Joseph

by Kris Michaels

  It had taken five months of living as a shadow in abandoned houses in the Rivera Del Bravo district to track down Morales’ lieutenants. The trail to the top started with crumbs. Crumbs found in retched, stinking, shit-holes of houses that pumped the drugs into the veins of the city. Joseph went to the small peddlers, bought the drugs and ingrained himself in the culture. He used his skills to track the street dealers to the houses.

  The houses were nothing more than whore houses. Unfortunately, the whores were young, too young, and drugged beyond comprehension. There were too many houses to watch. Joseph picked one that appeared to have more business than most and watched. His job now was to gather intel.

  He worked the business end of Morales’ human trafficking and drug running. He forced himself to disengage from the sense of being human he’d reacquired with Ember. As the days passed, one bleeding into the other, Joseph felt himself slipping back into the persona that made his enemies look over their shoulders. His defenses once again in place, he focused on sifting through the filth, contamination and abominations that fed Morales’ bottom line. In a few short weeks, he’d gathered enough intel to make killing anyone associated with the Morales Cartel a ‘go’ in his mind.

  The intel given to him by his brother, Jared, stated there were four street-level lieutenants in Juarez. The four reported directly to the big guy. The bastards at the street level were cagey and scared. They’d not be easy to get close to. Joseph had witnessed more than one execution of dealers that weren’t producing or taking an unauthorized cut.

  He’d followed the hit squads with no success. They received phone calls and moved, no physical connection to the power structure of the cartel. The lead went nowhere. He started over, going back down to the houses. Watching, observing and waiting for his trail of crumbs to materialize.

  With dogged determination, Joseph had located all four lieutenants after four months of living with and among the filth of the streets. Now, he ghosted between shadows and dark alley ways keeping track of the four officers. Three displayed the intelligence to vary their routes, change up their routines and keep him guessing on their schedules and meets. They wouldn’t lead him to the boss. They were too disciplined.

  The fourth? Well, he was a fucking idiot. Carlos De La Cruz, or SF, “Stupid Fuck” as Joseph thought of him, was Morales’ brother-in-law. SF’s sister was Morales’ trophy wife. The wife got the beauty, but SF sure as hell didn’t get the brains. The punk had the intelligence of a gnat. His cocksure attitude, lack of disciplined security team and distinct belief that his brother-in-law’s reputation would protect his ass were the very reasons Joseph targeted SF. The mental moron had to be the weakest link in Morales’ organization. No way the cartel could survive any more idiots like him. For the last three weeks, Joseph followed the original gangsta wanna be. SF had been traveling the exact same routes and pulling the same revenues from the same sources. The punk flashed his weapon, cash, and ignorance more than a rookie cop flashed his badge. It was a miracle he hadn’t been killed by a rival cartel.

  Joseph settled down in the alley half a block up the street keeping surveillance on his best lead to Morales. SF had one more stop before heading to his hacienda for the night. The fucking stucco and tile prison where SF kept the young boys he used. Last night the sick bastard had partied poolside with his amigos. The fucker was doping kids. Kids! He still could hear the pleas and cries the night breeze had carried to the secluded position where he observed them. The bastards had shot up four young boys. SF and his posse used those innocents like seasoned whores right there by the pool. Damn he hated he couldn’t slice the fucker into ribbons. Wasn’t his M.O., but he could see how someone would be able to dissect the slimy son of a bitch. Joseph swore to himself he would get those boys out of there. Yeah, this sick bastard was going to be a pleasure to take out. God have mercy on your soul, SF, because I sure as hell won’t.

  Glancing down at his watch, Joseph shifted in the shadows. SF wasn’t following his normal pattern. He should’ve left the restaurant by now. A pearl white Suburban pulled up behind SF’s blinged-out black Escalade. A contingent of three heavily armed guards exited the new vehicle and cleared the area. The men were professionals, nothing like SF’s crew. When the team seemed satisfied, they opened the rear door. There she was in all her Prada glory. Morale’s wife and a little boy exited the SUV. SF came out of the building laughing and smiling like he didn’t have a care in the world. The little boy’s, “Tio Carlo!” carried the distance.

