AllFreeNovel
Share Us
They’re armed to the teeth with heavy artillery. Our weapons were ignored by a customs agent for a special one-time donation to her retirement fund and a bag of my personal blend of coffee.
I don’t travel without it. Never have.
Geronimo stands slightly behind me and gives the command to open the large metal doors. They clang against the concrete walls—bouncing hard—as I walk through them and spot Mr. De Leon immediately.
He’s a muscular man with tattoos and whose presence is meant to intimidate. And yet, I’m the focus of attention when his men all stop and stare. They’re waiting. Hands moving toward the guns on their bodies.
It’s a mistake, and he’s quick to correct them with a simple shake of the head. They relax when he doesn’t respond, and I admire his command over his workforce.
I’m not alone, though, and he doesn’t show any signs of surprise when my heavily-armed soldiers wearing their camouflage follow me inside a few seconds later.
Their expressions are emotionless and body language robotic. They are trained to fight and kill on command, no matter who the target is.
I walk over, stopping two steps from him, and extend a hand. “Nice to finally meet you, Thiago. I appreciate you meeting me personally and on such short notice.”
Thiago takes my hand, grip firm. “I make it a habit to meet all potential buyers.”
“That is a smart thing to do. A lot of criminals out there.” My men raise their weapons, pointing at him. He might be a friend of Malcolm, and Javier vouches for him, but I’ll never do business with someone that shows fear. Too much can go wrong while dealing with an individual unable to control impulses or pull a trigger if need be. I’m impressed when he chuckles, not so much as a flinch, but I keep my expression even. “Something funny, De Leon?”
“Extremely.”
A quick glance at a man standing close by, his cousin, and forty of his men show themselves—they’re scattered throughout the room and holding the kind of weapons I’m here to buy.
Anything and everything; M1911, M-10, AR-15, Uzi, and the last and most amazing is the military-grade tanker with a functioning missile ready to fire if need be.
At once, my smile grows and then I’m laughing, full on and deep from my gut as I release his hand. “You are one crazy son of a bitch!”
He shrugs. “So I’ve been told.”
“It’s a quality I admire in those I do business with.” My soldiers lower their guns and stand in place, posture rigid and body alert. My eyes shift over to the large case still open with a Mac-10 inside, silently asking if I can take a closer look. He nods. “As you can imagine, a man in my position needs to surround himself with people unafraid to make difficult decisions.” “Understandable.” He takes a step back and his men part like the sea of Moses. “Now, shoot it.”
“Do you have somewhere in mind?” I test the weight of the piece in my hand. “Is there a range on the premises?”
“Depends on you, Alejandro.” At my perplexed expression, he gives another signal. There’s a door on the far back wall and from that entrance, a man is dragged inside beside a movable target they put in place rather quickly. The paper has ducks on it and is humorous in a place like this. “Human or—”
“Let me go!” Malparido hijueputa. That’s what that pathetic asshole meant right before I slit his throat.
“Where is he?” I hiss out, shoving a hot metal rod through the bullet hole in my guest’s knee. He’s no longer drunk and belligerent—now he’s scared—puked himself when the reality that I am everything people say about me sunk in. “Tell me, and I’ll end your suffering. Where is Salazar?”
“I don’t know.” He’s a blubbering mess, barely understandable after I kicked his teeth in. Only the first few broke, and I withheld my full force because a broken jaw doesn’t answer questions.
As for other body parts...
His body convulses as another blazing poker is forced into his body. This time, through his underwear and cauterizing a testicle.
The man screams and cries; a snotty mess of regret, and yet remains quiet on my old friend’s whereabouts. Motherfucking idiotic.
“Final chance, Kiko.” Geronimo hands me a butchering knife, and I run it down his flesh from Adam’s apple to pelvis. “Where?”
“He’s where sunshine is more than a nickname.”
Chiquito struggles; he’s dirty and a little beaten—the same stupid son of a bitch that impregnated my little sister and traumatized his wife. I know the full story now. I know she was spared from the worst, but I’ll never forgive his betrayal.
My right-hand man beat and raped his wife while my sister cried to be let go from another room. While one screamed in pain, the other broke her hand fighting to help and escape.
Nothing will ever be enough to erase their horrors, but I’ll help in whatever they may need. They’ll live their lives without fear because he’ll be rotting somewhere in Colombia where maggots will feast on whatever remains of Chiquito Salazar.
I don’t blink. I don’t think twice.
