by Steve Curry
“Good, we can talk now.” Pedro turned to the rest of us and completely ignored the guy tasked with guarding us,
“How do you figure that? Just because he didn’t respond to your insults in English you think we’re safe?” Sometimes his train of thought went a little too quick for me. Sometimes it just seemed to derail whether I was paying attention or not.
“No, I figure we’re safe because I defied him and he did not make a mess of my brains on the rear window of the truck. Besides, I already knew he doesn’t speak English. This muchacho doesn’t even really speak Spanish. I believe he is only truly fluent in grunts and bodily function. So if he has not shot me, it is because he has instruction to NOT shoot us.” He was awful smug for a little guy restrained and tied to the back of a truck bearing ugly men carrying ugly guns.
“So you risked getting shot to death, to see if he would shoot you to death? Pedro, you really scare me sometimes.” I didn’t even know where to go from there. Maybe I was off my game from being on death’s door so often lately, not to mention being blown up repeatedly.
“Hush warrior,” For the first time I noticed that Luis had a very pleasant and calm baritone voice. Then again those two words were one of the longer sentences he’d said in my presence.
“Oh my god, preserve me from testosterone.” Heather interrupted to toss her own two cents worth. “Sleaze meister, your plan is sooo screwed right now. You heard right? They’re like ready to go now, tonight. You totally need to work on your minions. The four-one-one they give you is like totally just craptastic.”
Pedro Perro’s shrug was almost eloquent. “True, but they are cheap. What did that old white guy say anyway about plans and battles? How one of them rarely survives the other or something like that right? Besides, we’re gonna be there right on time. It is a couple days earlier than I expected, but we’re still gonna be there. The problem is, I probably won’t get to do my job. They’ll have me where their patrone can keep an eye on me. So...I propose you and I change tasks. I do yours and you do mine.”
Luis rolled his eyes but Heather’s lips quirked in a little smirk. “You wish, weasel. You do mine? Lawl. But, like, deal. You like, take care of our little problem and We’ll totes go in and get your peeps.”
Things starting clicking together about then. “Wait, you meant, to come along? And this jerkoff just wants to save a bunch of his folks? Do I even want to know what your little problem is? For that matter do I even know what the Hel I’m actually here for?”
All sorts of things were starting to make sense to me. There were a ton of images and moments from the last few days that suddenly took new meaning. “You little son of a bitch. Half the crap I’ve been through was about timing, wasn’t it? You had to slow me down to get us all here at just the right time for your own purposes.”
Again with the eloquent shrug, this time Pedro added a smug grin with just a hint of embarrassment. “Si Senor Mouse. It took some doing. I could tell you were the type that would just keep going straight ahead. Like the bull in the dish stall no?”
“A bull in the china shop?” I growled but truth be told, he wasn’t that far off. I’ve noticed and often been told that I can focus a little too much on goals and a little less than necessary about the route. Of course, the last person had said it differently. Boy, you ain’t got the sense to go ‘round a wall, do you? But I ain’t never seen a wall that would stop you either.
“Damn it was impressive seein you work though. That old Lobo knew what he was sendin’, didn’t he? Little hard on the detainees here and there, but those guys don’t exactly play nice either. It was really bad luck that got you in that particular prison and you got a right to be pissed about that one. I mean damn. But you come through still tickin’ and pointed at the job. I don’t think anyone coulda found a wall to stop you this side of the grave eh? That must have been some favor you owe him.” While he was talking, Pedro wasn’t watching.
I started to mention how mad our guard looked. It was very hard not to say anything when the guy stood up in the bouncing truck and gripped his weapon in a manner I knew well. But then again I figured I was due a little rough fun of my own at this point. Don’t ask me why Luis didn’t say anything either when the not-so-bright guard cold-cocked Pedro with the butt of his shotgun.
That left me and the girl to communicate with an occasional grunt or monosyllable from her sidekick. They weren’t exactly fountains of information. But I felt like just maybe I could trust their spoken word a pinch more than the conniving smuggler.
We drove through a lot of empty space once the city was behind us. Parts of central America are great and other parts are open, dry and mostly desolate. We drove through the afternoon in one of those desert-like environments. We could see mountains near the horizon and closer to our route were some of the large ziggurat structures that tourists flock to.
Our “hosts” skirted just within sight of the Pyramid of the Sun and its attendant buildings without going in. Instead, they angled away down a dirt track that looked rough but rode as if it was newly graded. It seemed a good guess that someone had set this road up not too long ago and prepared it for some fairly heavy equipment. The track led towards the mountains in the distance.
With Pedro unconscious for most of the way, the talk was quieter and much less frequent. The occasional grunt and scowl from our monosyllabic guard limited the conversation even more. To be honest it seemed like my other two allies weren’t too keen to talk to me anyway. They reluctantly gave me a little more information.
For instance, they were there to stop the head honcho from acquiring some nasty sound WMD’s or “weapons of mass destruction”. They were a little vague on the type. I got shrugs in response to questions about everything from nukes to bio or chemical weapons. When I asked who was selling the things they got even more noncommittal.