  Eur-fucking-reka. That silicone enhanced woman was his direct link to Morales. Joseph watched the guards hurry the eye candy and boy into the establishment. Now that he had the woman, he no longer needed the moron. SF’s minutes left on earth were running out.

  *

  Three-and-a-half hours later, as shadows lengthened and people around the city were settling in for the evening, Joseph carefully pushed further along the roofline of a three-story hacienda behind the Morales family compound. He had tracked the wife’s Suburban from the restaurant to an upscale shopping center and then on to the estate he now observed. A glance from the neighbor’s rooftop confirmed the opulence surrounding the Morales family. Fuck, it rivaled some of the royal palaces he’d seen in Saudi Arabia.

  Joseph mentally diagramed the security he could see. High-resolution cameras had been installed at each corner of the twelve-foot concrete wall surrounding the compound. The land immediately outside and adjacent to the complex had been cleared. No one was going to approach without being seen. Heavily armed guards patrolled the grounds. Four guards in the back and three—no four—in the front. They were just the ones that made themselves visible. Need a more accurate accounting of the man’s security. He hit the power switch on the burner phone he carried, typed the address of Morales’s house and hit send. With that one action, the carefully crafted, researched and rehearsed plan launched.

  The illicit trade of cocaine, marijuana, guns and human beings made Juan Morales a very wealthy man. Money bought expensive security and security allowed a person to assume they were untouchable. Never fucking assume. No one is untouchable, asshole.

  Joseph settled down to wait and watch, hidden against the rise of the neighboring villa’s rooftop. As he watched, a motorcade of three black SUVs entered the compound. The guards didn’t deploy but casually sauntered out of the vehicles. Morales hopped out of the back passenger door on the left hand side of the middle vehicle and strode to the house. Position of travel, configuration of convoy, and number of guards confirmed. Yeah, that’s right. Kiss the wife. Hug the kid. Enjoy amigo. You’re on borrowed time.

  Soon the end would come. The end of Morales’ reign of terror. The end of SF’s sick abuse of innocent boys. Ember would be free to live a life unencumbered by the death and violence that surrounded him. That dull ache in his chest notched up and roundhouse kicked him as his subconscious geared up and beat the shit out of him one more time. The only way she walks away from death is if you walk toward it. His conviction grew stronger with each passing day. She was safe. Safe because he walked away from her and toward his end game. An earth without her on it wasn’t even conceivable. He wouldn’t—couldn’t face that. The only way to save her was to finish this mission, a mission designed specifically to destroy not only Morales, but also the assassin Joseph had become—his suicide mission.

  With a sigh, Joseph took out the battery and Sim card. Pitching them into the bushes below him, he leaned back and gazed over the pool into the house. He watched Morales come home from his long hard day at the office dealing death and peddling flesh. Yeah, have a drink, asshole.

  Bingo, just as planned, the entire sector plunged into darkness. Joseph started the secondhand sweep of his watch. The generators in Morales’ compound flared. Auxiliary power flickered and then lit up the compound. Thirty-three seconds. A total of fourteen heavily armed guards poured out of the house and took up positions at the front and rear entrances. Commands shouted from inside the house sent the guar
ds to the outbuildings by the pool. Finally, the man who appeared to be the chief of security exited the house talking on a handheld radio. Two minutes later the entire grid powered back up. Recon complete.

  Joseph nodded to himself. Amazing coincidence that one of Guardian’s subsidiary companies controlled the entity that powered the Mexican state of Chihuahua. Nah, not really. David Xavier, the owner of all things Guardian, was one connected mother. An hour passed before Joseph carefully egressed from his rooftop perch under the protection of full darkness.

  Time to return to SF’s hellhole and liberate some kids. Motherfucker would never hurt another innocent. Granted, the stupid prick’s death would have to look like an accident. No need to give Morales a reason to batten down the hatches, or worse yet, bolt altogether. Nope, a drunken fall down a flight of stairs would do the trick. Guaran-fucking-teed.

