Target Down

by Glenn Trust

  Three roars in quick succession echoed through the afternoon air. Even muffled inside the heavy stone building, the gunshots were unmistakable. Chico lifted his head, his eyes darting nervously around, certain that someone must have heard them, but the afternoon outside remained undisturbed. Birds chirped in the trees, a car drove by on the street out front, a dog barked a few houses away. Maybe the dog heard the shots, but no one else did. After a few seconds, even the dog settled down.

  Inside, things moved quickly. Roman followed his jefe through the door. Before he could even lift the pistol in his trembling hand, Garza fired three times, instantly killing the three women seated at desks in the main office area.

  He was a machine, efficient and deadly, no motions wasted. The receptionist lifted her head to greet them as the door opened. A pleasant, inoffensive smile on his face, Garza returned the greeting with a bullet through her brain. Another woman, standing beside a row of file cabinets, was dispatched in similar fashion. The third had just begun to rise from her chair behind a desk when the pistol barked again. She slumped forward, the hole in her forehead pooling blood on the faux leather desk blotter.

  It was over in seconds. Garza moved quickly to a closed door behind the woman’s desk. A sign on it that read, William Siever. The door jerked open as Garza reached for the handle. Billy Siever stood there, wide-eyed, mouth agape, a small .38 revolver in his hand, hanging at his side. At Vera’s insistence, he kept the pistol in his desk as protection, although she could never say exactly what it was to protect him from, and Billy had never actually expected to have to use it.

  As it turned out, he had no time to use it now. The tall man with hard eyes held a much larger pistol, inches from his face. The man reached out and took the pistol from Billy’s hand, then nodded at his companion.

  Roman pulled out the duct tape Garza had made him carry in his pocket and passed the roll twice around Billy’s head, sealing off his mouth, but allowing him to breathe. The tall man jammed his pistol up under Billy’s chin and whispered.

  “Do not attempt to escape. If you do, we will kill your wife. We know where you live.”

  Then he jerked Billy forward, dragging him through the office area. As they passed Doris’ slumped body and blood-soaked desk, Billy gave out an anguished howl. Muffled by the duct tape, it came out as a mewling whimper. Roman thought he sounded like a kitten whining and terrified before being flung into a river to drown.

  They pulled the lawyer through the side door, down the three stone steps, and pushed him into the rear seat of a waiting SUV. As he stumbled in, Billy saw Isabella and Luis Acero, crammed into the rear cargo area. Both were unconscious.

  The man who pushed him in climbed into the seat beside Billy. A third man sat in the driver’s seat, waiting, fists clenching the wheel and nervously eying the tall man who took the front passenger seat. The tall man gave a nod and the driver started the SUV down the driveway. A few minutes later, they were leaving the City of Dahlonega, heading into the mountains on a state highway.

  Billy had never seen any of these men before, but he knew who they were. John had warned him that the cartel would never give up, never stop looking for him and anyone close to him.

  Los Salvajes—the savages, John had called them. The dead bodies in Billy’s office testified of their savagery.

  Rules of Engagement

  He sat by the grave for hours. It was his first visit to see his mother in years.

  A few times, he had brought his family to see the place where he had grown up and to visit the grave. He wanted the children to know the grandmother they would never meet.

  That was when he still had a family. Today, he was there to report to Clara.

  “I saw my father,” he whispered, eyes closed as he sat on the ground beside the gravestone.

  He could almost see Clara smile and nod in her familiar, patient way.

  “I know, son. Did you make peace with him?”

  John thought about that for a few seconds and nodded. “I think so.” Then he shrugged and whispered, “But I’m still angry.”

  “He knows that. He understands that. He’s a good man, son. Just confused. Are you confused?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I have a mission, a purpose.”

  “That’s good. As long as you are certain.”

  He opened his eyes and his mother’s face faded away, her voice receding into the distance.

  “As long as you are certain.”

  He shook his head. He wasn’t certain about anything except that he had to protect those he had dragged into this mess and put at risk.

  He said goodbye to his mother and left the cemetery to stop by the old house, much as his father had done a few days earlier. The familiar green hills and mountain valleys surrounding Cassit Pass pulled at him. The aching desire to return home pulled at him too, to forget the pain, or at least let it heal. He could move into the old house, fix it up, and spend his life there.

  Maybe in time, he thought, when he’d done what he had to do, but he knew it was a lie. He shook his head. There was no escape or hiding from it. The old life was gone. The problem was this new one felt old and used up too.

  He wandered through the rooms of the house remembering. He moved out to the porch and sat on the top step listening to the birds. No doubt they were the descendants of the birds he had listened to as a boy, returning to the same nests each year, passing the family home on from one generation to the next.

  The sun was lowering when he rose and left the house. It was time to meet Billy Siever before he went to pull Luis Acero out of whatever trouble he’d stumbled into.

  ***

  For years, Gurney’s Bar in Sexton had been the only place to get a drink legally in Winscombe County. Sole and Billy had managed to drink there illegally as underage teens a few times. That was before old man Gurney got caught looking the other way and the sheriff gave him a stern warning.

