by Don Easton
Sanchez swallowed nervously.
“You do it,” ordered Berto.
Sanchez nodded and used his cellphone to call Big Al.
Adams and Rubalcava were entering the outskirts of Juarez when they saw Big Al’s SUV speeding past in the opposite direction.
“What the hell? Now what?” questioned Adams.
“He couldn’t have been that far ahead of us,” noted Rubalcava. “I don’t think he would have had time to drop Jack off yet.”
“Maybe they forgot something,” suggested Adams. He looked back at the SUV and added, “Christ, whoever is driving is going like a bat out of hell.”
“Jack said they wanted him out of Casa Blanca before a delivery came. Maybe that is why the big hurry.”
Adams didn’t respond as he spun the wheel hard to turn around and follow.
Big Al’s SUV continued to drive at high speed. Adams attempted to keep up for a few minutes, but knew at the speed they were going it would make it too obvious, so he dropped farther back in traffic. They were close enough, however, that when they passed the fruit stand they were able to see a cloud of dust billow over the small hill and know it was Big Al’s vehicle pulling away from the vicinity of where the crew-cab truck was blocking the road.
“Back to the tower?” suggested Rubalcava.
Minutes later, Adams hollered down from the tower. “Little change except the SUV with the two snipers has moved back to its original position on the far hill. The ambush past the fruit stand is still in place like before.”
“Maybe in a few minutes we’ll see Big Al’s SUV returning.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
Big Al pulled up to the doorstep and ran into the house. “Where is he?” he asked.
“They’re in the tunnel,” replied Berto.
“Not that piece of shit gringo! My nephew! Where —”
“He was shot in the bedroom,” said Sanchez. “I’ll show you.”
Big Al, Sanchez, Berto, and Eduardo went back down the hall while the two mercenaries stayed to cover the entrance to the tunnel.
Big Al walked into the room and saw his nephew lying on his back on the mattress with his legs over the side. He was naked from the waist down and blood and bodily fluids had oozed out from his buttocks. His lifeless eyes, already dry from evaporation, stared dully up at the ceiling. His fat face was even more grotesquely distorted, like a rubber mask.
“And nobody heard the shot?” yelled Big Al.
“He was shot here,” said Sanchez, holding his hand like a pistol and pointing toward his own buttocks. “It muffled the sound. We were outside and did not hear it.”
Big Al dropped to one knee beside the bed and held El Pero’s hand. He made a solemn promise the gringo would pay dearly for what he had done. Then he folded El Pero’s hands across his chest, interlocking the fingers to keep them in place before gently using his fingertips to close El Pero’s eyes. Next he slowly got to his feet and mumbled a prayer, which he followed by using his finger to make the sacred sign of a cross on his own body.
Sanchez, Berto, and Eduardo politely went to make the same sign on their own bodies, but were interrupted when Big Al yelled at them to find something to cover his body.
“We have no sheets,” replied Eduardo, meekly.
“There is a towel in the bathroom. I will get it,” Sanchez said and then scurried off.
Big Al strode back to the kitchen and stood over the tunnel entrance and screamed in rage.
“Jack Taggart! I make this vow!” he yelled in English. “You murdered my nephew … so now everyone in your family will die! Not just you! Everyone! Their skin will be burned from their bodies while they scream and plead for their lives!”
Big Al stood, panting heavily for a moment, then yelled at his men in Spanish. “What are you waiting for? Go get him! Bring him to me alive, if you can.”
Before his men could respond, Big Al received a call on his cellphone. It was his boss and he gestured for his men to be quiet as he stepped back from the tunnel. He was not surprised to be called, he had already informed his boss about Jack’s real identity.
“Why have you not picked up the doctor yet?”
“There, uh, has been a big problem,” replied Big Al. “The gringo managed to grab El Pero’s gun and shoot him with it. Then he ran into the tunnel.”
“Your nephew is dead?”
