Birds of a Feather

by Don Easton

  Jack turned back toward the house as the sound of footsteps clumped across the porch. It was Big Al, Sanchez, Berto, Eduardo, and the two mercenaries … who were both aiming their M-16A2 automatic rifles at him.

  Jack stared silently at Big Al who walked up to face him. “I have some news that concerns you,” said Big Al, practically spitting the words out.

  “Concerns me?” said Jack innocently. He knew he couldn’t successfully disarm these men and it was up to his wits and his tongue to get him out of the situation.

  “Yes,” replied Big Al. “My men in Canada have spoken with Señor Damien.”

  Oh, fuck … I’m dead …

  “Señor Damien says you are a very dangerous man, Corporal Jack Taggart,” continued Big Al. “He says we should kill you immediately.”

  Jack was only partially aware that one of the mercenaries had moved in behind him. He did see Big Al look past him toward the mercenary and give a slight nod of permission.

  Jack started to turn around as the mercenary raised his weapon, but he was much too late.

  Big Al stepped back as a spray of blood splattered his shirt as Jack’s bloody body collapsed to the ground.

  chapter thirty-eight

  * * *

  Adams half-slid and half-climbed down the tower, cursing openly at Jack and the risks he took.

  “What happened?” Rubalcava yelled up to him. “What did you see?”

  “They got ’im,” replied Adams tears of rage filling his eyes while he continued to climb down. “A fucking sniper took him out!”

  “Are you sure? Did you see —”

  “That fucking asshole,” cried Adams. “I told him he was taking a big risk. Did the fucking hillbilly cop listen to me? Fuck no! Now I gotta go in there and probably get fucking killed, too.”

  “Did you see Jack fall? Are you sure he’s dead?”

  “I didn’t see Jack, but I saw the fucking snipers congratulating each other,” replied Adams, gesturing toward where the tan SUV was parked. He expected the SUV would be driving to the kill scene, but it was still parked. He stared at it, then used his binoculars again.

  “What is it?” asked Rubalcava.

  “They haven’t moved,” replied Adams. “The snipers in the SUV are still parked in the same spot.”

  “If they had killed Jack, wouldn’t they be driving over to look?”

  “You would think so … unless they are waiting to see who else shows up.”

  “Or fired their weapons as a test to see if someone would respond.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Or perhaps were only target-practising at a tin can or something.”

  “Christ,” muttered Adams. “I better climb back up and wait.”

  Inside the laundry room at Casa Blanca, Big Al looked down at Jack’s naked body where he lay sprawled on his back with his head caked in blood and sand. Big Al then spit on him, before nudging him in the stomach with his foot.

  “Wake up, you piece of shit!” yelled Big Al.

  Jack emitted a low moan and pink bubbles of froth foamed from his mouth.

  Jack heard Big Al’s words as though they were spoken down a long tube. He opened his eyes and saw blurred images of men standing over him. What happened? I was looking at the iguana … what happened?

  Typical of concussions, Jack was suffering from retrograde amnesia and had momentarily lost his memory from the time he had walked over to look at the dead iguana.

  “Good, you are still alive,” said Big Al, leering down at him. “Although you will discover that being alive will be most unfortunate for you,” he added, kicking Jack hard in the stomach.

  Jack tried to roll away, but discovered his hands were handcuffed together with one cuff having been slipped behind the lead pipe below the sink in the laundry room. His vision was clouded and what he did see appeared in multiple images. Pain wracked his skull and nausea took over. What the hell happened?

  The rifle butt he had received to his head had done more than split open his scalp. He had also bitten his tongue. He tried to spit the blood out of his mouth, but only succeeded in having it run down his chin.

  “Why are you doing this?” he asked, slurring his words like he was drunk. “Why do you have me like this?”

  “Why are we doing this?” roared Big Al. “Why the fuck do you think we dragged you in here?”

