by Leo Romero
She licked her dry lips, her stare fixed on all the angry tattooed guys, her grip on her dart gun tightening.
The scrape of metal on metal made her ears prick. They’d wheeled the cannons around and now they were aimed right at her.
The guy behind the cannon on her left let out an insane cackle as he lit the fuse.
The endless black tunnel of the cannon barrel stared at her like a crazed Cyclops.
Trixie’s eyes bulged in horror.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Dom watched Trixie half in terror and half in delight as she flipped across the lawn unscathed.
His eyes widened in hope once she got to work on the thugs stationed on the patio. But, it soon turned to despair. A bunch of thugs came steaming out of the villa, aiming their guns at her.
Dom’s back straightened. “She’s outnumbered!” he shouted. His eyes fell on the empty spaces in the walls the cannon barrels occupied just a few moments earlier. He formulated the scenario in his mind; he gasped in terror. Oh crap!
He was about to race toward the villa when a double boom rocked the air, making him duck for cover. His heart jumped up into his mouth. Trixie!
He threw out a desperate hand toward the villa, just as something flipped up and over the wall like a giant grasshopper. It spun through the air in a tight ball like an Olympic swimmer, before straightening out.
Dom watched on with a slack jaw.
She landed feet-first on the grass below, but couldn’t keep her balance; she fell back on her butt with a small yelp, smoke and dust erupting into the air from beyond the wall above and behind her.
Hot joy burned in Dom’s heart. She’d got outta there just in time.
Relief washed over Dom like cool water as he watched Trixie get back to her feet and dust herself down. A grin broke out across his cheeks, a new sense of triumph shooting through him. He turned to the others. “Let’s go!” he shouted, before charging through the bushes toward the villa. Alicia and Rafa followed up, storming toward the steps.
Dom ran straight up to Trixie. “You okay?” he asked her.
“No. But I’ll live,” she replied, rubbing her side.
Rafa and Alicia were already creeping up the steps, their guns ready. Coughs, chokes, and groans of excruciating agony rang out from the patio and down the steps. Dom looked up; smoke was rising above the cannon wall.
Rafa made it up the steps and gunfire went off. Dom craned his head up and around to lay eyes on Rafa’s wide lats trembling beneath his vest under the pressure of his rifle. He then stopped firing and advanced.
“Come on,” said Dom, ushering Trixie to follow him up the steps. Piece-by-piece, the carnage of the patio came into view. Bodies were sprawled left, right, and center like a war movie; a fair few missing limbs. The idiots had ended up firing cannonballs at each other. The left side of the patio had been destroyed, like it had been trampled on by a giant. The water in the small pond flowed red. The cannon shooter on the right had caught it full on; the top half of his body lay on the ground all alone, his blood and guts spilling out all over the stone slabs. Dom winced as he stared at the bloody mess.
“Holy shit!” Dom exclaimed, eyeing all the limbs and entrails. He’d never seen anything like it. The whole patio was like the final act of a Spaghetti Western. The hot stench of gunpowder and charred meat hit his nostrils and he threw a hand up to his mouth and nose.
“Gnarly,” Trixie said with a nod.
Rafa was undeterred. “Inside!” he ordered before setting off for the villa entrance. He stomped up to the front door, shoulder barged it open, and stormed inside.
“Man, these guys don’t mess around,” Dom said to Trixie as they moved past all the body parts. They joined Rafa inside; the entrance hallway had a marble floor, the walls smothered in a wide range of expensive paintings and tapestries. Sitting on plinths were pots and idols, one or two of which depicted the Unholy Mother in all her grotesque glory, doing a weird dance, her tongue hanging out of her mouth, snakes clasped in her hands. Lined up next to these were cabinets chock full of guns and machetes and age old weapons that would’ve been used for combat in previous centuries; spears, blowpipes, axes.
“Another collector,” Dom said to himself with a sigh as he marveled at the stuff around him.
Rafa was already down the hallway; he burst into a room up ahead.
They followed up. Dom stepped into the room; the snap of gunfire made him dive forward behind a big leather couch. A small statue sitting on a plinth exploded under the bullet hailstorm.
