Baker's Dozen

by Amey Zeigler

  He didn’t like crowds. Hated them. He tugged at his jacket. It was hot. The heat in there weighed on him, smothering him. He shouldn’t have let Andy convince him to come here. Too much time had passed.

  Something was amiss.

  A group of ladies passed, each giving Christiaan a broad smile. Christiaan had his eye on something else. Two men stood in the corner by themselves. Nothing odd about them, he guessed. But Christiaan didn’t like their scowls. They weren’t there to dance. He recognized them. Manuel and Ricardo. Christiaan gulped. The Habanero Cartel.

  Christiaan found Andy in raptures wrapped in José’s arms and was only too pleased to interrupt. “We’ve gotta go.”

  Andy’s smiling face fell to a pleading glance. “We just got here.”

  José whipped her around to face Christiaan. “I’d like to finish my dance with Andy,” he said.

  Christiaan gave José a hard stare, then headed for the door. Christiaan glanced over his shoulder. Andy gave José a hug goodbye. He searched the room for the men.

  They were gone.

  “Why were you so rude? And why are we leaving?” Andy asked when she caught up to him. “I didn’t get a chance to ask him for help.”

  “He’s not going to help us.”

  Now was not the time for self-doubt. Christiaan threaded through the haze of the fog-filled room. Once outside, Andy stopped him by tugging at his shoulder making him face her. “What is going on?”

  “Always trust your gut,” he said, glancing over her head. “And my gut told me to get out of there.” The valet wasn’t at the stand. Christiaan found the box and lifted his key.

  “No, I mean what is going on with Yolanda.”

  “Our dance bothered you?”

  “You were getting pretty friendly.”

  “Like you and José.”

  “We’ve known each other for years.”

  “Then I was just doing, what is it you do? I was just collecting a little DNA.”

  “More like donating some.”

  He couldn’t focus on her right now. Instinct ruled as he searched for their car. The streets were lined with cars bumper to bumper along the narrow roads. Inconsistent lamplights cast changing shadows. He did three-sixty sweeps with his head.

  Every shadow, someone was hiding, every alley way an attacker. He hoped he wasn’t going crazy. His intuition was on alert. He glanced behind him. One of the men followed them.

  He swiveled to alert Andy. Instead, she spoke first. “I see him,” she said. “I spotted them at the club, too.”

  He smiled inwardly. So, she wasn’t as into José as she pretended to be. “How do we shake him?” Andy asked.

  But Christiaan, so concerned with the man behind them, didn’t anticipate the man who jumped from the alley.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The man in the leather jacket stepped out of the alley and faced Christiaan.

  “Johansson,” the man said, his accent deep, stepping out of the shadows.

  “Ricardo,” Christiaan replied, stepping forward.

  “You should’ve known better than to come back to Mexico, my friend.” Ricardo opened his jacket, revealed a well-used Taurus, and pointed it at him. “Abuelo told you if you returned, you’d join your friend. Adiós,” he said, aiming it at Christiaan’s head. Manuel closed in from behind, gun at the ready.

  Andy struck first, her reflexes released a front-kick to his gun-arm, sending his shot up to a building. Ricardo released the gun. Andy back-kicked Manuel’s leg then disarmed him by catching his gun-hand swinging it behind him knocking him off balance.

  Christiaan followed up with a joint-lock to Ricardo’s arm and a kick to his leg, knocking his body on the ground. His shoulder joint cracked. Christiaan crushed him with another kick to the ribs. Manuel, temporarily shocked at Andy’s offensive strike, paused two seconds before kicking her in the back, searching his jacket for another gun.

  “I always keep a spare,” he said.

  Andy, reeled from the hit, but returned with a front kick to his face. Christiaan push-kicked his chest, sending him and the gun flying in opposite directions.

  “I’ll grab his gun,” Andy said.

  “No using guns, except my biceps.”

  Andy smirked. “I’ll at least keep him from using it.”

  Christiaan nodded. Andy dropped the ammo from the Taurus, tossing the metal into the alleyway. Then they ran like hell.

