Authors: Chuck Driskell
Gage
noticed that the large man’s mouth wasn’t closed completely.
He could see the man’s swollen tongue.
Ouch.
Gage
walked to the fence, not seeing much going on in the main bay.
Having never made a full revolution of the
concourse, Gage decided to do so, stretching his legs as he tried to walk at a
regular gait despite the throbbing ache radiating from his back and shoulder.
Estimating
that a full revolution of the second-floor terraza was nearly a quarter-of-a-mile,
Gage wondered if anyone ever jogged it for exercise.
Bet
that’d go over big
, he thought.
His
eyes were drawn to a cell not far from his.
As Gage passed, he looked inside, seeing a man holding another to the
wall, his forearm under his neck as he harassed him with slaps to the
face.
A third man was standing outside
of the cell keeping watch, the revolver visible on his neck.
He eyeballed Gage.
Gage
ignored the scene and continued to walk.
Halfway
around the terraza, Gage noticed that every time he passed a Leones gang member,
the Leones would see him coming, as if they were looking for him, and each time
the gang member would nod as if to say, “I know who you are, and I have
respect.”
It
didn’t feel right.
Two-thirds
of the way around, when he glanced down through the wire mesh to the main floor
below, he noticed Cesar, standing in the center of the floor, motioning to
him.
Gage stopped and stared.
Cesar
opened his arms as if he were some long lost friend then, again, he beckoned
Gage.
There
was not a more public place to meet in the entire prison.
And Cesar had told Gage to stay away.
Something, indeed, was very wrong here.
Not
exactly knowing how to react, Gage decided to comply with Cesar’s request.
He descended the two flights of stairs,
crossing the main floor to where Cesar stood, hands on his hips as if he owned
the place.
As Gage approached, the other
prisoners that had been nearby, all marked with Los Leones neck tattoo,
dissipated.
“You
talk to my papa yet?” Cesar barked as Gage approached.
Gage
moved close enough to ensure their conversation would be private.
“No, Cesar.
Today is actually my phone day, but I don’t have a number to call your
father.”
“Yeah,
right.
Well, when you do talk to papa, and
I know you will, you make sure you tell him I’m fine and I don’t
need
his help.”
“I
heard you the first time, Cesar.”
Cesar
thumped his own chest then pointed at Gage.
“But you should know,
cabrón
,
that it’s me protecting you, and not you protecting me.”
“What
do you mean by that?”
“Los
Leones are staying away from you because of me.”
Again he hit himself, slapping his chest as
he snarled, “And only because of me.”
“Really?”
Gage said, making sure his tone was one of boredom.
“By
now they would have turned your asshole into the Vielha Tunnel.
And then, when you could pleasure them no
more, they would kill you in the worst way you could imagine.”
“But
instead, in all your benevolence, you’ve saved me?”
“You
don’t seem very grateful.”
Turning
his eyes, Gage noticed the stares.
All
around him, even on the terraces, he noticed every man with a Leones tattoo
staring at his verbal exchange with Cesar.
Again,
something didn’t feel quite right.
Gage
began to feel the way he always had in the military when he’d been given bad
intelligence, at the moment when all was quiet but, somehow, someway, he knew a
shot was about to ring out from an area that had been pronounced all clear.
It felt exactly like that.
Struggling
to wet his mouth, Gage said, “Well, thank you, Cesar.
I appreciate your intervention.”
He turned and began walking away.
“Que mierda!”
Cesar bellowed.
Gage turned, watching as
the wiry man stalked to where he stood.
“You never walk away from me, or any León, unless told to,
comprende
?”
The
feeling had been crawling in Gage’s direction since he’d first met Cesar.
And now, as he stood toe-to-toe with
Navarro’s only son, Gage knew he’d somehow been had.
The elder Navarro wasn’t in on it, at least
Gage couldn’t see how or why he would have any motivation to incarcerate Gage
and risk his money in the process.
No,
the father’s worry for Cesar was genuine but, for whatever reason, he didn’t
know about Cesar’s “membership” in Los Leones.
