by R. B. Schow
She checked the account, smiled knowing she was going to disappoint him then slowly shook her head.
“Okay, thanks for checking.”
Outside, he waited for Jackson to show up. When he finally saw his friend’s car pulling over, Scotty got in and handed him the envelope.
Jackson was ex-military, so he had that square jaw, that stern no-BS look, and the kind of steely eyes that had seen too many horrors to ever really be normal in polite society again.
“This is three grand light, pal,” Jackson said, looking up.
Scotty showed Jackson the transfer of the twenty-five thousand that Leopold sent him, then said, “I just checked and it’s not in my account. I’ll have to pay you tomorrow.”
His friend looked at him a long time, not blinking, not moving a muscle except to frown. “You fuckface,” he finally muttered.
“C’mon man, we’re gonna miss our flight.”
Without further pushback, Jackson signaled left, looked over his shoulder then pulled into traffic. Shaking his head, he said, “You still smell like booze.”
“I promise I’ll pay you when we get back.”
“If you screw me on this, Scotty—”
“I won’t, I promise.”
Without another word between them, they drove to Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport, parked in short-term parking then boarded their flight with a few minutes to spare. In the plane, they both squeezed into coach, and then Scotty spent the next fifteen minutes wondering when the hell they shrunk the seats and if they were still serving hard alcohol.
Chapter Thirty
ATLAS HARGROVE
The pilot that Cira arranged to take them from California to El Paso was top-notch. Other than arranging last-minute landing clearance and having to sit in a holding pattern for twenty minutes, the flight was quick and uneventful. Well, except for the fact that Atlas couldn’t stand the way he smelled anymore. That was becoming a problem.
At the airport, Cira told him to go in the bathroom and try to clean up before they left. “I seriously can’t, Atlas, not a single minute longer,” Cira complained.
In the bathroom, Atlas ran water through his hair, smoothed out his beard, then reached down his pants with a handful of wet paper towels, wiping the back of his nuts and the crack of his ass. People were frowning at his behavior. Normally that kind of thing would embarrass him, but he looked homeless which meant he had a bit of a free pass.
“Get a fucking job,” some guy said.
“What for?”
The guy turned around and said, “Maybe so you don’t have to come to the airport to take a bath.”
The businessman stalked out of the bathroom, pissed off. Atlas didn’t blame him, but he didn’t really care either. He was just happy to be out of prison.
Outside the restroom, he found the same businessman who told him to get a job trying to hit on Cira but the look on her face was saying she wasn’t having it.
He walked right up to them, the businessman frowning, then said to Cira, “You ready, babe?”
She looked at the businessman, frowned even deeper, then said, “Sooner is better,” and then the two of them left the walking annoyance in a suit, post haste.
“Leopold texted me while you were in the bathroom. He said to take an Uber to El Taquito on Airway Boulevard. They’re ordering take-out now.”
His heart soared and that hollow ache in his stomach suddenly started to feel a whole lot worse. There was nothing like the promise of good food to make an empty belly want food in it pronto.
The Uber driver was nice but she was a Chinese woman with no filter. Twice she looked back at Atlas and said, “Oh, he stink. Mister, you stink so bad.”
“Thank you,” he said. “That’s so sweet of you to say.”
When they pulled into the El Taquito, the driver looked back and said, “Tip and good review for Mr. Stinkyman.” She was looking at Cira with ferocious eyes.
“Five bucks and five stars,” Cira said.
The driver turned around and said, “Out now, you ruin my seat, you stinky ass stinkyman.”
“I’m going now,” he said. “Thank you for your kindness and your hospital—”
“Get out, Mr. Stinkyman!”
He slid out and stretched in the warm El Paso air. “Smells like dirt and heat,” he said. And then the smell of the restaurant hit him. “Oh, my God…what is that smell?”
“The closest thing to heaven you’ll find while still stuck on this rock,” Cira said walking toward Leopold’s Audi S6.
“Boy, you aren’t kidding,” Atlas said.
