Mystery: Suspense: Hell Money: : A Private Investigator Mystery Crime Thriller: (horror, thriller, science fiction, mystery, police, murder, dark, conspiracy) ... (Marie Avalon Mystery Crime Series Book 2)

by Josh Law

  Nick and Alex sat. Bacardi diced a lime into five little slices. She stuck the lime for Nick’s glass along the teeth of his glass’ skull.

  “His name was Enrique. He always did like una Paloma after a long day’s run. My mother loved him because he paid well. Then she hated him because he bought her on credit he owed her rival gang. That’s when she prayed to her Death Angel and we added him to the Golgotha glassware.” Bacardi winked, giggling at Nick’s barely suppressed horror.

  Alex nodded and sipped his drink in silence. Nick lifted the cup and toasted, much to the sicario’s amused surprise.

  “We all got to die sometime. If you’re like me sometimes means often. In the recent past and the near future apparently.” He nodded and took a long draw from the drink. His eyes blinked rapidly. Renee would kill him if she knew he was drinking.

  Cipriano studied Nick intently. He ran his thumb across his chin in contemplation.

  “You seem like a smart kid. Must have a pretty good reason for throwing your life away to the Practitioner, huh? Your brother mentioned family. Might want to color it in for me?”

  “My mother. She’s out there in the mix of things, I have no doubts. Trying to slay dragons and save me again. I think it’s pretty obvious, Senor. There is no saving me. But maybe if I can bargain with Ashe, if she wants me to take her message to Hell badly enough to pay the price I name, then my mom, foster mom, brothers and sisters can get out of this without being offed by Mafia Mexicana!”

  He beat his fist on the counter-top, adamant that he was going through with this despite the obvious terror that was swimming in his eyes just under the surface. Alex couldn’t take his eyes off of him. He knew that his brother remembered Death. This choice was totally conscious because the pain of death was a fact that he knew entirely and not the grand mystery the rest of Humanity anticipated with dread.

  The old sicario nodded, flashing a full-toothed smile. Alex held his breath to keep from crying out. Cipriano’s teeth were roasted in his head. They were charred black and Amarillo around the caps, some cavity fillings having melted and run down into his gums. Even his tongue was coated in molten/re-hardened brass.

  “So, you’ve seen Hell, eh? Are you willing to see more? Very desperate and with the guts to become a real man someday, if you’d been allowed to live. But Hell is for children as Benatar would say, my mistaken young friend. Where Ashe will send you makes Hell look like the kiddy pool. I think you’ve already guessed as much.” He sipped his drink, chuckling low in his throat.

  “Yeah. I’m not dumb. You’ve guessed that much. That’s yet another reason why I’m going to need you. Somebody’s got to teach me right. You and I have both seen Hell, but I don’t speak the language. Make me fluent in Native Damned speak. You can keep the gun and I can tell you where you can get more. Name your price and I’ll come up with it somehow.”

  Cipriano tossed his head back laughing until the tears rolled down his roof-lantern illuminated scarred cheeks.

  “Ah, kid! Spirited. I haven’t seen true mestizo in a long time. Tell you what, give me back my gun. Then you’ll have to pass my test. You don’t get to study for it and you won’t have a clue where or when I’ll spring it on you. It’s not about winning, just a little initiation to prove you’ve got what it takes. You’ll just have to learn my ropes. If you’ve got it in you, then I’ll take you to your Lady and we’ll see if she’ll hear your offer out.”

  Chapter 8:

  “When you’re right you’re right, Avalon.” Renee’s face was painted black by the charred remnants of a limo blown to Hell.

  Motherhood had meant war with the Mexican Mafia. War often meant shuffling from place to place trying to avoid the other checkers on a non-specific playing field. It had been two days since they’d crossed into Mexico. Two days of cat and mouse, driving the Demon down paths cars were never meant to enter, exchanging drive-by fire here and there to the horror of many villagers when the enemy got too close.

