by Howard Upton
Evers opened his mouth to let another flurry of expletives fly when a door opened and slammed shut from the opposite end of the building. The door’s echoes reverberated throughout the building, bouncing from wall to wall until they finally died off. Everyone turned to see who had walked in, as Fancy Shirt turned and leveled his rifle at the interloper.
Dugan’s eyes narrowed as he watched the man enter the room. Vague recognition drifted across his memory banks, but the scrawny body and gaunt face made it difficult to discern who the man was. The man took another step forward before Dugan could make out the unsavory character walking toward him.
“Señor Haden, it is so good to see you again,” Rafael croaked.
Dugan’s eyes widened in total shock and disbelief at the image of the person standing in front of him. The man’s jacket hung from his shoulders like an oversized beach towel and his pants looked to be four sizes too large. He looked as though he had lost fifty pounds and hadn’t eaten in months even though he had last seen him just three short weeks prior.
Evers eyes darted from Rafael to Dugan to Buddy while everyone focused on the newest addition to the party. Buddy made eye contact with Evers at that moment and winked at him. For a brief second, Evers appeared startled then relaxed his facial muscles.
“Who the fuck is this zombie, Dugan?” Buddy asked.
“This dapperly dressed young man is Rafael, the keeper of the key and holder of my financial freedom,” Dugan replied while eyeing his Mexican operator.
Rafael asked his own question, “Who the fuck is Dugan?” It came out sounding like ‘Doooogun.’
Dugan chuckled and replied, “That’s me, Rafael. Most of us in this room work under aliases and fake identities. I had always assumed Rafael wasn’t your real name but now I’m not so sure.”
An evil grin sprouted from Rafael’s face, “Whether it’s my real name or not no longer matters, Mr. Ha...Dugan.” His right hand emerged from his jacket holding the Ruger he had placed in his shoulder holster earlier. With a steady hand he pointed it directly at Dugan’s face.
Dugan’s hands shot in the air as confusion overtook him. Fancy Shirt brought his rifle to his shoulder and released the safety with a loud click. Tank Top dropped the rag from his eye and ambled over to the scene while drawing his own pistol that was tucked into his waistband. He, too, leveled it at Rafael. The air was thick with tension and a collective deep breath was heard throughout the building.
Buddy shot glances all around and began cackling. “Who the hell would have thought we’d come all the way to Mexico to witness a fucking Mexican standoff? This has to be the funniest thing I’ve seen in years.”
The worried expression on Dugan and his band of criminals’ faces was anything but jovial. Buddy walked next to Tank Top and stood. Everyone remained woefully focused on the men holding guns, paying little attention to the old American soldier.
Rafael’s free hand reached into his pants pocket and grasped the jewel. In an instant the chant began as he stared at Dugan. “Hua shi...hua shi...hua shi yong.” His voice resonated and thrummed in the chests of everyone in the hangar. The smell of fear and sweat dripped from Tank Top and Fancy shirt’s bodies. Dugan’s head tilted to the right as his eyebrows sloped together. His jaw opened wide enough to catch flies, had one flown close to his mouth. The entire scene would have been both frightening and comical to anyone entering the hangar at that moment.
Buddy seized the opportunity to grab his pocket knife. He had it out and the blade opened in a fraction of a second, the arc of the blade never slowing until it found its mark on the underside of its target’s arm. Tank Top’s eyes widened and his mouth formed a chasm that only a scream could pass through as he looked down and saw Buddy’s sharp blade sever the brachial artery in the arm holding the pistol. Blood pulsed in time with his heartbeat. The gash in his arm was six inches wide, flesh and meat exposed. Red plasma sprayed his torso and face as his hand involuntarily opened and dropped the pistol.
Just as quickly as he had gashed Tank Top’s arm, Buddy jammed the blade into the man’s neck before the scream was actually vocalized. Wet, gurgling sounds came from his mouth instead as he grabbed the knife’s hilt and attempted to pull it from his neck. Blood oozed over Tank Top’s hands, the blade buried deep enough to prevent a jettison of plasma. Fancy Shirt turned his head in time to see Buddy fall to the floor and grab Tank Top’s pistol, but he wasn’t fast enough to prevent two rounds from the gun hitting him in the leg and arm. As he fell to the ground he held tightly to the AK-47.
