Without Wrath (Harbinger of Change Book 3)

by Timothy Jon Reynolds

  Both men were middle-aged farmers and from what she could understand with her limited Spanish skills, they were talking about some kind of fruit trees. She waited until goodbyes were said and approached the man who remained, “Hola, do you speak English?” Unfortunately he did not, so she stumbled through with her barely passable Spanish as she heard her millionth denial. One of those doubts she had been suppressing was cracking though. She could feel its pickax just chipping away her confidence from the other side, just taunting her to get on that plane and accept what everybody else already knew. Matt Hurst was dead.

  She slunk into the Mercado, her body language showing defeat yet trying her best to talk herself back into being positive. No story worth anything came easy—and she knew this—so why did she allow the doubts to sprout? She looked at her watch, five and a half hours until her flight.

  The store was bigger inside than one would have anticipated from looking at the outside, a bit surprising actually. It was one of those “don’t judge a book by its cover” type of places. It was kept neat and organized, which was also in contrast to not only the outside, but also the neighborhood as a whole. There were three rows off to the left that ran the length of the building and as she turned towards them a striking girl in the display window asked in English, “Can I help you?”

  Lauren answered coyly, “Is it that obvious that I’m American.”

  The beautiful Ecuadorian girl answered, “I’m afraid so.”

  With a smile she introduced herself as Cecelia and her English was spoken very well. She explained that her aunt and uncle lived in Washington D.C. where she has gone to see them every year since she was ten. As she grabbed the last electric fan and put it in the window, Lauren saw what must drive men crazy. The girl had no body fat and a body like an hourglass. She was so fit and sexy that she was turning Lauren on and she had never been gay, not even experimentally in college.

  Cecilia came back down out of the window and Lauren showed her a picture of Matt, “Have you ever seen this man before?” Cecelia looked at the picture and said, “Yeah, he used to shop here a lot.”

  Lauren was trying not to jump through her skin as she asked the next question. “How long since you’ve seen him last?”

  The girl thought and said, “Well, let me see, maybe a couple of years.”

  Her heart sunk, but she tried not to show it in her expression, yet Cecelia picked up on it anyway.

  “Why? Is he important to you?”

  Lauren looked at her and thought what the fuck do I have to lose? “Yes, because I’m a reporter and he’s the story of a lifetime.”

  Then the most incredible thing happened to her as she was going to thank Cecelia and leave for the airport. Cecelia said the most amazing words she’d heard in months when she uttered, “I know the girl he was sleeping with, we can go there now. It’s not far away.”

  Cecelia had a Fiat sedan and she drove it like all the taxi drivers Lauren had encountered thus far. Lauren later learned that Cecilia’s dad owned that Mercado, but at the time it appeared differently. When she told him that she was leaving, he’d protested, “There are still things to do.”

  When she responded, “Then fire me,” and walked off, Lauren was speechless.

  Lauren caught up with her and said, “I don’t speak the best Spanish, but did you just quit your job?”

  Cecelia giggled, “No silly, he’s my father.” She was quite the fireball as her driving was quickly showing Lauren, who’d been here in Ibarra for three months and had seen some crazy driving.

  She knew Hurst had been in Ibarra because her old boyfriend told her so during one of their intimate talks. Lauren often fantasized about when her story finally broke and Bill Westinghouse came to realize that she was a reporter all along and that he had been had.

  She winced as her new friend came way too close to a truck during an unanticipated stop. She had learned early on that there was a neighborhood in the eastern part of town that was to be avoided at all costs, and now it looked like they were headed straight for it. Lauren saw a few street signs, but damn if these chauvinistic bastards didn’t name the whole town after men, and a lot of them started with Juan. They just passed Juan Jose Flores, and now she saw Juan de Salinas. As they turned right onto Eusebio Borrero, Cecelia noticed her concern.

  “It’s okay, I grew up here. The girl lives next door to my friends.” That eased Lauren’s mind a little, but she also knew the place. Three more right turns and a left and she was losing track of where she was.

  In this part of town, the building structure was different as there were no more single story buildings. Here it was a four-square design like a mini-fortress. One giant rampart ran around the outer edge and was interspersed with periodic buildings and entrances. Most of them had courtyards inside which were all very different in design. Much like fingerprints, no two were the same.

  A few had no courtyards, just had buildings throughout instead, but most went with an outdoor scene of one kind or another. Of the outdoor variety, Lauren had seen full-length basketball courts, soccer fields, and some even had mini-forests. Lauren knew this because she had canvassed here one day and stayed out too long, almost getting raped by two guys. The memory still haunted her and gave her nightmares to this day.

  They said they had recognized Matt from the picture she showed them and they told her to follow them. She just knew something was wrong and started to back off, and that’s when they got pushy. So she did the New York thing and “kicked balls and ran.”

  They were now in that same neighborhood and it gave her bad vibes. Cecelia pulled up at one of the complexes and parked. She looked at Lauren, “Don’t be nervous, I grew up here.” They got out and made their way into the complex through a gate that Cecelia had a key to. Once inside they were between two dark brown buildings heading up a shaded walkway. When they emerged, the sun was glaring in their eyes, so she shielded them and saw that this courtyard had a mini soccer field and no trees, but did have ten shaded park benches interspersed throughout.