He joined her in walking to the Audi. Cira got in one side; Atlas walked around the back of the car and got in the other side, seeing Kiera just before he slid in.
“Holy cow,” Leopold said as he glanced back. Breathless, startled, he said, “I thought we were getting burgled.”
Cira stifled a laugh then said, “It would seem that Atlas has fallen on hard times in the joint.”
Leopold handed both of them warm, delicious-smelling Styrofoam containers.
“Thank the Lord,” Atlas said, taking his container. “What is this?”
“El Pastor Tacos for you,” Leopold said, “and Rajas Gordita for her. Bon Appétit.”
Cira opened the box and the smell of heaven wafted out. “Oh, I love poblano chiles! Wait, how hot are these?”
“Maybe a four on the scale of one to ten,” Leopold said.
Atlas opened his container and fought back tears. Cira looked at him and asked if he was okay. “I’m amazing,” he said. “Leopold, whatever beef we might have had in the past has officially been squashed. Thank you for this.”
“You bet,” Leopold said, turning to face him. To Cira, he said, “Even though he looks like hell, you look ravishing. A little tired, but ravishing.”
“Yeah, well, solitary confinement isn’t good for your complexion, your state of mind, or your overall sense of balance,” Cira said.
After Atlas gobbled down his first taco, he closed the box and decided to let his stomach settle. He’d eaten almost too fast to enjoy the food. Plus, he was thinking of Kiera. He was thrilled to see her there. Leaning forward, he gently touched her arm. She looked back at him, and though he expected her to cringe at his appearance, she didn’t.
“I’m so happy to see you,” Atlas said.
She smiled wide and touched his hand. A quick glance at Leopold showed Atlas a stunned man.
“What about me?” Leopold asked Kiera.
“If it’s any consolation, Leopold,” Cira said, “Mr. Stinkyman didn’t say he was happy to see me either and I got him out of that dungeon.”
Leopold cleared his throat and glanced at Cira in the rearview mirror. Frowning, clearing her throat, Cira said, “Allow me to clarify for your heinie. With Leopold’s amazing influence, both as a gentleman and a wannabe mercenary, I was able to escape a terrible fate inside that prison. How will we ever forget the brilliance he bestowed—”
“Knock it off, Cira,” Leopold said with laughter in his voice. “Besides, it’s not your heinie, it’s your highness.”
Atlas laughed and opened the container again, eyeing that next taco. He was in no rush to eat it, not with the good company, the excellent food, and this amazing day. The very fact that he was not stuck in solitary confinement was practically overwhelming in itself.
“You’ll always be my heinie, Leo,” she joked.
That Leopold was comfortable enough with Cira to let her tease him like this meant their relationship had tightened over the last five or six months.
“The truth is, I couldn’t stop thinking about all of you,” Atlas said. “But this one here, Kiera, yeah…I couldn’t get her out of my head, nor did I want to. I know that with her, we’re going to be in the shit soon. But right now, I’m pretty darn happy.”
“Speaking of being in the shit, how would you feel if we got on the road?” Leopold asked. “We have a package waiting for us, something that will help us in Ju
árez.”
“Fine by me,” Atlas said.
“Same,” Cira replied.
Leopold fired up the Audi then they took a long drive through El Paso, finally turning down a long dirt road on the outskirts of town. Atlas wondered where they were going but decided not to ask. He had just finished a second taco and was staring at the third. He was about to eat it when he saw an old warehouse ahead. There were no less than six armed men standing guard.
“This is shady as fuck,” Cira said.
“Yeah,” Leopold added.
When Leopold parked the car, he got out and was promptly searched from armpits to toes. Then a man, el jefe, walked out of the warehouse and greeted Leopold. They shook hands, shared a few jovial words then el jefe gave Leopold instructions. A few minutes later, he walked back to the Audi, got in, and started the car.
“Everything all right?” Atlas asked.
“Yeah,” Leopold said.