The room erupted into a discourse of chaos, gunfire and screams. Dugan ducked and tackled Rafael before he could react, losing his own pistol in the process. Rafael clasped the cartouche tightly in his hand even as he dropped his sidearm and fell, both he and Dugan rolling in a wad of flailing arms and legs. A bullet struck Dugan’s rental and two more hit the Camaro destroying the passenger side window and shattering the side view mirror into thousands of tiny pieces of plastic and glass.
Fancy Shirt’s panic turned into semi-automatic fire in every direction. Nerves and panic ran through his body that didn’t permit his untrained brain from being able to focus on the intended target. Instead, a stray bullet ricocheted and struck Tank Top Two in the ribs, the bullet piercing a lung and grazing his heart before it lodged itself somewhere deep in his chest wall. Buddy rolled and squeezed another round from the pistol striking Fancy Shirt in the groin. Blood exploded all over the front of his jeans as he grasped for his mangled penis and testicles. Vomit spewed from his mouth as the intense pain threatened to engulf his sanity. Fortunately, he didn’t have to suffer very long as Buddy fired two more rounds into his face and head from five feet away. The acrid-iron scent of blood and brain matter filled the air as Fancy Shirt’s life’s blood emptied from his head and stained the hangar floor.
Screeching tires caused Buddy and Evers to whip their heads around in time to see Dugan speeding off in his rental car. Another head bobbled around in the passenger’s seat. They both presumed it to be Rafael since he was nowhere to be found, but the fact that he had drawn a gun on Dugan would later make both wonder why he would have taken the Mexican with him.
Rising to one knee, Buddy leveled the pistol and squeezed three more rounds at Dugan’s car as it sped toward the closed door. The first round bounced off the bumper and careened harmlessly into a corrugate wall leaving sparks in its wake. The second round penetrated the trunk just as the car hit the massive roll-up door. The aluminum door flew into two sections, one large and one small. The smaller of the two fell crashing down on the rental, the other falling haplessly to the floor. Dugan’s car whipped right and shot out from under the half-door, speeding off toward the terminal.
Buddy rose and turned toward Evers. “You alright, Buck? I mean other than being shackled and naked on a floor during a gun fight, you’re okay,” he half-heartedly chuckled.
“Well, my ribs feel like they’ve been through a sausage grinder, my head is killing me and my wrists and ankles feel like they’re about to fall off my body. Oh, and I just saw the guy who hired me to do this job show up with the fucking guy I was hunting! Other than that, I’m dandy,” he replied, his sarcasm thick and meaty.
“Yeah, I reckon we need to talk about that, Billy. Let me see if I can find the keys on one of these dead guys so I can get those manacles off you. If I have to look at that small thing you call a dick anymore I’m going to laugh my ass off.”
Dugan brought his car to a shrieking halt just a few yards away from a twin engine Learjet 60 he had paid a man handsomely to fly just a few days prior to his arrival in Monterrey. He dropped the keys to the rental on the floorboard then opened his door and ran around to the passenger side. Rafael sat there entranced and mumbling strange words while holding the cartouche.
He forced the Mexican out of the car and to his feet. The back of his hand struck Rafael square across the face causing him to see stars and instantaneously snapping him out of the trance. Dugan looked the man
up and down and shook his head.
“Get in the fucking plane right now. If I have to tell you more than once I’ll snatch that cartouche out of your hand and rip your throat out. Do you understand me?” he demanded.
Rafael stood there blinking at the American he so woefully had wanted to kill just a few moments earlier. As a matter of fact, by all rights he should have been dead but he couldn’t remember what had happened between the second he had pulled the pistol from his jacket until that very moment.
He shoved the jewel into his pocket and dropped his eyes to the ground. With some effort he walked toward the plane and put a foot on the step, pausing long enough to take a long look around. A sickly feeling shot through him telling him he would never see his country again.
