by John Charles
Three black SUVs and a white Mercedes were the only signs that life still existed at one of the ranches. Behind a large barn, wooden with its paint faded and chipped beyond a recognizable color, a group of men had gathered. Six of them were on their knees. I was one of them.
“Cuales diablos creen que son para venir aquí y decirme cuales son los terminos del trato?”
I couldn’t understand a single word the hissing Mexican behind me said; it was all in Spanish. I could only assume he was pissed and we were screwed. He then squeezed off a round, making us all straighten up. Kneeling on my left was my client, Diego Castillo. It was his idea to arrange a drug deal and then change the terms. He thought he could force them into taking a deal that favored his interests. Clearly, he was mistaken.
I, and six members of the Mission Mayhem gang, had come to Rosarito for a little R&R. At least, that’s the story Diego gave me. He said it was his way of thanking me for all my help with the gang. Thanks? I was on the verge of being shot execution-style for tagging along.
I can’t believe this is happening.
I must have repeated that phrase a million times in my head. The fear that gripped me was nothing like I had ever experienced. I shouldn’t worry though, right? This happens to other people, not me. Any second now the cavalry will show up, with guns blazing and smack talk flying. We were on the verge of rescue. I kept thinking that until I heard two noises that almost made me shit myself.
Bam.
Thud.
It had begun. One of our guys was down. I dared not move my head, but out of the corner of my good eye, I could see a body slumped over in the grave. His name was Tony Espinoza, but they all called him Smiles on account of he was always happy and upbeat. I doubted he was smiling right now.
The guy yelling at us was a lieutenant with the Juarez Cartel, Luis Ortega, but he was better known as The Bulldog. He earned his nickname by ripping his victims apart, a task he performed with great pleasure. The Juarez Cartel was the sworn enemy of the now weakened Tijuana Cartel, with whom the Mayhems aligned themselves.
I’m a telecommunications consultant to the criminal underworld. I helped the gang prosper back in the Mission district of San Francisco. Wireless business solutions helped them run their organization more efficiently, greatly increasing their productivity. My work with Diego’s gang was so successful that his head got the better of him. He decided to set up his own drug deal with The Bulldog as if he had the same muscle behind him that they did. Wrong.
The Bulldog and his men were outfitted with flak jackets and assault rifles. I suspected they had tactical training as well. We were dead from the very beginning.
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Also by John Charles
The Accidental Criminal
The Russian Problem
Holiday With A P.I
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of the author, Ty Hutchinson.
Copyright © 2011 by Ty Hutchinson
