¡El Paniquiádo!: panicked by Stephen Richter

EL PANIQUIADO A Novel by Stephen Richter

To go wrong in oneâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s own way is better than to go right in someone elseâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s. In the first, you are a man, in the second, you are no better than a bird. --F. Dostoevsky

16 de Septiembre 0300 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… The Salesman’s heart raced with panic. The plastic bag was drawn over his head, flattening his nose, pulling his facial features back into a grim mask of comedy. He gazed down at the grease stains on the trailer floor, through the slits of his eyes. The other men took hold of his arms and legs now. He coughed, choking on blood. Plastic flexed in and out of his sucking mouth, to no avail. His legs were yanked apart. Then came the voice, muffled, distant, and demanding something in rapid Spanish. It was all happening so fast. Yet at the same time, the Salesman felt as if time were slowing, brakes screeching and grinding, like a locomotive coming to a halt. A baseball bat arced through the air in slow motion, then fell, smashing into the Y-shaped intersection of the Salesman’s crotch, dead center. He lost consciousness. **** 15 de Septiembre 0700 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… The red Volkswagen Jetta gently glided down Avenida Insurgentes towards the Colonia Roma. Athenas (Athens) was behind the wheel, the Salesman sat in the passenger seat. Athenas wore a silver miniskirt and a top with a large glittery silver star on it, stretched tightly over her full young breasts. Her long red hair was parted into two ponytails on the sides of her head. The Jetta wound its way through the tree-lined streets of the Colonia Roma, beneath a charcoal grey Mexico City morning sky. Athenas’ eyebrows slanted into an expression of concentration. She inhaled on her cigarette, with pouty bubblegum-blue painted lips. Platform heels worked the pedals as she downshifted. Her toenails were neon blue. She took the cigarette between two French-manicured fingertips of one hand, and grabbed the wheel with her other. She exhaled a cloud of smoke out of the half-inch gap of driver’s-side window. She glanced over her shoulder at the stop sign, then drove on through the intersection. Athenas

bounced her head of red curls up and down, to the rhythm of “Plastilina Mosh” blaring over her Kenwood system. “…Mister P… M… O…S...H… Mister P… M… O…S…H… Mister P…” The Salesman stared at the road ahead through dark sunglasses, with a look of indifference. He held up two fingers, like a peace sign, towards Athenas without looking at her. She quickly tapped her ashes into the ashtray, and passed him the cigarette. “Ten, mi amor…” she said, her voice barely audible over the music, but with a look that could have broken any man’s heart. Blue eye shadow set off the blue of her eyes. They beamed with love. Athenas was 22-years old, but she looked much younger, especially with her hair in ponytails. The Salesman took the cigarette without returning her glance. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled against the windshield in front of him with a cloud of smoke. His jaw muscles rippled beneath his skin, as he began to grind his teeth again. He closed his eyes. His senses were heightened, sharp, and pricklypinned. He thought that he could just barely feel the perpetual motion of the second hand on his Rolex Submariner, turning above his left wrist. It was giving him a headache. He opened his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose. His chest was tight. His heart pounded through his ribcage disturbingly fast. He took another draw on the cigarette, turned the volume on the stereo down a little bit, then reclined his seat back, staring up at the roof. He reached over and gently stroked the inside of Athenas’ bare right thigh, as if to apologize for his distant mood. Athenas smiled, relieved. She had been worried that he might be angry with her. She took his hand, gripping it tightly. “Te quiero, mi amor…” she said. “I love you too, baby,” he replied in Spanish, still staring at the roof. Athenas guided his hand the rest of the way up her thigh, to the warm mound of soft cotton under her skirt. She reached forward to downshift again, as the Jetta approached the stoplight.

THE SALESMAN Johnny was a born hustler. Even at a very young age, everyone who knew him could see it. His mother called him her “little ham”, his father called him his “little actor”, and the neighbors called him “that little bunko artist, the shyster, the flimflam kid from up the street”. Johnny didn’t mind though, he took pride in every title he acquired. Growing up in Sausalito, California, he was surrounded by plenty of liberal-minded, generally trusting, financially solvent, Marin County upper class folk. Yet despite the fact that his parents had money, he never really felt part of that world in which he lived. Ninety percent of the people living in the picturesque houseboat community on the bay were white. And even though he was very faircomplected, like his German father, he had always had an enormous light brown afro as a kid. He inherited the curly hair from his Puerto Rican mother. Plus, in the early 70’s, his mother had been very much into yoga, herbs, dashiki-wearing, and afros. Even his father had gotten a perm, then let it dry, so he too could wear an afro. So Juan, (Johnny) always felt a little different from the rest of the kids he grew up with, never inferior, just different. And the differences were more than just physical. Johnny was extremely intelligent, and extremely mischievous as a boy. While the other kids his age were out roller skating, creekwalking, and playing hide-and-seek, Johnny was busy making rounds of the neighborhood with his little Styrofoam cup. He had taken a magic marker and wrote “Jerry’s Kids” on it, then went from door to door saying that he was raising money for the March of Dimes. The cup wasn’t very convincing, but Johnny’s sincere performance always was. Besides, despite the flaws in his presentation, the residents of the little houseboat community could not even fathom the possibility, of some seven-year-old trying to finagle them out of the twenty-five cents, masquerading as one of Jerry’s Kids.

Johnny excelled in school, gravitating toward speech, debate, and the dramatic arts. He was a natural and very impressive orator. During the summers, while the rest of his classmates were away traveling, hanging out, or just taking a break from the pressures of high school life, Johnny opted to venture into San Francisco to work. He had always been obsessed with having his own money. He had become very good friends of a Lebanese businessman, who operated a seedy telemarketing “boiler room” above a Market Street strip club. And by the age of 17, he had amassed a small fortune, posing as a San Francisco police officer over the phone, raising contributions for the “Police Officers Resource Association”. Each donation earned the benevolent contributor two free VIP tickets to the “Policeman’s Ball”. The ball, however, was really just a big drunken free-for-all that Johnny and the owner put together, to keep from getting thrown in jail for false representation. All of the junkies who worked in the phone room, the owner, and Johnny (who was the floor manager by then), would get dressed up in tuxedos and descend upon the rented roller skating rink to celebrate the summer’s profits, amongst the always less-than-enchanted VIP ticket holders. At the age of 18, after hearing about the cash cow being made in Florida’s booming and expansive time share industry, it seemed only natural that Johnny would pack his bags for Miami. His parents protested, Johnny was supposed to begin his freshman year at Cal Berkley that fall, but there was no stopping him. Johnny had plans to become a millionaire. He said that he would do it by his own hand too, before he turned 30, and that time was wasting. His will was unshakeable. So off he went, to begin his education on the road. His professors would be men like Napoleon Hill, Tony Robbins, Og Mandino, and Zig Zigler. He was obsessed with success, and with the development of his sales and closing skills. He devoured volumes upon volumes of sales books. He plastered photocopies of his goals to every square inch of wall space in his Miami studio apartment. He listened to motivation tapes as he ran on the beach in the mornings,

and even while he slept at nights. He learned his product inside out, mastered the art of problem solving and making friends, and sure enough, by the end of his first season, Johnny had become the highest volume closer at the Driftwood Resorts… Then came the cocaine. Miami offered a whole new lifestyle to Johnny, a whole new set of temptations, diversions, “sabor”, and the fruit of new experience. Miami was alive. The streets buzzed with the energy of Cuba, Puerto Rico, La Republica Dominica, the pulse of the Caribbean. For the first time in his life, Johnny felt within his element. He belonged here. The women loved him for his strong and exotic looks, he was dangerously handsome. All the guys liked him because he was young and already making lots of money. Johnny embraced his big blue world with open arms and the giddy naiveté of youth. He worked hard, and he played even harder. He ventured out every night, chasing women, falling in and out of love, surrounded by his circle of friends. They consumed. They indulged themselves with a passion. They strode like giants through the balmy, humid halls of Dionysus, with wide eyes and benumbed mouths. Johnny dove into his debauch like a Karamazov, head down, heels up, as he spiraled toward his first collapse. When he finally resurfaced from the blur and crawled ashore, Johnny found himself three years older, twenty pounds lighter, and detoxing, in the confines of a Scotts Valley, California, inpatient program. His parents had picked up the bill. Upon his release he pushed south, moving to Carlsbad, California, to work for his uncle who owned a very large auto dealership there. Once again, he proved to be a natural. Within a year he seized the record in sales for the entire north county. He was like a machine. He worked day and night, pushing himself to the limit. He studied his craft, he drove iron in the gym. He stayed focused, and away from the clubs and nightlife that had pulled him under in Miami. He had absolutely no desire to do anything that would take him away from his work. He loved his work.