  I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure it’s not to enjoy myself …

  An image came closer to him and he tried to focus. It was El Pero holding an electric cattle prod. The reason Jack was naked was about to be made painfully clear. He automatically tried to move back, but any movement he had was limited to the short distance his hands could move along the straight piece of pipe between the base of the sink and a wide strip of metal holding the pipe in place halfway up from the floor.

  Upon contact with the cattle prod, Jack lurched up and backwards on the heels of his feet, hitting his head on the bottom of the sink. His scrotum felt like it had been whacked with a club barbed with needles. He gagged a couple of times before vomiting and slipping back into unconsciousness.

  Moments later, he was awakened to the taste of bleach being poured on his face. The closet sized room was like an oven in the heat and one of Big Al’s men used the bleach to dilute the gagging smell of the vomit.

  Big Al leaned forward and said, “I think Señor Damien must be a pussy cat. You do not look very dangerous to me.” He gave a hearty laugh and looked at his men who respectfully laughed in response.

  Damien … Jack’s memory of the event leading up to being clubbed with a rifle butt came back to him. Never did like that guy …

  “Now … I have some good news for you,” continued Big Al. “Unfortunately, I also have some bad news. The good news is I am going to go bring a doctor back to look after you.” He paused and stared at Jack for a response.

  Jack blinked his eyes, trying to bring the room into focus as he looked up at the ceiling. His thoughts were becoming less muddled, despite fighting waves of nausea.

  “The bad news,” continued Big Al, “is that the doctor will only be used to keep you alive and awake while you are tortured.”

  “Small minds do petty and inhumane things,” sputtered Jack as a fresh supply of blood trickled down his face from hitting his head on the sink.

  “The torture is not without purpose,” replied Big Al. “Besides finding out what you know, it will also be a warning to others who try to interfere with our livelihood.”

  “It will only make other police officers more angry and vengeful,” replied Jack. “They will come for you.”

  “Yes … we have learned that men are often willing to take risks and even sacrifice themselves for a cause. Perhaps you are like one of these men. A man who will endure a lot of pain … before telling us what we wish to know. But you will tell us … that I can assure you. Everyone does.”

  “I will save you the trouble. It is hardly a secret why I am here. I’m a cop from Canada looking for a missing Canadian girl. I fooled Slater into thinking I was a gangster. I received permission to go to El Paso to conduct inquiries because that was where she was last known to be. I did not have permission to enter Mexico, but thought I could sneak across the border for a couple of hours in the hope of figuring out where this place is. Then I was going to go back to the Americans and ask for their help to rescue the girl.”

  “I figured you came here without permission,” replied Big Al. “Otherwise I would have been notified.”

  “That is why I came alone,” replied Jack.

  “Where is your partner?”

  “My partner is on holidays, so I have been working alone. That is why Slater has never met anyone else but me.”

  “Perhaps you did come alone … or perhaps you didn’t. We took precautions to make sure we were not being followed, but even if someone did slip through our net, you should know that my men have arranged a welcoming committee. If anyone comes close to Casa Blanca, they will either be killed or join
you in this room. So do not hold out any hope of rescue.”

  “I have no hope of rescue because nobody knows I am here. So now that I have told you everything,” said Jack bitterly, “kill me and get it over with.”

  “Everything? I think not. We have many questions to ask you. Perhaps Señor Damien will also have questions he would like asked. Now that you have introduced us, the possibility does exist that we will go into business with him. I should thank you for that!”

  Jack felt too sickened to reply.

  “As a matter of fact, I am sure Señor Damien will find this interesting,” said Big Al, taking out his cellphone to take a picture. “Say cheese.”

  Jack momentarily wondered if he shouldn’t say something glib, or perhaps flip his middle finger up for the picture … but instead he hung his head. I’m not some tough guy in a movie … I’m just me … and I’m so scared I feel numb.

  “We need more information than the reason you came here, if we are to convince others from becoming martyrs.”

