by Chris Draper
The place was as desolate as Byron had described, with no houses or other buildings nearby. It was so dark out there now that even the moon seemed to be obscured behind a black screen and the strong winds sifted through the bushes surrounding the bar and meddled with the loud Samba music playing inside. The highway behind them seemed quiet with only an occasional car zipping past in a hurry. No one wanted to be out in this storm.
Hawk saw a few Syndicate move to the side of the building and wait underneath some large trees for cover from the rain; he also spotted Randall hauling something large on his shoulder and squat down in some low bushes outside the entrance to the bar. Byron was on the other side of the entrance near a window with Etaro and Travis and motioned for Hawk to come over to where he was. Hawk went over and squatted down beside him and Byron rose up on his heels, slowly peeked his head over into the dirty square window cut into the front of the building. Inside he could make out some of the El Hombrez dancing with a few women, could see the entire gang was there including Martinez seated in a far back corner. Hawk got up beside him and peered in as well. Close to the window was a dark-haired woman sitting beside an El Hombrez, she was bent over the table sniffing up white powder from the table into a straw stuffed up her nose.
“Prostitutes.” Byron said without taking his eyes off the window. “Martinez gets them every year from a local brothel. In other words people who won't be missed by anyone.”
“How many in there you figure?” Travis asked. “I count 25.”
Byron shook his head. “No there's more than that, don't forget there's another room behind the bar where the El Hombrez play cards. There's probably another 10 in there at least.”
Hawk moved his head from left to right and counted the same tally Travis had. 25 souls in the bar with possibly more somewhere else. He thought about the kid at the gas station, hoped his message had been understood. Otherwise everyone in there would soon die and there wouldn't be much he could do about it
“You plan on killing everyone here?” Hawk asked. “Even the unarmed women?”
“Everyone.” Byron said and nodded towards a man sitting in the back with a heavy build and dark features. “But first I'll start with that fat bastard over there. That's the man of the hour himself – Martinez.”
“I can't wait to see his face when we storm in there.” Etaro said. “Sure gonna spoil that party.”
Cleetch shuffled over to where Byron was, “We good to move around back now?”
“Go ahead, just make sure to be in the main room when the fun starts.”
“We will.” Cleetch said and looked over at Hawk. “I just hope Blake here is as good at breaking into fire doors as he says he is.”
“I hope so too.” Byron said. “For his sake.”
“Let's move.” Cleetch moved towards the side of the building and Hawk followed, looking back one last time to see Byron move towards the front entrance.
Byron, Travis and Etaro were inside the bar a minute later, having casually strolled in the front doors like they'd been expected the entire time. Near the door sat some Spanish floozies and two El Hombrez sucking up blow through a rolled up dollar bill and they all looked up in surprise, one of them bolting up in his seat like he'd been given a power shock. He raced over to where Martinez was sitting, his back turned in conversation to another Hombrez, and said something in his ear. Martinez turned around, saw Byron near the entrance, stood up with a puzzled look on his face and walked over with his bodyguard Hector. On the way over he motioned a hand for the bartender to lower the music then stopped in front of Byron. The rest of the El Hombrez came over and stood around him, each looking at one another like someone might have an idea why the Syndicate had showed up out of the blue on the Hombrez' biggest day of the year. But no one had the answer so they just waited there for Martinez to speak. Martinez had tiny rings of powder around his nose and he wiped it away with his sleeve, looked uneasily at a black bag in Byron's right hand, then looked back up at him.
“Byron this is a surprise!” Martinez said with a chameleon's grin. “You came all this way to see Martinez on his special day? This warms my heart.”
“How could I forget such a special day for such an old friend?” Byron said without smiling back. “I was surprised that I didn't get an invite this year Martinez. I hope we are still on good terms.”
“Oh yes, we are always on good terms my friend.” Martinez said. “We mailed out invitations but I guess yours must have been lost in the mail.”
“Yes that must have been it.” Byron said stepping toward the table near him and clearing away a few beer bottles scattered around with his arm. He dropped the large black bag down with a thud in the centre and looked at Martinez over with a smile that seemed pleasant enough. “I brought you a little present Martinez, because you know old friends look out for each other right?”
Martinez shifted nervously on his feet. “Yes Byron, we look out for each other.” Then added, “I heard about what happened to some of your guys in Fort Lauderdale and we are all very sorry for your loss. I want you to know that we stand with you to find the cowards that...”
Byron raised a hand, silencing Martinez who was caught off guard by the gesture. “There's no need to say anything, what's done is done. We both know shit happens in our line of business, you just have to deal with it right?”
“Yes that is right.”
“Good. Now let's get your present unwrapped shall we?”
Martinez nodded and Byron began unzipping the bag on the table slowly, each stroke of the zipper cutting through the silence of the room, each pair of eyes focused on Byron's hand as it came closer to opening up the mysterious parcel. Everyone had a different idea about what was inside. A gun? Drugs? A bomb? Martinez looked over at Hector, gave a slight nod of his head, and Hector slowly pulled out a 9mm handgun stuck into the back of his dark jeans. He kept it there for shit-hits-the-fan situations, and a rival gang leader bringing a strange package in the middle of a large storm definitely fell into that category. In another minute Byron would have the bag opened. Hector slowly clicked off the safety from his pistol and waited for Martinez to give the signal to fire.