He began to work longer and longer hours. He was constantly trying to come up with new ways to become more productive, effective, and efficient… Then came the methamphetamines. Johnny and his cousin broke his uncle’s heart when they told him that they were leaving the dealership. One of Johnny’s customers had been the director of sales for the Ticketmeister, and he was so impressed with Johnny’s track record, that he asked Johnny to come and work for him. They would be opening Ticketmeister’s new telemarketing operation in Irvine, California. Johnny would run it, and his cousin would be the floor manager. They couldn’t lose, it was a fabulous opportunity, pure serendipity. The hours would be brutal, but Johnny had already anticipated this. All of the contingencies were in place. They would step up the consumption function to a high velocity, low drag, quarter ounce of “glass” per week, to meet the demand. Johnny’s cousin already had a reliable connection in Riverside, who made clean, clean, crystal-clear “Ice”. They could work twenty-four hours a day if they had to, and they did, much to the delight of the regional office. The operation was up and running within a month. Johnny’s strength and endurance seemed Herculean. His stamina became legendary throughout the company, and his new Irvine phone room was soon writing more numbers than any other office Ticketmeister had nationwide. In fact, they were even writing bigger numbers than the next four highest producing rooms put together. Johnny was the man with the plan. He kept things simple. He ran the office like a true “boiler room”. Hadji, the owner of the phone room of Johnny’s youth, would have been proud. Johnny followed his advice to the letter… “Hire junkies, kid, I’m telling you. This I know from experience. Everyone else, they leave, they get lazy, they lose interest… The junkie, he stays. Plus, no one will hire him away from you, and he works harder than anybody. He grinds on the people. He beats them up, over the phone. He gets the money every time. You

know why? Because he don’t work for you, my friend. He works for the shit. And the shit is a much more demanding manager than you or I could ever be. You think you have pressures to make money? To pay your bills? To pay for your food or your clothes? Johnny, that ain’t nothing, man, not compared to the pressure he has to make money. He don’t make money, he’s gonna get sick, real sick. So he ain’t gonna ask for no day off, you follow me…? Now that’s motivation, baby.” Johnny was at the top of the wheel again. He moved into a beautiful condo in Newport Beach. He doubled the size of the phone room and hired two more floor managers to pick up the slack. Johnny began to really enjoy himself, for the first time in quite a while. With his higher level of income and his higher, yet synthetic level of energy, he could do just about anything he wanted. He could play longer and harder than he even did in Miami, and still be twice as effective at work. He was unstoppable, and his stock seemed to be going blue sky. Johnny went to Hollywood often. He developed a penchant for the “rave” scene. It was a diversion for him. The environment complemented the high of his speed so nicely, plus, Johnny immediately sensed the money-making potential they presented. He saw raves as an untapped, ground floor market in its infancy. He started taking mental notes. He saw hundreds of little ways to make them more professional, and exponentially more profitable. That’s where his relationship with Fester Scroggins really began. Fester cooked the best ice in Riverside County. He was Johnny’s cousin’s connect… ****

15 de Septiembre 0720 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Athenas pulled over in front of the two-story blue colonial building, across the street from the park. She kept the motor running.

Johnny gave her his work face, the smile of a salesman. He was unreadable. She took it as genuine though. “Okay, baby,” he began in rapid Spanish, “I’ve got to get back to work. Thanks for the help last night, eh? I don’t know what I would have done without you, Míja.” He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. He unlocked his door. “It’s no big deal,” she said. “I was going to Medusa’s last night anyway. Juan…?” She grabbed him by the wrist before he could step out of the car. “Si, mi vida.” “Baby, do you really have that much to do today?” she said, “I mean, I know tonight is your big night and everything, it’s just I thought we could maybe go back to your place, and… you know…” She smiled, looking up at him with mischievous eyes. Johnny grimaced. “…Or at least we could go and lay down, you know, rest for a little while…” she said. “You haven’t slept in three days, Papi. No es natural, Juan. You need to sleep. I worry about you, míjo.” “Ayyy, mi amor…” said Johnny, as if he were talking to a baby, “You are so sweet, always worrying about Juaníto when nobody else does. You’re my little angel, you know that?” He leaned back into the Jetta. He cupped her face with both of his hands, and planted little kisses all over it. He looked into her eyes. His hand caressed her thigh, then slid down over her knee… His looked at her lips, then back to her eyes again. He ran his hand behind her calf, stroking the baby soft skin, down, slowly, over the ankle, and down the bridge of her dainty little foot. She slipped it out of her shoe… He felt each pretty little toe with his fingertips. (She loved to have her feet touched.) She sighed, clasping her hands behind Johnny’s head, and pulled him into an urgent kiss. Her lips were soft and wet. She tasted of peppermint. Her hair smelled of cigarette. Johnny slid his hand across the floor, and very quietly popped the trunk. He pulled away smiling, then looked at his watch with mock surprise.

“Ay! Siete y media. Me tengo que ir, Míja,” he said. He hopped out of the Jetta and shut the passenger door behind him. He ran around the back to the open trunk. He removed two large brown paper bags, then shut it. “I’ll see you tonight! Or call me on the cell this afternoon. I love you, Baby!” he shouted over his shoulder, as he jogged toward the building. He clutched the two bags to his chest with one arm and balanced them on his knee, as he unlocked the door. He could hear the sound of Plastica Mosh growing fainter, as the Jetta turned left at the corner, disappearing behind him. He eased the door open with his free foot. Johnny liked the Colonia Roma almost as much as he liked his own neighborhood, the Colonia Condesa. The building was at least a hundred years old, it looked like a New York “brownstone”, yet it reminded Johnny of San Francisco. It had a Victorian look to it, the weather-scarred bay windows, the faded blue paint, the wood floors, the high ceilings and doorways. If Johnny didn’t know better, he would swear that he was standing a couple of blocks off Fulton Street, or maybe even the Haight… He climbed the staircase and walked down the hall to the door marked ‘B’. **** 15 de Septiembre 0700 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Across the hall from the door marked ‘B’, lived a sixteen-yearold prostitute, behind the door marked ‘C’. The DJ knelt on the floor, sitting on his heels, at the foot of Rosa del Mar’s bed. He wept, bitterly. The morning sun peeked through the yellow-stained lace curtains, with two shafts of cigarette smoke-filled light. They casted a pair of bright circles on the DJ’s naked body, illuminating the tribal design tattooed on his left shoulder. The apartment was tiny. There was a stove, a small refrigerator, a bathroom with horrible plumbing, and an unspeakable shower. Clothing was strewn everywhere. The walls had once been painted white, but now they were grease-streaked and faded beige. A beat-up

Pioneer bookshelf CD player was buried under a pile of towels and lingerie, on the floor next to the bed. Cheap posters of Alejandro Fernandez, Enrique Iglesias, Leonardo Di Capprio, and Brad Pitt decorated the wall above it. The bed was massive. It occupied nearly two-thirds of the room. It sat frameless and unmade, on the decaying hardwood floor. Rosa del Mar sat on top of the bed with her legs crossed Indian-style. Her imitation Chinese dragon robe hung loosely open, exposing her small firm breasts, and the prominent cocoa-colored nipples underneath it. Her skin was dark and flawless, her face, strikingly beautiful. Her thick straight Indian hair was cropped into a very chic wedge, accenting her delicate neck and almond eyes. She had the countenance of an Egyptian queen, Nefertiti, Hatshepsut, or Cleopatra perhaps. She was a lovely mixture of earthy elements, henna, honey, cinnamon, and sable. Rosa del Mar propped her cigarette against the rim of the ashtray, sitting next to her bare right knee. The DJ was still sobbing into his folded arms at the foot of her bed. He was clutching two pairs of her panties in his trembling fists. His knuckles were bone white. Rosa del Mar sighed. Her eyes flashed wickedly for a moment, as she smiled to herself with contentment. She enjoyed Ian’s obsession, and the power he had given her over himself. Her plump lips pursed into a little moue of indecision. He could be like this for a while, she thought. Not that she really minded, she just needed to get some rest. It had been a very long night. She was ready to go to sleep when she came home at six this morning, but she found Ian camped out in front of her door, standing vigil. She would never turn Ian away though, no matter what time it was. He gave her far too much money for that. Besides, Ian was in love with her, desperately, and he was very attractive and popular. After all, he was the famous “Englishman”, the DJ from Medusa’s, and everybody was in love with Ian, everyone except Rosa del Mar.

At first Ian’s obsessiveness repulsed Rosa del Mar. She could never respect a man who could shamelessly throw himself at the feet of a woman the way he did. His maudlin displays of emotion were completely foreign to her, beyond the realm of her experience. But after a while, she became wont to his strange ways. His behavior did something for her. She began to take pleasure in it, to feed on it. Soon the pleasure became dependency, and then finally, unshakeable addiction. She would jones like a fiend for his attention, if he didn’t show up for a day or two. An almost unbearable feeling of loneliness and depression would descend upon her when he wasn’t around. She would scream, break things, throw tantrums in her empty room. She would laugh and then cry, hysterically, wondering where he could be, what might have happened to him, and why she cared so very much. She found that she needed Ian’s bullshit, just to get out of bed in the morning and face another day. His drama was her strength. Yet when he returned, she would torment him all the more, with renewed vigor and cruelty. Rosa del Mar’s work drove Ian nuts, loco. He couldn’t bear the thought of another man touching her. He begged and implored her to stop, to quit, and walk out on the agency that she worked for. He wanted her to move in with him, so he could take care of her, forever. But she always refused, not that she didn’t want to move in and be closer to Ian. It’s just that she would never allow a man to have that kind of power over her. Between the two extremes, she preferred the situation as it was, even though she absolutely despised her work. She just wasn’t in love with Ian, she would say, and she would never dream of being with a man if it weren’t for love… Strange? Welcome to Mexico City. She cocked her head sideways, watching him writhe in agony. Her deft little fingers began to roll a joint. She licked the gum strip, folded it over, and gave it a twist. She placed the joint between her lips and lit it, cupping her small hand over the flame. She inhaled