  ****

  With her back throbbing where Manuel kicked her, Andy halted down the street when they were both out of breath. She slipped off her heels and tossed them. Running in heels and a mini skirt wasn’t very comfortable. Men had it so easy.

  “I think your friend José ratted us out,” Christiaan said as they jogged to a new hotel.

  “No.”

  Christiaan shrugged. “Did he keep going on and on about nothing? Stalling tactics. Because no one else knew we were here.”

  “Who were those guys?” Andy asked.

  Christiaan hesitated. “Habanero drug cartel.”

  “Why were they after you?”

  Christiaan was silent for a few breaths. Andy didn’t let up, still expecting an answer. A truthful answer.

  “I might have busted up a few of their runs, sent a few of their guys to prison. Ricardo’s father is in prison because of me.”

  Andy had more questions, but saved them until they checked in to their hotel. The hotel clerk, a looming man in black with a gold tag with “Pablo” written on it. He sneered under his thick mustache as he showed them to their room. They followed Pablo, behind his massive back and his long pony-tail, as he led them down the dimly lit corridor.

  The Spanish-style room had leather high-backed chairs, wide windows with bars, and one bed.

  “I hope you like sleeping on Saltillo tiles,” she said, throwing herself onto the bed, staring up into the wooden beams above her. What a day.

  She sat up, facing Christiaan. “Okay, so why were you busting up drug cartels?” she asked.

  Christiaan checked the windows, secured the doors, and she was sure, planned a few escapes. “It’s a job.”

  “A job? Filing paperwork and sending emails is a job. Busting up cartels is like military task force stuff.”

  Christiaan pointed his finger to his nose. “I’m going to shower.”

  Andy shook her head and fell back onto the bed. To keep from thinking about him undressing in the other room, Andy switched on the TV for company. Weather channel. Everything was in Celsius, but the prediction was going to be unusually hot. She flipped the channel.

  Telemundo.

  She couldn’t understand what they were saying. But followed the plot for a while. A rouge, charismatic young man from the drug cartel saves a girl from the ugly guy taking her land. Bored, she flipped the channel. Soap opera, soap opera, more soap opera. Oh, American news. In English, even.

  Only slightly less depressing.

  Andy left the remote on the TV stand. Fetching her bag, she dug through coffee filters and bandages to grab the paper. While flipping through and studying the charts and schematics, she listened to the news with only half a brain until her ears caught a familiar name.

  “Senator Granger has been instrumental in leading the Committee of Energy Efficiency in the approval of the law,” a well-groomed lady told the camera. Then Senator Granger himself was in front of a bouquet of microphones. “The new emission conversion negates greenhouse gasses with no negative side effects, only fresh, pure air.”

  Next, it showed pictures of the new converter. Voice over: “These converters fit right onto your exhaust pipes turning emissions into earth-friendly vapors.”

  A representative of Vehemia Manufacturing spoke next on the screen. “It’s amazing the technology our scientists are able to produce.”

  Andy stepped closer absorbed in a digital demonstration how the converters chemically changed the carbon monoxide into friendly gasses.

  Andy held the paper up to the screen. The schematic
s in the paper and the ones on the news were an exact match. Andy dropped the paper and yelped, her gaze glued to the news.

  A lady standing out front of the Jefferson Monument in DC. “The Elimination of Greenhouse Gasses law, nicknamed EGG, will federally mandate every car to install one.”

  The shot jumped to a friendly male anchor in a suit. “Remember, during the voluntary phase-in period IRS rewards citizens with tax credits until the complete adoption is complete in five years. Be sure to get your tax exemption now.”

  Andy flipped off the TV as the shower ended. Andy’s heart pounded. They needed to get the paper back to the States and analyze it. If she only spoke German.

  Christiaan appeared in the doorway, clutching a towel around his waist. Lights glistened off his rippling muscles in his chest and arms. The sight immediately forced everything else out of Andy’s brain. She caught her breath and closed her eyes. But the image of his toned chest was still there.

  “Forgot my bag.” He leaned over to pick it up.

  Andy peeked. “We’ve got to get back home,” she said. “Now.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “You don’t feel safe here?”