  From that point on, they had done what every other underage drinker of the day did. They drove a couple of hours to a liquor store on the outskirts of Atlanta and paid one of the winos standing outside to go in and make their purchases.

  This satisfied everyone. The wino was happy to be able to buy more booze. The boys were happy to get their booze. The liquor store manager, who understood exactly what was happening, was happy to sell more booze. The business arrangement, as far as everyone involved in the transaction was concerned, seemed a perfect example of free-market capitalism at work.

  On this day, Sole sat at the bar in Gurney’s and legally sipped a beer. Five o’clock came and went. He ordered another. At six o’clock he figured some problem had delayed Billy. He took out his phone to leave him a message and reschedule for the next time he passed through the area.

  He punched in the number. It rang twice before a voice answered. It was not Billy.

  “I’ve been waiting for your call,” the voice said. It was deep and calm, businesslike, with a peculiar old-world formality.

  “Who is this?”

  “Come now. You are much too astute to ask such a question. You know who I am. We have been playing a game of chase, hide and seek, a child’s game.” There was a pause, and Sole imagined the smile on the face he had never seen. “It is time to bring the game to an end. Don’t you think so?”

  “Where is he?” Sole demanded.

  “Mr. Siever, you mean?” the man replied calmly. “He is with me, as are two more of your friends.”

  “Who?” Sole’s voice rose in volume and the bartender looked his way.

  “We call him the rat. You would remember him as Luis Acero from your days as a detective in Atlanta. I think then you would have called him a snitch.” The man gave a small laugh. “That name does not sound any more flattering than rat.”

  “Who else?” Sole snapped back, already tired of his pretentious bullshit.

  “I think you already know, but to make things plain for you. Your friend from Texas, the woman you fled with after killing my m
en. Her name is Isabella, I believe, although her identification shows a different name, a forgery no doubt.”

  “They have nothing to do with what happened … with what I am doing.”

  “Yes, but they do share a common trait that makes them valuable to me. You care about them.” The voice paused and then added, “You understand what I want, of course. You are much too intelligent for me to have to say it.”

  Sole knew exactly what he wanted. The offer would be to release the others if he turned himself over to the man who killed his family. Sole also knew it was a lie.

  “Why would I do that? You will kill them whether I come to you or not.” Now Sole paused for effect. “And when you do, I will hunt you down and kill you.”

  “That is already your plan, is it not? And you are correct. In normal circumstances, I would kill them … and you.” The man on the phone sighed. “But these are not normal circumstances. We have wasted too much time with your juvenile games. There must be a resolution to the matters between us. I make a simple proposition.”

  “Say it,” Sole said, his jaw clenched.

  “You are too intelligent to sacrifice yourself, knowing that I will kill the others in any event. I know you, perhaps better than you know yourself.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so. In any event, I have no doubt you would willingly give your life to save theirs, but not if the result were merely to die along with them.”

  Sole remained silent. Exchanging words with this man was pointless and only played into his hand, strengthened his position and weakened Sole’s.

  “I, on the other hand,” the voice continued, “would allow you to kill my associates without a second thought, if it meant hunting you down and ending this.”

  “I’m sure you would. Get to the point.”

  “I detect the disdain in your voice, as if you are somehow morally superior to me. You are not.” The voice on the phone paused, as if about to explain some great truth. “It is true that by your standards, I am without moral constraint or conscience, but I do live by a code, just as you do. My code requires me to win, to conquer, to obliterate those who oppose us, and I will.”

  “You can’t win by harming my friends. It won’t stop me. It will only make me more determined.”

  “Yes, I know this too well, but I am also a pragmatist. Your game has cost us too much time and money and blood. So, to bring things to a speedy conclusion, I propose a new arrangement, outside of my usual practices.”

  “What arrangement?”

  “I will allow your friends to live, in exchange for you … and your life, of course.”

  “Just like that? I’m supposed to believe the man without moral constraints has turned over a new leaf?”

  “Not at all. You know better than that.” The somber voice almost chuckled. “If I could kill you and them, I would. But as I said, I am a pragmatist.”

  “Say what you have to say,” Sole interrupted, annoyed with the pretentious bastard’s lectures. “Or we can end this call, and you can wait for me to find you … and kill you.”

  “Very well. You force me to make exceptions in order to conclude our business,” the voice continued, unruffled. “Your friends may live. In that way, you have won a sort of victory. I will also have a victory. You will die. Our little game, our war, will end with your death.”

  “What if I just say, do what you want with them? Kill them if you want. It changes nothing. I will find you and kill you.”

  “Please, Detective Sole. Do not speak to me as if I were a child. We both know you would never let that happen if you were able to prevent it. The rat, Acero, yes, perhaps you would let him die for you.” There was a brief pause before the voice continued, thoughtful as he considered the possibilities. “But no, I believe you would not even let the rat die for you. Your honor would not permit it. That is where you and I differ, Detective. That is why you cannot win this little war we have between us.”