Atlas had the feeling that Leopold could wear that smile at gunpoint. He was, after all, no joke in the business world. But these guys here were not on the level. Whatever they were doing was starting to reek of criminality.
They drove up to the warehouse where two of the armed men opened a large rolling door. Leopold swung the Audi around then backed up into the opening. Half of the car was in the warehouse when one of the men tapped on the trunk lid.
Leopold put the car in park, shut it off, then popped the trunk and got out of the vehicle. Over the next few minutes, from what Atlas could tell, the men made some kind of exchange. A couple of guys with what looked like AKs walked up to the window and glanced inside. Kiera looked directly at the men.
“What do you think they’re doing?” Cira asked when they were gone.
“Jerking each other off,” Atlas said calmly. “How do I know?”
“Surely you have an idea,” Cira pressed. Up front, Kiera unbuckled her seatbelt. Atlas followed suit. Cira looked at them both. “Atlas, are we in trouble?”
“Maybe, I’m not sure,” Atlas said.
Cira looked around then it dawned on her. “If shit goes south, we’re sitting ducks in here.”
“Tactically speaking,” Atlas said, “you’re exactly right.”
When the guys were done loading the trunk, someone shut the lid then Leopold shook a couple of hands and got back in the car. They slowly drove out of the warehouse, Leopold’s eyes on the rearview mirror and the side mirrors the whole way.
When they reached the end of the dirt road and turned onto the highway, Cira said, “What the hell was that?”
Atlas told her the truth. “A drug deal.”
“We’re smuggling drugs over the border?” Cira asked.
“It was last minute so I had to put something together fast,” Leopold said. “Plus I’m still nurturing connections all over the world. Connections like these can be made quickly, but the clean connections, well, those take time and patience, two luxuries we don’t have right now.”
“That doesn’t explain why we’re taking drugs across the border,” Cira asked.
“Because we’re going into a gun-free zone with only Atlas’s bad hairdo and that gross beard for defense,” Leopold said.
Atlas scoffed out loud. Cira snorted out a laugh.
“As unsightly and smelly as he is,” Leopold said, “I’m afraid his ghastly appearance is no match for a Glock or an M5.”
“Are you sure?” Atlas asked with a grin.
He had been so pissed off for so long, but being back with these people and tasting freedom for the first time in half a year lightened his mood so much that not even the prospect of being caught at the border could dampen his spirits.
“Now we just need to get over the border,” Leopold said. “After that, we’ll link up with a friend who will be happy to empty our trunk with one thing and fill it with another.”
Atlas took a big bite of his taco. Talking with his mouth full, he said, “This is some rinky-dink shit, Leo.”
“It’s all rinky-dink,” Leopold said. “But that’s why I have you and Kiera. And even though you’re the real weapons, you can’t fight a war in a third-world dump with your B.O. and her winning personality and expect to come out unscathed.”
“Maybe his B.O.,” Cira said before taking another big bite of her Gordita.
“And definitely her personality,” Leopold said about Kiera, who didn’t smile. “Oh, c’mon, Kiera, that was worth at least a sideways eye stare.”
She didn’t move, not even to blink.
“She’s been a tough crowd all morning,” Leopold said. “Bald chicks and me are pretty much 0 for 2.”
“When do we link up with Yergha and Esty?” Cira asked, changing the subject before Kiera decided Leopold’s humor was too much.
“They ran into the hot center of a shit storm but it looks like they’re clear of it for now, and with a solid lead no less. They got us rooms at the Hotel Montecarlo, which isn’t too far from the border. If those two aren’t recharged and ready to level up, Atlas and Kiera will run point.”
“Who are we delivering the drugs to?” Atlas asked. “And what exactly did you buy?”
“We’ve got fifty kilos of pot. There are thirty-five kilos of the Jack Herer strain and fifteen kilos of Blueberry Widow. Don’t ask me the difference because I don’t have a clue. I’m addicted to women, not drugs. To answer your other question, my buyer is on the outskirts of Juárez. We’re getting guns and ammo in exchange for what is arguably some very good weed.”
