Tuco almost asked No Doze to repeat his question but then he smelled it. He saw black smoke coming through a side window. “Oh shit,” Tuco said, “they set the joint on fire.” He looked around, feeling a hint of panic. It’s all right, this place is mostly concrete. It wouldn’t burn easy but there were gas and oil-soaked rags and dozens of other combustibles around. A more pressing problem was the smoke coming through a few windows now and it wouldn’t take long to become unbearable and then dangerous.
Leonel sprinted to his brother and helped him to his feet. “I’m going to move you back some.” Marco said nothing, he was seeing double and burning with a fever. Blood soaked his shirt and had collected in a small puddle on the floor where Marco was sitting. Leonel helped him back to the center of the garage, near where they had left Luis and Al. Leonel helped his twin lean against a wooden support beam running from floor to ceiling, “Just hang here and save your bullets until they come this way,” Leonel said, glancing around, the smell of smoke stronger now, “I think we’re going to have to open the door.” Marco understood. It was about to get crazy.
Tuco leaned towards the shattered window nearest him, “Filipe, you coward, you asshole.”
From outside, there was laughter. “Now, now, Tuco, don’t get all burned up, there’s plenty of time for that in about…” a pause that raised the airs on Tuco’s nape, “… five, maybe ten minutes.” Filipe banged his fist on the metal garage door, “Come on, Tucita, I promise we’ll kill your friends quick, they don’t need to suffer any more than they already have. Come out and we’ll only take our time with you. Only you have to suffer for this.”
Tuco would have laughed if he was not coughing, the black smoke beginning to irritate his lungs. He knew they didn’t have much time before they had to get outside. The roof was a thought but it was dismissed when Tuco remembered smoke comes from fire and burning buildings collapse. It would have to be head on, face to face.
Leonel joined Tuco’s side, “It’s getting bad in here.”
Tuco agreed, “Are you ready then?” Leonel was ready. Tuco looked over to No Doze, “You ready?” No Doze gave a thumb up and shouted in excitement. Tuco grabbed the fire axe off of the wall and shifted his grip on the handle, getting used to the weight. Beautiful. He held it over his shoulder. His voice was hard, “Open the door.”
No Doze hit the garage door opener and the door creaked and began to roll up on large metal hinges. Tuco, Leonel and No Doze all stepped back, hiding themselves on the sides of the concrete doorframe.
The creaking and shaking of the door opening stopped and it was silent. The sounds of fire popping, of wind whistling, that was all there was. Tuco shouted, “You were saying before that you wanted to settle this like men, right? You still want that? You still feeling like a man?”
No answer. Tuco pressed on, “You want to be a big man, don’t you? Don’t you, Filipe?” Tuco stepped from behind his cover, exposed in the open doorway, “You know your sister wanted a big man. She wanted me to be her big man and I was. I was bigger than she could handle.”
This time there was a reaction. Filipe Toledo stepped out from the side of the garage, his pistol raised and pointing at Tuco’s head. “Don’t you dare talk about her again,” he screamed, “You don’t deserve her name in your filthy mouth.”
Tuco tapped the axe handle against his palm, taking another step outside. Behind him, No Doze and Leonel raised the firearms and stepped out. No Doze had one bullet left, Leonel’s was empty. Tuco smiled, “Let’s do this the old fashioned way, huh? You want me dead, right? You want me to suffer? You want it to be slow and painful?” He spun the axe in his hand, “So then we gotta do this old school.”
Tuco pulled the pistol from his waistband, held it out and dropped it. He pointed his axe at Filipe’s gun, “No guns. Just hands. Knives.” Tuco hoisted his axe quickly then held it at the ready, “Maybe an axe or two.”
Filipe said nothing, he neither lowered his pistol nor command his five associates do so; the men slowly emerged from hiding and now faced Tuco, Leonel and No Doze, with pistols and submachine guns drawn.
Fire crackled and wind blew: once again a silent stalemate. Unexpectedly, Filipe broke into a half-hearted laugh and lowered his pistol. “You know,” he said, dropping the gun on the ground, “I think you may be on to something.” He turned to the car beside him and reached through the shattered window. “What about,” he asked, pulling the long curved blade out of the backseat, turning it in his hand, feeling the well worn and comfortable leather grip against his skin, “machetes?”