  Andy shook her head not daring to tell him what she learned. She still wasn’t one-hundred percent sure she could trust him. “We need to go.”

  Christiaan nodded, returned to the bathroom, and in a few minutes appeared in the doorway fully dressed. “Let’s go.”

  Andy packed her bag and then paced until Christiaan was ready.

  They opened their door to the room.

  Pablo, the hulking front clerk, filled the frame.

  “I guess they found us,” Christiaan said, seeing the menace on Pablo’s face.

  The Beretta strapped to the inside of Pablo’s jacket was nearly invisible. But Christiaan anticipated him and with a swift calculated chop, knocked away Pablo’s gun.

  Christiaan landed a push-kick square in Pablo’s large chest. Pablo didn’t budge. He didn’t even flinch. Christiaan raised his eyebrows in surprise, strategizing a new attack.

  Andy, seeing Christiaan’s failed attempt to knock Pablo over, hit his knee sideways, knocking his kneecap, the sheer volume of his size sending him off balance. Christiaan hit Pablo on the back of the head as he doubled over to respond to his hurt knee, sending him to the floor.

  “Follow me!” Christiaan shouted, stepping over Pablo’s fallen body, bracing himself for the next attack as they ran down the ornately decorated hall. In the half-light of the wall sconces, two men wearing black ran toward them. Christiaan didn’t falter. Running straight on, he clothes-lined one, then kicked the other with a side kick in the ribs.

  Christiaan and Andy rounded the corner. Christiaan grabbed Andy’s hand and led her over the bodies.

  “Grab a gun,” she said, but he ignored her, preferring to flee instead. “How are we going to get out of here?” Andy asked.

  “Out a window,” Christiaan said, running in a specific direction. But the window at the end of the hall was guarded by iron grates.

  Using his might, Christian forced them open, ready to jump. Andy screamed as they jumped through the window. They fell like tumbleweed through rocks, cactus, and palm trees, until they rolled to the bottom of the hill. As evening fell, the temperature cooled.

  “We need transportation,” Andy said.

  Christiaan glanced one last time back at the hotel now swarming with men in black leather jackets. “Everyone will be searching for us. The vengeance of the Habanero Cartel is thick.”

  In town, Andy checked the cars lining the road.

  “For a country in poverty, they drive nice cars.”

  “What are you searching for?” Christiaan asked.

  “Something older.”

  Then she spied the perfect car. An old, early eighties Mustang with a broken driver’s side window. Andy slipped her hand in, popping open the car door, then knelt down under the steering column near the ripped leather seating on the pebble-ridden floor.

  Christiaan blinked back surprise. “What? You know how to hot-wire a car?”

  Andy waved her hand. “I’ll have to bust the latching pins. They are sufficiently sun-rotted anyway.” She searched through her bag, taking out a hammer and a flat-head screwdriver and banged.

  “Can you hurry?” Christiaan asked, once she got the fragile plastic casing off, trying not to be impressed.

  “I have to examine the wires. One false step and it could strip the shifting.” Andy fumbled with colored wires, separating wires, then picking two.

  “I think these are they.”

  “You think?”

  “I don’t have an owner’s manual. You wanna search for this model?”

  “No phone. What happens if you’re wrong?”

  Andy used her knife to splice off the plastic from the yellow wire. From her bag she fished electrical tape, cutting off a length. “Then you’ll have a corpse and people after you,”

  “Great,” he said, not wanting that option.

  “Here goes the test.” Andy hit the two wires together, the dashboard lit up and the radio blasting the Beatles made Andy jump. “I’m not dead, at least.”

  “Isn’t there a safer way to do this?”

  “Yes, but I didn’t pack my cordless drill.”

  A black Hummer rounded the corner just as the ignition roared to life.

  “Uh, are you done? They found us.”

  “Yes, just touch down on the gas when I touch these together or I’ll have to start again.” Andy wrapped the tape around the two, creating a solid connection while Christiaan, half-seated, slid his foot on the gas.

  “Slide over, I’m driving.”

  “I got this,” Andy said just as bullets sounded from the Hummer. Andy jumped to the passenger side, her legs over the console. Christiaan couldn’t turn the steering wheel.