deeply, held it, then exhaled a slow cloud of smoke at Ian’s bald head. She smiled. “Ian…” she called his name, musically, barely above a whisper. Her voice was throaty and sensual, just one more maddening little brick in Ian’s wall. He didn’t respond. His head was still buried in the rumpled sheets. Rosa del Mar removed her robe. She leaned back onto her elbows and spread her legs open. She tilted her head to the side, to take another hit from the joint between her fingertips. “Míjo, look at me…” she whined, in Spanish. Nothing. She sighed with impatience, then extended one leg, placing the ball of her foot on the top of his head. The stubble was soft. It actually turned her on a little bit, though she’d never let him know it. She had grown very fond of that velvety pubescence, moving and rubbing between her thighs. She gripped his scalp with her toes and pushed back, forcing him to look up at her. Most women would use the word “beautiful” when they described Ian. His deep amber-colored skin, pale green eyes, thick lips, yet very defined jaw, nose, and cheekbones were all very pleasing to the female eye. He was a perfect mixture of the best from both of his parents. His father was Jamaican, his mother was English, and Ian turned out to be quite the lady-killer. At Medusa’s, he had obtained somewhat of a minor celebrity status. Everyone wanted to know him, to be his friend. He was constantly surrounded by the most beautiful and wealthy women in the Distrito Federal. Many of them pursued Ian sin vergüenza, without shame. Ian always remained the consummate professional though. He handled himself with an extreme amount of control. Yet when it came to the little sixteen-year-old Rosa del Mar, Ian was an absolute wreck, a raving lunatic. Their eyes meet. His pupils were dilated to the size of diez centavo coins. She could tell he still had plenty of Xstasy in his system, probably some Red Microdot too, she figured. (Pretty much the norm for anyone involved in the D.F.’s upper echelon nightclub

scene. A steady diet of MDMA, and LSD-25, basically come with the territory.) The combination always made Ian very emotional. His gaze moved from Rosa del Mar’s eyes to her open vagina. His mouth dropped. He groaned with pain and defeat, as his head fell back to the mattress. He closed his eyes. “Ian, listen to me…” said Rosa del Mar. She scooted all the way to the edge of the bed, bringing her sex within a scant few inches of Ian’s face. She leaned back on her elbows again. “Either you smoke this and get Pacheco with me…” she took another hit, as she opened and closed her legs like a butterfly. “…or you fuck me, right now. If not, I’m going to sleep. I have an appointment at one today, so if I’m going to stay awake, you better give me a reason to, chico. ¿Me entiendes?” She smiled sadistically. “Must you always speak so dirty?” said Ian, in weak heavilyaccented Español. He sat back up on his heels. His naked body was covered in perspiration. He pulled away from the bed, still clutching the two pairs of panties, one red, one black. He wiped his forehead with the back of one hand. He swayed from side to side. His eyes widened. He looked at her accusingly. A tiny, naked little fat man with wings, flew across the space between them, but Ian ignored him. It was just the Red Microdot surging with his emotional tide. Rosa del Mar kept opening and closing her legs like an iron butterfly, as she continued to puff on the joint. Ian was seeing trails from the motion. He slowly raised the red panties to his nose, never taking his eyes off her face. He took a deep breath, sniffing them thoroughly. He flushed crimson with anger. He clenched his teeth. An inhuman gurgling sound began to emanate from his throat, as he rose to his feet. “Oh…you…bloody…little strumpet!” he shouted in English. Rosa del Mar’s eyes flashed with excitement. She gently bit her bottom lip. “These!” he cried in Spanish, shaking the red pair of panties at her furiously. “These are the foul little panties you were wearing last night. Aren’t they!?! Oh God!!! I just know they are. I can smell it! They smell of sex, sex, so much sex that they’ve been

befouled. They are encrusted, with those nasty, greasy, sex oils! Ooooohhh… and those wretched lubricants of yours, I know they played a part in this abomination too. Oh God! I should kill you, that’s what I should do. You’re making me crazy. I’m having a fucking breakdown. Whore! Whore!! Whore!!! Bloody Strumpet!!!!” he shouted in English, as he threw the panties at her. Rosa del Mar sprang to her feet on the bed, to bring herself to Ian’s height. Her eyes narrowed, gleaming with malice. Her chest puffed out like a gamecock. Her hands were on her naked hips. “Entonces que, vete a la verga! Get the fuck out of here then, if you can’t handle it!” She snapped her finger and pointed to the door. **** 15 de Septiembre 0700 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Just behind the door marked “B”, the clock struck seven, it was time for tea. The cook scurried about the empty flat, shirtless and barefoot, in faded 501 jeans. His movements were very quick, avain, chicken-like. His uncombed blonde hair stood on end, somewhere between a Beethoven and Einstein, as he crawled along the length of the twenty-five foot extension cord on the floor. He checked every inch of it, from the surge protector in the living room, to the five hundred watt mercury vapor flood lamp sitting on the bathroom floor. He was mumbling to himself. “Okay okay okay okay, two plugs two plugs, fridge good, fridge is plugged in yaaaaasir, and what do we got here? Stereo, uhhuh, and there we go, yeah baby, laboratory mainline, main-line yaaaaaasir, and she leads all… the way… to… the bon-yo, okay okay, let’s git this sonofabitch shut down then, Igor.” The chord terminated at a dimmer switch, which then continued on to the floodlight. The light was pointed up at the bathroom ceiling. The little cage was removed from the front of it, and the glass plate over the bulb was painted black. Around it a stand

was built out of eight gauge Romanex wire, to hold the twenty two thousand milliliter flask in place, directly over the light. The cook chuckled, smugly, as he looked over his little invention. Only amateurs cook with a flame, he thought to himself, and he was no amateur, no sir. Flame is dangerous. Plus, glassware is not cheap either, and you can crack your flask with a high flame. He turned the dimmer switch all the way down (the switch serving as a temperature control) and killed the heat to the flask. The cook examined the top of the flask, where the two foot tall glass Allen Tower (colling tower) rose out of it. 3/8 inch clear rubber tubing extended from the top left, and bottom right corners of the Allen Tower. The bottom tube ran to the cold water line under the sink. The cold water flowed through the tube, into the Allen Tower, spiraling its way up the internal glass tubing, cooling the steam rising up into its hollow shaft from the flask, causing it to condense back down. The flow of water then exited at the top left corner of the tower, where the second 3/8 inch tube carried it over the shower curtain, and down to the drain on the shower floor. The cook reached under the sink and shut off the cold water. He crawled over to the toilet and began to pull on the six foot long 1/2 inch exhaust tube, that ran from the exhaust port on top of the Allen Tower, down into the toilet, back behind the pee trap, and into the piping. It carried the fumes from the flask safely out of the room. He pulled the tubing completely out of the toilet. “Ok baby, there we go, there we go, the Enterprise is a’ shuttin’ down…” said the cook, as he dried the tubing off with a towel. He worked extremely fast and efficiently. Sweat rolled down his thin neck. It flowed in large droplets over his narrow back and bony spine. Below his neck, the word “Peckerwood” was stretched from shoulder to shoulder, tattooed in bold Celtic lettering. Beneath it, a very large and detailed Mustang Mach One drove through a field of skulls and flames, piloted by a sinister looking Killer-Clown, with a carnivorous smile. At the small of his back, just above the waistband of the faded 501’s, the word “Fester” was tattooed in big black letters with rivets in

them, as if they were made of iron. From the front however, the cook didn’t look quite so hardcore. Actually, with his messy blonde hair and skinny frame, he looked like David Bowie in “The Man Who Fell To Earth”. The cook lifted the Allen Tower off the twenty-two thousand milliliter flask, and set it on a stack of towels. The pungent smell of cat urine began to fill the bathroom. He smiled. “My my my… Looks like we’re ready to go here baby, yep yep, no doubt about that, just look at all dem’ pretty little crystals, oh yeah baby, now that’s what I’m talking about, Igor, that’s what I’m talking about…” The top of the flask was frosted with a delicate ring of light purplish colored hydrogen crystals. The cook was still on all fours, as he inspected the flask from top to bottom, with his face no more than a quarter of an inch from the glass. “Okay, okay, okay, that looks about right, uh-huh, I think we have just about cooked all that ephedrine out’a yo funky ass, yes I do, 19 motherfuckin’ hours of a’ percolatin’ and marinatin’ and I do believe that’s about all she wrote there, Igor, yaaaaasir…” Fester hopped up and ran back into the living room, his bare feet slapping on the meticulously scrubbed hardwood floor. He leaped into the air, clicking his heels together in good Irish fashion. The apartment was basically empty. There was a brand new six foot long G.E. deepfreeze, against the wall by the door. A Kenwood CD player sat on top of it. Assorted glassware and supplies were stacked next to it, and a green military sleeping bag was spread out on the floor beneath the bay windows. Fester dug through his supplies. Three seconds later he was running back to the bathroom carrying two pintsize glass jars, a shot glass, coffee filters, a Pyrex pie dish, razor blades, tin foil, a lighter, bottled water, and a little acetone. He quickly laid everything out in perfect order and sat Indian-style on the bathroom floor, in front of the flask.

“Alrighty Igor, this is it, this is it baby, proof’s in the puddin’, the proof is in the puddin’, yaaaaaasir, now let’s test this sonofabitch out here…” Fester removed the twenty-two thousand milliliter flask from the stand and set it on the floor. He carefully tilted it down and poured himself a shot glass full of the pasty mixture. He set the flask aside. He opened one of the empty one-pint glass jars, and dumped the shot into it. He then measured out two shot-glass fulls of water, and poured them into the jar as well. He closed the jar and began to swirl it around. “That’s it baby, round and round and round she goes, swirl it up Igor, swirl it up, then we’ll take that phosphorous off yo ass, uhhuh…” Fester took a coffee filter and placed it inside the other one-pint glass jar. He then poured the contents of the first jar into the coffee filter. Once all of the liquid had passed into the second jar, he took the filter, now containing the red phosphorous, and set it aside. “Waste not want not baby, best to hang on to all the phosphorous we can git our hands on, we can always use it again, just twenty percent weaker that’s all, that’s all, people just don’t want to recognize that they’re working with the real motherfuckin’ pros here, know what I’m sayin’ Igor? That’s what I’m talking about, motherfuckers…” Fester took the pie dish and set it on the wire frame, over the floodlight. He emptied the glass jar into it, then added just a splash of acetone. He turned the dimmer switch up a bit to start it cooking. At the first sign of smoke, Fester removed the dish, set it on the floor, and turned the dimmer switch off. He lit up a Marlboro red while he waited for it to cool. With a cigarette hanging from his lips, and sweat pouring from his sallow face, Fester began to scrape the dried film off the dish with a razor blade. He dumped it all onto a piece of tin foil and set his cigarette up on top of the sink, balancing it on the rim. It began to burn a small yellowish stain on the surface of the porcelain.