Tuco liked where this was going.
13.
Tuco’s opinion was that if ever an exact moment called for a dramatic gesture, this was it. So he did not disappoint. Stepping forward, he casually shouldered the fire axe, “Since this is about you and me let’s just cut out the bullshit.” Tuco squinted in the sun, looking Filipe and his five men over, “How about me and you, winner takes all?”
Filipe laughed, “All?” he asked, moving his unbuttoned shirt aside and showing Tuco the large lock-blade knife strapped to his hip: Angelita.
Tuco’s grip was sweaty on the thick wooden axe handle, “Every last goddamned thing.”
Filipe glanced at Hector to get a read on his opinion. Hector was a statue, unmoving and stone. Still, Filipe had known him since they were children, even at his most stoic, Hector was an open book. “All right,” Filipe said, brandishing his machete, “No guns, no backup. Me and you alone.” Tuco nodded yes. Yes. That is the deal.
Filipe waved off his crew and they stepped back and lowered their guns. Tuco did the same. No Doze and Leonel moved back and pointed their weapons away.
Tuco hoisted the axe in the air, used its weight to help stretch his back. The heat of the summer sun mixed with the smell of smoke and the burning flames licking off of the burning garage. It’s fucking good.
Tuco felt good. He felt great. He ripped open his button-down silk shirt, small plastic buttons shot off and fell in the dirt. His brown chest glistened with sweat and he pounded it savage-like. Tuco was shaped like a homicidal fire hydrant, squat and muscular. He was built for brute power, a definite contrast to Filipe, tall and thin, built for speed and agility.
The two men circled one another, moving with slow, careful steps. Around them, their respective crews watched nervously, guns lowered but fingers all dancing near triggers. Half a dozen dead bodies littered the area along with scraps of metal thrown out by the shredded Saturn still smoldering in the ditch beside the road.
Tuco moved the axe blade back and forth, feeling the weight and balance of his weapon. Across from him, Filipe’s machete danced in front of him, sunlight glinting off the razor-honed edge. Filipe had formally trained in hand-to-hand combat but he knew that mattered little against Tuco Salamanca. Tuco was not one for finesse, he only knew how to smash and batter. Tuco was brute force and blunt trauma, fancy footwork and misdirection mattered little against an opponent with no finesse.
Filipe knew only patience mattered. The patience to wait for an opening. Like now. Tuco squinted into the sun as they circled and Filipe struck. He swung his machete at Tuco’s forehead. Tuco barely got the axe up in time: the blade sunk into the axe handle. Tuco twisted the axe, trying to yank the machete from Filipe’s grip but it didn’t work. Filipe pulled the blade free and pushed off his back foot, lunging forward, stabbing the machete towards Tuco’s gut.
Tuco dodged, a little slow, the blade sliced into his breast and shoulder. Not deep, just enough to draw blood and sting like hell with the dust and the sweat.
Tuco spit on the ground and began to grind his teeth. “Mother fucker,” he grumbled, stepping to the side, moving around, trying to get the sun out of his eyes. “You’re fast,” Tuco said, “I’ll give you that. But fast ain’t everythi…” he went for the element of surprise, swinging the axe at Filipe’s legs.
Filipe leapt back, safely out of the way, but he was off-balance and unprepared for Tuco’s next move: a
tackling shoulder drive into Filipe’s torso. They fell together, legs intertwined, weapons tumbling from their grasps. On top, Tuco punched at Filipe’s face. Filipe was fast, he blocked most of Tuco’s hammering fists and squirmed backwards, kicking as he scrambled.
Tuco latched onto Filipe’s belt, “Come here you little…” he ignored the kicks and dragged Filipe back, dropping a knee onto the side of his face. Filipe groaned and shoved at Tuco’s leg. He could not break free, Tuco had his belt and wasn’t letting go. In one quick motion, Tuco swiped his hand to the side knocking open the snap on Angelita’s belt holster.
Filipe pushed off Tuco’s shins and scrambled out of Tuco’s reach. He grabbed his machete and leapt to his feet, spinning to take a quick offense. Tuco was already on his feet, Angelita held at the ready. He flicked her open: snikt. Her eight-inch blade caught the sunlight, a golden glint flashing in Filipe’s eyes.