“Yes. I found out about it a few minutes ago and returned to Casa Blanca.”
“And the gringo?”
“My men will drag him back out of the tunnel in a few minutes.”
“If he escapes …”
“There is no chance of that. He is like a rat trapped in a hole. I can have him plucked out very easily. When I do, we will use the doctor for a very long time.”
Jack squatted in the dark as Lily sat in front of him with her back huddled up to the front of his chest. She was only wearing Jack’s T-shirt, which acted like a short dress on her. Jack was barefoot and only wearing his pants.
He held her with one arm wrapped high around her chest and shoulders, while his other hand caressed her hair. She was going through periodic episodes where her body would shake uncontrollably, but seemed to take some comfort in his touch. What she didn’t know was Jack had positioned himself to put her in a sleeper-hold if she uttered a sound.
Jack pondered on what his next move would be. He knew when the time came, he would have to leave her alone to use the element of surprise. Would she be quiet then?
A second problem crossed his mind. I have no bullets … if I aim the gun directly at someone, they might see the cylinder is empty. If I don’t point it at them, they will realize something is wrong …
Jack came up with what he thought was an alternative. If I get a chance, point it at the back of their head … otherwise point it at their balls and see if they want to risk losing those. Bluffing is our only chance until I get a gun with bullets …
Big Al tucked his phone back in his pocket and looked into the tunnel opening. Berto had retrieved a flashlight from a kitchen drawer and shone it down the hole. Big Al peered in while his two soldiers aimed their weapons down the opening.
“Why do you not turn on the lights?” asked Big Al.
“The gringo broke it with El Pero’s gun,” replied Sanchez, “but it will be easy to fix.”
For a moment, the two mercenaries, along with Berto and Eduardo, debated whether to fix the lights. They had the option of calling out to the SUVs on the outer perimeter to bring in the night-vision goggles that they were equipped with. In that way, they would be able to see while the gringo would be in total darkness.
“I do not care what you do, just do it!” snarled Big Al.
“I will assure you,” replied one of the mercenaries, “we will take his head off … just like the iguana that fell from the tree.” He nodded toward the window. “Then we will drag him out by his feet.”
“I want him alive, if possible. Shoot him in the legs if need be but —” Big Al stopped talking and looked out the window at the carcass of the dead iguana lying in the dirt. “Did any of you see El Pero reload?” he asked.
The men looked at each other and after a short conversation it was realized the spare box of ammunition for the revolver was in the glove box of El Pero’s SUV. After Jack had been hit in the head with the rifle butt, El Pero did not return to the truck to reload, but walked with them as they dragged Jack back inside the house.
“He kept the gun … so he either does not know it is empty or is hoping to bluff us,” said Big Al, giving a grim smile.
“I’ll fix the light switch,” said Berto. “Night vision will not be necessary. Even if he is at the far end of the tunnel, we will have him on his knees in less than fifteen minutes.”
“Remember, I do not want you to kill him unless absolutely necessary,” said Big Al.
“The four of us have had training in these matters,” said Berto, with a nod toward Eduardo and the two mercenaries. “Our training included going up against men
armed with machine-guns in barricaded rooms. We can bring him out whichever way you wish.”
Big Al thought for a moment and said, “Shoot off his kneecaps and make him crawl out.”
“As soon as we see him, his kneecaps are gone,” noted Eduardo.
“After that we will ask him to surrender,” added Berto, with a sneer.
chapter forty-two
* * *
Jack heard the murmur of voices and the commotion at the entrance to the tunnel as the men descended the ladder.
“Stay here. I’ll be back for you,” he whispered in Lily’s ear.
“But if you don’t —”
“If that happens, others will come and find you. Do what you must to stay alive.”
In his heart, Jack knew if he didn’t succeed, Lily would be immediately killed, too, but he wanted her to remain quiet and still. He had decided she was traumatized enough without telling her the truth.
“Marcie has talked about you,” she said quickly, in a subconscious desire to have him stay with her a little longer.
