White Lines

by Tom Fowler

  “Madre de Dios!” the one inside the vehicle under siege yelled. He covered up and crouched behind the driver, whose body absorbed another couple rounds in the burst. Blood ran from a fresh wound in his abdomen.

  “OK, I’m out,” Tyler said. “My offer’s the same. You want to live, you get those Jeeps rolling back to your boss.”

  “What do we do with the guys you shot?”

  “They’re your friends, not mine. I don’t really care.”

  The two men went back and forth in Spanish for a moment. The one closer to Tyler did most of the talking. When the other guy didn’t seem receptive, he yelled and made wild gestures to the carnage. After a moment, he said, “Fine, we’ll leave. This isn’t over, though. You’re going to have the whole cartel after you.”

  “You’re down four more men,” Tyler said. “I’ll take my chances.”

  He watched as each man pulled the dead drivers into the respective backseats, took their places, and turned the Jeeps around. Both guys stopped and stared at Tyler. He fired a couple rounds into the back of the trailing Jeep. The engines roared, and the two SUVs took off the way they’d come in. Tyler only lowered the M4 when their taillights disappeared, and he kept his vigil for another five minutes to make sure they didn’t come back.

  17

  After putting his vest and carbine away, Tyler waited in the kitchen. He brewed a quarter-pot of coffee. If one of his neighbors farther up the street heard the commotion and called the cops, he’d need to go out and talk to them. The Jeeps ended up close to Mister Thompson’s house, and Tyler figured he’d keep quiet. He may have even spread the word. The older man was both nosy and chatty, and while Tyler didn’t always appreciate the combination, he thought it could be useful now.

  His phone rang while he sipped some hot caffeine. Sara called. “Keeping late hours,” he said. “The Pentagon got you burning the midnight oil?”

  “It’s barely ten,” she said in a light tone. “It’s not like either of us go to sleep early.” She paused. “Especially not when we’re together.”

  Tyler smiled at the lascivious comment. “If you want to come over, I’m just drinking coffee.” And I just shot four cartel men on my street, he added in his head.

  “I don’t think I can tonight,” Sara said. “I was wondering what you were up to this weekend.”

  “I don’t know. Let me have my girlfriend get back to you.”

  “Tell her not to take too long. I’m popular.”

  “I’m . . . sort of in the middle of a situation.”

  “Do I want to know what it is?” Sara asked.

  “Remember the guy you said I shouldn’t take on?” Tyler said.

  “Yes,” Sara said after a moment.

  “Well, I’m kind of taking him on. I don’t want to get into the specifics right now, but let’s just say recent events have made me very unpopular in his house.”

  Sara took a deep breath, and the exhalation whistled in Tyler’s ear. “You know I worry about you. Don’t get into more than you can handle.”

  “So far, I haven’t.”

  “Yes,” Sara said, “but I know you and your sense of obligation. You helped me out when three men were in my house despite me being nothing more than a voice on the other end of a phone. It sounds like the dead girl made quite an impression on you. I know you’ll see it all the way through.”

  “I’m glad you understand.” Tyler swirled the black coffee around in his mug. “And I’m sorry it’s thrown a wrench into making any plans.”

  “These are the things a woman finds out when she gets involved with a knight-errant.” They both chuckled. “Maybe you should call Rollins. I’m sure he could lend a capable hand.”

  “Officer thinking, Lieutenant.”

  Sara snorted. “Please. I’m a senior executive. I passed lieutenant equivalency ages ago.”

  “A simple retired warrant officer like me doesn’t understand these things,” Tyler said.

  “You should talk to your girlfriend more,” Sara said. “I hear she’s pretty smart.”

  “She is,” Tyler said. “And patient, too, thank goodness.”

  After hanging up with Sara, Tyler called Lexi next. Her voice rose in concern, and she even admitted sending her to stay with Zeke for a few days was a good idea. “Nice shooting, Dad.”

  “They kept me around all those years for a reason,” he said.

  “You need to call Rollins,” Lexi told him.

