The Devil You Know

by Robert Swartwood

  Nova says, “I guess we’ll see.”

  He makes the turn and kills the headlights as we tear down the unpaved road toward the center of town.

  Even without the headlights, we can see the three vehicles ahead of us because they still have on their lights. All of them have stopped, and the narcos have jumped down from the truck beds.

  One of lookouts on the roof blares an air horn while another starts firing down at the narcos.

  Because the narcos don’t give a shit about being careful, they open fire wildly, spraying the closest homes, shattering windows and tearing through walls.

  A pair of narcos is closest to us. Their focus is on shooting at the houses so they don’t hear the car until it’s too late. Nova runs right over them and then slams on the brakes. I have my door open and am jumping out before the car can even make a complete stop.

  I go for headshots and manage to drop three of them before other narcos turn and start firing back at me. I dive behind the car to take cover. Nova has gotten out of the car, too, and he’s grabbed one of the fallen narco’s rifles. He’s taken cover behind a wall and waits for a lull in gunfire before stepping out and letting loose.

  The lookout on the roof has given up with the air horn. The only noise filling the night is gunfire.

  The townspeople have joined the fight, but they’re only half awake and many of them have already been shot and killed. Bodies have started piling up.

  When Nova exhausts the rifle’s magazine, he takes cover with me behind the car.

  “This isn’t the Mexican experience I had envisioned it would be.”

  “How so?”

  “I was hoping for tequila and women and dancing.”

  “You don’t strike me much as a dancer.”

  “I’ve got moves.”

  Now that we’ve taken cover, the narcos have become more emboldened. They keep firing at the car.

  I tilt my chin toward the closest rooftop.

  “Think you can get up there?”

  “Of course. I told you I’ve got moves.”

  “I’ll draw their fire.”

  “One problem, Holly.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m empty.”

  “Yeah, that is a problem.”

  I duck down and check underneath the car. The second narco we’d run over is there. So is his rifle.

  Leaning back, I say, “Okay, here’s the plan.”

  The approaching narcos don’t let up. The car is being destroyed. Soon we won’t have much cover left.

  Nova says, “It better be good.”

  I tell him quick, and he nods, and then I dive down under the car and crawl forward and grab the rifle and aim at the approaching narcos. I open up, my bullets tearing into their feet and legs, and as the narcos fall, Nova jumps up from his position and charges the closest narco, grabbing his rifle and then mowing down the rest of the men.

  He shouts, “Clear!”

  I crawl out from under the car and take in the scene. At least six fallen narcos, some of which are still alive. Nova moves forward and shoots them each in the head, and then bends down to grab more rifles and ammunition. Without a word, he tosses me a rifle as well as a fresh magazine, and then he turns and disappears around the corner in search of higher elevation.

  Throughout town scattered gunfire continues. I hear women screaming and children crying and men shouting.

  I hurry behind one of the houses to come around the action from another side. As I do new gunfire starts up in the cacophony, a more controlled pop … pop … pop, and I know Nova has already made it up onto a rooftop and is picking off narcos.

  I race through town, passing by many dead bodies. There are a lot of narcos, but there are even more townspeople. I take out as many narcos as I can, hiding behind walls or other cars for cover. At one point I see Nova off in the distance, jumping from house to house to get in better position. Eventually he’ll run out of ammunition, just like me, but for now we need to do whatever it takes to protect the town.

  And then I turn the corner and see him.

  Fernando Sanchez Morales.

  He’s standing over an old man, a gun in his hand, and he actually laughs when he shoots the old man in the head.

  The old man, I realize a second later, is Antonio.

  I start down the road toward Morales who still has his back to me, the gun held loosely at his side, like this is all just a game.

  As I approach, I shoulder the rifle and slip a switchblade from my pocket.

  Morales still hasn’t noticed me. He’s focused toward the center of town. Where all the dead bodies lie.

  He pauses when I’m ten feet away, and starts to turn in my direction.

  I throw the knife at his stomach.

  The blade hits him dead center as he turns. His eyes go wide for a second, and then he starts to reach for the knife to pull it out.

  Now that I’m five feet away from him, I drop my shoulder to loosen the rifle, and as it falls, I grab the barrel and use the rifle as a bat, swinging it back over my shoulder and then smashing the butt against the side of Morales’s face.

  He goes down hard.

  I step over him and survey the town square. The only movement I see is townspeople. The gunfire has started to die down in the past minute, becoming sporadic, and I realize the last shot I heard was from the rooftop, Nova taking out what might have been the last narco.

  Behind me, Morales says, “You bitch.”

  I turn back to the man.

  He’s on the ground with a hand on the knife, but it’s clear he isn’t sure whether or not he should pull it out. His own gun lies only a few feet away, but he barely seems to care.

  I walk back to the man and crouch down.

  “Want me to take this out?”

  I grab the knife and slide it out of his stomach.

  He gasps.

  I say, “Nah, you should probably keep it where it is.”

  I stab him in the same spot.

  This time he cries out.

  I’m aware of people approaching us—the remaining townspeople—but I keep my focus on Morales.

  “I told you not to come back here.”

  His face is a mixture of pain and rage.