Fester took the foil and began to heat it with his lighter, as he held it beneath his nose. He closed his eyes, inhaling the fumes. He exhaled with a sigh of pleasure. “I am just too motherfuckin’ good Igor, too mother-fuckin’good!!!” There wasn’t even the slightest smell of ephedrine. The batch was ready for the next step. And since Johnny hadn’t shown up with the lye yet, Fester figured that it was a good a time as any for a nice spot of tea… He ran back into the living room and dug a Ziploc freezer bag out of his box of supplies. It contained a good pound and a half of last week’s batch of Ice. He eyeballed himself a nice healthy half gram into his metal ladle spoon, and put the bag away. “Let’s get it on…” sang Fester. He broke into a fit of cackling laughter. He dropped his Kix “Light My Fuse” cassette into the Kenwood, and hit the rewind button. He placed the stereo on the floor, facing the bathroom, then grabbed a U100 syringe, his spoon, the remote control, and ran to the toilet. He dropped his pants around his ankles and sat down. Fester placed the remote control on the floor, as he prepared for his morning ritual. He picked up the bottle of distilled water, and slowly began to draw theirty five units into the syringe. He put the bottle down and took up the ladle spoon, with the half gram in it, holding it steady in his left hand. He inhaled deeply through his nose, and exhaled slowly, feeling his heart begin to race with anticipation. The thirty-five units of water sprayed from the syringe in slow motion. Not a drop spilled. It swirled beautifully around the little mound of crystals as the miniature iceberg crumbled into the Arctic Sea. Fester flipped the rig upside down, and began to smash and then stir the mixture with the bottom of the plunger. He placed the rig on his knee and pulled a cigarette from his pack of Marlboros on the floor. He bit the filter off, threw the cigarette away, and began to scratch the paper away with his thumbnail. He dropped the filter into the ladle. It began to swell and expand. He took the syringe, placed the bevel of

the needle onto the swollen mass, and pulled back on the plunger with his thumb. He set the spoon on the floor then took hold of his penis with his left hand, stretching it out tight. He carefully aligned the needle with his right hand, placing it directly over the dark blue vein running down the top of the shaft. He applied pressure. The needle broke through the skin, sliding into the flesh. A tiny flag of blood swirled into the bottom of the outfit. Fester drove the plunger home. The burning sensation began. He pulled the syringe free, threw it into the trash, and hit the play button on the remote control with his big toe. “Someone start a fire…in my electric chair…” Fester’s eyes rolled back into his head. His arms fell limp at his sides, as he released his penis with a long throaty moan. Aaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh… “Baby cross my wires, and light up my hair…” His bowels completely let go, as a large foul-smelling speed turd, plopped into the toilet beneath him. “Overload my circuits, let me feel the juice…” Fester’s penis swelled, engorged with blood, and began to pulsate spastically. His testicles began to tighten as well. “…from the whites of my eyeballs, to the soles of my shoes…” A torrent of fireworks exploded through his brain. His body shook with the concussion of synaptic overdrive. His jaw chattered uncontrollably. Little drops of saliva sputtered from his trembling lips. A growling sound rose from his throat, as he seized his rigid penis and began to masturbate furiously. His hand moved up and down the shaft in a dick-skinning-blur… “…BLOW MY FUSE!!!” **** 15 de Septiembre 0700 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… “Do you understand, sir, do you understand what it means when you have absolutely nowhere to turn?”

The Traficante looked up from his translation of Crime and Punishment. He smiled. He crossed his legs in the patio chair, and placed the fingertips of his hand to his troubled brow. He closed one eye, as he felt the beginnings of a migraine approaching. He reached over for his cup of lemon tea, on the glass coffee table beneath the umbrella. He took a sip from it, as he returned his gaze to the text. “…for every man must have somewhere to turn…” “Si. Si, es cierto,” he whispered to himself. He tossed the paperback onto the table, unable to concentrate anymore. There were simple too many things on his mind. He removed the pair of goldframed Cartier glasses from his face. The world at once transformed from a soft tan, to a dismal, contaminated Mexico City grey. The Traficante despised the polluted skies of the Distrita Federal. He longed to be back on the Caribbean Coast, Al Lado Del Mar Turqueza, beside the blue, blue sea. But this is where the money was. This was his home now, the largest city in the world. Her twenty million lost souls searching, striving for a better way of life, above the ruins of Tenochtitlan. “Ay, Diosíto mio…” He sighed, as he reclined deeper into the soft, yellow and white striped chair. He ran a hand through his very well-groomed, short, black hair, squeezing his scalp. His temples were touched with grey. He was dressed in white Nautica shorts, sandals, and a grey sweatshirt that read “Hugo” across the front of it. He put his glasses back on. The morning was in a dead calm. Not even the slightest breeze stirred. The vast yard and the gardens beyond the patio were enshrouded in silence. No insects, no birds, nothing broke the still. The pool was flat, glassy. It reflected the Roman columns and bougainvilleas in perfect detail, upon the dark surface of the water. There was an almost tactual tension in the air, like the weather before an earthquake, or a thunderstorm perhaps. The world seemed faded to the Traficante lately, blanched, and on the wane. It felt as if the very life were being sucked out of all things living and growing in La Ciudad. Every shade of blue, or green, was now replaced with drab

and iron-grey. The air was grainy, like in a silent picture. The grounds, smudged, smeared with ash, nothing felt clean. Nothing… And she was to blame, Ana Lilia, “la cochina”. She was the unclean one, the one who brought the misfortune to this house. She had tainted his luck and caused the crucial lapse in his judgment, with her vile infidelity. Beneath the morning edition of “La Prensa”, sitting on the coffee table, the butt of the Traficante’s 44 Desert Eagle was just barely visible. Somewhere, deep within the cavernous estate, the Traficante heard the faint sound of a door closing. He looked down at the 18 karat “Concord Impresario” on his left wrist. 7:10 Did she really dare? Did she have such audacity? Could she honestly believe him to be so weak, so preoccupied that he wouldn’t suspect, have her followed, and know every single detail of her scandalous liaison? Why? Why now, during the most perilous of times for them all, when everything depended on his command over his wits, and his ability to make some very critical and strategic decisions? The kingdom was collapsing, he could feel it. The empire he had carved with his own two hands was poised to fall. Perhaps it was his karma, he thought to himself. Perhaps it was now time to atone, for all the years of excess and prosperity… “Behold, I am against thee, saith the Lord of hosts,” said Eduardo in Spanish, quoting the book of Nahum, “and I will discover thy skirts upon thy face, and I will shew the nations thy nakedness, and the kingdoms thy shame.” He stood, closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply through his nose. “And I will cast abominable filth upon thee, and make thee vile, and will set thee as a gazing stock.” He took the Desert Eagle in his right hand. He cocked his head sideways, examining the enormous chrome firearm in the morning light. “And it shall come to pass, that all they that look upon thee shall flee from thee, and say…”

He racked the large slide, and chambered a round. He sighed. “Nineveh is laid waste: who will bemoan her?” He walked toward the ornate French doors. He had an expression of absolute serenity on his face. He smiled, like a Buddha…

**** THE TRAFICANTE Eduardo was a bohemian by nature. He was born into a family that had been chasing precious stones around the globe for three generations. The Rausch family owned one of the most exclusive jewelry businesses in Geneva, Switzerland. All of the sons from the second generation held posts as buyers, representing Rausch and Company at some of the most renowned precious stone markets in the world: South Africa, India, Thailand, Burma, Sri Lanka, Zimbabwe, and Columbia. Hans Rausch, Eduardo’s father, was part of the first generation of the Rausches born abroad. Though he spent his childhood in Cartagena, Colombia, he was educated and enculturalized in Switzerland. He went to boarding school in Geneva. He spent his summers working alongside the polishers and stonecutters at the family business. He attended the University of Basle. When he returned to Colombia, at the age of 25, he was a promising gemologist and engineer. Irena Garcia, Eduardo’s mother, was the youngest daughter of Ismael Garcia, of Garcia Mining. “Minas y Piedras Preciosas de Garcia” (MPPG) had been a substantial mining operation in Colombia for four generations. They had been supplying Rausch and Company with uncut emeralds for over 30 years. The match was smiled upon by both families. On March 27, 1957, Eduardo Hans Rausch Garcia was born in Cartagena, Colombia. His future seemed to be etched in stone.

