The Mercenary's Daughter

by Joe Gazzam

  I resisted the urge to stand and go after him. “Yes, we wait,” I answered, clenching my teeth and biting back my impatience.

  For the next several hours I sat, watching, filled with disgust, but ready to move. The club became a distant rumble of sound, and my eyes stayed focused on the target. They took in each shameful grope, each hungry glance, his well-fed, satisfied smirk.

  When he finally tired of the women, he got to his feet, shaking one of them off like a clingy child.

  “He’s leaving,” I said, moving for the exit before the guys had time to respond.

  “Okay, just don’t—” Andy started, but I was already winding through the crowd.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I PULLED THE OLD-SCHOOL Cadillac “Yank Tank” down a side road and positioned it toward the club. Castillo’s vehicles weren’t hard to spot. Three identical Cadillac Escalades waited for him out front. He took his time exiting, and I gripped the steering wheel, my anger refreshed as he ambled toward the cars, his armed men in tow.

  Andy sat in the back seat. I could feel his hesitant eyes through the rearview, but he kept quiet.

  Mitch cracked his knuckles next to me. “Dude has a convoy.” He shook his head too many times and I could sense his anxiety spiking. “I don’t know, man.”

  “The vehicles are armored too,” I said, squinting.

  “How do you know?” Andy asked.

  I pointed. “They’re easy to spot. See, the metal’s thicker at the seams.”

  The three SUVs pulled out onto the street in a perfect line, their headlights quickly sweeping past and flaring to white. The light shined across Mitch’s face, creating shadows beneath his cheekbones. I waited a few heart-pounding seconds, then slipped in behind them, maintaining a safe distance. Far enough to keep them in sight, but not close enough to arouse suspicion.

  Less than a mile from the club, the SUVs began to systematically change positions, front to back, side to side.

  “What the heck are they doing?” Mitch asked.

  “I told you,” Andy said, leaning forward through the two front seats. “It is not possible to catch this man.”

  “Relax,” I shifted in my seat, refusing to be outwitted. “All convoys do that in case they’re being watched. That way you don’t know which one the target’s in.”

  Mitch tapped his fidgety fingers on the armrest. “Like a giant shell game.”

  “Right,” I said, my eyes locking on the second to the last car. “Except I was always good at that.”

  After another couple miles, we came to a four-way stop. Instead of turning in unison, all three SUVs headed in opposite directions.

  Mitch turned to me, chewing into the pad of his thumb. “Either this is standard protocol or they know someone’s following them. Right?”

  I kept my gaze forward. “Doesn’t matter. This only helps us. They’ve separated, and I know which one Castillo’s in.”

  Andy placed his hand on my shoulder, and I tensed like a muzzled dog. “If they know they are being followed, you need to turn back,” he said.

  I risked a quick glance in the rearview mirror and our eyes connected for a moment. He was right, but we didn’t know for sure they were on to us. We still had a shot.

  “We have what we wanted,” I said, turning left and following one of the SUVs. “He’s isolated down to one car.”

  “The one you think he’s in.” Andy removed his hand, but his accented words swept over my shoulder like a tangible cloud of reason.

  My eyes narrowed as I focused on the Escalade ahead of us. “This might be our only chance.”

  Logic was a pesky gnat I chose to swat away. The only person on the planet capable of stopping my father’s death was in that car. If we’d been spotted, I had to act now while the Escalade was alone. We couldn’t wait for him to reach his destination and his armed team of backup. I locked my jaw and stomped the accelerator.

  “Castillo’s in this one, I know it,” I said as the car lurched forward and gained speed. The Yank tank ate asphalt as the automatic transmission ground through new gears.

  Mitch turned, confused. “What are you doing?”

  “Put on your seat belt.”

  “Listen to me,” he yelled. “Be smart about this.”

  “Sit back and shut up.”

  I kept the accelerator down and quickly caught up to the Escalade, getting within a hundred yards of the bumper. Then eighty, then seventy, sixty, fifty.

  “Stop the car!” Mitch shouted.

