Authors: Derek Blass
“
Well?? What the hell did you tell them?!”
Without looking up Diego said, “I told them where your wife is.”
T W E N T Y-S I X
__________________________________________________
T
yler and the Chief split up shortly after leaving the doctor's house. Tyler was to go finish Shaver off, while the Chief jetted down to Mexico to find Martinez's wife.
It was the middle of an especially dark night as Tyler drove to Shaver's home. He was starting to feel the effects of going nearly two days without sleep. Objects in his periphery startled him. His vision was blurred. Sounds were distorted, distant and haunting. He was having cognitive problems. The steering wheel felt like a writhing snake in his hands.
A computerized, female voice spoke through the speakers of his car, “Turn left in two hundred feet.” Tyler took the left and then followed a long, dark country road for another mile. The headlights of his vehicle were the only source of illumination. They lit a swath in front of him that seemed to promise something menacing around every corner. The female voice spoke to him again, “Your destination is five hundred feet away.”
Tyler brought the vehicle to a stop and shut off the headlights. He grabbed a flashlight out of the center console and checked the clip in his gun to make sure it was loaded. A bitter, fall wind blasted Tyler when he opened the door and stepped out onto the dirt road. He closed the door quietly and stood next to the car as his eyes adjusted to the dark. A solitary dog bark in the distance stole through the still night.
Tyler's breath rose in front of him as he moved toward Shaver's house. When he was about a hundred feet away he could make out the outline of a long, ranch-style house set back from the dirt road. He stopped at the top of the driveway behind a hedge that ran the front length of the home. There were no lights on, either inside or outside of the house. Cloud-obscured beams of light spilled down from the moon and bathed certain areas around Tyler in a milky ash.
He slipped down the driveway until he came to the front door. The screen door slipped open just enough to wriggle his hand in to see if the front door was locked. The doorknob turned and Tyler felt little resistance as the door cracked open. He pulled the screen door back more and winced when it creaked. One foot ventured into the house and then he slid the rest of his body in while slowly closing the screen door.
Pitch black blanketed Tyler. He stood motionless for several minutes, straining to hear any signs of life. There was nothing to give away Shaver's location. To his left, Tyler saw the green glow of a microwave clock. He was in a hallway that seemed to open into a large living room. The faint whir of electronics murmured about ten paces in front of him. Tyler knelt down and felt the floor. Rug, good.
He crept forward while staying crouched. Stop and listen. Creep forward some more. Stop, strain ears to listen. Tyler started to move forward again when he heard a rustle from down a hall to his left. There was nothing more than the rustle and then complete silence. No buzz from a refrigerator. No clock ticking. Nothing but silence and the uncanny feeling that he was moving deeper into a spider's web.
There was just one door at the end of the hall. A faint, yellow light filtered out from it. Tyler hesitantly put one foot in front of the other as he made his way to the room. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and he felt his heart pound. The rough grip on his gun became slippery with sweat. He stopped at the threshold to the room and tried to figure out its layout. A crack in the door provided a limited view.
A bed was pressed into the back corner of the room. There was a window on each wall the bed touched. Moonlight barely made it through to the room, as the pines surrounding the house provided a natural barrier to any light. Tyler could see the figure of a person lying in the bed.
“
Shaver,” he barely whispered. He nudged the door and took two delicate steps into the room. It was clear. Tyler took two more steps to the center of the room. He had infiltrated into Shaver's house undetected. Shaver was laying in front of him, motionless and unknowing. Perfect.
Tyler took his next step but before his foot hit the floor closet doors erupted behind him. He rolled forward and as he spun around he felt something strike his head. He was immediately dazed, struggling to push up off of the ground. A hand clasped around his neck and pinned him to the floor. Tyler felt the muzzle of a gun on his cheekbone.
“
Are you fucking crazy?” a steely voice came from the dark above him. Tyler groaned as he tried to focus his fuzzy vision. “This is
my
house you dumbshit. Just what were you trying to do?
Kill me? Me?
One eye and I still fuck you up.” Tyler's vision started to normalize. He heard the sound of duct tape being pulled from a roll. Tyler struggled but it was too late. Shaver bound his hands and was on his legs next, stopping any attempt at movement. Shaver worked with the meticulous fury of a spider wrapping a newly caught insect. He let out an
argh
as he got up off of Tyler, breathing heavily while hobbling over to a light switch.
“
The Chief sent you on a suicide mission, buddy,” Shaver said as he sat down on the bed. “You see that over there?” he asked, pointing at a group of monitors. “I saw you before you even got to the driveway. Shit, with the microphones I've got planted out there I
heard
you before I could even see you.” Shaver took a second to catch his breath. “The Chief's main assassin. Not much to you, is there?
Shaver rolled over onto his elbow and looked at Tyler. “You know I'm gonna fuck you up badly, yeah? You see me? Missing one fucking eye. A messed-up leg. Countless other injuries that you could call miscellaneous. I'm pissed man! You shits have tried to kill me three times now, once with the doctor and twice with you. And look at me! All fucked up—trying to take advantage of a beat-up old shit! It's about goddamn time the tables are turned!”
Shaver rummaged through Tyler's pockets and grabbed his cell phone. Tyler bounced on his shoulders in an attempt to scoot away. Shaver just laughed as he flipped through the contact list until he reached the entry for the Chief. He pushed the send button and waited as the phone rang. The Chief picked up.
“
You done yet?”
“
No, not quite,” Shaver answered.
“
Well, tickle me silly Shaver. One eye and all and you're still alive, huh?”
“
Just couldn't let it end now,” Shaver answered.
“
You got some hard-on to call and let me know what you've done?”
“
I've got your lackey here, and I figured you'd want to come collect your garbage.”