By dusk, we were in the shadows of whichever Sierra Madres Mountains this one was. I never could keep it straight which was the oriental range and which the occidental. Not that it really mattered when you’re zip-tied in the back of a truck with sketchy allies and a single neanderthal toting a shotgun. Someday I’m going to take a long hard look at how I get into these situations.
It was deep night by the time we rounded a hill to find a sprawling complex surrounded by spotlights. The topography immediately snapped in my mind to the maps we’d been using to plan our operations. The guard towers were all occupied rather than one or two. Their spotlights weren’t on any casual random table either but were constantly sweeping the perimeter of the area carved out of rough trees and rock.
We passed through a manned gate surrounded by barbed wire fences. There was even a set of the heavy concrete crash barriers and the huge steel “jacks” or giant caltrops you see in old WWII movies. These folks didn’t seem to be very hospitable. I have no doubt that we would have been in serious trouble without el Jeffe leaning out of the window as identification.
The cavernous muzzles of twin Russian-made anti-aircraft machine guns tracked us from either tower near the gate. Only after a brief conversation with Jeffe did the guards wave us through and the nasty old machine guns swerve away from our vehicle. I happen to know what those guns could do. Maybe my companions didn’t because they never even looked at the beasts the whole time I was imagining being reduced to a wet and slimy coating on the junked pieces of a truck.
“Look, like we totally told you our roll down here.” Heather all but hissed the words.
When I turned towards the malibu militant I could see the intensity of her look as she continued. “So who, like, sent you and what the Hel for?”
I shook my head and chuckled. I’ve tried before, to explain the little things about being a centuries-old chosen warrior. It rarely goes well.“Lady, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
She turned that intense gaze up a notch and cocked her head to one side before snapping out two terse words.“Try me!”
Her voice was insistent and I found myself an
swering despite any reservations. “I was sent by an immortal wolf to rescue his brother from some vague problems down here.”
Her eyes went from intense to wide and shocked as she did her own mystifying mental gymnastics. “Mr. Gary...Gere!? You’re down here to rescue freakin Gere? How would he be involved in this kind of thing?”
A sudden buzzing started behind my ears and radiated all the way into my teeth to distract me. From the looks of Heather and Luis, it was doing something similar to them. A weak but very persistent headache began developing almost immediately.
It was distracting enough that I barely heard Perro speak for the first time in hours. “By accident. Mr. Gary got sucked into this by accident. He was just hanging out with biker buddies he called his pack. They did some side work for Achilles and the Cartel. With just a little luck he would never have heard of the chamber under the ruins and he would have never met the girl much less become involved with her.”
The buzzing sensation lightened up until I could feel my jaw muscles relax and the tension headache eased up.
Pedro must have felt it too because he spoke again. “Amateurs, they’re using it all wrong. The thing is essentially a high powered radio broadcaster. You just don’t need a radio to hear it. And he’s using it to fog people. What an idiot.”
Maybe it was just an after effect of whatever that buzzing had been, but it seemed like most of Pedro’s accent had changed. His diction seemed more precise and whatever accent remained was exotic and almost primal in the tones and guttural sounds.
I shrugged and tried to concentrate on what had happened just prior to the sound show. Something the girl had asked me, Mr. Gary, Gere, she’d put those two names together really fast for someone who was on a different mission altogether. I didn’t get to finish that chain of thoughts before the truck rocked to a stop and our mexicanderthal guard dropped the tailgate and gestured the rest of us out.
Pedro landed with perfect balance, the girl did almost as well and Luis only needed to steady himself with the help of the smuggler. By comparison, I was a rodeo clown. I landed off balance and immediately fell heavily to roll twice before struggling to reach my knees. Luis got both of his tethered hands under my bicep and helped me up while the guards around us laughed or in a few cases stood around looking bored.
Laughing guards got barely a glance compared to the lean and well-dressed figure that descended ancient steps to step out of shadow into the bright light around us. I recognized El Patron Achilles from our previous encounter days ago and just this side of the border. He looked calm and entirely in command. It took an effort not to smile though as I noticed the empty spot where his enforcer should be standing.
The memory of Mateo spraying his life’s blood into the dust around him was fairly heartwarming. It reminded me that these guys had captured me more than once and I was still kicking. Maybe there were zip ties, but they weren’t the best restraints. Give me a minute of solitude and I’d be out of them and ready for mayhem.
The spectacle that was our chief captor paused for effect a few steps from the bottom of the stairs. He had judged the spot perfectly to capture the best light with the widest audience to see him. Achilles was wearing some conglomeration of costumes. The shirt was french silk in a Byronesque look. Instead of pants though he had on an odd loin cloth that wrapped around his hips and was knotted to hang almost to his knees in front. The cloth looked like good quality cotton, maybe the Egyptian stuff women love for their sheets. It was dyed in a rainbow of bright colors and trimmed with what I suspected was real gold and gems.
His feet were covered in sandals that had ties wrapping up his calves, while atop his head was the most discordant and ornate note to the odd costume. His headdress sported the multitude of feathers and flowers one would imagine an ancient Aztec or Mayan king would wear, but the centerpiece of all that color was a conch shaped helmet that looked like it was made of horn or abalone. It definitely looked organic in origin but had been shaped cunningly by nature or artifice to perfectly fit the megalomaniac noggin.