  The Escalade was coming up fast. Forty, thirty, twenty. If I could just get them off the road...

  Mitch reached over and grabbed the steering wheel, turning it to avoid the crash. The car swerved and slid into on-coming traffic. For the briefest second, I froze, waiting for the crunch and shatter of impact, but before my next breath, instinct took over.

  I yanked the wheel and the car did a 180. It slid sideways, barely avoiding the first on-coming car. I steered into the farthest lane, the tires reaching the limits of adhesion before I deftly jerked onto the far shoulder of the road. Reapplying the brakes, I regained control before finally skidding to a halt. The front end of the car stopped within inches of a telephone pole and then rocked slowly backward.

  I pounded the wheel and spun toward Mitch. “What the hell were you doing?” I yelled.

  “The right thing,” Mitch, shouted back. “What were you going to do, ram their car?”

  “For starters!”

  “You might be a good driver, but think through the physics. That SUV has an extra ton, plus an anti-rolled suspension. If by some miracle, you got them to stop, they’re armored and the glass is bullet proof. Even if Castillo is in there, we’d never get him out!”

  “He was alone,” I argued. “This was an opportunity. Who knows where he’s going or how many guys will be there?”

  “Tell yourself whatever you want. But the element of surprise was the only advantage we had and you probably just blew it.”

  I turned away, shifting uncomfortably in my tiny dress. He was right, which only made me angrier. I’d been reckless, disregarding my training and everything I knew in the heat of the moment. It was a bad call.

  “Whatta you want me to say?” I muttered, still defensive.

  “I don’t want you to say anything. I want—”

  “Um, guys...” Andy interrupted.

  I took a breath and bit back my anger, hoping to end the conversation. “What?” I snapped.

  I glanced at him, his large green eyes wide with alarm. One of Castillo’s black Escalades had circled around. Andy turned to watch out the rear windshield as the SUV sped toward us. My adrenaline spiked. I might have been right about which car Castillo was in, but just like Mitch said, we had now identified ourselves as a threat.

  The Escalade picked up speed, clearly intent on plowing right through us. Out of sheer panic, I gunned the car. It peeled out, kicking up rocks along the gravel shoulder, but got us out of the way of the Escalade, which missed us just barely and slammed the telephone pole with such force, the hood folded into a V-shape and put the vehicle out of commission.

  I pulled forward, speeding back onto the road, and cranked the wheel hard to get the old car pointed in the right direction. As I straightened out, a second Escalade appeared from behind. I floored the car, but wouldn’t be able to outrun it. I glanced ahead to scout an alternate route, when another Escalade appeared from the opposite direction. They had all circled back.

  A dark-skinned man with an automatic weapon leaned out of the oncoming Escalade and my pulse quickened. He was about to fire. I twisted the wheel hard then jerked the parking break, a maneuver Vince and I used to do for fun in empty parking lots after a few drinks. The creaking Yank tank spun into a ninety-degree, hard right turn. The tactic was awkward in this old car, but it worked as I released the brake, floored the accelerator and rocketed down a side road.

  “We’re in trouble, we’re in so much trouble,” Mitch said, his eyes as wide as saucers.


  I glanced back at Andy who was pinned to the back seat.

  “Relax,” I said loudly, though my hands were slick against the wheel. “Getting away in stolen cars was pretty much my job in high school.”

  The two Escalades slid in behind me, giving chase. The first one caught up and rammed us from behind, which threw the car into an uncontrolled spin. Scenery smeared past the window and I could hardly breathe, but somehow my body still knew what to do, like muscle memory. I let my foot off the accelerator, and used perfect rhythm between the brake and steering wheel to pull out of the spin. It always amazed me how capable I could become when my survival was at stake.

  As we slid to a stop, the sudden deceleration caused me to lurch forward against my straining seat belt shoulder strap. The taut fabric cut into my flesh like a band of steel.

  I spun the wheel and put all my weight back onto the accelerator, sliding onto a large, main street. Only instead of finding open road, I was immediately slowed by a milling crowd.