“How are we not going to get totally fisted on the way into Mexico?” Atlas asked. “There’s this thing called the border and there are border guards just waiting for people like us.”
“You let me worry about that. As for Juárez, after we fully stock our arsenal, we’re going to kick a hornet’s nest so damn hard it will be felt in trafficking circles all around the world. And then we’re going to step on the nuts of everyone involved in the kidnapping.”
“Damn straight,” Cira said.
“The rules of engagement are to give every last one of these cocksuckers a dirt nap,” Leopold continued. “Are you two ready or what?”
In response to the awesome pep talk Leopold just gave, Atlas said, “Yeah, but do you have salsa and chips, or napkins?”
Cira tried stifling a laugh but it didn’t work. Even Kiera had to turn away for a moment. Atlas looked up when everyone started laughing at him.
“Sorry, this food is worlds better than the prison chow I’m used to eating. In there, it’s like they’re feeding you your own asshole and saying it’s a meal.”
Shaking his head, he turned to Kiera and said, “If you ever get clearance to speak, whatever Atlas says, just don’t say that and you’ll be golden.”
“So,” Atlas asked, “no salsa then?”
Chapter Thirty-One
LEOPOLD WENTWORTH
When Leopold entered the funnel of cars waiting to cross over the border, he tried not to sweat. Sweating like he was would be a dead giveaway. He turned on the radio, found one of the local stations playing classic rock then went through a number of breathing exercises to keep his blood pressure level. He’d been in high-level meetings before where hundreds of millions of dollars were on the line, but none of them were nearly as stressful as this.
He looked from face to face at the passengers in the car. Kiera was a non-registered human who would likely go haywire if someone tried to detain her, Atlas was a killer ex-cop that should be serving three life sentences back in California in a supermax prison, and Cira…Cira was her own set of complications, but at least she was a free(ish) citizen.
As if his “people problem” was not enough, he had fifty kilos of premium marijuana stuffed in the back of the Audi, which was a slap on the wrist in and of itself, but was just one of a number of crimes he was already guilty of just by being in the driver’s seat of a car that may or may not be stolen. Oh, for heaven’s sake, he didn’t even think of that!
More breathing, more creep-crawlin
g toward the border attendant’s booths, more reasons to flip a bitch and pull the plug on this entire operation.
“How you doin’ up there, boss?” Atlas asked.
Leopold flicked his eyes up to the rearview mirror and saw the convict looking right back at him with a knowing grin.
“Everything changes when you’re the tip of the spear, doesn’t it?” Atlas asked with a knowing look.
“I’m fine,” he said.
“You’re shitting bricks, boss, just admit it.”
“Fine, I’m definitely a little worried,” he admitted, “but I’m good in a pinch.”
“Let’s hope so,” Cira said.
When they reached the booth, the attendant began asking enough questions to make Leopold even more nervous. Then he asked the question: “Before I search the car, are you in possession of any illegal money, weapons, or narcotics?”
“Why would you search the car?”
“We now do random searches, with your consent, of course. Your vehicle just happened to be the random search this hour.”
Leopold looked into the man’s eyes and didn’t believe a word he was saying.
Leopold laughed like this was all a bit too ridiculous, but then he said, “My car is clean, of course. But if you’re asking about money, all I have is five hundred in cash on the back seat.”
If the now dead border attendant, Gill Franklin, had lied to them about all of the guys being on the take, he’d find Gill’s corpse and kick it square in the nuts the first chance he got.
“Are you trying to bribe me?” the attendant asked.
“Of course not,” Leopold said, his heart now moving from a trot to a full gallop. “It’s just that, if you’re looking for anything of interest, I’m afraid all I have is the five hundred on the back seat.”
The man not only frowned at Leopold, he actively began mean-mugging him. In a terse display of puckered asshole syndrome, he said, “My supervisor will want to see you.”
