Birds of a Feather (20 page)

Lily stared at the door and heard the padlock click shut.
A promise to bring little froggy home?
Only Marcie calls me froggy …

Then it hit her and her body trembled as fear and hope washed over her at the same time.

That was the Uncle Jack that Marcie told me about!

She crawled over to the door and sat, wrapping her arms around her knees and trying to stifle her sobs as she listened, hoping to hear more of Jack's voice. When it sounded like he had left, she crawled back to the bottle of water and drank.

When Jack and the men returned to the kitchen, El Pero was about to hang the key back on the rack, but before he could, something outside the window caught his eye. He swore in Spanish and ran outside.

“He saw the iguana again,” explained Big Al, shaking his head while pointing out the window to a big lizard clinging to the trunk of the tree. “It has become a matter of pride for him. Any of the other men here could easily kill it in a single shot … even if they were drunk. Unfortunately, El Pero has not had their training. He thinks the iguana knows this and is laughing at him.”

Jack watched as El Pero ran to his SUV and retrieved an H&R .32-calibre, six-shot, long-barrelled revolver from the glove box.

“He has replaced his pistol with a new gun,” observed Big Al. “Before his gun had a shorter barrel. Maybe now his aim will be better.”

El Pero rested the barrel on one arm and aimed, before firing two shots at the iguana. Neither shot came close enough for the iguana to even flinch.

“No, he is still a terrible shot,” muttered Big Al.

“Is there a danger someone might hear the shots?” asked Jack, concerned Adams or Rubalcava would hear the shots and come barraging in to try and rescue him.

“No,” replied Big Al. “The men often target-practise out here. The only people who could hear are security men.”

“I haven't even seen any security,” said Jack, “other than these two,” he said, with a nod toward the two mercenaries.

“Oh, there at many others out there,” Big Al assured him. “And much better shots than El Pero,” he added, “who will be lucky if he does not shoot himself in his foot.”

As if to emphasize the point, El Pero fired two more shots and the iguana safely crawled higher into the tree, more perhaps, to escape El Pero's string of profanity than from the bullets.

“This has gone on long enough,” said Big Al, sounding frustrated. “I will demonstrate to you that we do have security. Step outside and you will see something.”

With that comment, Big Al made a brief telephone call while Jack went outside and watched as El Pero fired another errant shot up into the tree.

The iguana was barely visible, as it had sought refuge amongst some leafy branches. A second later, the sound of a single rifle retort from off in the distance was followed by the iguana tumbling to the ground with the top of its head missing.

Jack looked from where the shot came and could barely make out two figures near an SUV on a far hill. He turned back toward the house and saw Big Al standing on the porch smiling at him.

“Your example of security has been well illustrated,” said Jack, respectfully. “You have a hell of a good sharpshooter out there.”

“There are many such men out there,” replied Big Al, with a wave of his hands toward the surrounding hills. “Now, unfortunately we must go,” he added. “There is a delivery being made soon and some more men will be arriving to look after it. I was told you must not be here then.”

“I understand. Besides, I do not want to be late to call Damien.”

“Okay, we — excuse me.” Big Al stopped to answer his cellphone. When he did, he smiled at Jack and held up two fingers. “Wait here, I will be right back,” he said, before stepping back inside the house to continue his call.

There was something about Big Al's smile Jack didn't feel comfortable about.
Were Adams and Rubalcava in the area? Did they hear the gunfire and think I need help?

Jack walked over and pretended to look at the dead iguana. In reality he was considering grabbing the revolver from El Pero if Adams responded to the gunfire. As he kicked the iguana carcass with his foot, he glanced around. The lone SUV parked on the far hill remained where it was. There did not appear to be any reason for alarm.
Good, considering El Pero only has one bullet left in his revolver …

Jack glanced at El Pero, who cursed some more and shook his fist in the direction of the sharpshooter. When El Pero turned to face him, Jack shook his head in apparent sympathy while looking at the hills around them.
Good, no sign of any rescue attempt …

Jack turned back toward the house as the sound of footsteps clumped across the porch. It was Big Al, Sanchez, Berto, Eduardo, and the two mercenaries … who were both aiming their M-16A2 automatic rifles at him.

Jack stared silently at Big Al who walked up to face him. “I have some news that concerns you,” said Big Al, practically spitting the words out.

“Concerns me?” said Jack innocently. He knew he couldn't successfully disarm these men and it was up to his wits and his tongue to get him out of the situation.

“Yes,” replied Big Al. “My men in Canada have spoken with Señor Damien.”

