The System - A Detroit Story - (21 page)

Milos watched smoke rise from what remained of Sami's body. He lowered the shotgun and walked back to the cottage.

Chapter 39

At the Station

Milos took Sanja into the village, passing the Wolf's Head tavern. He wanted to go inside, have a couple of stiff ones, but not with Sanja. How many pleasant hours had he spent in here? Especially in his younger days. He stopped and looked in the wood framed front window. The bartender saw Milos, put down the towel he wiped glasses with and waved, motioning for Milos to come inside. Milos looked down at Sanja, opened the door and walked in.

"Milos," said the bartender. "I have not seen you in ages. I was going to come out and see you today."

"Why?" Milos felt a sense of dread. Had Rada come here?

 "There was a call for you."

"A call?"

"Yes. From your daughter. She said this was the only place she knew to call and get word to you. She said to tell you she is arriving tomorrow. Twelve o'clock. At the train station."

Milos squeezed Sanja's hand. Over and over again.

*  *

Elena, exhausted from the flights from Detroit to Athens to Tirana fell asleep on the train. The ride from Rinas International went by surprisingly fast. The train slowed and she woke. She gazed out the window. Winter would set in soon. Most of the leaves had fallen and the trees were bare. One thing she noticed after landing in Tirana. The birds were still here, still singing. Elena couldn't remember the last time she listened to birds sing.

The train slowed and Elena jumped to her feet, straining to see the platform from the window. She rushed down the aisle and walked off the car, looked around and saw them, Milos standing with Sanja. Sanja smiled and waved. Elena rushed to them, dropped her bags and held Sanja with her eyes closed for a very long time.

*   *

Two days later in the village, Elena stood in the phone booth holding Sanja's hand and dialed Chris's number. 

No one answered.

THE END

If you liked this book, chances out you'll like the sequel:

Reckoning in Escobara

by 

John Silver

After taking down Vlad Dragovic in Detroit, Ann Peabody quits the DEA and heads to Mexico to investigate and avenge the murder of her brother Jason Peabody, a U.S. Border Patrol agent. The trail leads to Escobara, a suburb of drug cartel controlled Juarez. Peabody becomes a bodyguard and security consultant to Olga Espinosa, the newly elected Mayor of Escobara, and works with Olga and her brother Manuel to rid Escobara of the drug trade and gangs. A certain ex-DPD Inspector Freeman Washington shows up to help Peabody out.

Along with the multiple, horrific drug-related slayings a serial killer is on the loose around Escobara, and he's prolific. Peabody discovers that Jason was killed elsewhere before being found on the Texas-Juarez border. Why? Was he connected to the drug trade, or worse, the serial killer?

…then there's the CIA...

Stand tall with Ann Peabody and Freeman Washington on the vicious streets of Escobara as they build a force to protect the people, unravel the mystery of Jason's murder and uncover the rabid serial killer in RECKONING IN ESCOBARA.

Here's the first chapter:

Chapter 1

Near Escobara, Mexico, Two Years Ago

     The pickup truck pulled off the dirt road, drove across the flat earth then eased down an embankment and out of sight. Jason Peabody put the truck in park and killed the ignition and headlights. He looked at the radio clock display. Juanita put her hand on his leg, moved closer and Jason put his arm around her. They sat motionless, looking at the moonlit desert.     

     "You know I have to get back," said Jason.

     Juanita pressed against him. "So soon?"

     "What do you mean, so soon? It's almost midnight. I have to report in early tomorrow."

     "I bet I can get you to stay." Juanita flipped over and wrapped herself around him, her back pushing against the steering wheel. She was warm, her body heat a haven in the cool desert air. "I'll show you," she said. "Get the blanket. Let's go in the back."

     Jason looked up at Juanita and smiled. He spoke to her in Spanish. "Why do you always do this to me?" He glanced at the clock, then said, "What the hell. Should be an easy shift tomorrow. It's Sunday." Juanita hugged him and he kissed the little bluebird tattoo on her shoulder.

     Jason's Spanish wasn't the best, but he was learning above what was taught at the Border Patrol Academy. An eight-week language training program taught him the basics but was focused on law enforcement tasks and how to solicit information from detainees and illegals. He learned some slang, and he tried to use it, but the words he chose were usually out of context or made no sense. That always made Juanita laugh. 

     She slid off Jason. He grabbed a green army surplus blanket from the rear jump seat, opened the door and stepped out into the night. He took a deep breath and felt the cool desert air fill his lungs. Jason stood for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the dark, then opened the tailgate and spread the blanket. Juanita got out of the truck and Jason helped her into the pickup bed. She laughed and started taking off her top. 

     "It's cold out here," she said. "Hurry up."

     Jason hopped into the bed and slipped on the blanket.

     "What's the matter?" said Juanita. "Do I make you nervous?"

     "Nervous, no. Turned on, yes." He dropped down on his hands and knees and crawled slowly toward Juanita, like a cat. "Here I come."  

     This gave Juanita a little shiver. "Don't do that. It scares me."

     "I'm coming to get you," said Jason.

     Juanita curled up and wrapped her arms around her bare legs. "Don't," she said, her voice rising and falling.