Filipe swung his machete, letting it ‘woosh’ the air, “You brought toothpick to a machete fight, Hombre.” Filipe held his blade steady, “Looks like your luck’s ran out.”
Tuco laughed now, hard and loud, “You know, Bitch, you said that the other day. You asked me if I believed in luck or destiny, right? Would I rather have fate or chance backing me up?” The knife felt effortless in his hand, like a three-quarter foot claw extending from his own body. He moved it from palm to palm, circling with a swagger, back and forth, smooth and hypnotic. “You know, Puto,” he continued, always swaying, always moving, “I have an answer for you,” Tuco let Angelita rest in his right hand, “I can fucking tell you exactly which one I want.”
With a flick of the wrist so fast it was impossible for Filipe to react or defend against, Tuco’s knife flew through the air, spinning end over end in a blur, perfectly balanced, immaculately weighted.
It was an action Tuco had performed and practiced to an art form. The blade pierced Filipe Toledo’s throat, sunk in, slicing flesh and nerve and artery, cutting his esophagus in half, lodging with a shudder in the eighth vertebrae of his spine.
Filipe’s eyes were wide in shock, he gurgled and grunted, unable to speak and running out of ways to breath. His hand tensed on the machete handle but then went slack. The long blade dropped to the ground and Filipe reached for the knife in his throat, feeling it, having trouble understanding what it was, if it was real, or what it was doing in his neck. Before he could fall to his knees, Tuco was there grabbing ahold of him by the shirt. Tuco pulled him close enough to whisper.
“I don’t want either. You fucking keep luck and you can shove destiny up your blown-out ass.” Tuco leaned back so he could stare into Filipe’s tearing eyes, “I don’t believe in any of that shit,” he screamed, letting go of Filipe’s shirt, letting him fall to his knees. “All I need is me,” he said, kicking Filipe in the chest, knocking him to the dirt beside him machete, “All is believe in is me, Puto.”
He picked up Filipe’s machete and held it tip down over Filipe’s heart. “I’m Tuco fucking Salamanca, Bitch,” he said, his voice steady and true. He thrust the blade through Filipe’s breastbone into his heart. Filipe gasped and spit up a spray of the blood collecting in his throat. He weakly thrashed and kicked a little before falling still as the last of his breaths and heartbeats abandoned him.
Tuco leaned close to Filipe’s face, staring him in the eyes as his life passed, “And I’m taking everything you got, just like I promised.”
He gave his boys a nod and they pulled their guns, shooting before Filipe’s men could react. They fell like dominoes as No Doze and Leonel emptied their weapons into their bodies. It was fast and it was total.
Half and hour later, after taking their wallets, their stash of guns and swapping tires off of his Lincoln, Tuco had indeed taken everything Filipe Toledo had.
14.
Tuco sat at his desk watching Gonzo and No Doze install the new safe. This one was bigger, stronger, more difficult to open. It would serve him well going into the future. He could never let anything like that happen again, especially not in his own office. Filipe Toledo would have to remain an anomaly, a rumor that would never be spoken of again.
It’s good to be here, Tuco thought, picking his fingernails with Angelita’s razor tip, it’s good to be alive. He found himself thinking of Vegas so he shook it off by lighting a joint, blowing out the first hit with an unspoken salute to his fallen friend.
After their victory yesterday, they moved all the bodies and rolled the cars into the garage, letting it burn to ashes and cinders. Vegas’s corpse was loaded in the Lincoln’s trunk to be given to his family for a proper burial. They were home before dark and went their separate ways for doctoring, showering, dinner and sleep.
From his top desk drawer, Tuco pulled out a bag of crystal meth, dumped some onto a folded newspaper and broke it into chunky powder with the lock-blade. He took a big hit up his right nostril. Shit burns. It was the last of that last batch of shit he got from Fring’s crew. It was crap, worse than the shit Filipe had brought him. Well what the fuck, you do what you gotta do. He took another big hit, left nostril this time.
Tuco rubbed his stinging nose and leaned back in his chair, relaxing into a sunbeam glowing golden through the dusty window. I fucking hope some better shit comes around here soon because this is getting ridiculous.
END
Breaking Bad: Heisenberg - Tuco's Revenge (Heisenberg Book 1 / Breaking Bad) Page 5
