Yuńior smacked her hands.
Melissa, swatted at him.
The blue eyes large, saying more than her mouth was able, her body bumping into her lover, challenging him. Yuńior, done with her antics, moved closer, wrapping his arms around her neck, slipping in behind her. A favorite position he discovered during their love making heated nights, but that was the last action on his mind. He applied just enough pressure to cut off her air, as her body crumpled in his arms.
“Well, damn,” Mr. Yield commented.
Yuńior didn’t respond, but worked in silence. Grabbing the sheet off the bed, Yuńior wrapped her body inside the dirty linens. She could no longer fight against him and he could get her off the ship.
“Señor, over here,” he called to Yield.
Mr. Yield didn’t know how to react to three dead bodies on the floor. He’d seen the Ninja Stars used in movies but he never really thought they could like, actually, in real life, kill people. Yuńior Delgado had just killed three people in front of him and stepped over the dead bodies like they were hot cow pies in a cornfield. Moving slowly into the small room, Yield watched in awe as Yuńior took a cloth, dabbling it into Manuel’s blood and sloshing it in large red heaps on the sheet surrounding the crumpled body of the young woman.
“What in the entire hell are you doing?” Mr. Yield asked.
“You’re going to carry her off this ship. She is staying at the Oui Madame Hotel,” Yuńior said.
“Hold up! How do you expect me to carry her off the ship in a bloody sheet, that’s only bloody from the waist down...oh,” Mr. Yield stopped talking.
“Carry her across your shoulder, like a...what is the word, ah sí, a carpet. If anyone stops you, just say, Manuel is at it again. Tell them it is bad luck to set sail with a dead body,” Yuńior said. “The men will make a wide berth for you, Señor. No one wants to see or touch a dead body.”
“Shit, neither do I, but you think this will work?” Mr. Yield asked, pulling the sheet up over Melissa’s head and throwing her body across his shoulder. She hung loosely, her arms hanging, appearing to be dead.
“As long as the dead body keeps her eyes closed,” Yuńior said lifting the covers to look at Melissa’s face. When she woke up, he knew she’d be pissed. He didn’t care. After a gentle touch to her cheek, he said to Mr. Yield, “Vamos...you go now.”
“Not without a plan to get you out of here,” Mr. Yield said, looking at the young man.
“Is more help to come? I asked the Blakemore for a special item,” Yuńior asked.
“Yeah, a few more, a small team,” Yield said, intrigued by the young man whose eyes were calculating 16 chess moves ahead of the slow, dull-witted opponents in the game. “What are you thinking?”
“Call Saxton the Blakemore. I need buses to carry 200 children into Mexico. Food. Water, antibiotics, basic toiletries,” Yuńior said looking down at his phone. He needed to call Victorio Renteria, his cousin, to let him know what was coming to his turf. “My phone battery is also dying.”
Melissa didn’t weigh much when Yield shifted her weight to remove the palm-size charger and connecting cord and pass them to Yuńior. They heard the sound of approaching footsteps on the stairwell. Yuńior moved quickly and in a flash was gone, leaving Mr. Yield holding what looked like a dead body.
“Where in the creepy vampire shit did he go?” Yield asked, hurrying to get out of the room with three actual dead men lest he be blamed. He knew nothing about throwing metal stars at people to slice their throats open, but as he headed for the door, he noticed the stars no longer protruded from the men’s necks. “This Ninja shit is getting freaky.”
Anxious, he headed towards the stairs, climbing the narrow passage as quickly as he could. The blood-soaked sheets reeked of a coppery scent. Between the smell in the cargo hold, the smell of the blood, and the idea that Yuńior Delgado just Ninja killed three men was seriously fucking with his calm. Yield climbed the stairs, grunting a bit on the last one, as he hefted the dead weight on his shoulder, bumping into the same man who had showed him where the stairs were, who stood in his path as Yield reached the top deck.
“Whaddya have there?” the guard asked.
“That fucking Manuel,” Mr. Yield said. “I don’t know about you but if you ask me, it’s a bad omen to set sail with a dead body. That fucking guy is an animal. She’s the second one he’s gotten to, but she put up a fight. This one—he killed.”