“She’s still your friend,” he said, picking up the revolver beside him and standing up. Lily reached up and clung to his wrist. “I have to go,” he said.
Lily slowly let go and wrapped her arms around her knees, drawing them tight to her chest. “I hope you kill them all,” she whispered bitterly.
Jack had not told her the revolver was empty. “I’ll do my best,” he said, wondering how many men were being sent down the tunnel after him.
Eduardo handed his pistol to Berto and then descended the ladder first, but paused on a rung of the ladder above where the roof of the tunnel started. The possibility existed that Jack could be hiding in the tunnel near the shaft, outside the view from above and attempt to grab the gun of the first person who descended the ladder.
Eduardo glanced up at the two mercenaries who were aiming their weapons down the shaft and gave a slight nod before jumping the remaining distance. He landed in a crouched position with his back against the end of the tunnel wall.
Eduardo’s smile and a wave of his hand told the others it was clear. Big Al and Sanchez peered down the shaft as the two mercenaries and Berto made their way down the ladder.
Big Al tapped Sanchez on the shoulder and said, “Go with them. Stay out of their way, but use your phone to give me a running update. After they shoot his kneecaps off, go to him and hold the phone near his ear. I will have a message for him.”
“A message?” asked Sanchez.
“Yes. That I am here waiting for him and the amount of time it takes him to crawl back will be the amount of time his family will be tortured before they die. I want to hear him scream in pain and in sorrow every time he grabs a handful of dirt to pull himself toward me.”
Jack quietly opened the bi-fold door and gingerly stepped around the plastic pail used as a toilet. He glanced at El Pero’s corpse and had a fleeting feeling of satisfaction as he headed for the hallway.
He was relieved when he saw only Big Al sitting on a kitchen chair beside the entrance to the tunnel. Big Al was at a right angle to him, but Jack still hoped he could sneak across the floor undetected and put the barrel of the gun to the back of his head.
Jack was halfway across the floor and felt a little less relieved when he realized Big Al was talking on his cellphone to someone in the tunnel. Jack was about to take another step closer when Big Al saw him.
Jack pointed the revolver at him and whispered, “Quietly hang up the phone and put your hands on your head. Make any noise, or try to warn anyone and I’ll blow your balls off.”
Big Al didn’t move as he stared back in amazement. His eyes flickered toward the hallway as he put it all together.
“Hurry up,” ordered Jack. “You’re driving us both out of here. If anyone tries to stop us, you’ll be the first to get it.”
“The gringo is with me in the house!” screamed Big Al in Spanish over his cellphone as he leaped to his feet. He glared at Jack and slowly and deliberately placed his open cellphone on the counter. “You will die for what you have done!” he said evenly.
Jack made one last attempt to bluff him by crouching in a combat position and holding the revolver with both hands as he pointed it at Big Al’s crotch.
“We all know the gun is empty,” roared Big Al, grab-bing the chair and charging at Jack like an enraged bull.
“Oh, shit,” was the only thing Jack had time to utter as he turned sideways to keep from having his ribs punctured with the bottoms of the metal chair legs.
The forced hurled him across the kitchen like he was stuck on the front of a freight train, before coming to a sudden stop when he was rammed against the wall.
One of Jack’s arms was pinned close to his body, but the other hand holding the revolver was free. Jack tried to smash the gun butt against Big Al’s face, but he saw it coming and pulled his head back.
Jack’s next assault on Big Al’s hand loosened his grip and Jack pushed the chair aside, only to be tackled to the floor by Big Al, who wrapped his arms around him like a grizzly bear as they rolled across the floor.
Big Al had the advantage of weight and soon came to rest on top, crushing Jack with his arms and his immense weight. Jack tried to knee him in the groin, but Big Al simply moved his lower body to one side without letting go.
They were face to face as Jack tried in vain to wriggle free. Eventually he stopped struggling.
