Tuco was not used to being put into that position. Violated. Vulnerable. He was the one who violated. He was the one who exploited the vulnerable. He had been made a punk and unless he followed through with revenge worthy of the crime, word would spread and life would get more complicated for Tuco and his crew.
Reputation is long won and quickly lost, Tuco knew that and he also knew no one was exempt from those rules. Not even Tuco Salamanca. “Okay,” Tuco said, inspired and ready for action, “we’re moving quiet and fast. No Doze is with you two,” he looked at Leonel and Marco, “and Vegas is with me. You guys get the kid and you bring him to me and we get the party started.” He could see it in his mind, the fear and pain on the kid’s face as something was cut, as something was torn off of his body.
Tuco couldn’t wait to say it, to tell the teenager the reason he was being tortured. Because of your cousin Filipe. You can tell your mother that when she comes to visit you at the hospital. Her baby boy had his cock cut off because of what his cousin Filipe did. It would feel good to say it as he maimed and hurt.
Finding Filipe Toledo wouldn’t be the hard part. They knew where he was and had some guess as to how many men were with him waiting. Tuco knew the hard part was going to be convincing Toledo to leave his fortress and to meet in a more neutral location. It was bound to get messy, that was a given.
Tuco smoked the joint and thought. He needed answers but he wasn’t sure what questions to ask. To be honest, Tuco still wasn’t sure why Filipe had started this elaborate game in the first place. He knew finding his answers started with taking Filipe’s teenage cousin and removing his fingers one by one.
7.
“Why does your cousin have such a hard on for me?” It was the fourth time Tuco asked the question and it was damn certain that there would not be a fifth.
Filipe’s little cousin, Tomas, was doing his best to resist. So far Tuco’s men had slapped him around, beaten him a little, but that was nothing to Tomas. He was used to that, his brothers and cousins played rough. Fists and intimidation would not get very far.
Things, however, had changed. Tomas had just been strapped to the bumper of a car with thick, heavy chains. His clothing had been removed and the chains were wrapped around his torso and up under his arms. After hours in the hot desert sun, the car’s steel bumper burned Tomas’ skin. The teenager squirmed but found no comfort on the rough, sharp, ground.
No Doze and Marco stepped back as Tuco knelt down in Tomas’ face. “Your cousin liked me naked, the fucking pervert,” Tuco waved his hand and Leonel turned the key in the ignition, “I wonder how’s he gonna like you?”
The 1976 Lincoln roared to life, bouncing and growling as it idled. Leonel revved the engine and slipped the car into gear, one foot on the break, waiting for Tuco’s thumbs up or thumbs down. “Maybe you don’t know why your cousin is fucking with me,” Tuco said, “Maybe you have no fucking clue. You know what though? I think you at least know where he is. I think you got real good ideas about where your fucking cousin would go if he was scared…” Tuco screamed now, down close in Tomas’ face, barely heard over the crescendo roar of the engine, “… if he knew he was about to get his tongue sliced off and shoved up his ass.”
Tuco grabbed Tomas by the neck, brown dirt blowing up around them, black exhaust stinking like oil and fire, “Where the fuck does your family hide when it hits the fan, Pendejo, where the fuck is Filipe Toledo?”
Tomas cried as the car rumbled behind him like a volcano about to erupt. Sweat dripped into the cuts in his eyebrows and cheeks, mixing with gritty dust… stinging, burning, the sun blinding… Tuco slapped him, “Answer me you little fuck or we’re gonna drag you around until your legs rip off.”
Tomas could not answer so Tuco slapped him again, “You know man, like over-cooked chicken? You know how the legs, the thighs, just kinda peel off when the meat’s all hot?” Tuco howled with laughter, looked around wildly. Marco’s smile was subtle, barely there. “It’s gonna fucking hurt,” Tuco screamed.
Tuco leaped to his feet and raised a hand in the air. “You talk right now or I give him the signal. And you know, man, one thing about this car,” Tuco went back down, leaned into Tomas’ ear, “she’s hard to stop once you get her going. You know? She’s a real whore like that” Tuco stood up and laughed, whooped and howled.