  “Something more?” asked Jack.

  “Some men are willing to die for what they believe in … but are they also willing to sacrifice their families? Mother and father, brothers and sisters … perhaps a wife and children?”

  Jack tried unsuccessfully to hide the sheer terror he felt.

  “Ah, I see that last comment got a reaction.”

  “I will not tell you a thing,” replied Jack, adamantly, as he resolved to replace his fear with determination.

  “Yes, yes. I know what you think. Many have made the same promise. I have not had one man yet who kept it. I will tell you how it will work. First we will start off slow. Perhaps it will take seconds, perhaps minutes … perhaps hours … but the pain will cause you to talk about people you think we already know about, or could easily find out about. Organizational structures. People you work with. You will eventually start to talk.”

  “What makes you think I will tell the truth?”

  Big Al smiled as though talking down to a child. “My men in Canada will easily verify what you tell us. Lies will be punished by more people being killed. Once you do start to talk, it will become easier for you. Next you will give us the names of the family members of the people you work with. Soon, other names and addresses will cross your lips. Your wife’s name … your children. You know,” added Big Al, looking reflective, “I think that is when you truly become dead inside.”

  “I am not married and do not have children,” replied Jack. “You will be wasting your time. Names of my colleagues can be found out easily by calling the office.”

  “When you are dead, we will dump your body in the trunk of a car and park it on the Bridge of the Americas. We will let the Americans deliver you to Canada. I am certain there will be much publicity. If you do have a wife and family, I am sure there will be a big funeral they will attend. My men will be there, as well.” Big Al’s tone turned to admonishment when he added, “Did you not hear me when I said more people will die if you lie to me?”

  Jack looked around the room. Depression seeped through his brain like it was acid and for the first time, genuine thoughts of how he could commit suicide crossed his mind. His brain began to swim in a fog of nausea and he willed himself to wake up from what he hoped was a nightmare.

  “Nothing to say, Corporal Taggart?” asked Big Al. “Don’t worry, I am sure you will have lots to say when I return with a doctor. Then, as you say, it will be time to let the games begin.

  Jack’s only response was to retch again before slipping into the abyss of unconsciousness.

  chapter thirty-nine

  * * *

  Before leaving Casa Blanca, Big Al gave explicit orders to the other men in the house. The cocaine delivery was expected soon and he told Berto to call the men who usually unloaded the drugs and tell them there was a delay and not to come.

  He made it clear he did not want anyone else to know that they had captured a Canadian policeman until they were completely finished with him. He was not risking any chance of a rescue and told them to unload the truck and stash the cocaine in the tunnel themselves.

  El Pero quickly suggested that Jack should be guarded continuously and volunteered for the job. Big Al agreed.

  Sanchez rolled his eyes at the other men. He knew El Pero was using Jack as an excuse to get out of the physical labour involving the drug delivery. Being Big Al’s favourite nephew has its privileges …

  From his perch on the tower, Adams saw a coordinated flurry of activity. “Something is going on,” he yelled down to Rubalcava. “The two tan-coloured SUVs from the farmhouse joined the crew-cab pickup at the fruit stand. In total I count six … no, eight, guys getting out and having a confab with each other. The SUV with the snipers has also moved closer and is perched on another hill facing the fruit stand.”

  “What do you make of it?” asked Rubalcava.

  “I don’t know … hang on, some of the guys at the fruit stand are getting back in their vehicles again.”

  “Maybe a shift change or something?”

  “Yeah, maybe that’s — fuck that! They’re setting up a textbook military ambush for a crossfire situation!”

  “I’m a policeman, not a soldier. What are they doing?”

  “Son of a bitch, Jack!” cried Adams aloud. “Why the hell did I ever let you go in there?”

  “Tell me what you see!”

