The Perfect Stranger (LOS SANTOS Cartel Story #2)

by Melissa Jane

  “Alejandro, who is that man?” I didn’t need to point—one man stood out among the rest.

  “Colonel Gregorio,” he practically spat out in distaste. The man in question held the authority amongst the others, and their level of fear toward him was obvious.

  “That’s the man who assaulted your sister?”

  He nodded gravely. Torn between grief and the need to exact revenge.

  We watched as Gregorio threw the metal puck and seconds later was rewarded with the explosion. Like the narcissist he was, he cheered for himself while the others clapped out of obligation. Holding out his hand he accepted payment from a successful bet.

  He polished off the rest of the rum and threw the empty bottle letting it shatter on the road. Returning to the men, he interrupted the next game only to incite another bet using the money he’d won only moments earlier. They abided, not that they had a choice.

  “We all know what to do?” I asked again after having briefed them on the plan. They both nodded and a look passed between Jase and I. A look that said ‘return safe.’ The two disappeared from sight needing a head start. Explosives were to be placed along the line of housing used by the soldiers. Once they were set, Alejandro would hurl the flashbang into the school block at which time they would both advance in and herd the women out the back and up the mountain and finally setting the explosives off.

  My job? Taking care of Colonel Gregorio. It was going to be chaos. But to men like us, we relied on the right kind of chaos to get the job done.

  The game continued, the men unaware of what was about to go down. Positioning myself on the roof opposite the action, I aimed my rifle at the first soldier on the food chain. For a fraction of a second, a bright flash illuminated the school hall followed by the obnoxious loud bang. Frantic screams of confused and desperate women rang through the night air. I squeezed my trigger, three bullets for three soldiers. In the commotion they had fallen to their knees on the ground, guns pointed toward the school. But now, like a well-choreographed dance, they fell like dominos. Colonel Gregorio seemed torn between the chaos taking place at the school and his men who were dropping like flies.

  Men who had been sleeping in the soldier’s quarters staggered to the doorway, half naked and bleary-eyed. There was no time for conversation. The whole line of houses blew up in a seamless sequence. The bright orange explosion rattled the earth and everything around it. Taking cover as much as possible, the heat from the inferno burned my exposed skin. La Balsa town had already seen so much destruction, so many left homeless, but there was little choice in the matter. We needed maximum rebel casualties in the shortest amount of time. Destroying the line of commandeered houses was the only way.

  Debris rained around me, ash floated in the breeze like black snow. The noise went from one extreme to the next. From the small explosion of a Tejo game, flashbangs, screams from desperate women, the popping of guns, to mass explosions. And now, the tortured screams of those burning to death. It was a sound like no other. Unforgettable. From my position on the roof, I watched while those unfortunate enough to not have died in the blast, violently twist and turn to extinguish the flames. I could have ended their misery. But I chose not to. They didn’t deserve saving.

  His level of intoxication wasn’t helping Colonel Gregorio's struggling senses. Frantically, he searched for the possible sniper. Like a coward, he ran, jumping over the bodies of his fallen comrades. He was mid-air when I fired. His thigh had taken the bullet moments before he crumpled to the ground clutching his blood-soaked wound. His cries blended with the popping of rifles coming from the school.

  “Come on, come on,” I silently pleaded feeling the urgency. Hooking my rifle over my shoulder, I gripped the edge of the roof and lowered myself to the ground in time to see the women cautiously making their way through the backdoor of the school. They crossed the small game field and disappeared into the jungle.

  Colonel Gregorio spotted me, his eyes narrowing. I wasn’t one of his—that much he could guess. Seeing my assault rifle and Glock, he scurried back, kicking up dirt as he went. With my gun staring him in the face I indicated for Gregorio to toss aside his own weapon. Instead, he maintained his false bravado. I continued my advance, his hatred at boiling point. It was the smallest movement, his finger ready to take the shot when I fired my own. The gun flew from his hand, desperation chipping away at his confidence. Pressing my Glock to his head, I gripped the scruff of his neck.

