to fly a cardboard box to the moon. "If you're a friend of Will, I assume that means you're skilled in some form of combat. Maybe you're ex-military."
He gave no hint of truth to the last.
"The fact is, it doesn't matter." She leaned in close. She didn't need to look over her shoulder. If someone was listening, her newest patron would have cautioned her. "Luis Martinez is the head of security for Giovani Mendoza. You know who he is?"
Dak nodded. "Head of the Dorado Aguila cartel."
"That's right," she confirmed. "And do you know who they are?"
"You don't have to fill me in on the danger," Dak informed. "I know who they are, what they are, and how they deal with enemies. The way they deal with innocents, apparently, isn't much different. I'm here for Luis. He owes a debt and he's going to pay it in blood. If they kill me, so be it." He slumped back, twisting the the tequila glass with forefinger and thumb. His eyes glazed over as he stared at the contents. "Doesn't matter. I'm dead anyway."
A stout man walked through the front door and sauntered over to the bar. His belly protruded over his belt, barely held back by a dirty red T-shirt that was easily one size too small. His jeans bore patches of dust and his cowboy boots should have been replaced years ago. Somehow, he still had money for booze.
The bartender, a skinny young man with a black handlebar mustache, stepped to the counter to serve the newcomer.
Dak watched the exchange for a second and then returned to the conversation. "All I need from you is his location. I can handle the rest."
"You can't. That much I can promise you. But if you're looking to die, who am I to stop you?" She stood up and pushed the picture across the table, stopping near the glass.
He wasn't sure what that meant. Was she going to help him or was that the end of the conversation?"
"So, does that mean you'll help me?"
She took a deep breath. "If you have money, I'll get you whatever you need. Maybe a little more since you apparently think you're a one man-army ready to take on the Mendoza clan."
"I have money," he said.
Her head tilted back. She appraised him with analytical eyes and then lowered her chin. "Be back here tonight. We close at eleven. We'll do business then."
"Thank you," Dak said, pulling the image back under the table and out of sight.
"Don't mention it. To anyone."
He nodded. "Of course."
She turned and started walking back to her office.
"Name's Dak, by the way," he said.
She paused, barely twisted her head toward her left shoulder, and said, "I know." Then she disappeared through the door and into the confines of her office.
Dak looked down at the glass again and raised it. "Well, Carina Perez,” he whispered to himself, “nice to meet you too."
Six
Uruapan
Luis stepped out of the great room on the second floor and onto the veranda. He took a deep breath of the warm, dry air and planted his hands atop the porch's railing. The Mendoza estate sprawled out before him. Trees sporadically popped up along the rolling hills, with a dense forest to the right that hosted a variety of wildlife, including wild game for Mendoza's hunting hobby.
The man prided himself on being an avid hunter and even boasted about his expertise when he hosted parties for his allies. He'd killed an impressive number of animals, but all in a controlled environment with elevated safety measures in place. Luis looked back over his shoulder into the great room at the mounted quarry the cartel's leader had slain over the years.
Luis had no desire to kill animals. He detested the idea. Problematic humans, on the other hand….
Another breath and his frustrations were gone, though a lingering needle still pricked at his brain. Eduardo had been a good soldier. Loyal—at least for a while. Maybe he never really had been. On the outside, the man had played the part perfectly. It caused Luis to wonder how many others might have infiltrated the organization, the organization he was tasked with protecting. If he failed, he knew what would happen.
Eduardo claimed he was protecting the ones he loved most. Luis could identify. It was why he was here, in this situation. In a million years, he never would have guessed he'd return to his familial homeland to work for one of the most dangerous cartels in the country.
Luis detested the situation, but there was no other way.
His parents were stubborn. Owners of a small textile business in Uruapan, they'd been approached for years by the cartels about using their facility as a front for running drugs. The couple always turned them away, despite the growing number of threats.
After the events in Iraq, Luis decided disappearing to Mexico would be the best course of action. There he could drop off the grid and watch over his parents at the same time.
Eventually, Mendoza upped the ante, sending four of his men to burn down the textile shop.
It just so happened Luis was there, working late that night.
The men were armed, but that did little to save them against a seasoned, battle-hardened soldier like Luis, who kept a small arsenal both in his home and at the shop—just in case.
He'd seen the men approaching in their SUV and knew immediately they were there to wreak havoc.
In the end, Luis killed all of them with brutal, tactical efficiency. In the early evening darkness, he loaded each of the bodies into the SUV and drove them to Mendoza's estate, this estate where he now stood watch.