     Jason stopped crawling and cocked his head.

     "Hear that?"

     Juanita looked at him. "No. Quit messing around and come here."

     "Shhh. Listen," said Jason. He stood up and looked toward the embankment.

     They heard a motor and saw headlights over the crest of the hill. Jason and Juanita looked at each other.

     "Who's that?" whispered Juanita.

    "Don't know. Looks like a truck or SUV." Jason put his index finger to his lips. "Quiet."

     A door opened and someone stepped out of the vehicle. The sound carried in the dense air. Jason and Juanita heard a rough, sliding noise, like sandpaper over wood, canvass over metal. Then
clump
- something heavy hitting the ground. They heard it again. And again.

     "What's going on?" said Juanita.

     "Shhh. Get down." 

     Jason and Juanita heard the
shloop
of a metal shovel pitching into dirt and rock, then dirt being thrown and hitting the ground.

     "Stay down," said Jason, motioning with his palms. "I'm going to take a look."

     Juanita clung to him. "No. Stay here with me. Maybe they'll go away."

     "And maybe they won't. I don't want to take any chances. Sounds like only one person, could be a narco. I need to get my gun. And a flashlight."

     "Hurry back," said Juanita. "I'm scared."

     The digging stopped. Jason pulled away from Juanita and slid over the side of the truck, careful not to make any noise. He crouched down, walked to the driver's side door and reached in the window for his Glock G2. He picked up the Glock and felt for the flashlight. Jason pulled out from the open window, turned, and glimpsed the metal shovel blade before it hit the side of his head, a flash originating on a distant horizon then filling his internal field of vision. The taste in his mouth was metallic. He swooned and dropped the flashlight, but still held the Glock in his right hand. 

      The man holding the shovel looked at Juanita.

     She screamed and saw the shovel blade swing again and hit Jason in the back of the head. Jason fell, his eyes lifeless and mouth open. Juanita scrambled down the tailgate and ran into the desert, her bare feet cut from brush and rocks with every stride.

     The man took the Glock from Jason's hand and looked it over. He flipped off the safety, aimed at Juanita and fired. She lurched forward, her eyes bulging from the shock of impact. She fell face forward into the hard-packed earth. The man stood and watched Juanita for a moment, then turned and looked at Jason. He shot Jason in the back and in the side of the head, watching his body bounce slightly with each shot.

     He strolled over to Juanita and dragged her up and over the hill and placed her next to three dead, naked women lying in a half dug shallow grave. Each woman had an X carved into their abdomens. He pulled out a small digital camera and snapped a couple of pictures. He took an extra shot of Juanita and her bluebird tattoo. The flash from the camera cut through the dark like lightning. He buried Juanita last...

…he waited until dark before loading the three dead females in the back of the SUV. The naked bodies were wrapped in blankets bound by gray duct tape. The women looked alike. They could have been cousins, even sisters. That's the way he liked them, the whores, the putas de meirda he attracted. Thin, shapely, good looking, using female charms and the promise of sex to get men to make fools of themselves. Holding their power over them to gain control and take their money.

     Not these bitches. Not so good looking now, the first being dead five days and the last two days. The smell seeped through the blankets. They were whores, evil sluts who deserved death. It gave him immeasurable pleasure carving an X in their stomachs.

     They were so easy to find. Go to any bar or club in Juarez and take your pick. He liked the ones who were haughty and full of themselves. The ones that constantly checked their faces in makeup mirrors. The gold diggers, the aprovechadoras. 

     He dressed well, but not like a flashy narco, more reserved, and got their attention with his casual, confident way. He made eye contact, smiled and they came to him. If they asked him if he was a dealer he always said no. He told them he was a doctor, lawyer, architect, independently wealthy, or that he inherited money. He flashed cash, but subtly. It was best to be modest, but casually mention a car collection, or maybe a yacht on the Gulf and a gated hacienda. Just give them an inkling of wealth and they drool like dogs.

     This little taste of real money unleashed a torrent of interest and questions. He saw it in their faces and personalities. The slightest hint of money and they hung on every word, laughed at every stupid joke. Bitches. Whores. 

     It was easy to get them to leave with him after a couple of drinks. He had a rule if he had doubts about killing them. If they touched him, they died. Some were subtle and deceptively innocent, like holding his hand and squeezing it after he said something. Some were less subtle, touching a foot against his and leaving it there. Some were bold, running a hand up his inner thigh…whores…

     …The man tossed the shovel into his truck and loaded Jason's body in the back of the pickup, covering it with the green blanket. He got in Jason's truck, started it and drove toward the Juarez-El Paso border. A short way from the border, on the western edge near the base of the mountains, the man pulled onto Nadadores Street and stopped at the dead end near the storage yard. He pulled Jason's body from the back of the pickup and placed him next to the cab on the driver's side, leaving the door open. He rifled through Jason's pockets and the pickup cab. He took Jason's Glock, wallet, badge, watch, and an old 1923 Peace silver dollar that was in Jason's pocket. He rubbed the coin between his fingers and took a final glance at Jason. Satisfied it looked like an ambush or robbery, he turned and walked toward Escobara.

Visit
http://johnsilverbooks.com
for details.