  Exhaustion made it hard to breathe this City’s smoggy air. Marilyn squinted as she tried to look into the smoke. Her throat throbbed from it and her stomach ached with hunger. She’d been moving non-stop, sleeping in 20-minute intervals when they stopped at a gas station or ducked behind street vendors to avoid Anahi’s roving eyes. It had been even longer since she’d eaten. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a shower. Taking a little mental inventory of these random facts brought her to the variable conclusion that she had used up her second wind and was number crunching for a third or fourth. This whole thing had been desperate beyond her worst nightmares. It had made the Durango incident seem like high-school. This was Vietnam in comparison.

  She was sustained only by the adrenaline rush of a woman desperate to get back to the only thing that had ever given her life a higher meaning. Now that she claimed her beautiful child as her own, he had become the focal point of her entire Universe. The World turned on an axis balanced only by Nicolas’ well-being. She’d rather die than slow down. She wouldn’t sleep or even breathe until he was safe again.

  Now she knew what love was.

  The power of her love alone was keeping her standing here, smoke from a car bombing wafting into her face. She shouldn’t even be here by all rights. She was supposed to be at the trial. This wasn’t here area of expertise. She was a private investigator for the Amber Alert program not a foreign activist against drug war. It was more than a single woman could stand against, especially one running on empty as she was. Besides, this wasn’t just gang war like Marilyn had first expected. She could see the hand of jaded American Spec Ops in this scene. There was no way that even the firearms black market could have come by this tech. That was probably because it was more or less trained technique that had sent this block of Mexico City up in smoke.

  The smoke from the blazing luxury car rolled all the way up the pinnacle to the feet of the Angel of Liberty. It burned copper-red and black for what seemed like forever but was only a minute’s fraction. That’s when he came striding up from the center.

  He was dressed all in black a bulletproof vest indicating him as military. There was a garland of razor wire wrapped around his neck. They couldn’t guess the purpose of this right off. On his shoulder, he carried an M72 LAW. Marilyn decided this was the shoulder-mount rocket launcher that had taken out the border gate when they’d first passed into Mexico. Anahi’s guys were former members of the Prescott Project.

  “Welcome to the City that is always sinking!” He tossed his head, with a laugh that could curdle a dead man’s blood. Renee stepped in front of Marilyn and trained the Archangel to the soldier.

  “Whew. Aren’t you a little outgunned, sister?” He held his hands up in mock surrender.

  “Maybe. I hope for your sake that you’re wearing a cup. I can still fill your fly with lead if you take another step towards my BFF and my baby brother!” She spat at the ground. The man stopped, tilting his head to the side.

  “Relax. I’m only here to talk. Don’t shoot the messenger, a’ight?” He held up both hands and laid the launcher on the ground.

  “This messenger got a name?” Marilyn stepped up beside Renee and pressed a hand to the rifle’s body. The jaded foster mother lowered her weapon eyes tigress-wild in the light of the burning street. They could hear sirens. Authorities were coming to try and appease the turmoil in their City. Sadly, this was not their war. It would not end with their City.

  “I don’t got one, doll face. Some call me Rattler. Some call me the Cobra. Then there’s Pit Viper and Anaconda. I don’t like that one; it’s too girly.” He rolled his head on his shoulder and let his tongue flicker venomously.

  “So basically, you’re just a Snake. Snake is what I’m going to call you. Okay, I am Detective Marilyn Avalon, Nicky’s mother. Introductions done. Now then, you’d better tell me what that crazy whore has done with my kid before I blow your ever-loving brains to Hell.” Marilyn plucked her Colt 45 from her belt and fired a shot at his feet.

 
“The next one’s going to try for the family jewels, partner, better know I’m not playing.” She cocked the pistol again and aimed it right between Snake’s legs.

  Chance giggled childishly and stepped forward. He reached and swept the Persuader up off Marilyn’s shoulders where it swung loosely on a belt waiting for a time when she’d need to shoot long-range. He spun it around his wrist like an all-star ballplayer does teasingly with a basketball and trained it between Snake’s eyes.

  “One guy to another, I have no idea what it is with women and threating to mutilate our man parts in any kind of hand to hand combat. Straight up now, let me tell you how it’s going to be. You’re going to tell me what the crazy braud’s hired you for, what you expect to get out of hunting Nicky, and who gave you leave, soldier. If you don’t, I’m going to blow your god-forsaken head clean off.” He squeezed the trigger, never twitching an eyelash. The top of Snake’s head was shaved baby’s rear smooth in a single smoking track.

