Retribution

by Brent Towns

  Nogales was the newest center for the cartel drug wars. On one side was the Sonora Cartel, on the other, the Nogales Cartel. And in the center, Montoya had driven a deep wedge between them both.

  The resulting bloody war had claimed a staggering ten thousand lives over the past five years alone; not all those cartel members. That wasn’t factoring in the deaths on the Arizona side.

  Nogales law enforcement drove the streets in armored vehicles for their own safety. Although, with all the illegal arms that the cartels could get hold of, every now and then someone would pop up with an RPG-7 and blow the car to hell and gone. Weapons were the one thing there was never a shortage of.

  It wasn’t uncommon to see members of various drug task forces on the streets, wearing balaclavas to hide their identity. But hell, they were far from bulletproof, and hardly a day went by without some kind of blazing gunfight on the deadly streets of Nogales.

  If you represented the law in any way, shape or form, you were a target; from the judges and lawyers, right down to the very lowest of the low on the law enforcement ladder.

  Judging by the tattoos that these fellers wore, Traynor guessed they were Sonora Cartel.

  Like the bar, Traynor had changed too. Gone were the clothes he’d worn in Retribution, replaced by torn jeans, a shirt with the sleeves ripped out, and a jacket which had the same done to it.

  Being sleeveless exposed his muscular arms with tattoos, most of which he’d had done when he’d worked as an undercover. In his right ear was an earring in the shape of a cross. And with the cowboy boots, he resembled a biker more than a DEA agent.

  A young woman approached him, her only attire being a black thong, high-heeled shoes, and a stoned smile. Her dark-tipped breasts jutted out firmly from a bony chest.

  “Hey, hombre,” she slurred, “you here to drink or fuck? Manuela do both for you, sí?”

  He ignored her and made to step around when she blocked his path. Her face screwed up. “Am I not good enough for you, gringo? Is that it? You want some other puta?”

  Traynor stared into her glazed eyes. In another life far away from here, Manuela would have been quite attractive. Most likely she’d been forced into the life she now led. He said, “I’m here to see someone.”

  Manuela didn’t budge, and the pair had now drawn the attention of some armed cartel men. Traynor cursed under his breath and was about to leave when a voice said, ‘Frig off, Manuela.”

  Traynor turned his head and saw a slim, blonde woman in the same state of undress as the olive-skinned one before him.

  Manuela looked at the interloper and then threw her arms in the air, her breasts jiggling with the action. She let out a string of curses, turned, and stormed off.

  “Thanks,” Traynor said.

  “If I was you, cowboy, I’d turn and leave. This ain’t a place for gringos if you know what I mean?”

  “I’m here to see someone. He owns … used to own this place. His name is Rodrigo.”

  The woman nodded. “He’s still here. You’ll find him behind the bar. But don’t say you weren’t warned.”

  “Thanks …”

  “Candy.”

  Traynor cocked an eyebrow. “Really?”

  She gave him a tired smile. “Shit, every white whore in here is called Candy.”

  “OK, then. Thanks … Candy.”

  “If you want a good time after, I won’t be too hard to find.”

  He watched her walk off, then became aware of eyes upon him. He turned his head and saw one of the armed men staring at him. Traynor looked away and walked to the bar. Standing behind it were two other mostly naked women. And a man; Rodrigo, who looked as though he’d seen a ghost as soon as he spotted Traynor.

  Rodrigo’s face paled, and he hissed, “Are you crazy? What the fuck are you doing in here?”

  “I came to see an old friend.”

  The Mexican nodded towards the end of the bar. They walked along it until they were out of earshot, and Rodrigo whispered. “You need to get out of here. If the cartel works out who you are, they’ll cut your balls off and feed them to you. Then they’ll do the same to me.”

  Traynor ignored him. “I like what you’ve done with the place.”

  “Mierda! What do you want, agente?” Rodrigo growled impatiently.

  Traynor’s face hardened at the veiled threat. “Is that any way to speak to a friend?”