  “Shit, where are we?” I asked as waves of tourists jumped out of the way of our car. “It’s some sort of art festival or something.”

  “Paseo del Prado,” Andy blurted, “the first paved street of Havana.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Tour Guide,” I said, “but which way do I go? Where’s the nearest street?”

  “Take the next right.”

  I nosed the car onto the paved marble walkway that divided the lanes, determined to escape, whatever it took.

  Andy winced at me through the rearview. “Ay, I meant at the light, Tara.”

  The steering wheel vibrated and the dashboard rattled as I took on the shallow curb meant for pedestrian entry. “You said the next right!”

  I managed my way back onto the roadway and veered down a perpendicular street. Dodging pedestrians had slowed us down, and the two Escalades hadn’t been afraid to follow. They were right on our bumper.

  “Come on, come on,” I muttered, my eager foot pressing slightly harder on the pedal.

  I sped up as the crowd lightened and blew through a red light. In my mirrors, I watched cars from either direction lock brakes, screeching across asphalt. The closest trailing Escalade split the two cars, but clipped the front ends of both, sending them spiraling away.

  “Holy...” Mitch shouted, as I let out a deep breath.

  The second Escalade passed through the shower of metal and glass as I turned down an alley. I tore through to the next street and slid sideways onto it, working the brake pedal the way an angler worked a fishing reel. With the accelerator pinned I flew down the road with the Escalades close behind. The two cars bobbed and weaved, took simultaneous lefts and rights. I couldn’t shake them. I veered around slower vehicles and blared my horn as I shot through another red light and multiple lanes of traffic.

  Ahead, an oblivious driver stopped so suddenly I had to whip the wheel and turn again into oncoming traffic. This time, I couldn’t pull out. Instead, I weaved through a swarming constellation of cars, every one a potential deadly weapon. I finally caught an opening and whipped back into the correct lane.

  After a few more minutes, I finally made it into a more residential neighborhood. With the Escalades looming in my rearview, I made a hard right down a small side road. The thick trees on all sides sucked them in, tunnel-like. Immediately, I saw the giant, thick metal gate up ahead. Behind it were giant mansions. It was a dead-end.

  I squinted in forced concentration. This was a private, gated community for the very rich. Which meant, that gate was not going to give. It had to be reinforced. There was no way to ram through it, especially not with the ancient car I was driving. It would fold like an accordion.

  I slammed on the brakes and skidded to a stop. Tire smoke billowed. Behind us, the two Escalades spread out to block the entire road, most likely knowing the gate was immovable. My gut felt heavy with defeat.

  “What are you doing?” Mitch asked.

  “That gate’s reinforced, no way we get through it,” I said.

  Mitch spun in his seat staring at the Escalades bearing down on us. The SUVs took up the entire width of the tree-lined road. He glanced back at the gate, his eyes ticking back and forth as if his mind had slipped into overdrive.

  My heart drummed against my rib cage and beads of sweat formed on my brow. “I have to turn around, go right at them. Play chicken. Hope one of the drivers blinks.”

  Andy lurched forward. “Estas loca?”

  “Wait!” Mitch said, his eyes focused in front of us.

  “Wait for what? We’re out of options.” Loose curls from my done-up hair had fallen into my face, and I swept them away, crazed with desperation.

  “Go for the gatehouse.”

  Andy looked back and forth between the two of us. “What?”

  “It’s wood,” Mitch answered. “There’s no permanent foundation. It’s a structural weakness.”

  I pressed my lips together in thought, anxiety coursing through me like engine oil. “I wanna disagree with you, but the truth is...I don’t have a better idea.”

  I forced the accelerator to the floor and the car picked up speed. Twenty yards from the gate, I saw someone inside the gatehouse. I laid on the horn, and a man looked up as I twisted the wheel and made right for him.

  “Move!” I screamed, though I was sure he couldn’t hear me.