Eduardo was educated under the strict supervision and watchful eye of his father. In the enlightened tradition of his cosmopolitan Swiss roots, Eduardo had a firm command over German, French, and Italian by the age of ten. Academically, Eduardo showed all the promise and the makings of a model Rausch. The problem was, as it always is for those so well-groomed and predestined, Eduardo’s interests laid elsewhere. Rather than spending his summers in Switzerland, observing and learning in the Rausch family tradition, he traveled with his grandfather, Ismael, into the mountains, transporting uncut emeralds back from the Garcia family mines. Eduardo adored his grandfather. He was in awe of the man. He idolized the pistolcarrying, machete-wielding “esmeraldero” like a god. Ismael Garcia was a rugged, cunning, and vigorous man of 57 years at the time. He was a throwback to the older generation, of gunrunning, double-dealing, bribery, and smuggling. Even the very legal and routine transport of uncut stones to the coast was treated like an all-out smuggling operation. Ismael Garcia trusted no man, and he taught his grandson to be the same. He instructed him in the delicate business of working with government officials, police check-points, and greedy military patrols. He explained how one must know when it was time to deal with them, or time to lay low, conceal one’s self, and work around, and avoid them. He nurtured Eduardo, showing him the progressive art of camouflage, guiding him through the use of cover and concealment. He indoctrinated the boy into the religon of light and noise discipline, and how to navigate the mountainous jungle by night. He taught him about diversion, bating, and diversification, the stratagems designed to ensure the most important thing in this life, the safe passage of the payload. He exposed young Eduardo to the basics of smuggling and the transportation of illicit cargo, skills that would always be in high demand in Colombia in the years to come. Eduardo was a very apt pupil. Ismael was extremely pleased and proud. Eduardo took to the jungle like flies to a steaming turd, bug-eyed and full of wonder, reveling in every twist and turn of its magnificent

landscape. He developed a profound love for the emerald-green world, a love that would endure for a lifetime. Eduardo would forever look back on those days as the happiest of his life. At the age of 18, Eduardo entered the university. Despite his father’s wishes for him to go to Europe and attend the University of Basle, Eduardo enrolled en La Universidad de Bogotá. He did, however, concede to declare an “especializacion” in international trade and export, which seemed to put his father at least somewhat at ease. 1975 was a magical year at the University of Bogotá. The air was charged with hope, the promise of change, reform, and prosperity for the Colombia of the coming decade. Eduardo flourished in the capital city. He truly found himself in Bogotá. He could feel the pulse of the nation. Great things were on the horizon, and he would play a part in them, somehow… Then came the changes. On February 10, 1976, Hans Rausch chartered a single engine Cessna Centurion in Cartagena, and departed for Cali. He was on his way to look into a possible purchase of some stones of exceptional quality for Rausch and Company. Neither he, nor the plane, ever arrived in Cali. Hans Rausch was never seen nor heard of again. In September of 1976, Eduardo read, One Hundred Years of Solitude, by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. He became a devout disciple. In October of 1976, Eduardo declared an especializacion in literature. He wanted to write, desperately. He could feel a novel swelling within his belly, threatening to burst him wide open. Eduardo began to immerse himself in literature from around the world. He would study by day, read all evening, then write into wee hours of the morning. He turned away from all of his relationships with other people. He rarely ate. He lost his appetite for sex. He read Cervantes en Español, Dante en Italiano, he kept his French sharp on Proust, Hugo, and Camus. He explored Nietzsche auf Deutsch, and embraced Kafka within the depths of his soul, weeping over his diaries, feeling a kindred bond unlike anything he had ever known. Eduardo became a

Joycean and a Dostoevskian. He lost his heart in Hemingway’s Pamplona, Venice, Cuba, and along the Austrian front. He contemplated the runaway train of the human condition, with Orwell and Huxley, relating to the decision of “John” (the savage) with every fiber in his being. On January 29, 1977, Eduardo finished his first novel, En La Ciudad de las Esmeraldas (In The Emerald City), a satire about Colombian politics. On May 12, 1977, Ismael Garcia died of a heart attack in his hotel room, while on vacation in Panama. (Realistically, he had been strangled to death in a Panama City whorehouse, where he was set up and robbed by a prostitute and her boyfriend. A very tough ending, for a very tough old man.) On July 7, 1977, Rausch and Company pulled out of Colombia. Eduardo had never been close to the Rausch family. His ties and connections to his relatives in Switzerland quickly diminished after his father’s death. He would never communicate with them again. On November 9, 1977, “Minas y Piedras Preciosad de Garcia” was declared bankrupt. (Realistically, Eduardo’s uncles, who had been embezzling money from the company for years, finally sold off the last of the capital equipment and the mineral rights. They pocketed the money, of course.) On December 1, 1977, Eduardo had to drop out of the University of Bogotá. He returned home to Cartagena, to look for work, and to take care of his mother. In February of 1978, Eduardo met the boys from Medellin… They had known his grandfather. It turned out that Ismael had been involved in a little more than just uncut stones. They needed someone who could pass for a German, to make a trip to the Bahamas. Eduardo made three. Though he would always have a passion for literature, Eduardo would never write again. He would be thoroughly and irreversibly bound to the drug trade for the rest of his life…

**** 15 de Septiembre 0720 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… The prostitute inhaled deeply on the joint. Her eyes gently rolled back and fluttered for a second. She held the smoke. She looked down at the DJ’s sweaty brow and wild gazing eyes. Most of his head was eclipsed by her crotch. She sat, naked on his face, pinning him down with all of her weight. Only his wide eyes and forehead were visible in the V-shaped space between her thighs. She smiled, leaned her head back, and exhaled a cloud of smoke at the ceiling. She looked back down at Ian. She had finally broken him again. “Well..?” she said, “are you going to calm down now, Ian?” “MMMghhhhh… Hmmghhhh… Mmmmgh… Mghhhh!!!” groaned Ian, into the crack of Rosa del Mar’s ass. He was unable to move his lips under the full weight of her body, pressing down onto his face. He was hyperventilating, fighting for each short, panic-filled breath through his nose. His rapid pulse rushed the LSD-25 to its vertex. He began to peak. His grasp on reality was slipping fast. Ten… Nine… Eight… “Oh God.” She laughed. Seven… Six… Five… “Oh God. Oh God.” “Does that mean you’re going to behave then, míjo?” she said. Four… Three… Two… “God.” He nodded his head, spastically. His pupils were severely dilated. One… Zero… Liftoff… Thou… art… God… He was unreachable now. “Mmmmmm… Bueno,” she sighed. She slowly lifted her weight from his face. She slid herself down onto his chest, over his abdomen, until she was laying on top of him, with her face just inches from his. She flicked the joint onto the floor. He smelled of her sex. She licked his wet chin, then kissed him softly on the lips. He didn’t move.

She looked into his tormented eyes. He was obviously very, very high, and probably having quite a bad trip now, thanks to her. He seemed like a little boy suddenly, a sick little boy in the throws of a high fever. Rosa del Mar’s heart wilted, she ached for him, deep within her womb. Her expression softened. Ian couldn’t speak. He continued to stare right through her, light years off into space, into oblivion. She began to stroke his head gently, motherly, with her tiny hand. “Oh míjo…” she said. Her voice cracked. Her bottom lip quivered. “Why do you love me? Why, when I am so evil to you, baby? And now I’ve made you sick again. Oh, Mary. Oh, mother of God, send me to hell for what I have done… Ian?” She made the sign of the cross over him. He didn’t respond. His eyes were fixed on the ceiling. She laid her head on his chest and began to cry. She kissed the soft patch of hair, and began to lightly caress it with her little fingers. She sniffled. “I’m sorry, my love,” she said, “I want to love you, míjo. And I do want you to love me. Es que… Es que… I hate myself, Ian. I hate my life. I hate it so much. I don’t even want to live anymore. I want to die. But… even if I did want to live, I could never live without your love, Ian. I could never live without you in my life, cariño. I need you. I need you…” She closed her eyes, and slowly drifted off to sleep, curled up on Ian’s chest. Her little naked body was dwarfed by his size. Ian laid motionless, catatonic, as he stared off into firey, liquid space. He hadn’t heard a word she’d said. The sound of footsteps on the hardwood floor echoed down the hall, outside the door. **** 15 de Septiembre 0725 hr. Ciudad de Mexico…

The Salesman walked down the hall and stood in front of the door of apartment “B”. He sat the two large brown paper bags down on the floor. Johnny flipped through his full ring of keys, impatiently searching for the right one. He glanced up at the door for a second, then paused. It was slightly ajar. “Oh for crying out loud, Fester…” he said under his breath, shaking his head in disgust. “Can we at least show a little bit of caution here? Jesus.” He picked up the two brown paper bags off the floor. “We’re only sitting on about 15 years in a Mexican prison in here, you idiot…” He pushed the door open with his foot and walked inside. ****

15 de Septiembre 0725 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… The Traficante quietly meandered across the long stretch of light green Italian marble, heading towards the double staircase in the foyer. He held the Desert Eagle casually in his right hand, as if it weren’t even there. It could have just as easily been the morning paper, or an issue of People en Español. It brushed lightly against his thigh as he ascended the left staircase. Eduardo was at peace now. He had let go. He had really let it all go. The decision was very logical. Why continue this torment and confusion? To end his pain, he would simply remove the thorn that was causing it. From the moment he had stepped back into the house, he knew he was going to kill Ana Lilia. And for some strange reason he was completely at ease with it. He envisioned her head exploding, like a sandia1, watching his troubles disintegrate with it. He turned left at the top of the staircase, heading for the bedroom. The double doors were wide open. He stepped inside. The water was already running in the shower. Ana Lilia was 1

Watermelon

standing at the foot of the large four-poster bed, with her back to him. She was naked, except for the black bra. Eduardo stood behind her, watching silently. Ana Lilia reached up and let down her long, curly, black man of hair. She shook it out. It fell like a pendulum, in slow motion, gently sweeping over the small of her back. She leaned forward, bending over just slightly. She reached back with both hands and unfastened her bra. She was an exquisite creature, Ana Lilia, soft, long, and elegant. Eduardo stared at the gap between her thighs, and the heart breaking curve of her perfect ass, rising above. Any redblooded man would chew his own left foot off, just for the sublime crack of it. He closed his eyes. Sometimes Ana Lilia didn’t even seem real to the Eduardo. She was far too beautiful to be real, and he heated her for it. It was a beauty that must be destroyed, for it had surely destroyed them all this time. He took a deep breath and gathered his anger. He imagined a foul and foreign phallus, penetrating her, again and again without ceasing… Ana Lilia tossed the bra onto the bed in front of her. Eduardo opened his eyes. He was convulsing with rage now. He broke into a sprint, running at her. He leapt headlong into the air, shrieking like a madman. “Puuuuuuuuuuuutaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!”