Earlier, Gage had recalled the elder Navarro’s words, telling him that
Los Leones were going to torture his son until the end of his sentence, at
which time they would kill him.
Now,
standing inches away from Cesar, Gage read the situation in a completely
different way.
Cesar acted as if he were
in charge.
Los Leones did seem to be
taking orders from him, hence the leeway Gage was now given.
But there had to be more to the situation
than that.
And,
for whatever reason, Cesar was not marked with their tattoo.
Regardless,
such a situation was treacherous and, until he figured out what was going on,
Gage knew he’d be wise to comply.
He dipped
his head a fraction.
“I apologize and I won’t
turn my back on you again.”
Somewhat
mollified, Cesar’s voice was pure arrogance.
“See that you don’t.”
Gage
nodded then waited.
“My
protection ends very soon,
maricón
.
If you were smart enough to come here with an
escape route, I’d suggest you use it.”
Cesar twirled his hand all around the prison.
“Because, whenever I’m tired of you, I will
snap my fingers and laugh as these men eat you alive.”
Cesar
shooed Gage away like he would a pesky gnat.
As
Gage trudged away, it was all he could do not to vomit.
* * *
When
the encounter was over and the American had moved out into the yard, Cesar
walked to the area where El Toro stood, doing business with several
others.
When the others were gone, Cesar
was beckoned over.
“Did
you see the American approach me,
jefe
?”
El
Toro nodded.
“He
will call my father now,” Cesar said.
“I
left him nowhere else to go.”
“You’ve
done very well,” El Toro said, patting Cesar’s face with affection.
Based
on his reaction, a person might have thought Cesar had just won the lottery.
When
Cesar was dismissed, El Toro turned to his top man.
“Watch that American every second of the
day.
He’s hiding that satellite phone
somewhere.”
Chapter Sixteen
Lunch
chow consisted of a watery soup that was imbued with some sort of gamey,
stringy meat, reminding Gage of a possum he’d once eaten during a survival
training block at the Army’s JRTC.
Following lunch, with the aftertaste still coating his mouth, Gage stretched
his body in a corner of the main bay before climbing the stairs and walking to
his cell.
And
that’s where he found trouble.
Standing
in the cell, above Salvador, was a large man with the distinctive tattoo of Los
Leones.
He was probably at least fifty
years old, but in incredible shape for his age.
He had a rounded face with beady brown eyes.
His pants were around his knees and his hands
were gripping Gage’s bunk.
The man was
steadily growling curses at Salvador, who was leaning back on his own bunk,
shaking his head.
The man was thrusting
his erect manhood at Salvador.
It
was a disgusting scene as the man was clearly trying to take something that
Salvador had no interest in providing.
Gage
took two deep breaths and stepped to the threshold.
“What
the hell is this?”
Without
pulling up his pants, the man turned to Gage, his voice a growl.
“Vete a
la mierda, maricón.”
Gage
lurched forward, shoving the vulnerable man against the sink, making him fall
to his knees.
Without taking his eyes
off the intruder, Gage said, “What’s up, Salvador?”
Salvador
kept his eyes down.
“Because you beat me
up, he now considers me one of
los más
débiles
.”
“The
weak?”
“Yes.
But here, that means men who act as women.”
The
muscular León was on his feet now, having pulled up his pants.
Gage watched as he balled his fists.
“Leave
now, before you get hurt,” Gage said, hitching his thumb to the door.
The
León charged Gage.
Knowing
he was in no physical condition for a brawl, Gage sidestepped the onrushing
man, attempting a kick that was largely futile.
Salvador began to come off his bunk but Gage motioned him back.
Uninjured
and huffing loudly, his face and neck splotchy with rage, the León turned and
faced Gage.
Judging by his initial bull
rush, Gage believed he could use the gang member’s aggressiveness against
him.
Gage stood his ground, telling him
to come and get some.
Gage’s
challenge, and the insulting word Gage added to the end, were too much for the León
to bear.
He rushed forward, cocking his
arm for a strike.
Gage waited for it,
ducking when it came, and catching the man in the gut with his own
shoulder.