Tomas wept, struggling against his chains, thrashing in panic, “Let me go you mother fucker, my family’s going to kill everyone of you fuckers, you might as well…
Tuco gave him one last slap, a hard one. Blood flew from Tomas’ mouth and his eye instantly swelled. That worked. Tomas stopped resisting. His body slumped and he slunk down in his chains, weeping quietly, certain that this was the end. “I don’t know…” he could barely form words. Such pain. Such fear… “I don’t know…”
Tuco believed him but it wasn’t good enough. It was nothing. “I have one more question and your answer better be fucking interesting. It better be like a page from some encyclopedia and shit, you know?” He danced around like a little boy in glee, “It better be better than a titty magazine ‘cause I get bored real quick and I need something fucking interesting to keep my attention. Something like you getting your little prick ripped off on a cactus. Compredé?” Yes, Tomas understood.
“Good,” Tuco said, taking one knee beside the kid. “Now,” he said, licking dirty sweat from his lips, “who is the first person you can think of who can tell me where he is? Just say a name and you can go. We’ll leave you alone. Just tell me one pretty god damned for certain name. Who knows where Filipe Toledo is?”
The name Tomas gave them was Luis Jimenez, a mechanic outside of Paguate. Who the fuck is that, Tuco asked and the answer was surprising. Luis was the ex-boyfriend of Filipe’s little sister and currently served as a street soldier for Filipe: a low level thug working his way up the ladder. “He’s like a little brother to Filipe,” Tomas told Tuco, “especially after what happened.”
“What the hell do you mean?” Tuco asked, “After what happened?” When Tomas told him the story, Tuco became curious. “I knew that guy,” he said in reference to Barley the coyote when his name was mentioned, “we used to raise some hell up the joint, man.” Tuco laughed, reminiscing: the good old days. “I remember this one time we…” Tuco told his stories and Tomas sat in a puddle wet with his own piss, sniffing back tears as the Lincoln rumbled like thunder in a sack.
Eventually, the conversation led to the fact Barley had been missing for five months. It took a bit more work but Tuco put two and two together. He looked at Marco who had just dropped the final hint, “You mean his sister was one of those bitches?” Marco nodded: yes, one of those.
Tuco laughed and motioned for Leonel to turn off the engine. “Holy shit,” Tuco said, “are you serious? His little sister? This mother fucker wants to go to war because his bitch little sister?”
It made sense. All of it. That piece of shit wants revenge. He wants a show. Tuco understood what he was up against. Puta madre, I’ll give him a show.
Just like that, Tuco felt lighter, released; the weight of the world slipped from his shoulders. He looked up to the sky, felt the sun on his face. He paused like that, reveling in the glory of the moment.
Casually, Tuco turned back to earth, “Cut this piece of shit loose,” he said, spitting on Tomas, “Kick his ass and toss him in a ditch. We got business.”
Tuco chuckled as they beat him, already scheming of how he was going to play it. A cool breeze whipped out of the east and across his face. Guapa. It was going to be a perfect day. He knew it. It was already going so fucking well.
8.
The past few days had been busy and more than a little surreal. It had all been so constant and intense that Tuco had not had much of a chance to sit and reflect on the bigger picture. He was happy such a time had finally come.
Sitting on the roof of the mechanic’s garage, Tuco watched the half-moon glow in the star-specked sky. His feet hurt, his back ached: it was good
to smoke a joint and let his mind wander... What was that he asked me
Tuco smoked and leaned back, laid down on the gravel and tar topped roof. Do I believe in luck or in destiny? He blew out a cloud of smoke. What the fuck do you think now, mother fucker? He had a few minutes to kill, waiting for the Twins to finish their task. Maybe a quick nap… amazing… there would be plenty of time for action once Marco and Leonel were done…
Luis Jimenez had not been expecting them. There was no reason to think Tuco knew Filipe had a sister or that the unknown sister had an even more unknown ex-boyfriend now living in New Mexico. Tuco, No Doze and the Twins walked right in and asked for Luis. He greeted them casually, wiping grease off of his hands, unconcerned about the interruption. Then he heard Tuco’s name. Then there was trouble.
The Trouble did not last long. Luis and his boss, a soft-looking Puerto Rican named Al, were not prepared to fight. The Twins and No Doze were. Tuco didn’t have to do anything. He stood back and watched, snorting bumps of crystal meth off of a Chilton’s guide. When the two mechanics were subdued, Marco closed the garage doors.