  “Who the fuck are you?” he growled, and for a second I imagined that this was what Satan looked like.

  In the opposite direction of the explosion came the voices of rebel men. Dragging Gregorio to the building and out of sight, he eyed the two dead soldiers, their blood now staining the earth.

  “Colonel Gregorio?” I pushed his shoulder until he slumped against the wall.

  “Who’s asking?”

  “I’ll take that as yes. Wrists!” I demanded pulling duct tape from my vest. Gregorio’s eyes narrowed in spite. The toe of my boot connected sharply with his ribs when he refused. He jolted, coughed and spluttered. “My night still isn’t over, asshole. So do what I fucking say. Wrists!”

  Reluctantly he complied, his breathing ragged. Wrapping the tape ten times, he hands swelled from stunted blood flow. After tying his ankles and plastering tape over his mouth, I cracked the butt of my rifle across his head to knock him out until I returned.

  The popping of gunfire had upped a notch by the school while I repositioned on the roof. There I could pick my targets off one by one and at ease. The rebels had advanced. Splinters of wood and plumes of dust circled the school as soldiers peppered the walls with bullets. They assumed they were hitting their targets. Amidst their own firing, they hadn’t heard mine. Instead, perplexed, they watched as the person next to them fell. It was happening all too quickly for them to react.

  “This is too easy.” I grimaced feeling like the opposition should have been greater. When the last man hit the ground, I lay still, waiting. All noise confirming human existence had ceased. The only noise was the burning of buildings, creaking and snapping under the heat. The whole place had turned into a sauna, my skin tingling from the wind carrying the heat.

  Satisfied, I lowered my rifle, preparing to make a move. A sequence of dull thuds peppered the wall only inches down from my face.

  I’d been spotted, but from where?

  I kept low, looking through my scope at my invisible target. “Come on, you fucker. Come out of your hole.”

  We were playing each other off, waiting for someone to fuck up. And then a figure began to dart across the road. It was Jase.

  “Go back!” I yelled, but he continued, unable to hear. “Fuck!”

  I fired a warning shot at the road next to Jase causing him to duck for cover, but it was too late. Jase jolted twice on impact before he fell, my shooter emerging from a building corner long enough to take the shots.

  Retaliating, I fired four rounds momentarily pinning the soldier to the wall before he crumpled. I turned back to Jase. He wasn’t moving.

  “Get up. Fucking get up,” I silently urged. He didn’t, his body seemingly lifeless.

  My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach. If he was dead, I was responsible. Risking another possible shooter, I hooked my rifle and jumped from the roof. It was an eerie scene. A war zone. And I felt like I was the only survivor. Destruction was everywhere, bodies upon bodies sprawled across the blood-soaked earth like confetti.

  I kneeled beside Jase, his black clothing making it difficult to find the injuries. A small pool of blood gathered beneath his head coating the gravel. I felt for a pulse. He was breathing, just. He’d hit his head hard on the fall. Rolling him over onto his back, I hooked my arms under his and dragged him out of sight. Propping Jase against the wall, I heard Colonel Gregorio rousing. I watched him in my peripheral and then his attention diverted.

  He looked behind me.

  I stilled.

  For a micro-second, hope filled Gr
egorio’s eyes.

  I clutched my Glock.

  I had been reckless.

  Heavy footsteps pounded the earth, and I spun on my heel, pointing my weapon into the darkness.

  Alejandro, staring down the length of the barrel, came to a skidding halt, hands raised in surrender.

  I turned back to my prisoner and watched, slightly amused, as the smirk dropped from Gregorio’s face. One of his own had betrayed him. That had to hurt.

  “Where are the women?” I asked Alejandro.

  “They’re safe and at the location,” he confirmed, trepidation in his tone, nervous eyes flicking to Gregorio.

  “And the men?”

  Alejandro confirmed my hopes. “When the explosion went off, many of the guards left their post. All except two of the youngest.” His smile reached his eyes, and I too smiled knowingly.

  La Balsa men would have taken advantage of the weakened front and overrun the inexperienced soldiers.