  The man on the phone was confident. He had reason to be. It was a checkmate move, forcing Sole to step into the trap his opponent had laid.

  “Alright,” he said. “And if I accept your proposal, how do we go about making the exchange, me for them?”

  “Simple. We both know you will not accept my offer if I set the rules of the exchange. You would not trust me and would have no reason to sacrifice yourself for no reason. Therefore, I propose that you make arrangements to receive your friends. We will exchange them for you at a place of your choosing … as long as that place is in Mexico.”

  “Mexico? That seems to put the odds in your favor.”

  “Absolutely!” The man laughed out loud now. “Now you understand! Make the arrangements to free your friends. You may bring whoever you wish to receive them, as many as you wish. Make sure they have the means to transport your friends safely out of Mexico. They can even be armed, to provide security and safe escort, but you will remain behind.”

  “And you? How many will you bring?”

  “Ah, yes. That will depend on the location you choose, the people you bring with you, and the terms of the exchange. I will be prepared for any eventuality. You will not escape.”

  It was arrogant. The man on the phone, the man who had murdered his family, was supremely confident in his abilities to win in a face-to-face confrontation.

  “The odds don’t seem very favorable,” Sole said quietly.

  “In your position, I would agree. I would say not more than a fifty percent chance for your friends to survive and for you …zero … but there is one certainty.”

  “What?”

  “If you do not agree, the odds are one hundred percent that I will kill Isabella, your friend Siever, and the rat. You know I will do it.” He paused and let the words linger in the air for a few seconds. “Surely, you see that a fifty percent chance of survival is much better than none. Is it not?”

  It was. Sole had no choice.

  “Alright. I agree to your terms. Me for them at a place of my choosing in Mexico. I make the arrangements.”

  “Excellent!” the voice beamed at him over the phone. “I am aware of your exploits against us and that you may be traveling. It may take a little time to make your arrangements, and I am a reasonable man. I give you exactly two weeks from today for our meeting to take place. Leave the details and location in a message on your voice mailbox. A final warning.”

  “Yes?”

  “If you involve law enforcement in any way, I will kill your friends immediately.

  “Understood.” Sole had expected nothing less. “Now I have a question?”

  “Yes?”

  “Your name?”

  “Ah, that. Your sense of honor and fair play always reveal themselves. Enemies should face each other and know each other. Is that it?” The voice gave a small laugh. “You have yet to understand there are no rules. I will remain anonymous to you. Goodbye, Detective Sole.”

  The call ended. John Sole stared at the wall behind Gurney’s bar.

  He had never held illusions about his personal survival, had always imagined his life would come to an end alone, facing the killer who took his family from him. Once more, others’ lives were in peril because of his carelessness.

  “Another?” The bartender asked.

  “No.” He placed a twenty on the bar and stood. “Keep it.”

  The man on the phone—the enemy—had set the rules of engagement. John Sole had to devise a battle plan.

  Always

  First things first. The old cold war adage in dealing with an enemy was to trust but verify. Verification was necessary before any plan could be prepared.

  Sole drove slowly down a residential street in Dahlonega. As he neared the stone house where Billy Siever maintained his office, he slowed. Ahead, the lights of emergency vehicles, police, and paramedics, sent blue and red beams reflecting off the surrounding houses. Three black hearses sat ominously at the end of the driveway.

  An officer stood at the driveway entrance as So
le cruised slowly by. He stepped into the road, waving a flashlight, signaling Sole to stop.

  “License and registration, please.” The officer shined the flashlight into Sole’s face.

  “Sure.” Sole reached for his wallet slowly and retrieved his driver’s license. “Registration is in the glove box.”

  “Get it.” The officer took the license and kept the flashlight pointed at Sole as he leaned over toward the glove box.

  “Right. Here you go.” He handed over the registration. “Lot of lights here, officer. What’s the problem?”

  “William Myers,” the officer said, ignoring the question. “From Tennessee.”

  “Yep.” Sole smiled.

  “What are you doing here in Dahlonega?”

  “Just passing through. Stopped to look around the courthouse square” Sole grinned. “They used to mine gold around here … right?”

  Again, the officer ignored him and took out his notepad to write down the information from the driver’s license and registration slip. Then he spoke into the radio mic hanging from his lapel. “Dispatch, 10-27, 10-28, 10-29 …”

  He read out the driver’s license number, name, and vehicle information to the dispatcher. Sole recognized the ten-codes as a request to check the driver’s license status, vehicle registration, and any wants on the subject of the request. Sole relaxed and waited.

  A minute later, the dispatcher was back on the radio and confirmed, “Valid Tennessee license and registration. No wants.”

  “10-4,” the officer said and looked at Sole, still undeterred from checking out the stranger. “And how did you happen to be on this street, Mr. Myers?”

  “Just driving around the town. Left the square and was trying to find the highway, the one south toward Lake Lanier. Supposed to meet some buddies there and fish.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Well, tonight will be more about drinking beer on my friend’s boat.” Sole grinned again. “You know how that is. Can’t let fishing to get in the way of cold beer. Right?”