“Good.”
“What? No warnings to slow down and—”
“Come home and marry the woman, Javi. She’s not letting you go.”
“And I was never leaving. I’ll text you later.” With that, I hang up and pull up her contact.
I love you with all my heart, Muñeca. I’ll be home soon. ~Javi
The gate to the community has two armed guards standing out front and they’re busy talking when we pull up. They’re laughing, the one to the left throwing a punch to the arm of his friend after a joke, and completely oblivious of the three men stepping out of their cars until Alejandro slams the door.
Then two sets of eyes are on us, weapons pointing our way. “Who are you? This is private property and—” Two bullets and they hit the ground, a hole in each forehead. The silencer from my gun doesn’t make much noise, and the hard cement cradles the impact of their corpses.
“Right or left?” Emiliano asks, and I tilt my head toward the right, following the sound of Vallenato playing loudly. The beat pulses as the male singer declares his love for a woman who he’s never so much as kissed, while the off-key voice of a heavy smoker follows.
The sound of splashing water comes from a home three down from where we stand, and it’s quickly followed by laughter. Female giggles and male chuckles as someone shrieks. And begs.
“Please stop this! I don’t want to get in!”
“Don’t be such a spoilsport, Luisa.” It’s one of the men, his speech a bit slurred. “It’s just water. Nothing will happen to your hair.”
“Take me home.”
“No.”
We share a look before taking account of the car with two guards sitting inside. This old, black beater wasn’t in the video earlier, but I recognize the uniform and its military. They’re young, more than likely just following orders, but it doesn’t stop Alejandro from killing the two with a single shot that travels from one head to the other, a straight shot through the ear.
Their heads slump forward, and I nod, impressed. “Nice one.”
“I’m an environmentalist.” He shrugs, and I chuckle. Asshole.
“Front door or back?” Emiliano asks, and I point toward the main entrance. And we find it unlocked when entering the home a few minutes later. The music is louder from here and the place is trashed, dirty, but the men seem to be enjoying themselves.
It’s a straight shot from the front door to the sliding glass that leads out back, and I step out first amidst empty liquor bottles. It’s disgusting, the stale stench a little nauseating, but I’m smiling as I shoot the enabler from my place just over the threshold. He falls forward and into the pool, his blood spreading out.
The women scream. The two still alive scramble for a weapon.
“You four need to get the fuck out of here.” Alejandro points the end of his Colt at the group of college-age women panicking on the pool’s steps. “You have two minutes to gather your shit and run.” They don’t move and he sends out another shot. This time it hits the cheap speakers beside the drink table. “Hagale.”
They try to rush past us, not taking a single item with them, and Emiliano takes their phones. “The keys to the Hummer are on the kitchen counter. Grab them and go. Understood?”
“Si, and we won’t say anything,” a small brunette answers and the girls leave without further prompting, leaving the two assholes in nothing but their boxers outside. They have guns, but their hands shake. They’re scared, but don’t have enough common sense to try and escape through the back door a few feet from them.
It makes sense when I look around and find a table with cocaine and a few cut lines on a mirror. Fucking idiots. “Please have a seat.”
“What’s the meaning of this?” General Gustavo Mijares asks, his hand flailing. “Do you know who I am? What I can do to you without repercussion?”
Emiliano pulls a knife from his back pocket and grabs it from the tip; a flick of the wrist and it embeds itself into the military man’s arm. His scream rends the air while the man beside him seems to have gone mute. “Watch the tone.”
“Gentlemen, can’t we talk this out?” Gino asks, his hands up. “Let’s all relax and have a drink. No need for violence.”
“I’ll accept your drink, but it comes with a condition.” I walk over and pull up a chair right across from him. “Everything in life comes with a price.”
“Of course, but first we drink.”
“Do we drink to Francis or my mother?” Both men pale, but Gino’s hand on the bottle tightens, knuckles turning white. “A loving woman or a piece-of-shit thief?”
“Javier, we’ve both lost.” A shot is poured, and he pushes it in my direction. “It’s time to let go and move on. We’re even.”
“Did you hear, primos? We’re even.”
“We heard.” They each follow my lead and take a seat, weapons now atop the table. “Seems worthy of a celebration…don’t you think, Gustavo?”
“Yes.” His tone is nervous. He doesn’t trust us.
“Great!” Gino picks up a small mirror beside him and without pause does another line, wiping his hand across his nose to dust off the excess. “Do you two want a shot?”
“We do.” Then they empty every single bullet inside of Gustavo. Two guns. One clip each. And as the general begins to fall face forward, I lean across the table and fist his hair in my hands.
He’s breathing is near nonexistent. Gustavo’s body is heavy as his last seconds draw close, and I take the blade on the table, holding the sharp end to his neck, and slice it across. One quick pull from right to left and his neck is open, nearly chopped-off, as the blood rushes out from the large wound.
“Say hello to the devil for me.” His eyes are wide with horror. His lips are bloody, a trickle of red sliding down the corner of his mouth before there’s an infinite nothing.
The general is dead, and his accomplice pisses his pants. “Please don’t.” Pathetic.
“I think it’s time I collect my favor.”
“W-what can I do for you?” he stutters, body shaking so hard his teeth rattle as the reality sets in. As his fear begins to dominate.
“We’re going for a ride.”
The road we’re driving down an hour later is deserted. Barren. And I spend my time just watching Gino; the way tears roll down his cheeks and his chin quivers. The low prayer that slips past his lips and burns my skin.
A man who killed an innocent woman will never receive the pardon he begs for.
He’s unworthy of forgiveness.
We’re in his car, an older model full-sized van with two captain’s chairs and a large sliding door beside my seat. The vehicle is spacious. Somewhat clean.
“Javier, please. Let’s be reasonable.” His hands are clenching, body racking with sobs. “We both made mistakes here. Let’s forgive and forget.”
“Silence.”
“Come on, parce—”
“Fucking idiot.” I kick him in the mouth, my combat boot knocking out a few front teeth and I rub the sole against his mouth, making him swallow back the red substance. “Die with dignity.”