Oh, fuck … I'm dead …

“Señor Damien says you are a very dangerous man, Corporal Jack Taggart,” continued Big Al. “He says we should kill you immediately.”

Jack was only partially aware that one of the mercenaries had moved in behind him. He did see Big Al look past him toward the mercenary and give a slight nod of permission.

Jack started to turn around as the mercenary raised his weapon, but he was much too late.

Big Al stepped back as a spray of blood splattered his shirt as Jack's bloody body collapsed to the ground.

Adams half-slid and half-climbed down the tower, cursing openly at Jack and the risks he took.

“What happened?” Rubalcava yelled up to him. “What did you see?”

“They got 'im,” replied Adams tears of rage filling his eyes while he continued to climb down. “A fucking sniper took him out!”

“Are you sure? Did you see —”

“That fucking asshole,” cried Adams. “I told him he was taking a big risk. Did the fucking hillbilly cop listen to me? Fuck no! Now I gotta go in there and probably get fucking killed, too.”

“Did you see Jack fall? Are you sure he's dead?”

“I didn't see Jack, but I saw the fucking snipers congratulating each other,” replied Adams, gesturing toward where the tan SUV was parked. He expected the SUV would be driving to the kill scene, but it was still parked. He stared at it, then used his binoculars again.

“What is it?” asked Rubalcava.

“They haven't moved,” replied Adams. “The snipers in the SUV are still parked in the same spot.”

“If they had killed Jack, wouldn't they be driving over to look?”

“You would think so … unless they are waiting to see who else shows up.”

“Or fired their weapons as a test to see if someone would respond.”

“Maybe.”

“Or perhaps were only target-practising at a tin can or something.”

“Christ,” muttered Adams. “I better climb back up and wait.”

Inside the laundry room at Casa Blanca, Big Al looked down at Jack's naked body where he lay sprawled on his back with his head caked in blood and sand. Big Al then spit on him, before nudging him in the stomach with his foot.

“Wake up, you piece of shit!” yelled Big Al.

Jack emitted a low moan and pink bubbles of froth foamed from his mouth.

Jack heard Big Al's words as though they were spoken down a long tube. He opened his eyes and saw blurred images of men standing over him.
What happened? I was looking at the iguana … what happened?

Typical of concussions, Jack was suffering from retrograde amnesia and had momentarily lost his memory from the time he had walked over to look at the dead iguana.

“Good, you are still alive,” said Big Al, leering down at him. “Although you will discover that being alive will be most unfortunate for you,” he added, kicking Jack hard in the stomach.

Jack tried to roll away, but discovered his hands were handcuffed together with one cuff having been slipped behind the lead pipe below the sink in the laundry room. His vision was clouded and what he did see appeared in multiple images. Pain wracked his skull and nausea took over.
What the hell happened?

The rifle butt he had received to his head had done more than split open his scalp. He had also bitten his tongue. He tried to spit the blood out of his mouth, but only succeeded in having it run down his chin.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked, slurring his words like he was drunk. “Why do you have me like this?”

“Why are we doing this?” roared Big Al. “Why the fuck do you think we dragged you in here?”

I don't know, but I'm pretty sure it's not to enjoy myself …

An image came closer to him and he tried to focus. It was El Pero holding an electric cattle prod. The reason Jack was naked was about to be made painfully clear. He automatically tried to move back, but any movement he had was limited to the short distance his hands could move along the straight piece of pipe between the base of the sink and a wide strip of metal holding the pipe in place halfway up from the floor.

Upon contact with the cattle prod, Jack lurched up and backwards on the heels of his feet, hitting his head on the bottom of the sink. His scrotum felt like it had been whacked with a club barbed with needles. He gagged a couple of times before vomiting and slipping back into unconsciousness.

Moments later, he was awakened to the taste of bleach being poured on his face. The closet sized room was like an oven in the heat and one of Big Al's men used the bleach to dilute the gagging smell of the vomit.

Big Al leaned forward and said, “I think Señor Damien must be a pussy cat. You do not look very dangerous to me.” He gave a hearty laugh and looked at his men who respectfully laughed in response.

Damien …
Jack's memory of the event leading up to being clubbed with a rifle butt came back to him.
Never did like that guy …

“Now … I have some good news for you,” continued Big Al. “Unfortunately, I also have some bad news. The good news is I am going to go bring a doctor back to look after you.” He paused and stared at Jack for a response.

Jack blinked his eyes, trying to bring the room into focus as he looked up at the ceiling. His thoughts were becoming less muddled, despite fighting waves of nausea.