  “Really? Well, speaking of manhood, you’re pretty gifted, sport. I’ve outgunned you at least 1-10. I have better tech and better training. You just wrote your will, little man. You just wrote your freaking last will and testament!” Snake spat at the smoking pavement, eyes rolling with ravenous lunacy.

  Chance chuckled and pulled the trigger again making a small cut in the razor wire lei.

  “Ah, c’mon man. Your poker face sucks. Your guns don’t scare me. Oh, and about your boys, where are they again? Looks to me like they’ve tucked tail and hid somewhere. So right now it’s just you and me and the Mossberg. Let’s talk.” He pulled the trigger again cutting off one of the clips that held Snake’s body armor in place. Marilyn held her breath. For his young age, Chance’s marksmanship was terrifying.

  “Talk to me about anything, champ. Sports, weather, politics. Girls, pretty girls. I’d really love to hear whatever you know about crazy mid 30ish assassin hookers that are looking for my buddy. You can’t kill him just as yet, FYI. See, he owes me 20 bucks and died before he ever gave it back to me. I’ll need to be collecting it first.”

  “You want to talk to me, huh? Talk to me. Leave the poor Viper out of it.” Anahi stepped out from behind the pinnacle. For the first time, Marilyn laid eyes upon the woman that had threatened her family. One might say rage was welling inside of her. Although, rage would be a very mild description of the acidic animosity that moved through her inward places.

  The Devil’s Swan stood in the smoke, dressed finally in full, even though her hip-huggers were far from modest and the tube top exposed enough to make Chance’s eyes go wide and Marilyn’s stomach curl under.

  “Your little Nicolas? Yeah, he’s got a fresh mouth but a good heart, bless him. He wasn’t gonna give me any trouble. Both of them, (the other one’s so cute but I don’t know his name) they agreed to go with me and do whatever I said just so I wouldn’t put a needlepoint in one of Prescott’s girls. How’s that for big brothers, eh? It was my bratty teenaged girl spirited them away from me. Taught her too well I did. They gave me the slip in Mazatlan. I think they’re with the Death Angel- a sicario that makes me look like a nanny-if you’ve just got to know so badly. He’s taking them to see Ashe. So, yeah, you’re boys a goner. Sorry, I tried to stop it. Yeah, I was going to collect my bodyguard fee from his spinal fluid. It would have been a win-win, but, you know, some deals are too good to be true.” She flipped her hair and jabbed an accusing finger at Marilyn.

  “I might have caught up with them. Stopped the whole thing from happening. But no! I have to light half the country on fire to deal with you! All the way from the West Coast to here! Hours of mad racing and trying to catch you. I disappear people for a living, but I’m also good at finding the ones I need to get to. You managed to give me the shake many times over. How’d you do that, gringa?” Anahi snapped her fingers expecting an answer.

  Marilyn stood in silence, quaking with fury. She wanted to tear this woman’s throat out but her body had locked up and she couldn’t even move her feet.

  Anahi shrugged.

  “Never mind how you did it. I’ve got you now, little sparrow. No more running. I call truce and drinks for now. I’ll take you to Acapulco. It’s time for Revelation. We’re all going to see Ashe and whatever the Lady dictates will be heaven’s will. We’ll fight our wars in arenas like Gladiators and civilized people!”

  Marilyn felt her hands tied behind her back with one of the trigger-hand’s belts. She looked over to see the same happen to Renee and Chance. Capture was generally a frightening experience. Her blood had gone Arctic. There was only one thing on her mind. Who was this Ashe? What in God’s name did she want with her son?

  Chapter 9:

  Nick held his breath. The sun was streaming bloody rays over the wild-flower strewn fields of San Agustin Buena vista. It was time for his test. He’d have to complete it if he wanted Cipriano’s help any further.

  “No! This is crazy! There’s two of us! Let me do it!” Alex thrashed barely being held back by seven different men. He tossed his head and thrust his elbows out until there were multiple broken noses amongst the aging mobsters.