  Chapter Twenty

  Ember picked up her cards. She held them close and fanned them carefully so the Wonder Twins couldn’t cheat. They swore they didn’t, but somehow those two communicated without words. Ember discarded three cards and looked at Chief.

  “Three.”

  The massive man dealt her the cards and turned his eyes to Drake.

  When Drake rapped his knuckles on the table both Ember and Keelee groaned. “How? How do you have a pat hand? You have to be the luckiest person on the face of the Earth!” Ember laughed when Keelee gave a weak attempt at kicking the man. He dodged it easily.

  Chief smiled that almost-smile of his and Ember called him on it. “Oh, no. I know that tell. Mike thinks he has the winning hand.”

  All eyes swiveled to the dealer. “And what makes you say that, Ember?” Chief’s face had blanked, but she had definitely seen that smirk.

  “Oh hell no! Mike, I saw it. You have a tell. I saw the smirk. You thought everyone was watching Keelee beat up on Drake…”

  “She didn’t even touch me! Dixon, back me up here.”

  “Dude when are you going to figure it out? This woman is your better. She can out ride you, out rope you and out work you. Now you want me to get involved in a lie that would perpetrate a grievous malfeasance for which she could rightfully kick my ass? No thank you, sir.”

  Dixon stood straight up and dropped his cards on the table. “Grievous malfeasance? Grievous fucking malfeasance? Damn it to hell Dixon, how many times do I have to tell you to put that thesaurus away? Why in the hell do you have to start with the ten dollar words? Speak English, will yah? ‘Merican would be better. Grievous fucking malfeasance my rosy red ass.”

  Ember looked from brother to brother and smiled. They never shut up, but in the last five months, she had come to realize they only acted like this around people they trusted. Lucky her. When they escorted her into the city for medical supplies, they didn’t speak. The macho ‘don’t fucking think about talking to this woman’ attitude effectively prevented just about any contact with people outside the ranch.

  Dixon smiled sheepishly and grabbed a sandwich off the platter on the corner of the table handing half of his to his brother. The weekly poker game had become a tradition. The twins, Keelee and Ember always played. Chief, Adam, and Frank rotated in occasionally.

  “Sorry, Drake. Here, can’t have you die of malnutrition. The ramifications of going without a meal could lead to untold manifestations and dilemmas of biblical proportions.”

  Drake took a huge bite of the ham sandwich and spoke around the food. “It’s cool man, and my dilemmas won’t perpetuate or propagate into phobias if you pour me some more of that whiskey.”

  “Deal ‘cause, God only knows what type of phobias you would harbor…”

  Ember grabbed a sandwich and looked at her cards. Two pair, eights, and twos. Dang it, it was going to cost her at least three dollars to see Chief’s hand. The hand played around with Drake raising the pot. Make that four dollars.

  “Why not? I’m definitely the most handsome and the most intelligent. Don’t you think so Ember?”

  Ember shook her head slowly. “I’m sorry I tuned you out. After five months of living here, I’ve gotten used to turning off your volume. You bicker all the time.”

  “We don’t bicker.” The men spoke in unison.

  Keelee and Ember both laughed before Keelee taunted them. “Yeah, you really do. Like two old women.” Keelee dodged a flying poker chip that Dixon launched toward her.

  Chief quietly added almost to himself. “Two brainless teenagers is more like it.”

  “I heard that Chief! Man, when did you start teaming up with these two? Have you three become BFFs?” Drake’s response lifted over the women’s laughter.

  “Yeah, like Fury would allow that.” Chief’s head snapped up and his eyes cut to Dixon, the nonverbal reprimand whipped across the room silencing the twin’s banter immediately.

  “Ah, fuck. Sorry, Ember…I..I didn’t think.” Dixon put his hand over Ember’s. The warmth of his skin on her suddenly shaking hand didn’t lesson the verbal slap to the face.