  “We are not friends anymore,” the Mexican shot back. “Not now that I have the cartel looking over my shoulder. Tell me what you want and then leave.”

  Traynor nodded. “I want information.”

  “No! Get out!” spittle flew from Rodrigo’s lips.

  “Nope. Not until we talk.”

  The Mexican stared into Traynor’s eyes and could see that he was determined to get what he’d come for.

  “You are crazy, you know this?”

  “It ain’t my first rodeo, amigo.”

  “Wait here.”

  Rodrigo hurried along the bar and grabbed a bottle and two glasses. He waved at Candy and then came back and said, “We go to a booth.”

  “I don’t want a girl.”

  “Listen, amigo, men come here for two reasons, tequila and girls. The Sonora men already watch you.”

  “All right.”

  They found an empty booth in a darker area and sat down. Candy slid in beside Traynor and started to rub the top of his thigh. As she did, she snuggled in close and started to kiss the side of his neck.

  Traynor pushed her back, and he said, “I told you, I don’t want a girl.”

  “The girl or death. The choice is yours. If it doesn’t look real, then they will get suspicious and then kill you. Now, tell me what you want and get out.”

  The DEA agent glanced at Candy and then back at Rodrigo. He said nothing.

  Rodrigo nodded and said, “Candy, under the table.”

  Candy rolled her eyes. “What the hell do you want me to do under there?”

  “I don’t care, just make it look good.”

  She slid under the table, and within seconds, Traynor could feel her fumbling with his pants button. He slapped her hand away, but she came back for more.

  Rodrigo guessed what was happening and said, “Tell me?”

  “I –” Traynor cleared his throat as Candy took his breath away with the warmth of hers. “I need to know where Juan Montoya keeps his money.”

  For the second time, Rodrigo’s face grew pale and fearful. He leaned in close and whispered in a harsh tone, “Are you fucking crazy? Get out! Get out and don’t come back.”

  “I need to know, Rodrigo.”

  “If they find out, they will kill me.”

  “What does it matter? You don’t work for them, and you’re under the watchful eye of the Sonorans.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  Suddenly one of the cartel men appeared around the corner of the booth. He ran a suspicious eye over them and then noticed Candy under the table. He watched her head move up and down and then smiled at Traynor. He asked, “La puta chupa Buena?”

  Traynor nodded. “Yeah, she sucks real good.”

  The Mexican smiled again and moved on.

  “You must go now,” Rodrigo blurted out.

  Under the table, Candy started to work on his cock with more vigor. His toes began to curl in his boots, and it took all his concentration to stay on task.

  “I’ll leave when I have what I came for.”

  “Well, you’re out of luck, hombre. I have no idea.”

  “Come on, Rodrigo, you and I both know that’s horseshit. You’ve heard something. People talk, they can’t help it.”

  There was uncertainty in Rodrigo’s eyes, and Traynor knew he had him. “Where, Rodrigo?”

  “In a bank.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “It’s …” he lowered his voice. “It is true. Not a normal bank. There is an abandoned one in southern Nogales.”

  “Why hasn’t anyone stolen it?”

 
“Because it is in a vault under the floor. There is an alarm that is triggered if it is disturbed. El Hombre can have fifty men there within minutes of it going off.”

  “What about guards?”

  “He has none. Why would there be? Only the estúpido would try to steal it.”

  “What else?”

  “That is all I know. If there is any more, you will have to find it out for yourself.”

  Traynor nodded.

  “Now will you go?”

  “Yes. In a …” the DEA agent stopped mid-sentence as a wave of pleasure washed over him. Once he’d gathered himself, he continued, “I’ll leave now.”

  Traynor fixed his pants and slid out from the seat. He dug into his pocket for a roll of bills, peeled a hundred off and tossed it on the table. Candy had crawled out and smiled at him. He pointed at the money and said, “There, that’s for making it look good.”

  She took the money and walked away. Traynor stared at Rodrigo and said, “I’ll be seeing you, amigo.”