* *** * 15 de Septiembre 0726 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… The Salesman walked through the open doorway and into apartment “B”. He immediately noticed that the hardwood floor had been stripped and buffed since he was here last, yesterday afternoon. The whole room smelled of Pinol and Fabuloso cleaning products. Johnny smiled. He kicked the door closed behind him with the heel of his foot. BLAM!!!!!!!

Johnny’s legs withered. They crumbled beneath him. He dropped both bags and fell, amazed, onto the floor. He hadn’t realized that he’d been shot. The 9mm round clipped Johnny in the tricep, entering and exiting three inches above his right elbow. It punched a clean hole in the large bay window, on the far left side of the room. It traveled across the street, through the open second-story window of the brown colonial apartment building, and impacted into Señora Gonzalez’s pet iguana, “Papi Chulo”. It knocked Papi Chulo off the back of the couch in a bloody splatter. Señora Gonzalez screamed, curdling the blood of her three-year-old granddaughter, who was eating a Jell-O parfait at the table. They both made the sign of the cross over themselves and began to weep. Papi Chulo had died instantly… Johnny rolled onto his back, clutching his arm. Blood began to flow liberally from the wound, making a gory display of his longsleeved white shirt. The oversized collar, and the open French cuffs gave Johnny the appearance of a duelist wounded by a cutlass slash. “Arrrrrrgh! Shit!!!” shouted Johnny. He raised his hand to his face, staring at the blood with disbelief. “Johnny?!! Oh shit, Johnny!!! I didn’t… I didn’t mean to…” said Fester, with wide, blinking eyes. His jaw spasmed uncontrollably. He stood next to the deepfreeze by the door. His pants were around his ankles. In one hand he held Johnny’s smoking Beretta 9mm, in his other, a roll of toilet paper. “Oh hell, Wood… I didn’t mean to shoot you, brother. You just scared the shit outta me, kicking in the door like that. I’m sorry, Wood… I’m sorry, I-” “Stop calling me Wood, you idiot!” shouted Johnny. He gripped his hand over the wound again, applying pressure. He groaned with pain. “God damn it, Fester! You fucking shot me, you asshole!” He rolled onto his side and tried to sit up. “Ow! Motherfuck!!!” he yelled. The pain was sharp and intense. “Well, don’t just stand there, Fester, help me, for fuck’s sake!”

Fester’s eyes darted wildly, as he tried to decide what to do. He still hadn’t even had a chance to wipe his ass yet. He looked at the pistol, then at the roll of toilet paper in his left hand. He looked down at his pants bundled around his ankles, then back at Johnny... “Fester!” snapped Johnny. Fester looked back down at his pants again. He quickly began to struggle his way out of them, stepping on the pants’ legs with his feet. High-stepping, jerking and twisting, he finally freed himself. Johnny was still trying to sit up. He was talking to himself, rambling, from the combination of being spun out of his mind on “Ice” for five days, and the onset of minor shock. “Ok. Ok. I’m ok… I’m hurt, but I’m not gonna die. I just have to calm down and stay cool. I can handle this. I can salvage this. Everything’s cool. I just have to clean myself up, that’s all. It’s all good. I can handle this…” Fester was stark-raving naked now. He put the pistol and the roll of toilet paper down on top of the deepfreeze. He scampered over to Johnny on grasshopper-like legs. He squatted down behind him, and slid his arms under Johnny’s armpits. He tried to pull him to his feet. “Ow!!! Shit, oh shit, Fester. Easy, easy man!” shouted Johnny. He plopped back down onto his ass, on the hardwood floor. Fester had lost his grip. “Sorry about that, Bubba. Ol’ Fester’s gotcha this time though, yaaaaasir. Come on now, I know it stings a bit, but ya gotta give us a good push with them legs there. Then we’ll getcha over to the bathroom and fix ya up good, okay?” said Fester. He slid his arms under Johnny’s armpits again. Even though Johnny’s attention was mostly consumed by the pain in his arm, he could clearly feel the abrasive scratch of Fester’s pubic hair on the back of his neck. “Don’t worry, Johnny, Uncle Fester will have ya as good as a new baby, in no time flat…” He began to pull Johnny up again.

“Yo… Yo! Stop..!” said Johnny. “Get your god-damned nuts off the back of my neck, you bastard!!” He fell to the floor again. “OW!!!” Fester tried to pick him back up. “Aw, Johnny, come on now. This is no time to be talking like that… I’m trying to hep’ youuuuuu… It ain’t my fault I’ve got pipe, brother. Know what I mean? Hee hee hee!” laughed Fester. He squatted down lower and wrapped his arms around Johnny’s chest this time. A rush of feculent air rose up around them. “One… Two… THREE!” said Fester. He pulled Johnny to his feet. “Arrrrrrrrrgh!!!” Johnny wailed with pain. He sprang away from Fester, gripping his wounded arm tightly. He turned to face him. His shirtsleeve was soaked with blood from the elbow down. “What is wrong with you, man?” he said. “You fucking shot me, Fester. You could have killed me. And now, look at me…! I have a gunshot wound. I am screwed, man. What am I supposed to do now, Fester? Huh? What the hell am I gonna do now!? We can’t put any of this stuff off today. I have to meet with the client at one o’clock. I have to get over to Universidad and meet the Xstasy connect by four-thirty. Then, I have to somehow miracle my ass down to the Zona Rosa, and meet our Microdot guy at five-thirty. In traffic? OW!! Damn it!” He gripped his arm tighter. Blood oozed over his fingers. He swayed from side to side, swooning at the sight of it. He hadn’t realized how much blood he was losing. Johnny’s eyes rolled upward and fluttered for a moment. He was shivering now. His mouth worked like a goldfish, but no sound came out. His voice finally caught up with him, chattering, as he rolled into a detached, distant-sounding monotone. “The subway will be too packed, Fester, the Metro to Insurgentes will have a line all the way back up to the street level man, and then at six I’m supposed to be paying off the ‘flyer’ guys over at my place, you know, they’ve been working their asses off at UNAM and every other campus in the distrito all week, plus they’re the ones who are supposed to be out at all of the clubs tonight promoting for us,

so if they don’t get paid, well there it is baby, game over, and there is no “rave”, you see sixty percent of the people who show up to one of these things get the flyer that same night, you follow me, sixty percent Fester, so in reality you’ve buried me man, you’ve buried us both, you know I have to be at the warehouse by seven, then I still have to have three separate pay points up, running, and collecting money for tickets by seven-thirty, all on different sides of town, then I have to make sure Ian’s sound equipment and the P.A. are set up by seven forty-five, plus that limey prima donna wants a sound-check at eight, like he’s some kind of rock star or something, and I still haven’t even been able to get ahold of the rat-bastard light tech, since the day before yesterday, and he’s already got the deposits, hijo de la gran puta, and I have to post the location of the pay points on the voice mail by eight, or else no one with a flyer will even be able to buy a ticket and find the party, and, of course, we still have to finish this batch of Ice here, Fester, and… and… and you shot me… Uh… Uh… I just… I better, uh…” Johnny’s mouth began to work like a goldfish again, as he feebly attempted to form his next sentence. He went completely blind for a moment. Fester stood across from Johnny, naked, with his hands on his hips. He nodded his head. He smiled knowingly. “You need a line, Johnny? You want me to hook you up real quick before we start working on that arm there, Killer?” His voice was full of compassion. Johnny swayed like a gaping-mouthed metronome. He still couldn’t see anything… “Yeah… Yeah man, thanks…” he said ****

15 de Septiembre 0728 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… The image of the Traficante standing in the doorway of the second-story bedroom was blurry. Then with a slight adjustment of the zoom, the image became perfectly clear, in the viewfinder of agent

Martinez’ Quark surveillance telescope. The two PGR2 agents were inconspicuously hidden behind the tinted glass windows of the “Electra” appliance store delivery van. It was parked across the street from Eduardo’s house, in the quiet Polanco neighborhood. “Ay chinga…” said agent Martinez, as he watched Eduardo leap head-first into the air. “I think Señor Rausch just might be about to commit a murder, compadre.” Agent Contreras smiled behind dark sunglasses in the driver’s seat. He had a toothpick wedged into the corner of his mouth. He took a quick sip from the can of Modelo that was between his thighs, and wiped the cocaine sweat from his forehead with the back of his chubby left hand. “Me vale verga, güey. Que chinga su madre ella. I don’t give a fuck what happens to that whore. We stay away from this guy until he leads us to ‘La Mercancia’. ¿Me entiendes?” said agent Contreras. He took a pack of Delicados from the pocket of his white and maroon striped western shirt. He lit one. “Órale, Jefe…” said agent Martinez, without removing his eye from the viewfinder. A phone rang. Agent Contreras shuffled through the three Motorola cell phones sitting in the console, trying to figure out which one it was. It was the scrambled line. The Comandante was calling… Agents Martinez and Contreras worked for a seven man task force, led by Comandante Cuauhtémoc Jimenez. Over the past twelve months their little cadre had amassed a very substantial amount of money, brokering cocaine that they were robbing from several small time Mexico City traficantes. Some of them they killed, some they let walk away, minus cars, condos, and any other valuables, of course. They were moving and then selling the product through Cuauhtémoc’s PGR connection in Monterey. The operation had been running very smoothly. It was large enough for everyone to make good money, yet small enough not to attract any attention, or cause any serious ripples

in Mexico City. The arrangement was near perfect, and the team worked together like an efficient, money-making machine. The Comandante’s group had, however, placed itself on the receiving end of some very bad press lately. It seems that two months ago, in July, Cuauhtémoc’s department was conducting an investigation into a counterfeit money operation, involving three bank executives from Banco Bitel. Somehow, none of the alleged counterfeit 200 peso notes were ever recovered, and all three bankers were found dead, after being brutally tortured in the “Lucifer’s hammer”3 fashion. The bodies were discovered in a sewage pipe in La Colonia Acueducto de Guadalupe, in the northern part of the city. The rats had left their faces unidentifiable. More outcries for an end to police corruption in Mexico began to fill the newspapers, as well as the mouths of several local politicians. That’s where the heat really began. The wealthy families of the deceased bankers, together with some very powerful and active lobbyists from Derechos Humanos, began to put together a committee to investigate the activities of the PGR in Mexico City. Arrests were anticipated, none occurred. But the pressure was in the air. Trust was at an all-time low within the ranks of the PGR. Rumors of wire taps, secret internal investigations, sacrificial lambs, and informants were all over the department. Everyone was looking over their shoulders now, with fear, because just about any PGR agent with over a year in the field, had more than their fair share of dark secrets to protect. These were