Luis dropped the bodies outside the gate at the bottom of the hill and waited, knowing that cameras were on him at all times. He'd held his hands out wide, unarmed, shouting at the mansion, "Mendoza! I have a gift for you!"
Within minutes, a dozen armed men in trucks arrived at the base of the estate. They surrounded Luis, who still brandished no weapon.
> He thought about the moment, just seven months before, and leaned forward on his elbows and watched the sun setting to the west. Streaks of orange and pink spanned the sky, melting into darker shades as the burning sun descended.
Sounds of nature cut through the air now and then, mostly led by various birds chirping, squawking, and whistling in the forest or the garden below.
"It's a beautiful view, no?" a familiar voice interrupted the peaceful silence. “They call this a tequila sunset. In the old days, the workers would toil late into the day on days like this, when the sky was clear and the air warm. And when they were done, they sipped tequila together as the sun set in the west.”
Luis didn't turn around, instead keeping his gaze on the sprawling garden below, full of roses, neatly trimmed hedges, and a concrete fountain in the center of the square-shaped courtyard. The fountain displayed a sculpted angel holding a dying man with robes draped loosely over him. The figure lay across the angel's lap while the holy creature poured an endless stream of water from a jar in one hand. The water spilled over the dying man, a symbol of healing by the divine.
"Yes," Luis answered in Spanish. "It's gorgeous here." He did his best to hide the disgust oozing out of his soul. This man threatened his parents. It would have leaked over to his sister, who lived here. Luis was grateful his brother had remained in the States. Their parents were American citizens, as were his brother and sister, but when Luis' grandparents passed, no one was left to run the family business. Luis begged his parents not to leave the United States, the country they loved and that had given them so much, but they felt there was no choice.
"Roots," his father said, "are as important as anything else."
Mendoza approached and slapped his hand on Luis' back. The old man was shorter than Luis by an inch. His rotund belly stuck out over his belt, stretching the short-sleeve button-up shirt out so that the fabric at the bottom hung over his feet. His thick black mustache matched half of the thinning hair on his head. The front of his scalp glistened in the dying daylight.
"I remember," Mendoza said, "it was an evening much like this one when we finally met face to face."
Luis nodded, reflecting again on the events of that day.
"You killed four of my men and dropped them at my gate, still bleeding and mangled." Mendoza chuckled.
"Took your men two days to get the interior of that SUV clean."
Another laugh erupted. "Yes," Mendoza concurred. "It was quite the mess."
Luis took a deep breath. "I thought you would have been angrier."
The cartel boss shrugged. "They were good men. The fact that you killed all four of them by yourself told me we needed to make some changes."
"I thought the same," Luis said, forcing a laugh of his own.
When the laughter died, Mendoza took on a serious expression. "I was going to kill you that day," he confessed.
Luis replied with a snort. "You were going to try."
"Perhaps." He paused and looked out at the sunset, taking in its beauty. Even a man so full of evil could enjoy one of the simple, but spectacular pleasures in life. He breathed it in, appreciating every second. Then he turned to his security advisor and leaned on one shoulder. "Did you find out who it was?"
Luis acknowledged with a nod. "Eduardo Diaz."
Shock splashed across Mendoza's face. It was quickly melted by steeled nerves and sheer will. "He was one of my most trusted scouts. I'm not a fool, Luis. You know that."
"I do."
"While I'm not stupid enough to think no one will stab me in the back, Eduardo would have been one of my last guesses."
"Heavy lies the crown," Luis quipped.
"Indeed, my friend."
It always bothered Luis when the man referred to him as a friend. Either he didn't truly understand the meaning of the word, or it was merely a skewed view that had warped over time as he'd callously watched lives disintegrate around him.
Luis shifted his thoughts. "That's why you pay me, no? Perhaps not as much as you should." He offered the older man a wink. Mendoza rewarded him with a low chortle.
"Perhaps not." He turned and looked out over the estate once more. "Where is Eduardo now?"
Luis checked the expensive watch on his wrist. "By now, I'd say six feet under, somewhere on the estate."
"Good." Mendoza exhaled slowly. "You handled the situation with the Guerreros well. You moved quickly on that one, beat them to the press, the authorities, it's made things difficult for them."
"Yes."
"Maybe I should pay you as both security adviser and as public relations." He turned his head and offered a grin. The expression melted away quickly. "It's going to come back against us, you know?"