  They walked across the field and Lauren noticed the absence of any children playing? They headed toward a long building on the far side and then Cecilia lead her toward the right corner of the building that had an entryway leading inside. There were two benches near that corner of the field and Cecelia told her to have a seat and she would go get the girl and bring her out.

  Lauren sat and looked at her phone; she now had four hours to get to the airport, but somehow she had a feeling that she wasn’t going to be catching that flight after all. Her stomach rumbled and she realized that she hadn’t eaten since she had some fruit that morning. She pulled her Ray-Bans out and placed them on as the sun was blaring, even in the shade of the bench awning.

  On the distant corner of the field, five guys dressed for soccer were kicking a ball back and forth. They got out to mid-field and started playing a game of pass around. Lauren noticed that behind them were five girls of varying size. She looked away and checked the entrance into where Cecelia had gone, feeling a little uneasy. To lessen her unease, she decided to check her e-mails only to find her friend Scott Bailey had sent her one. Actually, it was a link to a story he had written, as he worked for the Seattle Star as the “Internet Watchdog.”

  Every time Scott wrote an article he automatically sent her a copy. They had gone to Columbia together and even tried dating for a spell. They were so good as friends that they decided they just had to try it as lovers. But that was where it all went wrong, as they ultimately wanted different things. She wanted to see what the world had to offer and do “serious” journalism, and he simply wanted to be what he became, and that was to snuggle in writing for a paper and become a “niche” guy that people would love and relate to.

  It didn’t take him long. Part of the original attraction was Scott’s ability to bond with people and make friends instantly, but mostly he could make people laugh, usually by saying the stupidest things, especially when he drank. Each time she was tempted to w
rite him off as an idiot, he’d say something profound and made her realize it was all an act. Actually he was a really smart, really funny guy, who sometimes even managed to be an “extremely romantic guy.”

  If she ever had the inclination to become a housewife some day in the future, she would run to him. At least she would never be bored.

  Today’s story was a diatribe on the video gaming industry. Apparently they had taken his sixty dollars to purchase the same game as last time, just slightly redone and now they would feel his wrath. His writing style was always so funny and she giggled to herself before she was brought back to reality.

  She was expecting to see Cecelia connected to the voices she was hearing coming her way when she looked up. Instead it was the soccer girls who had come and sat down on the bench next to hers to watch their men play.

  Lauren was troubled. She grew up in New York mostly and although she went to private school, she’d ridden the subway often. These five girls were all dressed the same. They had on jeans that were cuffed on the bottom, white t-shirts that exposed their stomachs and black and white converse shoes. All five had their hair the same as well—they wore it long, straight, and all had bangs. And they all had some kind of fusion of tattoos and piercings that made them look just like a gang. She tried to play off her discomfort by looking back at her phone and that got her a question from one of the girls, but seeing as she was looking down, she’s not sure which one. ”¿Quién es usted?”

  Lauren looked up and answered, “I’m American; do you speak English?” That got a laugh from them and she saw the one speaking now, she was a little bigger than her other friends, and one could tell she was the first one to throw down. “¿Acaso esto es los Estatos Unidos?” Lauren shook her head no and looked for Cecelia. She needed help. The girl got into striking range, her four minions closing in with her, “¿Por qué estás aquí?”

  She fumbled in her purse and pulled out Matt’s picture, her hand shaking badly. The girl snatched it and looked. She looked up at her, “¿Cómo te atreves a venir aquí en busca de tu novio? ¿Sabes dónde estás?“ The tone of the girl was now crazy with indignant anger and Lauren quickly forgot all the training and role-playing she’d practiced on how to deal with these situations.

  Now in the middle of it, she was reduced to a terrified child, crying, stuttering, and shaking, unable to remember how to reply in Spanish that she wasn’t his jealous girlfriend. Worse for her, the one thing she did catch was the last sentence, and she did understand what the girl said, and no she didn’t know where she was . . .

  She muttered in English, “I don’t know what you’re saying.” That was when the main girl called over to Gabriel. He ran over, dressed in shorts and a standard red soccer shirt, his white socks pulled up to his knees, and his soccer cleats new, white, and clean. The girl spoke angry questions to him in Spanish. He turned and in broken English said, “She want to know what you doing here. She says you looking for guy in picture, but how you get in here and why you look for him?”

  Lauren said her friend Cecelia brought her here and she went to get the girl who was dating the man in the picture so they could talk. Gabriel translated and came back with two things. Why and Cecelia who?

  Lauren answered Gabriel, “I’m a reporter and I don’t know Cecelia’s last name.” Gabriel translated and she could tell the information was not received well by the girl as she was throwing a tantrum.

  Gabriel relayed, “She wants to know what kind of friend don’t know her supposed friend’s last name? She thinks you lying and so do I, puta.” He said this as he was walking toward her, and without warning he two-handed threw the hard soccer ball right in her face, her glasses flying off but not before cutting open the bridge of her nose. She went down and when she did the pack was all over her. She was screaming, “Cecelia” throughout the beating until a vicious punch in the mouth broke one of her molars in half and that shut her up.