Lucifer’s Hammer: El martillo de Lucifer. An interrogation method. Two 8 penny nails are lightly driven into the forehead like horns. Electrodes are attached, and the interrogation begins. The victim is questioned, electrocuted, and then the nails are hammered a little deeper into the skull. The process is repeated until all the information is extracted, and the nails are finally driven into the victims’ brain. The bodies are always found with the look of the devil: eyes slammed shut, gnashing teeth bared, and the two horns protruding from the victims’ forehead.)

dangerous, panic-filled times, when the “smart money” was beginning to look towards the door… Comandante Cuauhtémoc Jimenez always bet on the smart money. He knew that it was now time to take his profits, and start to make a very careful exit. The problem however, as it is for so many other people in the PGR, Cuauhtémoc had a very expensive cocaine habit. And like the rest of his little crew, he was a tad cash poor at the moment… Eduardo was to be the solution to all of their problems. The rumors about “El Mecanico4 ” (Eduardo’s Code name) began in Monterey. Cuauhtemoc’s Monterey contact had stumbled across a pissed-off driver who was irate, because he was going to take a “trailer” to Monterey for some Colombians, and the trip was cancelled. Supposedly there were going to be two trips of five-hundred units 5 each, originating at the Chizen Iza airstrip in the Yucatan. The driver’s partner made the first run. It went perfectly, and he made lots of money. When the time came for the second “viaje”, the operation was at first delayed, and then finally cancelled. The second driver had made the journey all the way from Monterey to the Yucatan for nothing. It turned out that “El Mecanico”, who was supposedly the Colombian in charge of transportation for the Mexico City “Tienda”, had kidnapped the second five-hundred units. He was the “middle” between the connection in Medellin (El Montañero) and the Mexican/American client in Nuevo Leon. The problems began after the first five-hundred units arrived in Monterey. El Montañero told El Mecanico that they were only going to pay him a commission of $250 per unit, instead of the agreed upon $500 per unit. El Mecanico knew, of course, that El Montañero was getting paid, and still making a very large profit, regardless of how much he was complaining, and claiming that he was 4

the Mechanic

1 unit = 1 kilo

making next to nothing on the deal. So, El Montañero would make his money while he laid back on the ranch in Colombia, scratching his panza (stomach). The client would get the product. The only one who would end up getting screwed in the deal would be El Mecanico, and he was the one taking all of the risk… El Mecanico told everybody to go to hell. He said that he had better get his agreed upon $500 per unit, all in advance now, or else he would bury the remaining five-hundred units in a hole in the ground, and sit on them until they rotted. (Before Eduardo decided to kidnap “Los Niños”, he moved his mother out of her house in Cartagena, and sent her to the cabin he owned in the mountains. She would be protected there, in the safe keeping of the Indians of La Sierra, “Los Guajiros”. He took his wife Ana Lilia, moved out of their high-rise apartment building, and set up residence in the Polanco estate that he owned under a different name.) Cuauhtemoc’s PGR contact in Monterey picked up the second driver, to see if he was full of shit or not, two weeks ago. Being only a driver, he didn’t know anything about the operation at all. But he did however, know the Mexico City address of the first driver (a bit of information he was very eager to give up under Lucifer’s hammer before he died). Cuauhtémoc and his boys got ahold of the first driver in Mexico City, last week. He gave up Eduardo’s transportation coordinator, Manuel, under the hammer. Manuel was Ana Lilia’s brother. He owned a major trucking company in the Distrito Federal. Last night, the hammer fell upon Manuel, in a dark corner of a “Colonia Tepito” electronics warehouse. At 11:30 p.m., Manuel gave Cuauhtémoc Eduardo’s Polanco address. Cuauhtémoc was still keeping Manuel alive until he had confirmation that Eduardo was indeed “El Mecanico”… Agent Contreras answered the phone. “Bueno, aquí estamos Jefe. We’re here, we’ve got a visual of your boy now,” he said. “What’s that? No Jefe, just him and the

girl… Si… Si Jefe, like glue. We’re on him, no te preocupes, eh?” He hung up. 15 de Septiembre 0728 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Athenas speeded down Avenida Insurgentes with the radio blaring. Her face was set into an angry pout. She felt slighted, shunned. She was becoming exasperated with Johnny’s bullshit. She just could not understand his behavior, his peculiar ways. She could never quite figure him out. Men never behaved the way he did with her. Every man Athenas had ever known, had eventually gone foaming at the mouth crazy over her. It’s not like she enjoyed it, or even took pride in it, it was just a fact; a fact that she’d become very accustomed to. They pressured her. They pleaded and begged her to have mercy on them, to give them a chance to be her man. They groveled. They pined. In the end, they all became Peeping Toms, stalkers, or maniac marathon perverts. Her childhood friends, her classmates, her professors, even her father’s business associates, no man had ever been immune to the phenomenon… Not one of them. Actually, up until now Athenas had always considered it to be her curse. Then she met Johnny… Johnny never showed even the slightest trace of the symptoms. In the beginning that’s what drew her to him, when they were introduced at “La Boom”6 six months ago. His salesman’s confidence, and the powerful magnetism of his personality was intoxicating to her. He was he most affable and charismatic person she’d ever encountered in her life. He was a social lion, charming her whole circle of friends into a panting heat, at the table that night. Johnny spent the whole evening by Athena’s side. They talked for hours, about everything under the sun. By the end of the night, she felt as if she’d known Johnny her entire life. She was stunned when Johnny left without trying to make a “move” on her. He didn’t even ask her for her phone number. 6

La Boom: one of the largest nightclubs in the world. The old Plaza de Torros in Mexico City was gutted, a roof put over it, and transformed into one of the coolest clubs in existence.

He politely said his goodbyes to everyone at the table, kissed Athenas on the cheek, and casually slipped his business card into her hand when he shook it. She didn’t know quite how to take the gesture. Her curiosity finally got the best of her though, and she called him up a week later. Athenas was very accustomed to getting whatever she wanted. She was what one would call a “fresa”, being the only daughter of an extremely wealthy politition in Mexico’s PAN party, she was quite spoiled. So of course Johnny succumbed to her will, eventually, and Athenas finally had her handsome American boyfriend to show off to her circle of “fresa” friends. She hadn’t counted on failing in love with Johnny though, or at least that’s what she called it. Johnny’s nonchalant attitude towards their “farcical” relationship, made Athenas very insecure about herself. Her self-esteem began to plummet. She became obsessed with the notion of making Johnny fall desperately in love with her. She wanted him to act like all of the others now. She couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t. She wanted to possess him. Johnny was an enigma to Athenas. He said that he loved her, yet it seemed like Johnny lived in a perpetual state of trying to get away from her. Whenever they were together, there was always somewhere else he desperately needed to be at. At first she thought it was just his being American. Americans are very uptight and overly busy like that. But it had been going on for six months now. So Athenas began to blame herself. It must have been something she had done, or hadn’t done, to make him act this way, she thought. Or perhaps he had someone else… Suspicion and jealousy began to torment Athenas, with growing intensity. Maybe he did have someone else… The thought filler her heart with murderous intent. If it were true, she would cut off his unfaithful, lying huevos. By the holy virgin, she swore it. Athenas never realized that the explanation to all of her questions and her insecurities, lied in Johnny’s meth addiction. She had never encountered anything like it before. The tell-tale signs