Curious, the man lifted the sheet. The pale skin on Melissa’s wrists was darkened by the tight tape Manuel used to secure her to the bed. Gray tape still rested on her mouth as she hung limply under the sheet.
“Didn’t know there was a blond girl on board,” the man said.
“Manuel must have pulled her in with the others. Man, aren’t you kind of worried. I mean, we hadn’t even left the port and this guy is going through the merchandise like it’s his personal fish tank of guppies,” Yield said. “Now I’m stuck finding a place to dump a body. I don’t like this shit. This ain’t what I signed on to do.”
“I hear you,” the guard said. “I stay up here. I keep watch. Speaking of that, get her off this boat and hurry. The men will be coming back soon, hungry and probably cranky. They don’t need to see this.”
“Yessir,” Yield said, heading toward the gangway. He carried Melissa down the pier, his eyes peeled and sharp, looking for a spot out of the eyesight of onlookers to put the girl on her feet. The working girl from earlier had made her money for the night and had left the recess of darkness where she’d done her business. The smelly wharf man must have returned to his ship, which left a clear path to the stupid orange car.
He planned to have a chat with Millicent about the choice of vehicle she’d rented for him. It was really hard to feel like a certified bad ass driving an orange Nissan Cube. Arriving at the car, he set Melissa on her feet, yanking off the bloody sheet and dumping her on the back seat. One strong tug of the tape, and it came off her mouth. Mr. Yield wished he’d left it on as she came to, looking around the backseat of the vehicle. She sniveled and cried all the way to the small hotel.
“I need your room key,” Yield said.
Her hands shook so badly, she couldn’t manage to pull it from her back pocket. Mr. Yield helped, pulling her by the hand to the room. Unlocking the door, he checked inside, under the bed, and in the bathroom before moving towards the door.
“Don’t leave me,” Melissa said. “Please, stay with me. I’m scared.”
“Sorry, sweetheart. I was hired to find the Czar’s son and get him back safely,” Yield said. “He’s still not safe, which means I have to get back to that ship.”
His phone chimed. Anxious, he looked down at it and saw the message. The cavalry had arrived. Mr. Yield wasn’t sure what they would bring to the party, but a few more horses and guns would be welcome, that was if Yuńior Delgado left anything for Mann and Stop to handle. Yield’s eyes went to Melissa. The poor thing was probably going into shock.
“Hey! Hey! When I leave, lock the door,” he said. “Take a hot shower and get in bed. Don’t call anyone. Don’t talk to anyone until I return. Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” she said, sniffling.
“Good girl. Lock the door,” Mr. Yield said, disappearing into the night.
MELISSA’S HANDS COULDN’T stop shaking. Her mind struggled to come to terms with all that her brain had seen. Odessa and Louise had made their adventures seem exciting, daring, and full of heart-pumping exploration. There were bad men out there ready to do bad things to women and children for the sheer fun of it or sadistic pleasure of the acts.
“He was going to assault me,” she mumbled, rubbing her arms trying to ward off the chill seeping into her bones. The dark circles on her wrists confirmed that she had in fact been tied down to a bed for three men to do whatever in the world came into their depraved minds. Five minutes more and she would have been...Ed. He’d come for her.
He’d come to her rescue not only once in her livin
g situation but also in this. Sweet, loving Ed, a gentle man full of passion who gave as much pleasure as she tried to provide him when he came to her with his head hung low from the weight of his duties as the son of Eduardo Delgado. He never said why his head hung to his chin, and Melissa never asked questions, always assuming that if and when he wanted to tell her about his life and world, then he would.
“Or had I not listened to the things he’d told me?” she said, staring at the door and slowly lowering her aching body to take a seat on the edge of the bed, leaving only the lamp on in the room. Wide eyes kept imagining the leisurely outpouring of blood from the man’s body that Ed had killed. He had killed three men tonight to protect her and stepped over their bodies as if they were nothing more than large bags of coffee.
A shaking hand went to her mouth in the sudden realization that taking the lives of those men wasn’t Ed’s first time. It couldn’t have been. He didn’t balk nor show remorse at throwing weapons to severe their neck arteries. She didn’t know him. The man who showed up once a month with flowers, chocolates, and sweet words of love was a killer.