Panic gripped Dom. His eyes darted left and right, his hot breath bouncing back at him off the marble floor. Up ahead, Rafa was pressed up against the side of a cabinet full of antique guns. He jumped out for a second and began firing off toward the opposite end of the room.
Dom pushed himself up to his knees and looked around. Trixie was safely tucked behind a cabinet on the opposite wall to Rafa. Somewhere, Alicia’s frantic voice was shouting in Spanish; it was interspersed with radio crackle. Dom peeked over the couch; the two adjacent rooms were an open layout, split by a spiraling staircase. In the room beyond, armed guys were hiding behind stuff.
Rafa stopped shooting and moved back behind the cabinet, just as Alicia came crawling toward Dom.
“They’re still firing cannons out the back!” she said to him in a frenzied voice. “We can’t attack from all sides until the cannons are gone.”
Bullets tore into the wall behind and above them, plaster dust raining down. Rafa grabbed the opportunity to return the gesture, giving them respite.
Dom glanced over his shoulder at Trixie. From her edgy, anxious twitches and the way she was licking her lips, Dom knew she was lining up another assault into the beehive ahead of them. He didn’t like that idea; Trixie was good at what she did, but right then it was hasty. All it took was a stray bullet and she’d be toast. He had to think of something before she went all superhero again.
Come on, Dom. Think.
The bullets still flew by in short bursts, at any point, they’d pummel through the couches. He had to do something or it was goodnight. He looked around him; there was nothing but open air to catch a bullet. His eyes rolled to the ceiling. Then it hit him. All the fighting was ongoing on the ground floor; if he could get to the first floor, he’d have a vantage point to maybe do something about the cannons outside. What exactly, he had no idea, but he could work it out from there. As long as it kept Trixie rooted, it was worth it.
He took another sly peek over the couch. He laid eyes on that stairwell dividing the two rooms. He needed to reach it without getting tagged. The guys in the opposite room were ducked down or tucked away for now, but he knew it wouldn’t stay that way for long.
Dom bowed back down and turned to Alicia. “Okay, you wait here,” he ordered.
Her head snapped around. “Where are you going?”
He didn’t answer; instead, he moved on his hands and knees like a dog toward Rafa, who was back behind the cabinet. “Psst! Rafa.”
Rafa turned to face him.
“Can you keep those assholes penned back while I get to the stairs?” Dom asked.
“No problem, hombre.”
“Go!”
Rafa jumped back into action, spraying the opposite room with bullets. The thugs all cowered back. From behind the couch, Dom watched them go. The moment they vanished, he snuck out from behind the couch, still squatted over, tranq dart gun at the ready. He scampered through no man’s land, adrenaline flowing through his body like quicksilver, his sneakers squeaking against the marble floor like frisky mice. Just as he approached the danger zone, Rafa stopped shooting, allowing Dom clear access.
But, it was a double edged sword. Now he was vulnerable.
Aware of this, he straightened his back and began running for the stairwell, his heart on hiatus. The squeak of his sneakers grew with more frequency and intensity, those mice now full on at it. The sound alerted the thugs. One of them popped out from behind a giant, bul
let-riddled statue of Magdalena. He laid eyes on Dom and raised his gun. Dom reacted on instinct. He fired off a couple of tranqs. They both hit home; one in the thug’s arm, the other in the spider web tattooed on his neck. Before the thug could curl his finger back, his eyes rolled up into his head and his legs gave way. He collapsed in a neat heap, his gun sliding across the marble floor.
A split second later, and Dom was at the foot of the stairwell. He slammed the emergency brakes, his zest to make it to his goal almost pushing him into enemy territory. His sneakers screeched across the marble, the polished surface sliding him along like Bambi on ice. The stairwell threatened to pass him by, the horror of the adjacent room and its lurking monsters fast becoming a reality. He slung out a reflexive arm, managing to grab hold of the banister. The joint connecting his upper arm and shoulder jarred, sending a jolt down his chest. His momentum swung him around, away from the opposite room and toward the stairwell. As he went, a pair of mean eyes popped up from over a flipped table. Dom threw his free arm to his right and fired off a tranq. The eyes snapped back down; the dart flew over the table, hitting the statue of the Unholy Mother between the legs and getting stuck there.