They struggled there in the
middle of the cell, both men at a disadvantage on the concrete floor with the
thin prison sandals.
A
long grappling match would not favor Gage.
He was weakened due to the stab wounds and knew he wouldn’t be able to
hold out long against the muscular gang member.
Still in a clinch, Gage had the advantage of underhooks, ignoring the
pestering slaps coming from the León who was steadily cursing Gage.
The
two men struggled and turned, and that’s when Gage noticed a group of Los
Leones gathering outside the cell.
They
seemed inclined to watch, but Gage didn’t know what they might do if Gage were
to defeat their fellow León.
Just
then, the man in Gage’s grasp pulled backward, sending a left hook into Gage’s
face as they broke from one another.
Briefly
dazed, Gage was simply too weakened to provide a game fight for the gang
member—unless he could come up with a fight-ending sequence in short order.
Your legs are just fine, Gage.
Use them.
Circling
each other, the muscular, but older and wiser, León must have been aware of
what Gage did to Salvador and his Sementals.
He was being very wary, cursing Gage with every insult in the book as
they prepared for the next sequence in their fight.
When
the León had his back to his fellow gang members at the cell’s entrance, he
called for a
puñal
, holding his hand
backward as if expecting to have it handed to him.
Gage had heard the word
puñal
, but didn’t know exactly what it meant.
He thought it had something to do with a
person’s hands.
He
found out soon enough.
One
of the gang members reached through the doorway, putting a homemade knife, a
shiv, into Gage’s opponent’s outstretched hand.
He grinned maniacally at its feel, his eyes never leaving Gage.
“Attack
now,” Salvador hissed at Gage.
“Don’t
wait.”
It
was good advice.
Using
what strength he had remaining, and remembering his own advice about his
available leg strength, Gage rushed forward into the clench again, using both
of his arms to control the man’s right arm.
The two men grunted and growled.
But
Gage knew that such a close quarter battle would eventually be futile so, still
holding the right arm, he spun to that side and unleashed a powerful knee into
the side of the man’s right thigh.
Such
a strike is known as a lateral femoral assault and, if used correctly, can
completely disable a person’s leg.
The
key is the branching lateral femoral cutaneous nerve that runs down the leg.
It’s more than a pressure point—it’s a motor
point.
If stunned with great enough
force, it will drop a man, as it dropped this León.
He went down on his side, his leg cinched up
as he yelled curses and insults.
Gage
unloaded with a right hand, catching the man in his jaw and watching as he went
briefly limp, his hand releasing the homemade knife.
And
that’s when numerous feet could be seen surrounding the downed León.
Gage kicked the knife away and stepped back
to the sink, his chest heaving as he viewed the assembled members of the Leones
gang.
For
whatever reason, they weren’t on the attack.
Instead, though they eyed Gage with contempt, they lifted their fellow León
and dragged him from the cell.
When the
group had cleared, Gage saw two men standing at the fence of the terraza,
staring at him.
One was the man with the
nose ring, known as El Toro.
He was a
member of Los Leones, and Gage had heard Salvador say he was the most powerful
man in the prison.
Next to El Toro stood
Cesar.
Both men glared at Gage.
“You
see,
puta
,” Cesar said, pointing his
bony finger, “I have saved you again.
Soon, I will let them rape you both, for days, before they gut you.”
Bent
double, hands on his knees, Gage had no response.
Laughing,
the two men shuffled away.
Salvador
stood momentarily before dropping back on his bunk, covering his face with his
hands.
“You saved me,” he muttered, his
voice shaky.
“You saved my life.”
Gage
leaned against the cool bars, catching his breath, trying to make sense of what
was going on.
“I
will never be able to thank you enough,” Salvador said, unsteadily standing and
holding the bars.
Gage
shook his head.
“Do
you hear me?” Salvador asked.
Gage
turned to his cellmate.
“I did what
anyone would do.”
“Not
here,
mi amigo
.
Not here.”
“Maybe
you and your friends can watch my back, too.”