Melissa lay back on the bed, curling her body into a ball and holding on the pillow. “I was hired to find the Czar’s son...” The man had said that.
Eduardo Delgado was the Czar.
Yuńior was his son.
The man came to find the Czar’s son. The man with the scar on his face was with Yuńior when they had located her in the room with the smelly men. She’d screamed twice before the tape secured her mouth shut. The quivering of her bottom lip reminded her of being afraid of larger dogs when she was smaller. Her mother never comforted Melissa, only reminding her to stay in their yard and not harass the neighbor’s dog.
“The moment that damned dog gets free, he’s gonna know exactly where you are and come hunt ya down, gal,” her mother said.
She had never felt dumber in her entire life. Her eyes grew wide with a sudden, heart stopping realization.
“How did Ed know exactly where to find me?”
Chapter Six – Blind Date
2:40 am, August 8, 2019
Mr. Yield arrived at the private airstrip just as Mr. Mann and Mr. Stop were making their exodus from the building. He’d never met Mann in person before. Most people hadn’t. He was a great deal like Mr. Exit. Once you saw him coming, if you saw him coming, it was already too late. Mr. Stop, on the other hand, looked different from the last time he’d seen him in Missouri. The man almost looked – happy.
“I thought you’d be taller,” Yield said to Mann.
“Yeah and I’d thought you’d have this kid in the back seat, and we could be heading home with a bag full of cash,” Mr. Mann replied. “See, expectations are hell on personal beliefs.”
Mr. Stop, busy looking at the Yield’s vehicle of choice, growled, “I have been on and off planes pretty much most of the night. I’m hungry and carrying two large bags of chili—I don’t know why—and I’m stuck with you two assholes,” he growled. “What are we doing here?”
“The Czar’s son,” Mr. Yield said. “He wasn’t taken, but he’s walked in a viper’s nest that has taken a shitload of those kids who are supposed to be in the immigration facilities for processing. These are bad men.”
“Whoa! Whoa! Triple whoa,” Mann said. “We weren’t hired for that. Blakemore said to go in, get the kid, and bring him back.”
“Did you bring your gear?” Yield asked.
“Of course, I have my gear,” Mann said. “I wouldn’t go grocery shopping without my wallet, so why would I go to work without my tools?”
“Guys, the mission has changed. The kid changed it,” Mr. Yield said, running his hand through his hair. “Hell, he’s no kid really, but something else altogether. I can’t put my finger on it, but guys, we need to get back there pronto.”
“What do you mean, something else...,” Mr. Stop started to say, but his eyes followed Mr. Yield’s whose focus was on the doorway of the building. A woman with long legs that didn’t appear to end, high-heeled shoes, and a large-brimmed hat came through the door. Her strides were filled with purpose as she walked towards the car. Yield began to mumble under his breath, cursing in colorful combinations that made no sense as the woman arrived.
Yield stepped around Mr. Stop to open the back door for the woman, who slipped into the back seat of the orange vehicle. Mann looked at Yield, who simply shrugged his shoulders and said, “Let’s go.”
The team was assembled, the unwanted, newly elected team captain provided a brief to the whole crew.
“Here’s the situation,” Mr. Yield offered, “Yuńior Delgado stumbled into a trafficking ring of children. These kids, most of them Spanish speakers, are either from Mexico or the big migration from Central America. The men who are transporting the kids are also sampling the product. Yuńior, or the kid as you should not call him, ever, has taken personal offense.”
“Personal offense?” the woman asked.
“Evidently, whoever is behind this didn’t clear it with the Czar. I don’t know how much you know about his relationship with the Blakemores and their shut down of a lot of the trafficking rings through Central America. I’m sure those men didn’t walk away from all that money without leaving a small operation in place,” Yield said. “On top of that, and this part I’m not clear on, Yuńior’s girlfriend got tangled up in it. He came to save her and found out a dude named Manuel has been taking liberties with the young girls.”