Cousin Tomas had been correct: Luis knew things. With a generous application of the proper interrogation techniques, Luis told them all they needed to know. A welding torch to the inside of his thigh told them the house on Pork Chop Road was part of an elaborate game Filipe was playing.
All they would find there was Tuco’s employee, Jesus, dead and hanging on the wall. Stuffed in Jesus’ mouth, in place of his tongue, was a photo Filipe had taken from Tuco’s office: Tuco’s mother and grandmother standing in front of a roadside shrine to Saint Christopher. Filipe wants you to go crazy, Luis told them, he wants you to know he could kill everyone close to you. He said he wants you pissed off and crazy, on the edge. He wants you to suffer mentally and physically.
Hanging from Jesus’ chest on an inch long nail hammered halfway through his breastbone was a map, a black ‘x’ marking the spot: across town at the end of a nameless road stretching deep into the desert. The road ended at a small stream, Rio Moquino, cutting through the Chihuahuan desert. That’s where it’s going to go down, Luis told them, That was where the final ambush was going to take place.
He’s gonna kill all of your men there, Luis said, trying not to pass out from the pain radiating from his feet, he going to kill everyone there but you. He wants to take you back up to El Mapias, out in the desert where they found Natalia’s body. He wanted to kill you there so you knew. So you remembered.
“Well that’s part of the problem,” Tuco said, rummaging around the countertop, picking up screwdrivers and putting them down, examining wrenches, testing the weight of various mallets, “The problem being that I really don’t remember her. I don’t remember any of that shit, man. We we’re partying. Those girls, man, they were like…” Tuco finally found what he was looking for and held up the eighteen-inch crowbar for all to see, “… those girls were like potato chips man, you know what I mean? They were snacks, man, something to eat.”
Tuco pressed the clawed end of the crow bar underneath Luis’ chin, digging it into his throat, “Sometimes they liked it, sometimes they didn’t, but it never mattered, you know? They were never nothing to remember though, none of them girls were, and there were a lot.” Tuco laughed, pressing the claws deeper into Luis’ throat, “That Barley dude was crazy, holy shit, he could party. It’s a shame what your guy did to him. Killing a good dude like that.” Tuco stepped back, pretending to think, “But no, no way man, I don’t remember no bitch like his sister. They all look the same when you’re…” he grunted, mimicked rough sex: thrusting, slapping, flipping over and strangling.
When he finished, air-ejaculating over Luis’ face, Tuco handed the crowbar to Marco, “You know, you’ve been real cooperative so far but my friends are gonna ask you some more questions. Just to make sure we didn’t forget anything.”
He walked towards the back door, stepping over Al’s broken corpse, “I got a little planning of my own to do,” he shouted over his shoulder, going outside. He found a ladder and climbed to the roof. He urinated off the edge and sat. Taking out a bag of marijuana, he slowly rolled a joint with his chubby fingers.
Tuco stared out into the night sky. Glad to sit, happy to space out… Who the fuck do these people think they are? They think they can just do things and get away with them They think they can make an asshole out of me? Out of my family? He smoked, glad to relax, glad to unwind… Filipe Toledo, I’m gonna carve your fucking tongue like a barbeque brisket. You wanna talk shit? You gonna talk shit to me? Smoking… what was that? What did he ask me? Do I believe in luck or destiny… laying down sounded so good… just for a moment, just to shut his eyes for ten or fifteen seconds… “Tuco.”
Tuco startled awake just as his breathing relaxed and his heart slowed. It was No Doze, standing on the ladder and looking over the edge of the roof. No Doze saw Tuco was annoyed so he tried to quickly change the mood with his good news. “We’re done,” he told Tuco, “Marco has the phone number dialed in, we’re just waiting for you.”
Tuco wiped his eyes, wishing he had coffee. He pulled a baggie of crystal meth from his pants pocket. Guess we’ll make due.
Downstairs in the garage. The phone rang twice and was answered.
“Is this Filipe Toledo?” Tuco asked, Luis’ cell phone held tightly against his ear.
“Luis?” Filipe asked, confused, not sure what was….
“Filipe Toledo, this is Tuco Salamanca.” Silence. A smile came over Tuco, picturing in his mind the shit in Filipe’s pants, “Como estas, Puto?”
9.