  He didn’t divulge Sara said the same thing a few minutes ago. Lexi might be salty at not being his first call. “I had the same idea.” They hung up a moment later, and Tyler dialed his old acquaintance from the service. Rollins was retired despite being about a decade younger than Tyler. The man was reliable, selfless, and stealthy enough to break into a lion’s den with a pocket full of catnip.

  “Little late for someone your age to be awake,” Rollins said when he picked up.

  “Good thing I already drank my prune juice,” Tyler said.

  “What’s going on? I know you’re not making a social call.”

  Tyler filled him in on everything starting with Alice sashaying into the shop and concluding with four dead men riding out in a pair of bullet-riddled Jeeps. “What’d you do with Lexi?” Rollins asked.

  “She’s with my dad for a few days. Between the location of his unit and the arsenal he keeps there, I think they could hold off a few men.”

  “Agreed. What’s the next move?”

  “I figure Héctor’s going to be pissed,” Tyler said. “He knows who I am, sent six men to take me out, and two-thirds of them went back dead.”

  “You don’t want to go after him now?” Rollins said. “He’s depleted.”

  “I don’t know enough about his operation yet. He could have two dozen men standing by. I think we’re in reaction mode for now while we gather some more intel. Then, we make a plan and take the fight to them.”

  “All right. I’m in.”

  “Thanks.” Tyler paused. “I can’t really pay your rates, but we’re liable to take out a few men with fat wallets.”

  “I’ll manage.” For the first time ever, Tyler heard Rollins stifle a yawn. He wasn’t sure the man ever slept. “You said they’re in some fancy Bel Air neighborhood?”

  “Yeah.”

  “If the boss gets pissed, it’ll be a little while before they roll out on you again. You want me to keep an eye on your place?”

  “I set up a couple cameras,” Tyler said. “Another gun couldn’t hurt, though.”

  “All right,” Rollins said. “See you soon.” He broke the connection. Tyler went back to his coffee. He appreciated the weight of the Sig on his hip.

  Héctor seethed as Danilo and Videl pulled the twin black Jeeps into his driveway. They’d called ahead and talked to Rodolfo, who relayed the bad news. Once the gate swung shut, Héctor and Orlan walked outside to meet them. Two corpses flopped at odd angles in each of the vehicles. Between the bodies and the bullet holes, Héctor was surprised they made it all the way from Baltimore without someone noticing.

  “Sorry, boss,” Danilo said as he climbed out of the vehicle. “It felt like he knew we were coming. We couldn’t—“

  Héctor cut him off with an upraised hand. “We’ll debrief inside. You and Videl head downstairs.”

  Danilo gulped. Héctor enjoyed the fear in his eyes. “Downstairs?”

  “You have a problem?”

  “No, no.” Danilo jerked his head, and Videl accompanied him inside.

  Héctor and Orlan briefly surveyed the Jeeps and the four cadavers. “I didn’t think we’d underestimated him,” Héctor said in a quiet tone. “Six men, Orlan. Six!”

  “Let’s hear what they have to tell us,” Orlan said. They entered the house via the side door and took the carpeted stairs to the basement. The first room held a giant TV, a plush couch, and two next-gen gaming consoles. Danilo and Videl waited there. Héctor beckoned them with a wave. They walked through a door into the next room. It featured bare
stone walls and an unadorned concrete floor.

  Orlan closed the door once everyone was inside. Danilo and Videl cowered at the far end of the room. They stank of fear and failure. Orlan stood beside his boss and crossed his massive arms. “All right,” Héctor said. “We knew who this guy was. I respected him enough to send a half dozen men to kill him. Four came back dead. What happened?”

  “I swear he was ready for us,” Videl said. “We stopped about a hundred yards from his house to go over the plan. All six of us would surround it. He couldn’t get away, and the numbers would get him if he came out.” He snorted and shook his head. “The next thing I know, two guys slump over in the front Jeep. I didn’t even see where the shots came from. They were quiet, too.” He ran a hand through his damp black hair. “Before I could do anything, the two men with me were both dead, too.”

  “There were still the two of you,” Héctor said.

  Videl laughed, but there was no humor to be found in it. “He’d just killed four men before I realized what happened. What good were the two of us?”