  “Not if I can help it. Stay away. If someone recognizes you, they will hang pieces of you from the border fence.”

  Outside, the moon was rising, and the heat of the day had dissipated somewhat. Moths attracted by the bar’s neon lights seemed to fill the air like a swarm of bees. Traynor looked left and right along the sidewalk but saw no one.

  Tomorrow he’d find the bank used by Montoya and do some surveillance on it. For now, his room at the motel seemed a good prospect. He stepped down off the curb and started to cross the street. Behind him, standing in the shadows of the doorway was the cartel man who’d spoken to him in the bar, who waited until Traynor had slipped from view and began to follow him.

  The sound wasn’t much but was sufficient to make Traynor’s eyes spring wide, and he was instantly awake. A dull orange light from the street outside shone through the holes in the curtains and gave the small room a limited illumination.

  He lay there listening. Two heartbeats, three, four, fi –

  The door crashed back and ripped the chain from the wall. Two tattooed men armed with automatic weapons pushed in through the opening and split up to either side of the room. They brought the guns up to fire, but Traynor was ahead of them. As soon as the DEA agent had come awake, he’d retrieved his Smith & Wesson 9mm M&P handgun from beneath his pillow.

  Traynor fired twice, and the Mexican on the right jerked as two rounds hammered into his chest. He switched his aim and brought down the second man.

  Each gunshot sounded unusually loud in the confined space, and the noise only grew worse when the second Mexican squeezed the trigger on his AK-103 as he collapsed.

  The bullets plowed into the ceiling, smashing the fan that hung from it. Large chunks of debris fell onto the bed, narrowly missing Traynor. He rolled to the side and onto the floor, the bed shielding him from the next intruder.

  Another AK roared to life, and a jagged pattern of bullet holes appeared in the wall behind him. More debris rained down, and Traynor crawled along on his belly to the end of the bed to allow him visibility for a shot. He took a deep breath and lunged forward while the shooter fired at his last known position.

  Traynor brought the Smith & Wesson to bear and fired three times. The first two slugs hit the last shooter in the chest; the third opened a grisly wound in his throat. Blood sprayed up the side wall as the cartel soldier fell back and landed with a thud on the bloody carpet.

  Now that the shooting had stopped, all Traynor could hear was the sound of his labored breathing.

  “Shit!” he cursed and scrambled to his feet.

  There was no time to lose. People would come to see what the commotion was, maybe more cartel men. He needed to get out of there.

  Hurriedly, Traynor slipped the S&W into his belt, gathered his things, slipped out the door before anyone appeared, jumped in his SUV, and roared off into the night.

  Retribution

  Ferrero was dragged from his slumber by the annoying sound of his cell ringing. He looked at the bedside clock, and the glowing red numbers on the display showed two-thirty.

  Ferrero sighed heavily. “Good Christ. Who the hell rings at this time?”

  He picked up the phone and pressed answer. He growled into it, “This better be damned good.”

  “Would you like me to call back later?”

  “Shit, Pete, what’s up? It’s half-two.”

  “I just had me a visit from the Sonoran Cartel. Shot the shit out of my room while they tried to do the same to me.”

  Ferrero sat up. “Are you all right?”

  “For the moment. I’ve just got to keep moving for the time being.”

  “How’d they get onto you?”

  “Who knows. Listen, I need to tell you this just in case something happens to me. Montoya keeps his money in a bank in south Nogales.”

  “You’re shitting me.”

  “Nope. That’s what my contact says. I’m going to verify it tomorrow, sorry, today.”

  “Fuck that, come on home.”

  “No, we need to know. I’ll be a couple more days.”

  Ferrero contemplated ordering him to cross back over. Instead, he said, “OK. Just keep your head down. The rest of the team should be here tomorrow.”

  “Roger that. I’ll contact you when I know more.”

  “Stay safe, Pete.”