  “No…no, it’s okay, Dixon. Joseph’s gone. He’s not coming back. When he’s done with what he has to do, I’ll be on my way. It’s been great working and living here, but…” Her voice cracked and mentally she tried to slap a Band-Aid on the broken heart she still nursed.

  She took a deep breath and threw five chips in the pot looking directly at Chief. “Anyway I’d be glad to have Chief as my BFF. Call. Let’s see what you got!”

  *

  “If we don’t train exactly the way we fight in the field we’re doing our people a tremendous disservice.” Chief’s explanation hadn’t changed nor had her opinion of the real-world tactics Guardian used to train its agents.

  “Yeah, but at this rate there will be nobody left to put in the field!” Ember finished placing the personal security officer’s newly wrapped and freshly relocated wrist in a sling. She picked up a prescription pad and wrote in the dosage. Before the young officer could voice his objection, she held up her hand. “Stop right now and listen to me closely. You will take these. It’s an anti-inflammatory script, not pain meds, because God knows nobody employed by Guardian ever wants to take pain medication!”

  She glared at the man on the exam table. “If you don’t take them exactly as prescribed, I will not clear you for field duty. Bounce your head north and south, Mr…” She stopped to check his name on the chart again. “Maher…or you’ll be pushing a desk for the next ninety days. Understand?”

  The rakish looking man glared at her. The furrows deepened on Ember’s forehead as the blush of anger rose from her chest to her face. “Oh, don’t tell me you plan on arguing with me? You don’t want to go there. I guarantee you won’t win.”

  Ember turned her back on the men to try to collect the calm that had scattered to the four winds. Chief cuffed the man on the shoulder. “Nod your head up and down and get out of here Brad. Before you say or do something to really piss her off. She lost a lot of money last night at poker and she’s not in a good mood.”

  The massive personal security officer cleared his throat. “Got it, Doc. I’ll take ‘em.”

  She cast Chief a wink and smile before she turned and raised an eyebrow to the agent. “Good, follow-up with me in three days. Until then absolutely no physical or weapons training.”

  Ember turned around and watched the young man limp out of the clinic. The phone on her desk rang. Ember nodded towards it as she started to clean her workspace. “Would you get that? It’s most likely for Adam. The only people I get calls from are you and Keelee. You’re here and Keelee’s out with the ranch hands breaking ice for the cattle.”

  “Yeah, cause I’m your secretary.” Chief laughed and reached over and picked up the receiver. “Clinic.”

  His eyes bounced to Ember before he spoke. “This isn’t within protocols.”

  Chief’s voice and immediate look in her direction sent a premonition of uneasiness through her. Ember couldn’t avoid the wave of fear that swept through her mind.

  Chief looked down
at the tile floor and nodded his head silently as he listened to whoever called. “Yeah, I got it. I don’t like it, but I understand.”

  Chief took a deep breath. “Yeah, she’s right here. Hold on.”

  He lifted off the desk and extended the phone to her. “Joseph.”

  Ember lunged at the receiver and slapped it to her ear. “Joey! Is it done? Are you safe? Where are you?” Her heart beat so loud she was sure he could hear it on the other end of the line.

  His low, wicked laugh rolled over the connection. “No, little girl, I’m not done. Not yet. I’m safe for now. Things are going to happen fast from here on out. The op has reached the point of no return. I needed to hear your voice.”

  “Why? What’s happening Joey? You’re scaring me.”

  “Em, I want you to focus. Will you do that for me, little one?” His voice softened as he spoke.

  “I ahh...yeah. I will.” She shivered when an unexplainable fear wrapped a choke hold around her neck.

  “That’s my good girl.” Her insides clenched at his softly spoken words. Something was wrong. He wasn’t supposed to make contact with her. He was supposed to walk away. Oh God, what’s happening?

  “Ember, I had to call to tell you that I thank God for the time we had together. You made me realize what I am, is not who I wanted to be. You gave me the strength to do what I must in order to escape the chaos and death that surrounds me. I need you to know that I love you. I think I always have. I’m sorry for what I’ve put you through. Can you forgive me?”