  “Wrench it,” she said. “You have to break the lock on the steering.” Christiaan flexed his muscles until he popped the lock. He cranked the car onto the road, the Hummer close behind. Stepping on the gas made dirt and debris fly around with the open window.

  “We’re going to die,” Andy shouted as shots rang out.

  “Think positively,” Christiaan yelled back, maneuvering through the dingy streets.

  “Watch out!” Andy yelled as they turned a tight corner, narrowly missing a leaning stop sign and a stray dog. At the fifth tight turn, the Hummer wasn’t in his rearview mirror. He relaxed a bit, still glancing behind him every once in a while.

  “Where are we headed?” Andy called out.

  “North,” he yelled back. “Do you have anything for this window?” Christiaan didn’t like the dust blowing in his eyes.

  Andy rolled her eyes and dug into her bag producing plastic.

  “What’s that?”

  “Emergency rain poncho.”

  After crawling into the back seat, she taped it to the window, blocking out the wind, the dust and the sound. Then crawled back.

  “You know, one thought keeps passing through my mind,” Andy said.

  “Do share.” Christiaan continued to concentrate on his driving.

  “It is a small world.”

  Christiaan didn’t respond.

  “Or you know a lot of people,” Andy shouted.

  “Or bad people find me.”

  “Could be it as well.”

  They drove north until the lights of the city faded behind them and the darkness enveloped the city and overcame them. The scenery changed to scrubby trees and small bushes but mostly dirt, and Christiaan kept glancing behind them.

  Several kilometers before the city of Chihuahua, they ran out of gas. Pushing the car into town, they found a hotel on top of a small bar, trading the stolen vehicle for a night’s stay and a meal.

  “You are going to recompense the owner, right?” Andy asked.

  “Andy this is the real world.”

  “But you have all this money and resources, you should be able to find him, right?”

  Christi
aan, too tired and hungry to care, rolled his eyes.

  ****

  Andy entered the hotel with some trepidation. The hotel could’ve been held together with twine, as if it would blow over with the next hoodoo. Bars laced the windows, and wires and pipes sprouted like vines on the exterior of stucco and wood. It was as hot inside as it was outside and possibly stuffier. But the ramshackle hotel was at least a place to sleep.

  “What stinks?” Andy asked, covering her nose as she followed him up a flight of narrow wooden stairs. The wall’s patina of time, grime, and filth chest high on the whitewashed walls gave Andy the creeps. Her shoes stuck to the floor.

  “Tequila,” Christiaan replied. “And smoke, urine, and probably some vomit.”

  Christiaan opened the door to a dingy room, with a sagging twin in one corner and a questionable plaid love-seat in the other. A lamp teetered on a small nightstand near the bed. A sink and a toilet occupied a small water closet.

  “Cheery,” he said, as he peeked through the broken shade at the window. “But it’s a place to sleep. We have no money to get out of here. No using your credit cards.”

  Andy frowned. “There has got to be another way. You can’t connect with your ‘friends?’ Can’t they get us out?”

  “I told you, we’re off the grid.” Christiaan shook his head.

  Andy hadn’t seen him so defeated. “We’ll come up with something.”

  He tossed her a smile. “You will, I’m sure.” With some rearrangement of the pillows, he plopped down, slipping his hands behind his head. “I’m not feeling very confident at the moment.”

  Andy slid under her sheets, sniffing to determine if they were fresh. They didn’t smell too vulgar. Christiaan settled on the loveseat to read the paper Juan died to protect.

  ****

  Christiaan didn’t know how long he was asleep. Maybe a minute. Maybe hours. Or maybe he hadn’t slept at all. His dreams were too much like his realities—disorienting, confusing, and tense. He preferred to be awake anyway.

  Christiaan worried. It didn’t happen often, and it was a strange sensation. He usually had contingency plans for his contingency plans. Maybe because he was with an amateur, or with a girl, things were out of control. They were out of money, out of supplies, unless you counted Andy’s bag, which was more helpful than he first gave her credit for. But his boss had no idea where they were so he had no extraction plan.