  “What good indeed?” Héctor asked. “Orlan.”

  The giant strode toward Videl. His eyes went wide, and he held his hands up. “Boss, wait a minute. I—“ Orlan’s massive fist walloping him in the face cut him off. Videl went down hard. He flexed his jaw and rose to all fours. Orlan glanced back to Héctor, who gave him a single nod. Another punch drove Videl to the floor again.

  Danilo recoiled in horror as Orlan rolled the unconscious man onto his back, crouched over him, and rained hammer blows onto his unprotected face. Héctor enjoyed the reaction. Men needed to know the consequences of failure, and if he couldn’t inflict the suffering himself, watching his trusted enforcer dish it out came in a close second. Between the beating and the unforgiving stone, Héctor wondered how much longer Videl could survive. His answer came quickly. After several loud cracks, Orlan’s blows sounded wet as he pulped Videl’s face and burst his skull. The enforcer stood.

  “Go wash your hands,” Héctor said. The giant nodded and left the room. “Danilo.” The man stared at his comrade, now beaten to death only a couple feet away. Héctor followed his gaze. The left side of Videl’s head was caved in, and the floor was a red mess. Danilo’s hands shook as he struggled to look at Héctor. He’d learned what it meant to come up short where the cartel was concerned. “Will you fail me again?”

  “N . . . no, Héctor,” he stammered.

  “Good.” Héctor pointed toward the corpse. “Clean this up. Then do the same with the other four.”

  “Where . . . where do I put them?”

  “Figure it out,” Héctor said, “or join them.”

  18

  Tyler woke up at the usual time. The security cameras didn’t record anything in the night. After he rolled out of bed, he texted Smitty, mentioned an incident late last night, and said he’d be in late as a result. Rollins’ idea of striking while Héctor was down four men held some appeal, but Tyler wanted to know more about the operation. How many men? What defenses did they have? Did they keep drugs in the house? He’d been meticulous in planning operations in Afghanistan, too, and it showed in his crews’ survival rates.

  He would use the morning for surveillance. Rollins would be a good partner here. He could probably get onto the property undetected. Yet with so many unknowns, their consequences could make getting out again difficult. Tyler brewed a half-pot of coffee and pondered the best move. Rollins could keep an eye on Lexi and Zeke. Héctor was still something of a wild card. He could lash out at people close to Tyler after four of his men returned dead last night.

  He texted Rollins. Can you sit on Lexi and my dad for a while? I’m going to try and gather intel at the source. He also provided Zeke’s address. Rollins replied in the affirmative. Tyler wolfed down a bowl of cereal, filled a thermos with coffee, gathered some supplies, and approached the entryway. He slid the M11 out of its holster and held it ready against his thigh. He pushed the door open from the side. No bullets greeted him. Tyler looked around, saw no one, and locked up the house.

  Lexi took the Accord to Zeke’s, so Tyler hopped in the Tesla SUV. It whirred silently to life, and he enjoyed a comfortable cruise to Talbot Lakes. The huge screen where most cars had knobs and switches still vexed him. Each time he drove the car, he figured he’d get used to it next trip. He’d been wrong every time.

  Tyler again parked across from Rodolfo’s house. In this environment, the luxury SUV fit right in with its German and Japanese counterparts Tyler noticed all over the neighborhood. The 442 drew the wrong kind of attention. It marked him as an outsider in a ritzy place like this. Residents’ eyes would pass over the Tesla, and its tinted windows would prevent them from seeing much inside.

  There wasn’t much to see, anyway. Tyler kept an eye on both houses, but his vigil was fruitless for a while. Drinking a thermos lid of coffee counted as the most significant event for the first hour. Then, someone walked down the driveway dragging a large trashcan on wheels behind him. Tyler fetched his camera from the passenger’s seat. Whenever he used it, Lexi told him cell phones took perfectly good pictures. They did, but Tyler couldn’t snap a good zoom lens onto his Samsung mobile.