Mr. Mann leaned forward in the front seat, craning his neck at Yield. “I need to have a few words with this Manuel, but how are we supposed to rescue a kid who went in to rescue his girl, but got snatched himself?” Mann wanted to know.
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you guys: the mission has changed, and Yuńior Delgado took care of Manuel,” Yield said. “They don’t know who he is. Those men don’t even know he’s on board. And trust me, he is no kid. I mean in age, to us, he’s no more than 20, which would be a kid, but that man has his own plan.”
Stop, who also sat in the back seat with the woman, kept looking at her. She was a pretty lady who changed her shoes in the back seat and removed the large hat, pulling her hair back into a ponytail.
“How many kids are we talking about?” the lady asked.
“Yuńior said he counted almost 150, but by now, the total should be up to 200,” Yield said.
“Did young Delgado fill you in on the means of transport once we get the kids off the boat?” the lady asked.
“Yes, Blakemore is sending over buses with water, food, and supplies,” Yield said. “They should arrive within the hour. The kid said he knew of a place in Mexico with his cousin, and the children would be transported there for safety.”
“Victorio Renteria,” the lady said, “that’s his cousin.”
“As in... the Mexican Cartel Renteria’s? They’re probably the ones trafficking the kids. He’s just taking them from the frying pan into the fire,” Mr. Stop said, clearing his throat. “Excuse me, and I know this might seem silly, but is anyone going to address the elephant in the car? Lady, who are you?”
Mr. Yield, driving as fast as he could without drawing attention to the vehicle in the wee hours of the morning, looked up into the rearview mirror at her. She was just as beautiful as the last time he’d seen that flawless skin and soulfully deep brown eyes. He was also certain she was still as crazy as a road lizard.
“Front seat is Mr. Mann,” Yield said, “back seat is Mr. Stop and Mrs. Hump.”
Stop’s eyes grew wide as he pointed from the woman to Yield, making sounds like an overexcited child finding out he was headed to the theme park with big boy rides. “As in the one who cut your face and gave you that scar?” Mr. Stop inquired with far too much glee in his voice.
Yield hit the brakes, throwing everyone forward in the car. Stop bumped his head on the back of the seat as Mr. Yield hit the gas, burning rubber on the take off. Mann didn’t think it was a cool move to draw attention to them with such an action. N
either did Mrs. Hump, who took offense.
“I really don’t like the name Mrs. Hump,” she said. “It has such a negative connotation, if you get my drift. Please, call me Lizzie.”
“Lizzie,” Mr. Stop said, looking at her with new interest. “Isn’t your specialty, well, a hump and a slit throat?”
“You asking for a date, Big Fella?” she questioned him.
“Oh no,” he said, holding up his left hand. “I’s married now.”
Mr. Yield got the movie reference and chuckled a bit, thinking of this rag tag crew going into a ship of men who weren’t willing to give up the prizes they’d collected. Delivery of the product meant cold hard cash, which they planned to spend in wasteful ways, knowing easy money could be plucked from the side of road or camps because no one would miss them. There was no documentation to say they existed before or after they left their country, walking to find a better way of life.
His thoughts went to his son Chad being the only protection between his mother and the aggressive Uncle who sought to rule their lives. Many of the children in the hold were no older than his own kid and were being subjected to the worst traits of mankind.
“Hey, Mr. Yield,” Lizzie said. “How’ve you been? Don’t tell me you’re also married now as well.”
“I am,” he said, holding up his left hand. “Got a boy about seven years old, he just started second grade. Teaching him to play baseball. He’s developing a good arm.”
“Oh joy, look at you, all domesticated and shit,” Lizzie countered. “I bet your wife rented this busted ass vehicle, too. Plus, how the fuck you got a seven-year-old when I just gave you that scar five years ago? Who is she?”
“She’s my wife, Lizzie,” Mr. Yield said. “I adopted the boy and he’s my son. I’m not a killer or a thug, but if any hair on either of their heads should be harmed, trust me, my disposition will quickly change.”
“Look at you, all pussy whipped and in love,” Lizzie said with a snarl. Reaching over the front seat, she tapped Mann on the shoulder. “What about you dude? You married too?”
Killers Page 7