“
Nahhhh, you can have him.”
“
You hear that buddy? The Chief couldn't give a shit less about you,” he directed at Tyler. “There's one other thing you may care about.”
“
What's that?”
“
It was an interesting find at the doctor's office. By the way, hire some good help Chief. You've got some real incompetence around you.”
“
Would seem that started with you, big man.”
Shaver grimaced. “Anyway, I found this detailed journal at the doctor's office. It was a list of all the people he had killed. When he did it, what method he used and if he was paid to do it. Guess whose name showed up a lot?”
“
Doesn't mean a thing Shaver.”
Shaver let out a hearty laugh. “Sure Chief, doesn't mean a thing. You're chasing for some video that may damage your career, when I've got information here that's going to end your
life
.” The Chief didn't respond. “Listen, I've got to get some rest. I was in the middle of catching up on all that missed sleep when your bitch stumbled into here. You call this phone when you've decided what your priority is.” Shaver hung the phone up and threw it on the bed. He looked at Tyler again.
“
Get some rest my friend. You got hell in front of ya.”
* * * *
Cruz stared down at Diego, who was prostrate in front of him, Martinez and Alfonso. He analyzed Diego's face. Years of struggle, deception and anxiety had battered his face. His speckled gray mustache twitched nervously. His deep-set brown eyes flicked up and down. What a poor man, Cruz thought. Decades of a phantom struggle. The reaper hanging over him all this time waiting to call his favor in. Powerless to resist. Shackled by the past and required to do whatever was asked—even if it meant betraying his own people. Diego's chest heaved as he spewed a plea none of the men listened to.
Cruz glanced at Alfonso. His face was gaunt, slightly yellow looking. Black hair fell over one of his eyes, failing to obscure the hatred lying therein.
“
You fucking sellout!” Alfonso screamed, breaking the ice-thin silence. “How could you do this to us?”
“
Vendido
...” Cruz muttered.
“
Damn right he is a
vendido
. My own father. My hero. Again, how could you do this to us!?
“
I had no choice Alfonso! I was captive.”
“
Fucking excuses,” Martinez growled. “I need to get the hell out of here.”
“
To Mexico?” Cruz asked.
“
Of course,” Martinez answered. “They've got a head start.”
“
Listen, I can still...”
“
Give it up old man,” Alfonso said. Diego's shoulders crumbled under the weight of his son's words.
“
Alfonso, please,
por favor,
my son. I love you so much, please don't leave me like this. We can't leave each other like this! You're all I've ever had!!” Diego threw himself at Alfonso's feet and clawed at the floor.
“
It was
no love,
father! It was
fake
love. You preached a philosophy to me my whole life, a philosophy you
never
practiced! I have no respect left for you, and so no love.”
The exchange made Cruz feel sick. “What did you expect, Diego?” Cruz asked him.
“
Forgiveness! Understanding!”
“
You put my wife in jeopardy!” Martinez exclaimed.
“
I had no choice...” Diego said. He started pounding his hands on the floor. “Give me a chance!!”
“
Of course you had a choice! You had a choice to sacrifice my wife or protect yourself. You chose the path of cowardice, you sellout.”
Alfonso pulled his foot away from his dad's hands. “Can I come with you guys?”
“
Just like that? Like an old towel you can discard me?”
“
All right...we could use another hand,” Martinez answered.
Cruz picked Sandra up in his arms and they all started to walk out of the house. He turned around to look at Diego who was still kneeling on the floor. The two men locked eyes and Cruz felt a wave of remorse. It was almost too much to bear. Traitor or not, he knew Diego for a long time. And the lack of forgiveness from his only son, who clearly meant the universe to Diego, brought tears to his eyes. He turned around and as Martinez closed the front door, a scream and then a bang filled his ears. He turned to go back into the house but Alfonso grabbed his shoulder. Cruz looked at Alfonso's face, which was eerily calm.
“
Dejalo
. Leave him. At least that choice was honorable.”
The harshness of Alfonso's decision left Cruz feeling disconnected. This was not humanity. This was a young man raised in a mercenary environment, where truth was paramount to love and forgiveness. Diego's own methodologies led to the instantaneous abandonment by his son. Martinez called him away from his trance by screaming, “Let's go!” They all hopped into Martinez's vehicle and sped away for Mexico. For battle. To escape.
T W E N T Y-S E V E N
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T
he Chief hauled down the highway with his lights flashing. The sparse number of cars on the road moved to his right and left, opening a black path of tar in front of him. By his calculations, he was already too far on his way when Shaver called him to turn back. Tyler would be dead—that didn't bother him. Shaver wouldn't do anything with the journal by the time the Chief was able to make it back with Martinez's wife. Then he'd negotiate with Martinez for the video and Shaver for the journal. Easy, he thought, to comfort himself while knowing the situation was a lot harder than a couple days ago.
Dawn broke. The Chief had been driving for several hours without stopping. He unzipped his pants and relieved himself into an empty can which he then threw out of the window. Diego told the Chief approximately where Martinez's wife was hiding, and with what person. Raul Santiago Dominguez. He was her brother and a well-known anchor on television, according to the Chief's people. He lived just across the Mexican border.
The Chief saw the border crossing in the orange haze in front of him. “At fucking last.” There was already a line of cars stretching back several hundred feet. He pulled in between two lines of cars and moved forward as drivers of other cars yelled at him and flipped him off. The Chief looked at them and marveled at how stereotypes formed the basis of truth. He passed a lowered, white pickup truck with small wheels and a print of the Lady of Guadalupe plastered on its back window. Another car had an entire circus act packed into it—five people stuffed in the back seat of a sedan. A nicer car had several young, white girls in it, undoubtedly off to some border town to lose all notions of personal and public respect.