  “I’ll tell you what I see,” said Adams glumly. “I see professionals preparing to take someone out. They’ve driven the crew-cab truck a short distance down from the fruit stand and parked it sideways over a hill to block the road. They’ve also hidden guys with weapons on each side of the road leading up to the truck. If anyone comes along, the guys in the ditch open up on both sides, as well as from behind. If the person manages to survive and steps on the gas, they’ll be finished off when they reach the truck, where they’ll also be shot at from the front.”

  “Is the ambush designed for someone heading south to the main road?”

  “No … I wish it was. It would give me hope Jack is still alive. The ambush is for someone who would be heading north off the main road.”

  “You think Jack —”

  “Yeah, I think he was burned. Now they’re setting up an ambush in case someone tries to find him.”

  “Those shots we heard …”

  “I know,” replied Adams. “I don’t think they were shooting at tin cans. At this point I’m thinking he’s dead. Christ, we don’t even know what’s over those hills. Could be several houses.”

  “I know these back roads a little. Maybe there is another spot we could use to try and confirm where Casa Blanca really is.”

  Adams agreed and descended the tower. They both drove in silence until they returned to the main highway.

  “Which way,” asked Adams harshly, angry with himself that he hadn’t somehow stopped Jack.

  “Go west away from the fruit stand. I think farther down there is another road that goes north toward the border.”

  “I’m sure they’ll have it guarded, as well.”

  “Perhaps, but maybe we will find another hill in the vicinity to give us a different view.”

  Adams was pulling out onto the highway when he slammed on the brakes. Off in the distance, a telltale cloud of dust told of a vehicle racing toward the area of the fruit stand.

  “That looks like it is coming from the same road they took Jack down,” said Adams. “I’m going to drive past and take a look.”

  Adams drove slowly and was rewarded when they passed the fruit stand and saw Big Al’s SUV approaching the highway.

  “Maybe he is still alive,” said Adams, excitedly. “Big Al might be returning him. What do you think?”

  “I don’t know,” replied Rubalcava. “Perhaps everything is okay. Maybe the ambush is only a precaution because they brought Jack to Casa Blanca.”

  “You would have thought they would have had it set up to begin with,” noted Adams.

  “Perhaps it
was an afterthought.”

  “Jack mentioned a delivery was to be made this afternoon. Maybe they do it to make sure nobody is following whoever does the delivery. It might have nothing to do with Jack.”

  “Possible. That makes more sense. Let’s hope you’re right.”

  “I’ll drive slow. If Jack is in Big Al’s SUV, they should be passing us on the way back to Juarez any minute.”

  A short time later, both Adams and Rubalcava breathed a partial sigh of relief as Big Al’s silver SUV went racing past them.

  Damien and Lance Morgan sat beside each other at a picnic bench in Vancouver’s Kitsilano Beach Park overlooking English Bay. Across from them sat Miguel and Ramiro, who had requested they meet again in the afternoon after their first initial encounter that morning.

  Both Miguel and Ramiro were each sipping on a bottle of cola, after assuring Damien they would be receiving an important message any minute in regard to Jack Taggart.

  That there were numerous members of Satans Wrath in the area providing security did little to impress Miguel and Ramiro. Where they came from, such security was common to protect the top drug lords. What they did find amusing were the counter-surveillance teams put in place to ensure they were not being followed by the police. In Mexico, they used the police as their own bodyguards.

  Damien, along with other members of Satans Wrath, were frequently watched and photographed by the police. For Damien it did not particularly bother him much, but with the advice he had given to murder Jack Taggart, he did not want to risk that his potentially new business partners might say something that could be picked up by the police through parabolic microphones or any other listening devices.

  Damien was also curious as to whether the police knew about Miguel and Ramiro. The fact they were not being followed did not necessarily indicate the police didn’t know them. He had correctly theorized the police might not be conducting surveillance for fear of jeopardizing Taggart’s undercover role. If the police surveillance was discovered by Miguel and Ramiro, the timing of the sudden police interest with the arrival of Taggart into their midst would be too coincidental.