  They stood outside of a corral at a private ranch somewhere within the community. Cipriano sat on the fence, laughing maniacally and shaking his head.

  “I can see the spirit in you already, little rooster. I want to see it in him. Like drawing the red from heated steel.” He nodded to his men. They knocked Alex to his knees.

  Bacardi stood in the wind. Her eyes were wide with sudden anxiety. She’d seen the Death Angel’s tests before. It was one in a hundred men that could actually pass them. There were even less that lived to tell the tale.

  “Take it easy, Alex. I’ve totally got this.” Nick spat it he dust and rubbed his hands together. There were several mock sounds of shock and awe.

  “Do you, little one? You don’t even know the rules to the game we’re playing.” Cipriano nodded to his boys. They each brought hollowed skulls of his victims filled to flowing over with singed dice, some with black bodies and white dots some with red bodies and black dots. Nick watched curiously. Alex held his breath, throat pulsating with painful screams that couldn’t escape because he’d already strained his voice to near muteness.

  “The horses think they’re sugar cubes. Close enough. We used a little sugar to make them sticky, but it’s really food coloring on cocaine. It’s hilarious to watch, but very bad news for the likes of you. Knocking on the Gates of Hell as you are. This is only half the fun.” Cipriano nodded to his men. They started pulling out huge packs of road flares and firecrackers.

  “How is animal abuse supposed to prove I’m a man to you, Senor?” Nick tossed his hair out of his face, laughing hotly through his nostrils.

  “Oh, it’s not the animals that I’m worried about, little man. You get to be the Matador this evening. Let’s see what kind of show you can put on. I’ve often found that the measure of a man is tested when he’s among the beasts.”

  There was the sound of galloping. Nick looked up shocked to see six healthy Azteca stallions striding to the fence. Behind them were six Longhorn steer bulls, already hopped up on something to the point their noses and mouths streamed blood. Cipriano and his boys had been planning this out for quite some time.

  “No! Wait!” Alex broke out somehow. He ran forward, about to insist that they could swap places, even though it was rather obvious this would be beside Cipriano’s point. He never made it to the corral.

  “No way!” Nick spun around and clotheslined his brother, knocking him into the mud. He then hit his knees tying him up with his belt.

  “Sorry, Alex. I can’t keep you from getting mixed up in this, but you’re not taking any more bullets than you have to.” Nick smiled sheepishly. Alex was panting, chest hurting from Nick’s elbow colliding with it. The gangsters watched in respectful silence.

  Nick stood up, panting. He turned to face Cipriano with wild-dancing eyes.

  “Do whatever the hell you want to with me. If anyb
ody here so much as bats an eyelash at my brother, I will rip their throat out with me teeth!” Nick kicked the dust. He raved, suddenly insane. Even the hardest of the old men raised an eyebrow and some of the younger stepped a few paces back.

  With a nod, Nick climbed into the corral and took the red cape that Cipriano offered him.

  “You would do anything for your brother? You’d go through with whatever Hell Ashe is sending you to if it meant you could keep him safe?” He was already impressed. There was no way he could hide it.

  Nick stared at Cipriano witheringly.

  “What kind of a stupid question is that? Douse me in gas and light me. I’d put the stamp in my forehead and have you express mail me to Satan before I’d let you mess with him!” He rolled his eyes at the sicario. The men opened the gates and slapped the angry bulls.

  Nick rolled in a miniature half cartwheel to the center of the corral. He was surrounded. The bulls pawed the ground and rooted their horns at the dust. Nick sat up on his haunches smiling clownishly.

  “You guys get a load of this cheap punk! There’s a tag in this cape that says ‘Dry Clean Only’.” The bulls charged him and he swung the cape up around his face like a makeshift turban to shield himself from the dust. He assumed the position of an umpire hands posed to grab the horns. One bull hit him in the chest. It would have gouged out his eyes but he grabbed the horns and pulled the head up where the tips missed his face. The bull snorted blood all over him. Nick growled and head-butted it.

  The Azteca handlers fed them each a bowl full of the cocaine dice in the skulls. The horses were almost instantly restless pawing the ground. For added measure, they attached the road flares to their tales and slapped them on the rear, making them run into the fray.