  Nogales

  The front of the old bank looked more like a replica of the Alamo than an establishment where people had once kept their money. It was built from stone, had an arched doorway, and four windows in its façade. The main body of the building ran back along its block for perhaps twice the length of its frontage. Two tall trees stood on either side. The sign fixed above the entrance was splintered from being shot up on more than one occasion, and every panel of glass in the window frames had been shattered. Then there were the bullet holes. The façade was pockmarked with tiny craters where lead slugs had gouged them out.

  Traynor watched it for most of the day and into the night. No one came. No one went. If Rodrigo hadn’t told him what was there, he would have figured it to be just what it looked like. Abandoned.

  The moon came up shortly after nine pm, and the only living thing the DEA agent had seen was a cat. It was as though everyone knew not to go anywhere near the building. He remembered what Rodrigo had said. Armed men could be there in minutes. The thing was if the team was going to knock the bank over, he needed to know just what to expect for a response time. Traynor smiled at the thought of DEA agents robbing a bank.

  He reached into his coat and took out his S&W. He checked its loads and put it back. Then Traynor climbed from the driver’s seat and walked around to the rear of the SUV. He opened the back, lifted the carpet and unlocked a compartment in the floor.

  Leaning in, Traynor withdrew an M84 stun grenade. If the sensors were sensitive enough, then it should do the job. There was no point in taking too much of a risk.

  He relocked everything and from where he was parked, walked a hundred meters to the old bank. Once close enough, Traynor pulled the pin on the stun grenade and tossed it, so it pitched against the wall.

  Then he turned and ran.

  By the time the grenade blew, the DEA agent was well out of harm’s way. While he jogged, he counted. He climbed back in the SUV and continued to count. Then he sat, waited, counted.

  Traynor had rattled off three minutes when the first of the armed men appeared. Ten of them ran out of the darkness, armed with AKs. Six of them set up a small perimeter around the front door while the rest went inside.

  “So, you ten guys are the QRF,” Traynor murmured, using the abbreviated term for a Quick Reaction Force. He raised his cell and filmed them. He said, “It took these guys three minutes to arrive.”

  The men emerged, and one of them, obviously the leader, threw his arms around, and the cartel men started to search the exterior of the building. That was when they spotted his vehicle.

  A cartel man stopped and stared into the shadows wher
e the SUV was parked. He must have made the outline because he said something to the man in charge and pointed in Traynor’s direction.

  He murmured, “Time to go.”

  The DEA agent tapped a few icons on the cell and tossed it on the passenger seat. By the time the vehicle was started and in drive, the footage had been sent to Ferrero.

  The SUV’s movement signaled the start of a furious few minutes that seemed to go on forever.

  The cartel men opened fire as soon as the vehicle started its U-turn. Bullets slammed into the SUV and made a sound like Traynor had driven into a severe hailstorm. The rear driver’s side window shattered and when the vehicle was finally rear-on, the back one disintegrated too.

  “Shit!” Traynor exclaimed when he felt a bullet embed itself into the headrest behind him.

  He floored the accelerator, and the SUV’s tires slipped and then bit. It shot forward and into the night. Traynor cursed loudly knowing that Ferrero wasn’t going to be happy about this.

  Chapter 12

  Retribution

  The rest of the team arrived mid-morning in two semi-trailers and another SUV. The first truck was pulling an expandable unit full of all the tech gear they would need. On the roof sat a satellite dish, while a front compartment held their own personal armory.

  The second vehicle carried two DPVs, or Desert Patrol Vehicles. They were modeled on the ones used by U.S. forces in the First Gulf War and could carry mounted armaments.

  “Where the hell did you get those dinosaurs?” Kane asked Ferrero as the vehicles rolled off the truck inside the warehouse.

  He slapped Kane on the shoulder and smiled broadly as he said, “Wait until you drive it before you call it names, my friend.”

  “Uh huh. What’s with the extra SUV?”

  “That baby is fully armored. The only thing that’ll stop it is a missile.”

  “Or an RPG.”

  Ferrero nodded. “Or that.”

  “What else have you got?”

  Ferrero said, “Let’s gather everyone around, and we’ll get to know each other.”