"I do."
Mendoza went on. "Their business is already suffering setbacks in production and shipping." He chuckled tentatively. "I fear their loss of profits and the increased scrutiny from the locals is going to push them to the brink."
"You're concerned they're going to launch an all-out attack on us." It wasn't a question.
"Yes," Mendoza breathed.
"Your men are far better trained than they were seven months ago, Giovani. They could fight with some of the best in the world now. The Guerreros don't stand a chance if they throw everything they have at us. We will cut them down. This place," he motioned around at the walls and the hills, "is a fortress. The cops won't help them anymore. I say let them come. Once we've wiped them off the face of the earth, we will run the entire region uncontested."
The cartel boss listened quietly, envisioning the battle to come. "There will be bloodshed. Some of it will be from our men."
"You almost sound like you care about them."
Mendoza pouted his lips and shook his head. "I care as I would care for a pet. I love them, sure, but they are expendable."
Luis absorbed the harsh comment. He certainly didn't feel that way about pets. To him, they weren't expendable, which was why he didn't have any. Getting close to someone or something only led to more pain when they were lost.
He shoved aside the moment of softness brought on by his past when he was a better man than now. Being soft in a place like this, in a position such as this, would get a person killed.
"We will lose some men," Luis said flatly. "But we have many. And they're all better than what the Guerreros have. If they come, they'll do it under cover of darkness. I've made all the necessary preparations. We have multiple sensors and cameras across the entire perimeter. There isn't a place they can approach we won't see them."
Mendoza nodded. "Good." He lowered his head in thought. "I knew, the day I met you, that you had guts. Not only that, you had a plan. You offered right there at my gate to be my security advisor and to oversee the training of my men."
"And you held a gun to my head as I made the offer."
"True," Mendoza said with a laugh. "I thought you'd piss your pants." He laughed again.
Luis nodded, not joining the laughter this time. "And that's why you knew I was the right guy for the job. Because I didn't."
"Yes," Mendoza agreed. He looked out toward the horizon again as the final piece of the sun dipped below the mountains. "It certainly is a beautiful sunset," he said.
Seven
Guadalajara
Dak waited until he saw the last customer stumble out of the cantina and into the dim streetlights before he made his move.
He'd been watching the building for the last hour from a bench on the other side of the street. It would have been more comfortable to just find a seat at the bar or his "usual" table, have a drink or two and wait until Carina closed the place, but he wanted to get an idea of what went on outside the bar once the sun went down.
After speaking to her before, he returned to the cheap hotel room he'd rented for cash three blocks away. He took a quick shower and changed clothes, then got ready to go back and reconnect with the intriguing woman.
He'd taken a headcount of the people coming and going, though through the darkene
d windows it was difficult to tell who else might have been in there from previous hours.
Dak was about to get up when he saw Carina appear at the door. She flipped a sign around in the window to say cerrado and then stared across the street at him.
He stood up and strolled over as she held the door open, looking at him with an accusatory glare.
"You want to be a little more conspicuous, gringo?" she asked. "Doesn't at all look like you're staking out the place."
Dak absorbed the jab. "Yeah, well, I thought about coming in for a drink, but the bartender doesn't pour heavy enough for me."
He stopped at the threshold and waited for a second.
She glowered at him. Then her concrete facade broke and she allowed a mischievous smile to crack through her lips. "I like your style," she said with a nod. "Come in. I have something for you."
He stepped through and she locked the door behind, then led him over to the counter where she stopped and ordered two more tequilas from the bartender who was hanging clean mugs over the back bar.
The young man grinned, grabbed a bottle from under the counter, and set it on the surface, then plucked three tumblers from a shelf and arranged them in a row. To call it a bottle would be generous. The pale, golden liquid sloshed around in what looked like an old Hawaiian Punch jug.
"I thought you said two," Dak said, hoping his Spanish hadn't slipped that far in the last few years.
"You think I'm not going to have one too?" the bartender asked with a snicker.
"Homemade, huh?"
The bartender nodded.
"Juan makes excellent tequila," Carina said as the barkeep poured three fingers into each glass.
Dak's eyes widened at the generous pour. "Is this what I had earlier?" he asked.
A smirk and a shake of the head from the bartender gave him his answer.
"This is more like what you would call moonshine back in Tennessee," Carina said. "It's not exactly legal, but no one's going to stop us from making it. The authorities have too many other problems to deal with right now."
The Relic Runner Origin Story Box Set Page 16