Hawk was moving quickly around the side of Fiesta Lochez with Cleetch, heads lowered from the rain pelting their faces like they were running through a waterpark. Cleetch was a few metres ahead, checking the back of the building to make sure none of the El Hombrez might be back there. Once he was sure the area was deserted he called back to Hawk that it was clear then disappeared around the corner. It was pitch black back there with no visible street lights so Cleetch led the way with his flashlight as they moved around a dumpster, over a gaping puddle in the middle of the cracked pavement, and stopped in front of the fire exit at the rear of the bar.
Cleetch took out a soft mallet and a crowbar from his bag then carefully handed the tools over to Hawk and withdrew a small pistol from his jacket and kept the barrel pointed towards Hawk. “Remember Blake, don't get any ideas with them tools, you know you wouldn't get very far if you did. I'm pretty handy with this revolver.”
“You don't have to tell me.” Hawk said taking the tools and kneeling down by the right side of the door. “Just keep that light focused on the door and let me get to work.”
Cleetch took a few steps back and kept the flashlight on Hawk's hands as he gently slid the end of the crowbar into the crevice separating the door from the wall. Hawk then tilted his head sideways to get a better look and started taping the end of the crowbar with the soft mallet. The door was large and green with rivets hammered into the sides for extra protection. Hawk had never actually broken into one before but remembered watching a security video of a robbery being committed a similar way and thought he could fool Cleetch enough to make him believe he was actually making progress. He didn't have a plan on how exactly he was going to disarm Cleetch or get his truck keys – maybe he'd wait for a brief flash of lightning and do it then – but he knew it needed to happen soon. Byron would be making h
is way into the bar by now and pretty soon the slaughter he had spoke of would begin.
He couldn't kill Cleetch though; he needed him alive for one reason. Cleetch was his ticket back to the Everglades - or so he hoped anyway. If he could get the gun away from him he could force him to be his guide back to the Everglades, then rescue Dottie Wagner while the gang was still preoccupied here. And if the police did end up showing up then even better – it would give Byron one more obstacle to keep him far enough away to provide Hawk with enough time to escape with Dottie. On the flip side what if Cleetch was willing to die rather than show him the way back to the Syndicate compound – that was another risk Hawk would have to deal with if it came to that.
At the moment though he was still trying to pry the crowbar back on the firedoor with little progress and could tell Cleetch was getting impatient. A thunderclap roared across the sky and then another, Hawk's grip on the crowbar tightened and he readied his right hand to throw it in Cleetch's direction. Enough to startle him and drop the flashlight.
“Thought you said you knew how to break into them things. Byron'll be expecting us in there pretty soon.”
“Just need another minute.” Hawk said. “I just need to reach the lock's mechanism and them we'll be in.”
“Well hurry it up Blake, this rain is colder than steel.”
Another thunderclap, followed by a streak of distant lightning erupted from the dark clouds and Hawk had just turned to throw the crowbar in Cleetch's direction when a funny thing happened. He heard some loud voices on the other side of the firedoor then backed away and told Cleetch to hide quickly. A minute later a drunken El Hombrez staggered out the door, looking around in a drunken haze. Hawk and Cleetch were concealed behind a large dumpster and Hawk slowly peeked over.
“What's he doing?” Cleetch whispered.
“Nothing, just looking around.” Hawk said. “I think he might of heard me working on the door.”
The Hombrez looked around once more into the night but didn't see anything, shrugged his shoulders and shut the door. Cleetch blew a sigh of relief then turned back to Hawk.
“Okay let's get back at it, we don't got much time left.”
Cleetch made a move to head back to the door but found his flashlight wouldn't turn on so he fiddled around with it a second. “Damn rain must have gotten into the battery compartment.” He twisted the light around and it came back on a minute later. “Got it!”
He flashed the light toward Hawk and in a brief second saw the heavy end of a crowbar fall down upon his face. He threw up his hands to try and deflect the blow but the strike came too hard and it sent him staggering backwards, the revolver in his hand falling on the wet ground.
He got down and searched around for it, covering the bloody gash in his head with one hand and Hawk was upon him a minute later. They wrestled there for a few seconds in the dark until Hawk got the advantage, swung a hard elbow into Cleetch's chin that dropped him down, and then Hawk got down and found the handle of the revolver and brought it up to Cleetch who was now sweating like a hog and had stood back up to give it another round.
“Easy! Just take it easy.” Hawk said wiping water away from his eyes. “Stay where you are Cleetch.”
“What the hell is this anyway?” Cleetch rubbed the top of head. “I thought we was friends Blake.”
“Your truck keys, give them too me.”
“No way, Byron would grill me at the stake if I did that.”
Hawk brought the revolver up and Cleetch put his hands in front of his face. “No Blake, please don't!”
“Give me your truck keys!” Hawk said raising his voice, then looked around to make sure no other Syndicate had heard the commotion. “This is your last chance Cleetch, I can always take them from your dead body you know.”