  “Is he okay?” Alejandro displayed genuine concern for Jase.

  “He needs a medic.”

  “Everyone has been moved out. The hospital is cleared.”

  “Then we need to get him over the mountain and to a hospital. What of my father?”

  Alejandro’s eyes dropped, unable to meet mine. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “Some of the men said he passed two days ago.”

  “What from?”

  Again, Alejandro looked to Gregorio, this time with menace. “He was bashed. He died of head injuries.”

  I swallowed hard, my blood running cold. Almost fifteen years ago these monsters raped my mother. Now, they finished off my father, ending a life that had helped so many.

  Putting my personal feelings aside, I handed Alejandro a flashlight. “Hold this.”

  With the light, I could now see Jase’s wounds. His upper thigh had taken two bullets. Retrieving the medi-pack, I quickly secured padding to stop the bleeding.

  “Take Jase,” I ordered calmly, despite my thirst for retribution.

  Alejandro acted without hesitation, instructing the few La Balsa men he arrived with to collect him. Jase was no lightweight, and I pitied the journey they had through the jungle. When their footsteps and grunts fell silent, and the darkness surrounded them, I turned my attention back to the man who was partly responsible for this war.

  His eyes were defiant, lips snarling under the tape. I ripped it off, earning me a curse to hell.

  “Where can I find Luis Santos?” I asked, straight to the point.

  “I don’t know who that is.” He shrugged his shoulders, indifferent to the name.

  “Think hard. Think real hard.” Gregorio watched my finger caress the trigger.

  “You think you can trust him?”

  “Who, Santos?”

  “Alejandro Dominguez.”

  “Coming from a man who made a sport of raping his sister, I trust that man with my life.”

  He laughed, mocking. “We all make mistakes, I guess.” It was said as a warning. A pre-emptive ‘I told you so.’ “There’s a reason why he was stationed in the asshole of the La Balsa mountains.”

  “Whatever he has done to you, I have no doubt you deserved. But I’m not here for him.” Retrieving my knife, I sliced through the tape binding his wrists and ankles. His brows furrowed in confusion, the fool assuming I was releasing him.

  “Up,” I instructed motioning with my knife.

  He righted himself, gripping the wall for support.

  “The choice is yours, dipshit. Where can I find Luis Santos?”

  Gregorio stumbled away keen to get back into the open. I followed, unfazed by his game, my Glock pointed at his chest.

  “Where is he?”

  When his lips tightened in defiance, I fired a shot at the ground. His eyes widened, steps quickening.

  “Where is Luis Santos?”

  Gregorio looked around, desperate and frightened. Keen to be seen or to acquire a weapon. I fired another shot, and he flinched like the coward he was. We were now exposed in the street, yet I didn’t feel any threat. Fed up, I shot Gregorio in the shoulder. He fell backward onto the road howling out in pain, hand clamping the wound. I stood over the top of him, the barrel pressed to his forehead.

  He was quaking. “I don’t fucking know where Luis Santos is.” Gregorio’s bravado has crashed to rock bottom. He was now a blubbering mess, saliva dribbling over his chin as he sobbed.

  What a miserable piece of shit.

  “You work for him, don’t you? You were following his orders, were you not?”

  “Yes, yes, but it wasn’t through him.”

  “Then who?”

  “His nephew, Gabriel Santos.”

  I stood straight, letting the sorry sack of shit collapse back.

  “Gabriel Santos?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is your lucky day.”

  He looked hopeful.

  “Take me to him, and you might just live another twenty-four hours.”

  Gregorio cursed as he stumbled and slipped down an embankment. His injuries were making a difficult task almost unbearable. I followed close behind, my Glock trained on him as we navigated the obstacles of the jungle. There was no conversation. I didn’t need more motivation to shoot the fucker in the head.

  It took us only a few hours to reach location. The sun was starting to rise, and a soft pink glow broke through the jungle canopy. When we reached the base of the mountain, we followed the dirt road to the end. Gregorio was slowing, limping from the bullet in his leg. He nursed his arm, blood soaking through his camos.