“Shit, he has a control helmet.” Pedro’s displeasure devolved from English into a number of words that fit no language I knew but were probably still curses and profanities.
Finally, he paused for breath before continuing.“That stupid looking shell on his head means he can control the machinery from anywhere within a few miles. Even worse it’s bulletproof. How the hell did he get down into the chamber again? I hid his key.”
Pedro turned to look at the rest of us as if all of his newest ramblings made any sense at all. “Ok, promise me you will get my people out! He will bring me up next to him and make a spectacle so I will be able to take care of Achilles. You three have to save my people though. So swear it!”
For once the little charlatan was agitated enough to startle me. I saw the other two with me nod in agreement before chiming in unison. “Of course. We promise.”
“AH Pedro Perro!” El Patrone’s voice pulled us back to the moment.”You have brought guests to view our special night!”
He stopped a few feet away to look us all over with long penetrating glares. “The girl and her little friend I do not know. This must be the Yankee with the spies no?”
His glare for me seemed touched with more amusement than fear or anger. “Well, you are here Yankee spy. Let me show you what you are too late to stop.”
To the guards around us, he snapped a phrase in what I assumed was the ancient Aztec tongue, Nahuatl. At a guess, it was “Bring the dogs.” Because the guards were none too gentle in prodding us along with antique-looking weapons. Mostly they were the obsidian-toothed wooden clubs or swords that had proved almost a match for conquistador armor. Almost a match but not quite, because the Spaniards had left the vast and fairly advanced Aztec empire in ruins. Then again a lack of immunity to European bugs had played it’s part in that demise.
When Cortes descended on Tenochtitlan it had been larger than any city in Europe except possibly Constantinople. Within a short time, he had decimated that city through a mix of siege, allied Indian tribes, and disease. The fellows prodding us along would have felt entirely at ease alongside the warriors and priests that had fought,(and rumor said eaten) Spanish invaders. All of them wore the same odd loincloth as their leader, though instead of anachronistic silk shirts they wore short triangular cloaks and a number of tattoos. Most of them had some kind of spotting or feline camouflage tattooed along their arms. At least one had covered his entire torso in jaguar spots.
They got us to the top of the low pyramid where we were able to see all around. There were a few more buildings but they were too ruined to be identified as to use or function. Below us was a broad amphitheater with stone seating about twenty feet above the sandy floor of an arena. A fight below us was just ending as we topped the pyramid to get our first look.
A large but lean man was standing over the body of a jaguar while two more circled around him. In addition to the cat, there were several other corpses. I recognized the leather jackets and denim from my previous encounter at a hotel in Arizona. Apparently so did the odd man out in our gathering.
Out of all the guards and captors still, with us, the only one not dressed as some sort of Aztec was our betrayer and Pedro’s sometime associate. He audibly gasped when he saw the gruesome spectacle of his former biker buddies.
Achilles responded with a turn of his head. “Oh yes, your packmates were proving to me that they were tough. I was very disappointed when I heard they were so defeated by a single gringo that half of them had to be hospitalized. They are allaying my suspicions that they were part of some conspiracy. I fear they were truthful. They truly were too weak to fight well. I even let them have the dogs from your fighting pits. The dogs did no better than the bikers. Except for your Mr. Gary. He is a warrior. Two cats down and two to go. Also two dogs. Not pit bulls though. One is some sort of lion dog. The other I do not know.”
He might not know. I did though. I registered the identity of the �
�man” below us. Mr. Gary, Gere the immortal wolf that did Odin’s bidding and sat at his side. Like many residents of Asgard, he was able to take human form. His brother was an oversized biker at least six and a half feet tall when I had last seen him. Gere was only a few inches shorter but built more like a swimmer or runner than a brawler like Freke. He was all lean muscle and long limbs. There was enough muscle there to casually toss a charging jaguar twenty feet though.
I saw all of that in the instant before I recognized the golden-colored dog circling opposite a giant canine around the second remaining jaguar. The larger dog charged and the cat spun to meet him. It had given Grimmr his chance though. My Catahoula charged in and ripped at the cat’s back legs. He drew blood and a snarl from the jaguar, but he missed any crippling damage to the tendons.
The cat’s response was instantaneous. He spun almost too quick to see and slapped my dog rolling across the sand with a spray of blood. I knew that Jaguars fought and killed prey much larger than themselves. Their typical kill was a leap that ended in a single bite that could penetrate skull and brain alike. That didn’t mean their four-inch claws and powerful forelimbs were a joke. Such a blow might very well snap a dogs neck even if the claws did not open an artery.
I don’t remember any decision to act. One minute I was listening to the bragging megalomaniac in a shell helmet, the next I was pushing my forearms down on either side of a shard of hyper-sharpened obsidian. Mother Nature’s response to surgical steel cut through the zip ties like they were thread. The black rock also opened a long incision down one wrist, but I was already moving and too busy to notice how bad it might be.