Cleetch fished the keys out of his pocket, tossed them over to Hawk who caught them with his free hand.
“Now move forward and don't even think of calling out.”
“What do you plan to do?”
“You'll see. Just keep moving forward and don't step out of line. When we reach the truck I want you to stop at the driver side door.”
Cleetch nodded that he understood and they began moving forward in the darkness toward the side of the building.
Back in Fiesta Lochez Byron had finished unzipping the black bag on the table, had reached both his hands inside and was starting to pull something out. Hector still had his hand on the trigger of the 9mm and was expecting to see something horrible come out of that bag. Byron slowly started pulling whatever it was out and everyone held their collective breath. They could see the top first. An expressive display of bright colors on top of something round and white. Couldn't be a bomb, Martinez thought with a puzzled look on his face. At least not like any bomb he'd ever seen. But it wasn't a gun either.
Byron finished pulling the strange gift out, placed it down on the table, looked up with a grin on his face. Immediately the El Hombrez relaxed, Hector slowly tucked the gun away and Martinez laughed and shook his head. There hadn't been any need for alarm. In the bag was a birthday cake. Vanilla, with colorful sprinkles adorning the top and some writing in the centre in a liquid blue candy that said 'Have a safe trip.'
“Happy birthday Martinez.” Byron said. “From one bastard to another.”
Martinez was laughing. “My friend, now this is quite the surprise. You had Martinez and the Hombrez worried for a second! Sit down and have a drink with us.”
Hector grabbed some chairs and they all sat down at the table. The tension in the room had dissipated. They were friends again – not enemies.
What had really happened was this. The day before Byron had got another one of his ideas. If you were to take off the top of his head and look inside you would see a vast machine of cogs and wheels, always working, always thinking. Byron had realized there was no point in letting the El Hombrez think they were getting weapons when they were in fact going to be killed anyway. And it was with Byron's sick sense of humour that he had Travis stop at a Valumart to buy the cake and also had a custom message written on the top.
Have a safe trip, it said. Yes, the Hombrez would have a safe trip he thought: Behind the barrel of one of his guns. He took a sip of the dry house lager, saw the Hombrez were relaxed and knew it was time to signal the other Syndicate outside as planned. He stood up, excused himself to use the washroom, then hit the light switch near the entrance to the bar. The bright lights inside went off, then as planned Byron feigned it was an accident and switched them back on.
The Syndicate waiting outside saw the lights, and like hungry wolves started to move in on their prey. Randall had the rocket launcher hoisted on his right shoulder and bolted through the front door of the bar with the rest of the Syndicate flooding in the same way with their weapons drawn. In less than 15 seconds Martinez and his men were completely surrounded by the Syndicate and they stuck their hands up, faces aghast. The women in the bar screamed, knelt down with their arms covering their heads, shivering in fright. The chubby bartender with the handlebar moustache thought about going for the 12-gauge shotgun underneath the bar, but saw Travis had him in his gun sights and threw his hands up as well. Byron was still standing in front of Martinez, now with a 9mm drawn and swinging ominously in his right hand. He sauntered around the table for a moment then stopped in front of the birthday cake, stuck his index finger in the centre and sucked some of the white icing from his finger.
He looked up at Martinez in front of him who had a startled deer-in-the-headlights expression and it made Byron happy. There was nothing like having a grown man cower from you in fear. Sort of made you feel like a Greek God in a way.
“We've known each other a long time Martinez.” Byron said savouring the rest of the frosting on his finger. “It's just a shame you didn't smarten up when you had the chance. Now I'm afraid it's too late.”
Martinez looked around at the Syndicate surrounding him like cattle then back at Byron.
“Why the guns?
I am confused...I thought you came to celebrate with us. Now you bring guns here. What have I done? I have always been honest with you.”
“And were you being honest when you snuffed out two of my best men down in Fort Lauderdale a few days ago? Or is your memory getting fuzzy in your old age.”
“I don't know what you're taking about, I swear on my mother God rest her soul.” Martinez said. “The Syndicate are our brothers, we would never hurt one of your men, you have to believe me!”
Byron ignored him and continued, “And you probably thought you had killed Randall as well, but you thought wrong. You see, you let him live and now he has a bone to pick with you.”
Martinez looked at Randall standing behind Byron, the large gun hoisted up on his shoulder like some sort of weapon from an action movie. They all knew what it could do, Martinez especially remembering what it had done to the old school bus out back.
“No Byron,” Martinez pleaded. “Please don't do anything to us, we can start fresh again, we'll give you access to our territories in the cities, you can sell whatever you want whenever you want!”
“And that's another thing,” Byron said. “You think I was dumb enough to not realize you and your men were running around our areas? Selling your crap where it didn't belong? Poor Martinez...I thought you would have known better.”
Byron started walking toward Martinez, effortlessly yanking back the receiver on the handgun, and Martinez heard the bullet being loaded into the chamber. The bullet that he knew would soon end his life on this earth. A few of the El Hombrez stepped forward but the Syndicate held them back at gunpoint and they relented, stood there helplessly.