Dom swung around into the stairwell, racing up the first few steps in perfect sync with his momentum, his concentration on them rock-solid. He fired up the boosters, jumping up them two at a time, his mind spinning around with the curve of the stairwell. By the time he was halfway up, Rafa took control of the situation; he popped out of hiding and fired into enemy land once more, keeping them in check till Dom made it all the way up to safety.
With Rafa covering his back, Dom could start to breathe again. He slammed his sneakers down on the upstairs landing and whipped his head left and right, his dart gun at the ready, sweat pouring down his cheeks. The landing was empty; a myriad of doorways faced him. He got his bearings and dashed toward the rear of the villa, the now muted sound of gunfire ongoing on the floor below. He pressed his ear up against a door at the far end of the hallway; after a brief moment of silence, he burst inside. He was greeted by a collection of surprised gasps and yelps; he recoiled, his heart missing a beat. He snapped his dart gun up, prompting screams. With wide eyes, he scanned the room, assessing the danger. His face contorted in puzzlement. The place was a harem of young señoritas in their underwear, cowering in corners or beneath bedcovers.
What the—
Dom lowered his dart gun and placed a finger over his lips to quieten them. He then scampered through the room toward the windows and the veranda outside, eliciting more gasps and causing them to shrink back, their big, brown eyes sparkling with trepidation.
“Excuse me, ladies,” he said as he stepped amongst them. They watched him with wide, frightened, but at the same time intrigued, eyes.
Dom stared at the sexy mamacitas around him. Man, I’d love to stay, but my buddies are getting shot at, so I guess I gotta help em out.
He let out a regretful sigh as he made it to the windows. He pushed aside the curtain and peeked outside at the rear of the villa. In the near distance, Juan and his autodefensa team were hiding behind trees or sheltering beyond what was left of the outer wall. Down on the patio below, the cannons were being manned by two thugs each. Between them, other cartel guys were peppering the autodefensa with their assault rifles. A couple of autodefensa had been shot; their bodies lay in no man’s land, bleeding out.
Dom scanned the area, his mind working on a plan. His eyes fell on the telephone line attached to the wall by the veranda outside. It ran down at a diagonal angle out of the villa grounds. Dom nodded to himself; he knew what he had to do. He turned, his eyes falling on a babe lying on the king-sized bed; she smiled at him. Dom jumped her way, making her eyes widen.
He stopped ahead of her and smiled. “Mind if I borrow this?” he asked, snatching up a stocking suspender lying next to her. She stared back at him with an open mouth.
He unraveled the suspender in his hands. It would be perfect. “Thanks!” Dom said to her. He went and opened the window. The sound of gun fighting flooded the room; the girls twitched in terror.
Dom patted the air ahead of him in a ‘calm down’ gesture. “It’s cool, I got this,” he said to them, alleviating their nerves; a couple of them let out relieved chuckles.
Dom turned and winked at the nearest one. “Hasta la vista, baby,” he said before leaping out onto the veranda. He ducked down and moved to the railing, taking a sly peek over the top. The cartel fired off another cannonball. It slammed the ground near a tree, sending the autodefensa guy hiding behind it flying off to the left; he hit the sun-dried ground at a crooked angle, his neck snapping around one-eighty. Dom winced. He needed to do something. Fast.
He climbed up on the railing. “Okay, here goes,” he said, unraveling the suspender and hooking it over the telephone line. He looked down; it was a steep descent. He hoped he knew what he was doing. He gripped the suspender tight with both hands. He sucked in a deep breath and then propelled himself forward, taking a leap of faith off the balcony rail.
“Woah!” He whizzed down the line, air rushing past him. His stomach churned with terror and elation all at once, the world whooshing by like he was on a rollercoaster. He focused in on the cannon guy directly below. Dom knew he had to get this right; too early and he’d hit the patio behind him, too late and he’d fall on the ground way down below, likely breaking both his legs.