  “Fuck you.”

  “Your men are dead.”

  He grins and says, “So is half of this town.”

  I nod, listening to the townspeople approaching. Some of them are sobbing, but many of them are quiet.

  Morales says, “Are you going to kill me?”

  I start to shake my head, but before I can answer, something explodes off in the distance.

  I jump to my feet and look up at the house on the hill. A small plume of flames is visible.

  I crouch back down in front of the Morales.

  “Did you hear that? That’s probably the Devil. He’s finally come for your family. Just as you knew he would.”

  Morales grimaces at the pain but says nothing.

  “He knows you were the one who came up with the plan. That’s why he waited to come for your family last.”

  This causes Morales to frown.

  “How … how do you know this?”

  “I know everything.”

  Down at the end of the street a vehicle screeches to a halt.

  I stand up briefly, reaching for the rifle, but pause when I realize it’s Nova in the SUV.

  I raise a finger for him to wait a moment and then crouch back down in front of Morales.

  “You asked if I’m going to kill you? I’m not going to kill you. You and your men didn’t attack my town. You didn’t kill my people.”

  I jerk my thumb back at the crowd behind me.

  “You attacked their town. You killed their people. They’re the ones who will get to decide what to do with you. And something tells me it’s not going to be pleasant.”

  I start to stand back up when Morales grabs my arm. His face is suddenly full of fear. Not for him, I realize, but for his family.


  He says, “Will you save them?”

  I pull my arm from his grip.

  “Yes. But not for you.”

  Before Morales can say anything else, I turn and start through the crowd toward Nova. I only pause when I see Yolanda leaning on her cane. Her face is filled with so much pain and sorrow that it nearly breaks me. We stare at each for just a moment, and then I hurry past her and climb into the SUV.

  Nova says, “Time to dance with the devil.”

  He throws the SUV in gear and punches the gas.

  Fifty-One

  Alejandro made his way through the opening in the gate that the RPG had blown apart. He stepped past the bodies he’d killed after firing the RPG—taking out a half-dozen of them with the sniper rifle—and as more men ran around the house he took them out too, picking them off before any of them were able to get off a single shot.

  He did not move as quickly as he would have liked. The pain in his side was becoming too much of a nuisance, and though he tried to fight past it, there was only so much he could do.

  Alejandro dropped an empty magazine, loaded his rifle with another.

  He already knew this would be the end of his revenge. More than likely he would die right after ending the lives of Morales’s wife and son. And if that was the case, so be it. As long as he killed each of them, his soul would find rest. It would be eternally damned, yes, but still it would find rest.

  He had just reached the house, meaning to enter through the patio door, when the front gate burst open.

  He turned and watched a car come speeding up the drive toward the house. It seemed to pause for a moment, its driver not sure where to go next, and then its engine growled as its driver accelerated and aimed right for him.

  Alejandro raised the rifle and let off several bursts. The bullets dented the car’s grille and hood and shattered the windshield.

  But still the car kept coming, even faster now, and Alejandro realized he wouldn’t be able to get out of the way in time. Still he turned and tried to dive to the side, but the car’s smashed grille struck him and sent him flying through the patio door.

  The car skidded to a stop, and its engine sputtered and died. Both front doors opened, and Ramon and Carlos fell out.

  Ramon had taken two bullets to his side, but neither were serious hits.

  Carlos wasn’t so lucky. One of the bullets had got him in the stomach. He lay on the ground, groaning in pain, and then slowly climbed to his feet. He had dropped his gun when he fell from the car, and he looked around wildly for it, thinking at first it had somehow disappeared. Finally he spotted it underneath the car. Carlos reached for it, his fingers just grazing the metal, and then he managed to grab the gun and used the open door to pull himself upright.

  Ramon was already on his feet. He held his side with his left hand as he gripped his gun with his right hand. He started toward the smashed patio door and the inert form of the Devil.

  Carlos said, “We need to call this in.”

  Ramon didn’t answer, just kept moving forward.

  Carlos said, “I need an ambulance. You need an ambulance. Christ, what were you thinking charging at him like that?”

  Ramon still didn’t answer. He kept his focus on the Devil. The door had been smashed open enough that he simply walked into the house. He stared hard at the Devil who slowly attempted to sit up.

  “Stop.”

  Ramon said it as he aimed his gun at the Devil. At least, he assumed it was the Devil. The man wore a mask covering his entire head. Only the eyes stared out.

  Carlos stumbled into the house behind him. He leaned against the wall to stay upright. Like Ramon, he kept a hand against his wound while his other hand gripped his gun.

  “Is that really him?”

  Ramon didn’t answer. The Devil didn’t answer. The house was eerily silent.

  Carlos said, “We need to call this in.”

  Keeping his gun aimed at the Devil, Ramon said, “What if we didn’t?”

  “Are you fucking crazy?”

  “The cartels will pay ten million dollars for him.”

  “So? We don’t work for the cartels.”

  Ramon turned and shot Carlos twice in the stomach. Carlos stumbled back, hit the wall, and slid down to the ground.

  Ramon walked over to Carlos. He bent down and pulled the gun from Carlos’s grip and tossed the gun outside.