  He scrambled to his feet and dove out the side door moments before I smashed through. I winced as the gatehouse exploded around us, but just as Mitch predicted, the Yank tank punched a hole between the metal gate and the cement wall. A torrent of debris fanned across the windshield as the car slammed down onto the other side.

  I looked behind me to see the Escalades skid to a stop. They couldn’t make it through the gate and their vehicles were too wide to pass through the hole we’d just made. They simply couldn’t follow.

  As I drove the car away, Mitch kept watch behind us.

  He spun back around in his seat and breathed a giant sigh of relief. “We’re in the clear.”

  My chest finally relaxed, though tension still racked my body.

  After a few silent moments, Andy leaned slowly forward, staring at me in shock. “You are completely insane.”

  I glanced over my shoulder, regretting getting him involved. I could have gotten him killed. “Look, I’m sorry—” I started to apologize.

  “I don’t know where you learned to drive like that,” Andy said with a playful grin. “But I think I’m in love with you.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  DESPITE MITCH’S INITIAL PANIC that we were trapped inside the gated community, lady luck finally blessed us with the tiniest gift—an exit. After winding our way through the wealthy suburb, dense with palms and Spanish colonial homes, we found a second gatehouse. As it did for all residents, the automatic wrought-iron fence sensed our vehicle and rolled to the side as we approached, allowing our vehicle to pass.

  Mitch threw his back into the seat, sighing a deep breath of relief and Andy navigated us to the apartment in near silence.

  “Park far away and out of sight,” he said as we got closer. “Just in case someone spots the car.”

  I nodded and parked on the gravel near the dumpster-side of another rundown apartment building two streets down.

  “So, what now?” Mitch asked, vocalizing the question I’d been quietly mulling over in my head.

  I didn’t have an answer.

  When I held my silence, he shook his head and shot out of the car, slamming the door behind him.

  Andy stayed quiet as I stared past the steering wheel, obsessing over my mistake.

  Finally, I caught his sorrowful eyes in the rearview mirror. “Do you think the club—”

  He shook his head. “He won’t be at the club again. Not after what just happened.”

  I nodded, trying to shove the gut-wrenching disappointment somewhere deep.

  “Hey.” Andy reached out, placing his warm hand on my bare shoulder. “Maybe I can talk with some people. L
ike I said, everyone either knows him or works for him in this city.”

  I turned in my seat, torn at the thought of putting him in more danger, but also desperate. “You’re supposed to be laying low. I can’t keep asking—”

  “You’re not asking.” He leaned in closer. “I’m offering. And I can be subtle. There are ways to get answers to questions without asking directly. I’ll worry about me. You worry about your Dad...and Mitch.”

  “Thank you,” I said, resisting the urge to hug him. It was a long-shot, but at least it was something.

  Andy smiled, staring at me so long I almost thought he might kiss me, but Mitch pounded on the window. “Come on,” he yelled through the glass. “Let’s go.”

  “Get some rest.” Andy opened his door. “I’ll come by the safehouse if I get any information that might help.”

  THAT NIGHT, THE ONLY thing to do was wait and hope. After I explained Andy’s plan, Mitch barely spoke a word to me and eventually passed out on the couch, leaving me to stare at the bedroom ceiling.

  Without realizing I’d fallen asleep, I jolted awake hours later, gasping and lurching toward someone who wasn’t there. Blinking my eyes to clear the tears, I sat upright in bed, reliving the nightmare. My pulse slowed as I let out a heavy breath, but I couldn’t wipe the image of my dead father from my mind. What if I’d ruined our only chance? What if they killed him because of me?

  I swallowed down the sting in my throat, ignoring the sharp whispers of doubt that taunted me. Either way I wouldn’t quit, not until I got answers. Proof of his death, revenge, something.

  I couldn’t rely wholly on Andy. Mitch and I needed a backup plan.

  Slowly rolling my legs off the bed, I craned my neck forward until I heard the satisfying crack of vertebrae. My body felt stiff from last night’s action. Hoping a shower would help, I headed to the bathroom, letting the dribbling water run for a minute before finally hopping in.