  Over a hundred pairs of eyes watched our approach. The women, in various states of health after a hellish experience, huddled together protecting their children. The men framed their women. Those who had lost everything watched on, shoulders slumped, an emptiness in their eyes. The reception among them was a mix of burning hatred, contempt, and a pain that could never be healed. The Colonel looked sheepish, realization that he no longer held the power position.

  “On your knees,” I ordered.

  He turned, silently pleading that he was spared the humiliation.

  Holding the Glock to his temple, my finger on the trigger, he needed no further warning. Gregorio fell awkwardly onto the gravel dirt, head hung low, jaw squared with what little defiance he had left.

  I scanned the group. I saw sorrow. Pain. Hope.

  Behind the crowd, I spotted Alejandro. He stood, an arm wrapped around the shoulders of a teary young woman I presumed to be his sister. He looked to me with gratitude.

  “Attention,” I announced. They were already waiting with bated breath. For the next few minutes, I attempted to put their confused minds at ease. I expressed my condolences for the loved ones lost to war. My regrets for the damage caused to their community.

  “This man…” I glanced down to the piece of shit at my feet whose jaw was twitching, “…is responsible for your pain and loss. You can go back to your town, rebuild, repair, rid La Balsa of his footprint.”

  “You naïve fucker,” Gregorio muttered with an amused shake of head.

  “Speak up.” He received a boot to the ribs when he didn’t respond.

  “You think I’m the one they should be concerned about? Gabriel Santos will kill them. All of them.” He sounded manic. “That was always his plan. And most of all, he will kill you.”

  “I’m moving to Ecuador.” Jase grinned. He smiled lopsided while on his stomach. “Senorita, tell me your name,” he asked for the third time. The nurse was playing coy, but he was persistent. “Antonio…” he turned to face me that little bit more, “…ask for her na— Ahh! Shit! Damn girl, give a man some warning,” he whined, seething with pain. The nurse winked at me moments before pulling the second sticky plaster from his left ass cheek.

  “Lo siento,” she apologized with a smile.

  “You can hurt me as much as you like if you tell me your name.”

  The nurse giggled, and I shook my head. With his ass on display, his leg
bandaged in two places, Jase was still operating in fine form.

  “All done, señor,” she said pulling the sheet over Jase’s nudity.

  “The touch of an angel,” he murmured, watching his ‘angel’ toss the bloodied padding into the disposal before exiting.

  She winked before closing the door. They were as bad as each other.

  “I’m on my way out.”

  Jase propped himself up on one elbow, brows raised in question. “What, now?”

  “My window of opportunity to track Gabriel Santos is closing.”

  “Do you know where he is?”

  “Gregorio is taking me to him.”

  “What makes you think you can trust that piece of shit? He could be leading you straight into an ambush.”

  “The man is a coward. Self-preservation is his objective no matter who he betrays. He’ll take me to where I wanna go.”

  Jase flipped the sheets off him. “Wait. I’m coming too.”

  “Get back into bed. You’re going nowhere, except back to the States.”

  “Fuck off. I’m not letting you do this death mission alone.”

  “You’ve been shot in your leg, twice. And in your ass. You’re in no condition.”

  Jase wasn’t convinced. A rare seriousness creased his face. “You knew it wouldn’t end in La Balsa didn’t you?”

  “I knew there was a possibility it would go further. The plan was to always send you home after it got to this stage.”

  He saw the flicker of emotion. It was brief. Unexpected.

  “Your dad?”

  “Dead.”

  Jase’s nostrils flared in anger. “I’m sorry to hear. I know you want to kill that fucker, but you don’t know what you’re up against.”

  I stood, knowing it was time to go. Jase had been an awesome mate and a brilliant work partner. I trusted him with my life. And even though I’d probably never see him again, I couldn’t tell him the truth about how this was going to turn out for me.

  “You need to get back home before they notice you’re gone,” I urged.

  “And how are you going to explain your absence?”