“Giving up so easily, my little gringo?” smiled Big Al, as sweat dripped off his face onto Jack’s.
Jack lunged his head forward, biting and twisting as his teeth ripped and tore through the end of Big Al’s nose like a starving pit bull tearing into a steak.
Big Al screamed, pushing Jack on the chest in a frantic bid to get away. When he did get to his feet and break free, Jack spit out the end of his nose and delivered a swift punch to his solar plexis.
The wind exploded out of Big Al’s lungs like a popped balloon and he gasped for air. Another grunt and expulsion of air followed when Jack savagely kicked him in the groin, followed by a punch to his throat and a final kick to his knee that sent him sprawling face-down on the floor.
Big Al had no strength to resist when Jack sat on his back and used a scissor-like grip with his arms around Big Al’s neck to strangle the flow of blood his carotid artery supplied to his brain. Given enough time the hold would kill, but the sound of yelling from the tunnel told Jack he didn’t have the time.
As soon as Big Al lost consciousness, Jack rolled him over on his back and took the keys from his pocket.
He knew he should call for Lily, but as he looked at Big Al, the memory of the questions Big Al had asked him were still vivid.
What the hell … if they get me for killing El Pero, they may as well get me for killing you too …
Jack leaped high in the air, drawing his feet under him before landing with his heels on each of Big Al’s collar bones. They both snapped like kindling.
Big Al awoke with a scream and tried to move, before realizing his arms didn’t work and any movement brought severe pain.
Sanchez was running full tilt and nearing the bottom of the ladder when he heard Big Al screaming for help and yelling that Jack had broken both his arms. Unfortunately for Big Al, he had his head tilted back toward the tunnel when he was yelling and didn’t see Jack’s next move, which was to jump again, landing on his rib cage, breaking more bones.
Big Al cried out and closed his eyes in pain. Jack jumped once more, only this time he kept his legs tucked under and landed with his knees on the ribcage, driving the broken ribs into Big Al’s lungs.
Another voice yelled in Spanish and Sanchez realized it was Jack yelling at Big Al.
“You got any more questions to ask me about my family? Eh? Do you?”
The last sound Sanchez heard from Big Al was a loud, gurgling scream as he plunged headfirst down the shaft.
Jack tore the mended wire from the light switch, plunging the tunnel into darkness. He was sh
oving the counter back into position when he heard Sanchez screaming from the bottom of the ladder that the gringo had killed Big Al.
It gave Jack a sense of satisfaction to hear the panic in Sanchez’s voice. That’s right, you bastard. The big boss died on your watch …
Jack hollered for Lily and grabbed Big Al’s cellphone off the counter, before running to the hallway where he met Lily who stumbled and hysterically crawled in a frenzy toward him.
chapter forty-three
* * *
Jack wrapped an arm around Lily and helped her to the door and peered outside. Big Al’s SUV was parked at the bottom of the steps leading up to the porch. He could also see the other SUV with the snipers parked at the spot from where they had killed the iguana.
With the sun setting in the west, he knew he was facing south. From having been in the yard earlier, he also knew the only road he had seen came from the south, ending at Casa Blanca. Leaving on the road would take them closer to the snipers, who were to the southwest.
He hoped there was another way.
“There are bad guys on that far hill,” said Jack, as he pointed. “I’ve got the keys to the car at the bottom of the steps. We’ll keep low and make a dash down the steps. The SUV has tinted windows, so if they don’t see us, once I start to drive they might think it’s their own guys leaving.”
“Where are the rest of the guys?” she cried, looking around in panic.
“I don’t have time to talk. We gotta go.”
Jack crouched, not letting go of Lily’s waist as they scrambled down the stairs. Once there, the vehicle blocked them from the view of the snipers.
So far, so good, thought Jack. He saw his own sandals near the bottom of the steps where they had fallen off earlier. He put them on before opening the driver’s door and pushing Lily inside. “Sit on the floor and stay below the dash,” he ordered.