Salvador
nodded, clapping his cellmate on the good side of his back.
Unbeknownst
to either man, the León who had fought with Gage, and the man who provided him
the homemade knife, were mercilessly gang-raped after nightfall.
A week earlier, all Berga members of Los
Leones had been given implicit instructions not to harm the American named
Harris.
The gang rape was their initial
punishment and, according to Los Leones tradition, the two would be on
probation for a period of ninety days.
If
they didn’t please their superiors in every way possible during that period,
they would be marked for death.
Most
members of Berga’s Leones gang felt they were let off too easily.
* * *
His
situation here untenable, Gage decided to make the call on the following
day.
It baffled Gage that a man with
Ernesto Navarro’s power wouldn’t know about his son’s traitorous behavior.
Wouldn’t there be someone here who would
report such matters to Navarro?
Maybe
there had been, Gage thought.
Maybe everyone
with Navarro’s interests in mind had all been eliminated.
And after spending a few days in Berga, Gage
wouldn’t be the least bit surprised.
Once
the yard was open, Gage found Salvador on his bunk, reading.
“Ten minutes of privacy?” Gage asked.
“Sure,”
Salvador replied.
“Need more?”
“No.
That’s all.”
Taking his book with him, Salvador quickly departed.
Gage
unscrewed the bottom of his shaving can, removing the phone and the skin-colored
hands-free device.
Acting as if he were
using the sink, he powered up the AAA battery-powered phone, making certain it
was set to silent.
He quickly learned
that the device had already been programmed for silent-mode only, and that the
light behind the LCD keyboard and display had been disabled.
Dropping
the phone into his right pocket, Gage tried to view himself in the inadequate
mirror.
Deciding that the phone, while
slim, might be noticeable through the thin fabric of his pants, he used a flattened
wad of toilet paper to break up its outline.
Glancing
down and now satisfied that no one could see the phone, Gage exited his cell, walking
downstairs and outside to find a suitable location to call Señor Navarro.
This entire job had been a fool’s errand and
Gage intended to tell Navarro just that.
Cesar seemed quite safe in Berga, unwilling to
accept Gage’s assistance—and was now openly threatening to sic hundreds of men
after Gage’s ass.
Literally.
Navarro
was a businessman and Gage expected to find him relieved, and perhaps
bewildered, at the news of his son’s clout.
Gage would tell the mobster the unvarnished truth and propose that
Navarro’s flunky district attorney, Redon, extract him immediately.
Once Gage was safely out, he would refund
Navarro a prorated portion of the initial payment he had received and everyone
could go about their business.
As
Gage stepped into the warm sunshine of the Spanish afternoon, his warmth was
far outweighed by a temporary visualization of Justina.
The payday for this mission would still be
substantial.
And, if Gage applied
himself, he knew he could probably double what he’d been making before
beginning this job.
That would provide
enough money for him and Justina to live, and would hopefully leave enough left
over to send to Justina’s mother and brother.
Surveying
the prison yard, Gage shook his head over the turn of events.
He was no quitter, but staying here would be
a suicide mission.
“Let’s
set these wheels in motion and go home,” Gage whispered to himself.
He
had no idea of the wheels he would actually set in motion.
* * *
Eating
sunflower seeds one at a time, El Toro sauntered through the main bay.
Working the split hull of a seed to the tip
of his tongue, he spit it out, watching as it separated into two damp pieces,
fluttering to the shiny floor in random patterns.
Standing in the main yard doorway and keeping
the American in sight, he eyed his relay man at the far fence.
As a type of commo-check El Toro scratched
his forehead, watching as the man across the yard repeated the action.
“
Aquí vamos
,” he whispered, shuffling
into the sunlight.
* * *
Since
arriving, Gage had only been out in the yard a few times.
He could see no reason to make a habit of it.
Gage was not one to tempt fate.
He knew that the breadth of the outdoor area
would be far more likely a place to invite attack or retribution.
But, especially after Cesar’s decree and the
treatment he’d gotten after the fight in the cell, Gage felt safe walking to
the far side, viewing the road through the fences.