Buddy flipped the bloodied messes of bodies over and searched their pockets looking for the keys to the shackles. He tried to be careful not to get any of their blood on his hands while he searched. When he got to Fancy Shirt he heard the familiar jingle of keys in the dead man’s pockets. With great care he reached inside and grabbed them. Four keys hung from the key ring. He located the one that looked like it fit the shackles and stuck it into the keyhole.
He turned the key and the manacles opened releasing Evers’ wrists. The key slipped into the key hole on the manacles imprisoning his ankles next, releasing them with a similar clank. Bill stood on wobbly legs holding his bruised and battered ribs. He stood like that for a few seconds until he steadied himself. With considerable effort he launched a punch that connected with Buddy’s jaw. The punch sent Buddy sprawling to the floor and stars exploded in his head.
Evers limped over to him with great effort. He was about to kick Buddy in the face when Buddy rolled like a cat. He hopped to his feet in a flash.
“Buck, we ain’t got time for this shit. I told you we’d talk, but in about sixty seconds cops are going to be pouring through that door and find a naked man trying to fight an old goat with a whole bunch of dead bodies lying around. What say you get some damned clothes on and let’s get the hell out of here before we get caught up in an international incident?”
Evers couldn’t argue with Buddy’s logic so he began searching for his clothes, finding them in a wad where the Tank Top twins had been sitting when he first woke up. He threw his pants and shirt on and snapped his head around when he heard a car door slam and the Camaro’s engine roar to life. Buddy gunned the muscle car’s engine then came to a sudden stop right next to his protégé.
Bill eyed him warily but reached for his shoes and socks then jumped into the car. Before his door closed, Buddy was already halfway out of the hangar. Exhaust fumes and smoke from the rubber tires drifted over the dead bodies they left behind.
Monterrey, Mexico
Four Points Sheraton Hotel
July 22, 2013 11:48 A.M.
Buddy and Evers drove the twenty-one kilometers from the hangar to the hotel in silence. The old warrior knew he couldn’t return to the Crowne Plaza after being seen with Dugan that same morning. Direct involvement in an international incident with a known arms smuggler was frowned upon by his employer, but he certainly didn’t want a Mexican investigator to place him and said arms smuggler together in the same hotel just a short time prior to the incident. Going back to the Crowne Plaza could be disastrous if a hotel employee positively identified him. He also needed a place to ditch the borrowed Camaro.
Evers stared out the window trying to make sense of everything that had happened over the past week leading up to be the most bizarre day of his entire life. His breathing had become more labored as the damaged tissue around his ribs began tightening. His bruised legs and back made the pain intensely sharper, but he made every effort not to wince.
The quiet ride to their new hotel had been uncomfortable for both men. Evers wanted to understand everything that had happened and Buddy wanted to explain it. Neither wanted to start the conversation in a car; both were smarter than allowing their tempers to get the best of them while trying to look inconspicuous.
After thirty minutes of driving, they whipped into a Four Points Sheraton Hotel garage and found a parking spot on the second level in a far, unassuming corner. After killing the ignition he allowed himself a sigh of relief before looking at Evers and saying, “Let’s get the fuck out of this car.” Each man took a few minutes to wipe down the interior and door handles. Buddy wiped the keys before throwing them on the seat. Ditching the car in the parking garage would give them plenty of time to get out of town before the authorities were alerted, or some enterprising soul discovered the keys and drove off in his new ride.
Evers offered no resistance or argument. He longed to lie down in a bed and rest, but he figured that wouldn’t be an option. He looked at Buddy and asked, “What’s the plan?”
“When we walk into the lobby keep your head down, out of view of the hotel cameras. I’ll check us into separate rooms on the same floor. Once we’re checked in, I’ll give you your key, we’ll haul ass to our rooms and chill out for a while. That will give us time to shower and meet for dinner in the hotel restaurant. We can talk about everything there, Young Buck. The only thing I ask you to do is to keep an open mind and not allow your emotions to get you worked up before we meet. Can we agree to that?” Buddy asked.