  With help from the lens, Tyler realized the guy trudging toward the sidewalk was one of the men who drove away last night. Sweat and dirt covered his features. He set the can near the curb, leaned against it, and rested for a moment. Tyler wondered what gruesome tasks Héctor forced the fellow to spend the night doing. When the man walked back toward the house a couple minutes later, Tyler followed him with the camera. It allowed him to see a gate about halfway up the driveway for the first time. Trees and bushes hid it pretty well without a zoomed-in view.

  All was quiet for another half-hour. Then, a late-model BMW sedan cruised down the street and stopped in front of Héctor’s house. The guy who stepped out was a paunchy white American. He ambled up the walkway toward the front door, turned left, and disappeared from Tyler’s sight behind a lattice and some shrubs. Probably a side entrance. What did he come here for, though? Windholm wouldn’t hire someone so out of shape for security work.

  A couple minutes later, the man emerged from the jungle and returned to his car. Tyler noticed he walked faster this time. He got back into his 3 series and pulled away. Tyler turned on the Tesla—it was so electric and quiet, he couldn’t think of it as firing it up—and followed at a reasonable distance. It wasn’t a long trip as Talbot Lakes didn’t cover more than a few blocks. The Bimmer turned left down a short cul-de-sac off the main drag. Tyler swung the SUV in and crept along the short street.

  The sedan stopped in a driveway. Tyler curbed the Tesla and retrieved his camera again. He focused on the passenger compartment. After turning the car off, the driver fished a small baggie full of white powder out of his pocket. He produced a mirror from somewhere in the interior and emptied the snowy substance onto it. Next, he used a credit card to make the pile into neater lines before snorting them through a straw. Tyler snapped photos throughout the process. He didn’t know who this guy was, but pictures of him snorting coke in his driveway could be useful at a future date.

  Previously, Tyler wondered if Héctor kept any product in the house. This confirmed the answer was yes. It didn’t need to be a lot, but it created an additional risk if the cops ever raided the compound. Considering the lukewarm response Tyler received when asking about Alice's murder, he didn’t think law enforcement intervention was likely. Men like Héctor always kept a few cops on the payroll.

  If Tyler were going to take down the cartel, he’d have to do it without any help from the local sheriff’s office.

  The ease at making an appointment to see her mother in prison surprised Lexi. She set it up before she fell asleep, and she got up at the normal hour in the morning. Her grandfather was already awake. He’d brewed a pot of coffee and sat at his dining room table reading the Baltimore Sun. Just like her dad. Lexi grabbed a cup, exchanged morning pleasantries with Zeke, and took the
java to her bedroom to get dressed.

  She emerged with her backpack a few minutes later and inhaled a quick breakfast. “You seem like you’re going somewhere,” her grandfather said.

  “Yeah. I have to do something for school in person.”

  “You sure it’s a good idea?”

  “I’ll be fine, Grandpa,” she said.

  “You’d better be.” She would. Even if the cartel were on to her dad, they wouldn’t know to look for her here. A perk of living in a place like this was the security presence. A couple of Héctor’s goons couldn’t simply drive past the gate and go where they wanted. Still, Lexi would be careful. She knew how to spot a tail while she drove, and she’d packed her Glock in her bookbag.

  It took about a half-hour to drive to the jail, a gloomy gray fortress outside Columbia. Barbed-wire fences surrounded the place. A few women exercised in a yard under the close supervision of a man with a rifle. Towers broke the fenceline at regular intervals, and each featured an armed guard surveilling the grounds. Lexi parked her Accord coupe in a space marked for visitors and walked inside.

  She passed through a mantrap, showed her ID, and got a wanding and brief pat-down from a squat, unpleasant-looking female corrections officer. The matron walked Lexi along a short corridor and let her into a waiting room. A few women in prison jumpsuits sat talking to loved ones across ugly plastic tables. Lexi slid onto an unused one. She tried to move the bench, but the whole thing was bolted to the floor.

  A minute later, another man walked in. Lexi frowned in recognition. “Uncle George?” He was in his mid-forties, about six feet tall with a full head of blond hair. Lexi remembered him being in trouble often, both with the law and the husbands of women he pursued. The former made him just like her mother. What was he doing here?

  “I kinda hoped you’d be happier to see me,” he said. He put an arm around her for a side hug, and she gave him a quick pat on the back.