  Then the kicking started. She felt ribs break and someone kicked her kidney so hard she almost blacked out. She was lying on her side, coughing out blood and teeth fragments when they started laughing and going through her purse. They found her airline tickets and she heard them laugh, saying that she was going to miss her flight.

  She was in and out of consciousness when the leader came over and bent down in her face and grabbed her hair, pulling her face up by the ponytail. In the meanest cadence she spoke a diatribe in Spanish that was lost on Lauren. Gabriel came over and translated, “She says if she ever sees you again, you will die a painful death.” She dropped Lauren’s head back on the grass.

  She was still on her side when she saw the player coming in dribbling the ball with his feet. The kick of the ball happened so quickly, even in perfect conditions, she wouldn’t have been able to move or block it. It struck with the force of a large fist and her world went black.

  She was in the deepest fog, but the fumes were too much for her to stay in the world of sleep. She started coughing and gagging as she heard the unmistakable sound of a bus pulling off and then the fumes got way worse. She opened her eyes to find she could barely see. As she tried to move she cried out in pain, something was wrong with her arm. She saw she was lying next to a tree on the street.

  She sat up painfully and propped up against the tree. Why couldn’t she see very well? She put her left hand up and felt her face. That’s when she noticed she was only seeing out of one eye. She started to really panic. She was shaking so badly she could barely touch her damaged face and as she felt her eye socket she’d realized it was completely closed. It was weird to the touch and in the most painful thing she’d ever inflicted on herself she pulled her eyelids apart and was beyond relieved to be irritated by the sun. Her eyelids had been swollen shut like she’d seen in boxing movies like Rocky.

  She could not believe that she was actually alive and she immediately thought about Cecelia. What happened? She then realized she was in her bra and panties. They had taken all her possessions. Something was scratching her stomach so she looked down and it was some papers tucked in the front of her underwear. She pulled them out as an abuela and her three nietos walked by looking at her like they just saw the devil. The woman shielded their eyes and ran off obviously disturbed at the sight of the devil woman whore that was ruining her grandchildren’s innocence.

  The papers were her airline tickets and passport and her thirty-eight dollars. She hadn’t the wherewithal to process that before the headaches hit her. She put her left hand to her head, her right arm still didn’t feel like moving, but she had no idea why. She resisted the feeling to take a little nap before she made her next move, but she didn’t seem to be able to resist. Her eyes were closing when the taxi came skidding up. She heard, “Señorita, ¿estás bien?” and that was it, blackness hit and light wouldn’t come again for some time.

  * * *

  The clouds looked so different here. They stacked in columns and when the plane hit them, it reverberated like it was gliding through an extra soft pillow. Matt looked down, the descent into Mexico City passed over a suburb. It seemed the standard of living in that part of town was good, the houses looked large and every home had a pool.

  He’d done his homework before beginning the mission. His target had a file and like most people, his life had a pattern. One of his patterns was going to church. It was there that the hit would take place. This was the one opportunity to get him and if he missed and alerted him, they would never get another open shot again. He loathed and fought the idea of taking a shot in such a crowded place and worried about killing a bystander. He was going to attempt to do it with as little horror as possible. The plane landed and he lost the sun in some low-lying clouds.

  Matt disembarked into the terminal and headed for the luggage claim. He found the carousal and waited and waited, but his suitcase never came out. So he went to baggage claim to file the report and find out what happened. He wasn’t worried about any weapons he was bringing in being detected because everything he needed was a
lready here.

  This apparently was what they hired him for, to be a paid killer of the highest order, the one who didn’t miss. Well old Jim Jensen sure took the place of Russell Peltz and then some. Peltz had been his first mentor, other than his dad, and he had high praise for Matt’s skills with a gun. Jensen saw something else altogether, and it took him weeks to fix the hitch he had in his rifle shot. He had also picked up a bad habit of closing one eye and it took forever to get him to stop. Of course, now he could blow the balls off a squirrel at a hundred yards with no scope.

  He used to laugh at the movies because the shots the guys were missing with rifles he could easily make with a pistol. What he could now do with a rifle was downright nasty and this target would be a comfortable two football fields out. At that distance, Matt was dead on. They chose that distance for just that reason. At four hundred yards or inside, if Matt had a rifle on someone, then that someone was a dead man on the first shot.

  The dumb-ass airline clerk at the counter was telling him his bag was just behind on the next flight. He would have to wait an hour. He realized that this was an inauspicious start, but he shrugged it off and walked over to the luggage recovery area where he almost fell over a mountain of lost suitcases. It was a twenty-foot long, foot-high madhouse of bags of all sizes. It was the most backwards ass shit he’d ever seen and he was sure he would never see his bag again as he plopped down and waited on a bench.

  He went to the pay phone and used his disposable calling card—the number memorized—to call Jan. She was not a happy camper and it almost reminded Matt of the old days when she would get so bitchy with him, but then she reigned it in. He tried to do the old reversal of roles thing, but it just didn’t work as he had a calling that was only between himself and God.