“Fine,” Evers replied, “but don’t think that gives you a free pass, Buddy. I watched you pull into a hangar with a fucker you wanted me to deal with today. I understand you helped free me from those bastards, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that you showed up with him and he escaped. You understand?” he asked.
Buddy rubbed his sore jaw, then said, “Yeah, you ornery bastard, I understand. And after we talk I think you’ll see that we’re on the same side. Let’s get cleaned up and talk in a bit.”
He checked in and paid for two separate rooms just as he had explained. After handing Evers his room key, they both walked to the elevator and jostled inside, Evers trying hard to stand straight and not rub his ribs. People were much more likely to remember an older guy walking around with a slumped over, injured middle aged man than they were two average looking guys simply strolling to their elevator.
The chime sounded prior to the doors opening on the sixth floor. The two of them stepped out and walked to their respective rooms. They slid their electronic keys into the card scanner and entered. Had both men been able to observe the other they would have laughed. Each stopped short of walking past the bathroom, pausing long enough to listen for anyone who could be hiding. Convinced there was no one there, each proceeded to flip on lights and slowly make their way around the main bedding areas, stopping to open the single closet...slowly.
Buddy flipped the curtains back while Evers patted down the set in his room. After both men were certain no one shared their rooms with them they headed for their showers. Evers moved slowly as the pain in his ribs felt like a thousand knives were stabbing him at the same time. On his torso, legs, and arms, skin had been torn from the kicks his kidnappers had given him. It looked as though he had wrecked a motorcycle and had gotten a nice case of road rash in the process. When the hot water hit those areas, he winced and jumped causing an incredible jolt of pain in his side.
Even though the hot water brought him significant pain it also brought a tremendous amount of relief. He thought to himself, a hot shower removes the day’s sins and cleanses a muddled mind. Once, while in Iraq, he overheard a gunnery sergeant make that remark. It seemed odd and out of place to him then, but now it made perfect sense.
He dressed slowly and decided to go downstairs to have a beer while he waited on Buddy. Evers stepped off the elevator into the hotel lobby and walked to the restaurant’s bar. He saw Buddy already sitting at a table waiting on him sipping on a beer of his own. Not particularly fond of the bitter Mexican beers, Evers was pleased to find a Heineken on the drink menu and ordered one.
Buddy sat with his back to the wall facing the windows to the front of the hotel. Evers took a seat to Buddy’s right so he could at
least keep an eye on the restaurant entrance. The waitress brought Evers his beer and handed menus to both men. It hadn’t dawned on him until that precise moment that he had gone two days without eating and he was famished.
Buddy took a long pull on his beer and stared at his old friend, but said nothing. He considered how to broach several subjects with Evers and at last decided the best policy was to get things on the table without sugarcoating anything. And that’s exactly what he did.
He kept his voice low so no one but Evers could hear him, “Alright Buck, let’s get everything in the open. And when I say ‘everything’ I mean it. We’re not going to sit here and bullshit around. Neither of us have time for that sort of nonsense.”
Evers glared at Buddy, staring directly into his eyes. Right then all he wanted to do was grab the fork the waitress had put on the table and slam it right between these old weary eyes. Repeatedly.
“Why don’t you start by telling me what the hell you were doing with Dugan. That would be the most appropriate thing to do, don’t you think?”
“Fine,” Buddy began. “You know as well as I do in our line of work plans always have backup plans, Billy. When Dugan first approached the Christians In Action about that damned cartouche, they wanted nothing to do with it. After some research and speculation they changed their minds. As we’ve already discussed, that thing has the power to control the deadliest army this world has ever seen and the Agency wants nothing more than to get their hands on it.
“That’s how I got involved. They knew I’d had dealings with Dugan in the past and figured if anyone could pull off the deal with him it would be me. He’s very skittish of the U.S. government, as he should be, so I contacted him and told him the government wanted to do business. Also, my background…our background, yours and mine, Buck, has provided us with the ability to suspend general beliefs and assume magic like this really exists. Dugan knows a few things about some of the shit we’ve seen, so he was more apt to do business with me as the go-between.