“The bad news,” continued Big Al, “is that the doctor will only be used to keep you alive and awake while you are tortured.”

“Small minds do petty and inhumane things,” sputtered Jack as a fresh supply of blood trickled down his face from hitting his head on the sink.

“The torture is not without purpose,” replied Big Al. “Besides finding out what you know, it will also be a warning to others who try to interfere with our livelihood.”

“It will only make other police officers more angry and vengeful,” replied Jack. “They will come for you.”

“Yes … we have learned that men are often willing to take risks and even sacrifice themselves for a cause. Perhaps you are like one of these men. A man who will endure a lot of pain … before telling us what we wish to know. But you will tell us … that I can assure you. Everyone does.”

“I will save you the trouble. It is hardly a secret why I am here. I'm a cop from Canada looking for a missing Canadian girl. I fooled Slater into thinking I was a gangster. I received permission to go to El Paso to conduct inquiries because that was where she was last known to be. I did not have permission to enter Mexico, but thought I could sneak across the border for a couple of hours in the hope of figuring out where this place is. Then I was going to go back to the Americans and ask for their help to rescue the girl.”

“I figured you came here without permission,” replied Big Al. “Otherwise I would have been notified.”

“That is why I came alone,” replied Jack.

“Where is your partner?”

“My partner is on holidays, so I have been working alone. That is why Slater has never met anyone else but me.”

“Perhaps you did come alone … or perhaps you didn't. We took precautions to make sure we were not being followed, but even if someone did slip through our net, you should know that my men have arranged a welcoming committee. If anyone comes close to Casa Blanca, they will either be killed or join you in this room. So do not hold out any hope of rescue.”

“I have no hope of rescue because nobody knows I am here. So now that I have told you everything,” said Jack bitterly, “kill me and get it over with.”

“Everything? I think not. We have many questions to ask you. Perhaps Señor Damien will also have questions he would like asked. Now that you have introduced us, the possibility does exist that we will go into business with him. I should thank you for that!”

Jack felt too sickened to reply.

“As a matter of fact, I am sure Señor Damien will find this interesting,” said Big Al, taking out his cellphone to take a picture. “Say cheese.”

Jack momentarily wondered if he shouldn't say something glib, or perhaps flip his middle finger up for the picture … but instead he hung his head.
I'm not some tough guy in a movie … I'm just me … and I'm so scared I feel numb.

“We need more information than the reason you came here, if we are to convince others from becoming martyrs.”

“Something more?” asked Jack.

“Some men are willing to die for what they believe in … but are they also willing to sacrifice their families? Mother and father, brothers and sisters … perhaps a wife and children?”

Jack tried unsuccessfully to hide the sheer terror he felt.

“Ah, I see that last comment got a reaction.”

“I will not tell you a thing,” replied Jack, adamantly, as he resolved to replace his fear with determination.

“Yes, yes. I know what you think. Many have made the same promise. I have not had one man yet who kept it. I will tell you how it will work. First we will start off slow. Perhaps it will take seconds, perhaps minutes … perhaps hours … but the pain will cause you to talk about people you think we already know about, or could easily find out about. Organizational structures. People you work with. You will eventually start to talk.”

“What makes you think I will tell the truth?”

Big Al smiled as though talking down to a child. “My men in Canada will easily verify what you tell us. Lies will be punished by more people being killed. Once you do start to talk, it will become easier for you. Next you will give us the names of the family members of the people you work with. Soon, other names and addresses will cross your lips. Your wife's name … your children. You know,” added Big Al, looking reflective, “I think that is when you truly become dead inside.”

“I am not married and do not have children,” replied Jack. “You will be wasting your time. Names of my colleagues can be found out easily by calling the office.”

“When you are dead, we will dump your body in the trunk of a car and park it on the Bridge of the Americas. We will let the Americans deliver you to Canada. I am certain there will be much publicity. If you do have a wife and family, I am sure there will be a big funeral they will attend. My men will be there, as well.” Big Al's tone turned to admonishment when he added, “Did you not hear me when I said more people will die if you lie to me?”

Jack looked around the room. Depression seeped through his brain like it was acid and for the first time, genuine thoughts of how he could commit suicide crossed his mind. His brain began to swim in a fog of nausea and he willed himself to wake up from what he hoped was a nightmare.

“Nothing to say, Corporal Taggart?” asked Big Al. “Don't worry, I am sure you will have lots to say when I return with a doctor. Then, as you say, it will be time to let the games begin.

Jack's only response was to retch again before slipping into the abyss of unconsciousness.