  “Maybe you don’t work for the cartels, but I do.”

  He glanced over his shoulder to make sure the Devil hadn’t moved, and then turned his focus back on Carlos.

  “I didn’t want it to be this way. I wanted to bring you in. I told you we could split the money. But you—”

  Ramon’s side exploded in pain as two gunshots sounded out. He fell back, glancing toward the Devil again.

  The Devil now had a gun in his hand, pointed right at him.

  Alejandro intended to kill both men, but that was when he heard motion behind him. He turned quickly and saw a man standing there, a gun in his own hand. But the man looked drunk, unsteady on his feet, the gun in his hand shaking.

  Alejandro twisted around and shot the man.

  The man cried out as he fell to the ground. His gun clattered away.

  Alejandro checked back on the two men—who were policía, they had to be policía—and saw that they were both out of commission. The older one had paled considerably in the past minute. It didn’t look like he had much longer to hold on. The younger one hadn’t paled as much, but he was writhing in pain on the ground.

  It took more effort than he thought he had, but Alejandro managed to climb to his feet. He kept telling himself that it was almost over. That soon he would avenge his family. That soon he could close his eyes and never open them again.

  Alejandro approached the new man on the floor. He didn’t look like a narco. It took Alejandro a moment, but then he realized who this man must be.

  “You are Jose Luis, yes?”

  The man didn’t answer, staring up at him in terror.

  Alejandro said, “Where are they?”

  The man gritted his teeth, attempted to spit at him.

  Alejandro shot the man in his ankle.

  The man howled.

  Alejandro said, “Where are they?”

  The man kept howling in pain.

  Alejandro shot him in his other ankle.

  The man sputtered, “Upstairs. They are upstairs.”

  Alejandro had figured as much, but he still needed confirmation.

  “Where are they upstairs?”

  The man didn’t answer, shaking his head, but when Alejandro aimed his gun toward his balls, the man relented with a hoarse shout.

  “The master bedroom.”

  Alejandro looked back over his shoulder to check on the two cops. Both of them were still alive, but they wouldn’t be a problem.

  He turned back to Jose Luis and aimed his gun at the man’s head.

  “Were you there when your boss made the plan to come after me and my family?”

  Jose Luis shook with pain. His eyes were shut tight again, his jaw clenched, but still he nodded, almost imperceptibly.

  Alejandro shot Morales’s right-hand man in the face.

  He turned back to the two policía, meaning to put them out of their misery too, when he heard a vehicle approaching outside.

  Alejandro couldn’t waste any more time. He needed to end this now.

  Gripping the gun in his hand, he started for the stairs.

  Fifty-Two

  Nova shuts off the SUV, and we step out into a heavy silence.

  Bodies lie all over the yard.

  Nova and I glance at each other.

  He whispers, “Too quiet.”

  I nod.

  We start toward the front of the house. But then Nova notices divots in the grass leading toward the side yard. He motions me to follow him, and we round the house to find a car resting on the patio. The car is empty, but we spot two men just inside the smashed entrance.

 
Ramon and Carlos.

  I nod to Nova and we enter cautiously, our backs touching as we sweep different areas of the house. I’m facing the front of the house and don’t see anything except the two crime scene investigators who both look like hell. They’ve been shot several times, but they’re still alive.

  Nova whispers, “I’ve got a dead body.”

  I glance over my shoulder. A man lies on the floor, shot in the face.

  Nova keeps cover as I crouch down in front of Ramon.

  “What happened?”

  Before Ramon can answer, Carlos shouts, his voice tepid and shaky.

  “The bastard shot me!”

  Ramon doesn’t even bother playing stupid. The pain is too much for him to hide his emotions. His glare burns into me.

  I stand back up and turn to Carlos.

  “Where did he go?”

  The man’s face is white. He grimaces against the pain, and tilts his face toward the ceiling.

  I say to Nova, “Keep an eye on them. I’ll be right back.”

  Nova has already taken a position with his back to the wall so he can watch both entry points and the two men on the ground. He nods to me, and I hurry past him toward the hallway.

  I’m halfway up the stairs when I hear a woman scream.

  The woman keeps screaming, pleading for mercy, and I follow her screams all the way up the steps and down the hallway to a bedroom.

  The door is already open.

  I step inside.

  Alejandro stands in the middle of the bedroom, the barrel of his gun pressed against the head of a young boy, and the woman—Morales’s wife—is in the corner on her knees, her hands folded, begging the intruder to let her son go.

  Alejandro has taken off his mask. It lies crumpled on the carpet beside him. In a low, guttural voice, he tells the woman to look at his face, to see what her husband has done to him.

  “He did the same thing to my family. To my wife and son and daughter. He sent men to rape them and burn them alive.”

  So far I’ve been silent. Nobody in the room has heard me. Alejandro has gone past the point of caution. He’s close to death, and all he wants to do is avenge his family before he dies, so he doesn’t care that his back is to the door. I could simply take him out now—place a bullet in the back of his head—but instead I step deeper in the room, far enough for the woman to notice me. And because her attention shifts just briefly, it’s enough for Alejandro to turn toward me.