Filipe tried to play it cool but he was afraid the surprise in his voice was noticeable. He never suspected Tuco would find Luis and do god knows what to him. The last Filipe heard was that Tuco and his men were poking around the outskirts of town, looking for some kind of information before heading to the Pork Chop Road house.
Filipe switched his phone to ‘speaker’ and set it on the table, waving over Hector and the others. He prayed his voice sounded more sure than he felt, “Hola,” he said, “how have you been? I haven’t seen you since…” he grinned for Hector, trying to spin his bravado, “How are your feet? Must have been a long, painful walk without any shoes.”
“My feet are better than your friend’s here,” Tuco said, not missing a beat, “I’m not sure if he’ll ever walk again. I’m just moving a little slow right now but he’s…” Tuco paused, hoping to raise the tension, “… he’s definitely in worse shape that that.”
Filipe let the statement linger. Thinking, certain that his plans had been altered but not sure how. Assume the Rio Moquino ambush is out of the picture. What then? For the first time since this all began, Filipe felt on the verge of losing control. No, he tapped his finger on the table, I’m still in charge of this, fuck him…
“And I’m a fuck of a lot better than your sister.” Tuco’s voice was cold and sharp, a poisoned dagger thrusting straight into Filipe’s heart, “Your sister’s in real bad shape now ain’t she?”
Tuco laughed, pressed his finger into a small pile of powdered meth, “Damn, I bet she’s all rotten and dried up now, ain’t she?” He stuck his finger up his nose and sniffed, rubbing the excess powder on his gums, “Shit, that little bitch is like fucking beef jerky now, right? Shit, bugs ate that little girl, man, you know? Them little fucking fruit flies and ants and shit.” Tuco laughed harder now, “because that little whore was fresh when we dumped her there. Freshly fucked, freshly broke. Blood was still wet, man,” Tuco howled, “Shit, bro, her fucking pussy was still dripping we…”
“Where the fuck are you, you son of a bitch?” Filipe had officially lost his composure. He screamed into the phone, “Where the fuck are you so I can rip your throat out with my…”
“Don’t you worry about where we are,” Tuco screamed, “we’re keeping your ex-brother-in-law company a while longer but we’ll be leaving real soon.” Tuco took another hit. It burned. So niiiiiiiice… “You need
to worry about where we’re going to be,” Tuco told Filipe, “You need to worry about packing your toothbrush ‘cause you’re leaving home.”
As Tuco talked, Filipe’s mind raced… he’s still at the garage, that’s where Luis was, he was working all day… he glanced at Hector for help… who do we got, who do we got, who do we…
“We know all about your little roadside ambush,” Tuco told him, “and all about your little road trip up to your sister’s bones. You know, you might need help, you might have some unhealthy, like, obsession or something, man, you could…”
Filipe ignored Tuco. He had to put his plan into action now or it was over. He had to call the Kings and get them on the road before Tuco and his crew left the garage. If they’re at their hangout, they can be there in less than ten minutes. They can keep them pinned down, keep them there until I can get there. This was it. It wasn’t going to be tomorrow or this weekend like he first planned. It’s now. Today.
Filipe smiled and walked away, leaving the phone sitting on the table, Tuco’s voice screaming distorted over the small cell phone speaker.
In the garage, Tuco continued shouting, his anger compounding, building upon itself as he continued bellowing threats into Luis’ cell phone. “You fucking prick,” he screamed, his face turning red and sweat beading on his face, “I’ll skin you alive, do you hear me? I’m gonna skin you alive and I’m gonna skin your mother and I’m gonna skin every damn person you’ve ever known in you life, do you hear me?”
He paused, listening a moment. There was no answer. “Do you fucking hear me?” Still no answer. He didn’t care, he couldn’t. His anger had made him irrational as it often did and at that point nothing mattered except for releasing it, pumping out his fury in orgasmic bursts of rage.
He spun and kicked a large dent the 2006 Saturn in for a simple oil change. “If you want me your gonna come to me. I’m not playing your game anymore, Puto, this is my game now, do you hear me? This is my fucking game and if you want a piece of me than you get a pen and fucking paper and write this shit down. I’m gonna cut Luis’ dick off, right? Then I’m gonna cut your little cousin Thomas’ dick off, then I’ll burn their bodies, burn them ‘til their ashes and dust.”
Breaking Bad: Heisenberg - Tuco's Revenge (Heisenberg Book 1 / Breaking Bad) Page 3