The cannon guy shot into his view; he was about to ignite the fuse for another cannon blast.
Dom’s instincts triggered. Now!
Dom let go of the suspenders.
His heart jammed in his throat, his stomach flying up alongside it. His arms flailed as he dropped like an atom bomb. He made sure to hold his focus, keep his aim on Cannon Guy. Cannon Guy’s hunched over back fast came into view, the flame on his match getting closer to that ignition point. Dom clenched his fists, the wind whistling through his ears. He showed Cannon Guy the soles of his sneakers.
Cannon Guy didn’t know what hit him.
Dom slammed both feet square on Cannon Guy’s back. Cannon Guy was sent sprawling into the cannon, his face smashing into the barrel, obliterating his nose. The impact broke Dom’s fall; he bounced off Cannon Guy and landed on his side, pain jolting through him. Ignoring it as best he could, he rolled away and jumped up onto his feet. The thugs near the cannon had scattered in confusion, but were fast regrouping. By the time they’d worked out what had happened, Dom was already firing off tranqs and letting off war cries. He caught a couple of nearby thugs, sending them down. But all he did was clear the way for the thugs across the patio to get a clean shot at him. Assault rifles turned his way. His eyes bulged.
He gulped.
Then reacted. He whirled and leapfrogged over the cannon wall, just as rifle mouths began spitting lead. As he whistled through the air down to the grass below, the wall he just hurdled ruptured under the force. Dom hit the grass below ass-first, a jolt of pain tearing up his spine. He clenched his teeth, grunting in agony. He fell to the side, cursing himself for missing an opportunity to deal with the cannons. But, he didn’t have time to dwell on what could’ve been. He was still in danger. He got himself together, ignoring the miasma of pain in his lower body. He hugged the wall, his eyes rolling up and around like a paranoid cat chased by a pack of wild dogs.
He was expecting the cartel guys to come after him to finish the job. He gripped his tranq dart gun hard, his knuckles white, ready to go out in a blaze of glory.
A roar ahead of him made his head spin.
The autodefensa guys were steaming across the lawn of no man’s land toward the villa, ten-fifteen of them. Dom grinned. Hope blossomed in his heart like roses. He’d caused enough of a distraction to trigger a do-or-die assault. The autodefensa had plucked up enough courage for the charge; and they were on their way. They were collectively more than halfway to the steps leading up to the back entrance when the opposite cannon to the one Dom had taken out exploded into action. The center of the lawn
ruptured, sending a couple of autodefensa reeling, but it wasn’t enough to stop the others; they charged in, roaring like lions.
They made it to the steps where gunfire erupted. Dom peeked his head out to the side; bloodied bodies already lay on the steps. The autodefensa were taking casualties, but they were too far in to retreat; it was a suicide mission, pure and simple. Gunfire punctuated by screams tore the air apart.
Dom’s head snapped up. The body of a cartel thug came hurdling over the canon wall above him; it smashed head first into the grass just ahead of him, the neck snapping like a twig. From an unnatural angle, the thug’s dead, glassy eyes glared at Dom; his body was riddled with bleeding bullet holes. Dom half-grimaced, half-grinned.
It was now a straight up gunfight, and whoever was left standing would win.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Trixie licked her lips. She peeked around the edge of the cabinet she was taking cover behind; the cartel guys in the adjacent room were still taking pot shots at her, Rafa, and Alicia. She wanted to make a move, but Dom already had. She wasn’t so keen on him going on some mission upstairs; he’d been gone a while, and he was too reckless and wild to be up against so many assault rifles. Trixie was sleek and fast; she knew she could virtually dodge bullets like Neo, but Dom...
She watched Alicia run and take cover behind a plinth holding up a Mayan statue. The moment she moved away from the couch, the whole thing erupted under a torrent of bullets; it jigged and vibrated under the pressure, the foam stuffing rupturing out of the subsequent holes and tears. Trixie couldn’t help but envision Alicia becoming a bullet-sponge. If she hadn’t got outta there when she did, she would’ve been.