meant nothing to her, she couldn’t even see it. Actually, no one could see it. “Ice” didn’t even exist in the D.F. until now. That’s what Johnny brought Fester here for. That’s all he ever talked about lately, his precious “rave”, and how they were all going to make millions of dollars with his new drug. Athenas always supported Johnny, agreeing with him on everything, giving him the constant reinforcement that he needed so badly, that his plans and ideas were indeed sound. Athenas could care less about money though, or Johnny’s plans. All she wanted was for Johnny to become obsessed with her. That, would be nirvana… But now, Johnny’s problem was Athena’s problem, too. He had finally gotten her just as “spun” as he was, and she didn’t even know it. Poor little baby, as beautiful, innocent, and wealthy as she was, she had now gone full throttle, 24/7, “chickenbones”, “tweeker-status”… Athenas’ ears rang with the white noise of depression, creeping back up in volume. It never went away really, it just varied in strength. Her depression was always with her, writhing, just beneath the surface of her perfect skin. It was amplified by the “funk” of coming down off of last night’s “Ice”. Her mind was racked with choking suspicion, and razor-sharp dread. The lack of sleep, combined with her magnified paranoia, threatened to push her over the edge… Athenas turned up the volume of the Kenwood stereo. “Puto”, by Molotov, began to play. She floored the gas pedal. Her thoughts began to stray, forming vivid and painful images of Johnny being unfaithful to her. She screamed through her clenched teeth, and punched the steering wheel with her tiny fist. She envisioned Johnny in the dirty apartment building that she’d just dropped him off at. She imagined him sucking on the fat lips of a big hairy pussy, shaking his head like a frothing-mouthed pit bull, between a pair of chubby Indian thighs… She screamed again, punching and kicking wildly, in a blur of red curly hair. She tried to cast the visions from her mind. She reached down and shifted into fifth gear. Her hand trembled. The knuckles were scraped and dotted with tiny drops of

blood. She had cut herself punching the steering column. Her heart hammered against her ribcage, with a strange syncopated thunder. She was breathing rapidly. Athenas stretched over the passenger’s seat and grabbed her purse off the floor, without taking her eyes from the road ahead. She dug through it. She pulled the mini-Motorola flip phone free, with a grunt. She auto-dialed Johnny’s cell number… **** 15 de Septiembre 0730 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… The Traficante laid motionless on top of Ana Lilia’s back. If it weren’t for the Desert Eagle, pressed firmly to her temple, it would have appeared to have been a very loving and intimate scene. It was a picture of tenderness, of closeness. The bedding was askew. Ana Lilia was naked on her stomach, as if she were getting massaged. Eduardo was gently nuzzling the side of his face between her shoulder blades, embracing her tightly. His finger trembled in the trigger-well. He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, prepared to do the deed. The smell of her skin, warm and perfumed, rushed to his olfactory cortex, carrying with it an onslaught of intense memory. The images flashed quickly, vividly before his mind’s eye. He envisioned a time before all of the pressures, a time before the problems, and all of the “vicio”. He recalled the days when he was her champion, her poet warrior who could do no wrong. He kissed the nape of her neck. An overwhelming sense of sorrow washed over Eduardo, threatening to extinguish his rage, dropping his stomach into abysmal grief. He felt as if he were being crucified upon the tree of woe. But the steady, insect-like, highpitched ringing in his ears kept him focused. His forehead and upper lip were beginning to perspire. He squeezed the trigger… Click. “Hijo de puta!” he cursed. Misfire, bum-round, dud, hand of God perhaps, no bang.

Ana Lilia began to urinate all over the both of them, in a warm, panic-filled stream. Her body shook. Her mouth and eyes widened, as she watched her entire life flash across the hand-carved wooden headboard in front of her. Eduardo sat up, straddling Ana Lilia. He racked the large slide of the Desert Eagle, ejecting the dead round and chambering a new one. The dead round flipped end over end, in slow motion, as it fell toward earth. It bounced off of Ana Lilia’s ass, tumbling onto the rumpled bedspread below. Eduardo pressed the palm of his hand between Ana Lilia’s shoulder blades, to hold her steady. He placed the barrel of the Desert Eagle to the back of her head. “Eduardo! Cariño, p..po..por…por…favor. No me mates, Don’t kill me. No me mates, Míjo!...” said Ana Lilia, crying hysterically now. ****

15 de Septiembre 0730 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Fester’s cigarette hung loosely between his chicken lips. Its inch-and-a-half long ash, looked like it would fall free at any moment. It balanced perilously, above Johnny’s open gunshot wound. Johnny sat shirtless on the toilet. He was trying to clear out the last hit of smoke from Fester’s little glass pipe. He held it to his puckered lips with his free hand. All the while his eyes shifted between the empty pipe and the hanging ash above his shoulder. He continued to inhale slowly and steadily, even though there was no more smoke to be had. Johnny exhaled through the side of his mouth. Nothing came out. His eyes were fixed on Fester’s cigarette now. Fester cradled a large, clear, plastic bowl of warm water and peroxide in his arm. He dipped a ragged washcloth into it. He squeezed it out over Johnny’s tricep. Diluted blood washed down Johnny’s arm, blurring, then dripping onto the white bed sheet that was

spread out around the base of the toilet. Fester cocked his head to the side. He stared intently at the wound. His three days of blonde stubble had grown into grubby patches, on his chin and cheeks. The morning sunlight lit up the bathroom through the tiny window above the shower, behind Fester. It clearly defined the dense cloud of cigarette smoke that filled the room He dipped the washcloth into the bowl again. His gaze never moved from the perfectly round hole in Johnny’s tricep. Fester’s left eye spasmed, from side to side. His right eye remained fixed. He squeezed the washcloth over Johnny’s arm once more. It seemed like every single detail about Fester was irritating Johnny now. He looked down at Fester’s long, wooden toenails, his pale, ashen, stickly legs, and knobby knees… And then, of course, there was Fester’s raw and offensive nudity. The mere sight of that naked body, scratched at the chalkboard of Johnny’s mind, with razorsharp claws. “Yuck… You nasty bastard…” thought Johnny, to himself. His eyes traveled up Fester’s torso. The unadulterated feculence, radiating from Fester, would have made Johnny wretch if he weren’t so high right now. But it still disgusted him all the same. Fester’s ribs, the trembling eye, it was almost too much for Johnny to bear. But the icing on the cake, the piece de resistance, the straw that threatened to topple the entire pyramid, was that inch-and-a-half long ash, balancing on the end of Fester’s cigarette. For some reason Johnny absolutely despised it, more than anything else in the world. He loathed it, with all of his being. It had to be the single most irritating object in the known universe. And he hated Fester all the more for having spawned it. “Ice” can do that to you sometimes, you know. Sometimes, even the smallest and most inconsequential things can become enormous… “And that ash… Oh, that fucking ash…” thought Johnny, as he stared up at it with contempt. It looked like it could have easily weighed 500,000 pounds. It loomed, like an annoying Armageddon-

sized asteroid, above Johnny’s shoulder. If it were to somehow fall and land on or even near Johnny’s gunshot wound, he just knew that he would completely lose control. He would surely have some sort of a blackout, there was no question in Johnny’s mind about it. And when he came to, Fester would probably be dead, naked as the day he was born, stinking and naked, dead on the bathroom floor. And the world would be a safer place. Johnny envisioned himself socking Fester in the mouth, with all of his strength. He could almost see the mammoth ash smashing back over Fester’s face. He smiled at the thought, despite the pulsating bite, permeating his arm. Fester wiped the washcloth directly over the wound. He applied pressure. “Arrrrgh!!!” shouted Johnny, closing his eyes. “Sorry ‘bout that, wood…” said Fester, out of the corner of his mouth. His cigarette bounced up and down with each word, but somehow the ash held fast. “We’re almost done here, Bubba. The bleeding’s just about stopped. I’ll gauze her, tape her down tight, and you’ll be able to make it to that one o’clock meeting like nothing’s even happened. I know you don’t feel like you’ll be able to do much of anything right now. But Ooooooooh Johnny, I’m gonna shoot you with some straight morphine, baby, yaaaaaasir! Mainline you a nice little half gram of our batch B, to take the old drag off it too. That way you won’t feel like Gumby all day. Then you’ll be stompin’ around just like John J. fuckin’ Rambo, baby, yaaaaasir!” “No!...” said Johnny, as his eyes popped open. He looked back up at Fester’s cigarette. “No needles, Fester. I’m not even with that shit, man. Just do the best you can. I’ll run down to the Pharmacia and get some Vicodan or something before I head out. It’s better than slamming a… Ouch!!!” He winced with pain again. Fester shook his head. “Johnny, you just listen to good ol’ uncle Fester, okay? I know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout dawg… Now if you really think you’re gonna

make it through the next eighteen hours, doing all of the things you say you have to do, and not end up on a gurney heading to the hospital in the meantime, then ya best take my advice there, Bubba, comprendo? I’m tellin’ you, wood, if we’re just gonna nigger-rig this here bullet hole of yours…” “Hey!” snapped Johnny. “I… I mean, if we’re just gonna do the old spit ‘n bailing wire job on your ass. Well, I’m sorry, brother but you ain’t gonna go the distance. Not unless we getcha on some damn good dope, and pretty fast too, Johnny. It’s either that, or you might as well just take your tired ass on to the emergencita room, right now.” “Okay, okay, okay. Ouch!!!” said Johnny, as he closed his eyes again. “Do whatever you have to. Just get it over with man, please. You’re fucking killing me over here, Fester.” “We’re almost through there, killer. Hang on…” said Fester. He reached for the rolls of gauze and tape that were balancing on the sink behind him. “Just try to relax, okay? Relax, Johnny. I gotcha, Bubba, I’ve done this shit a million times, million times…” “Okay, man,” said Johnny, with a sigh. “I’m ready.” He took a long deep breath. He closed his eyes. He let his head fall forward and tried to relax. Fester began to sing. The song had the same basic rhythm as “Who Do You Love” by Bo Diddley. “Well, my Momma never has to worry, my Daddy’s safely back in jail. And my sister, aw she loves to grind her monkey, and I’ve got the devil by the tail…” He began to work on the exit wound behind Johnny’s tricep first. He pinched the hole closed, and used little pieces of tape to butterfly it shut. All the while, his cigarette bounced up and down as he continued to sing. Yet by some miracle, the ash still didn’t fall. “Arrrrgh!!!” grunted Johnny, through his clenched teeth. His eyes returned to Fester’s cigarette. “…Bound in sin, baby, ya’ll knew I came here to raise some hell. Ball-n-chain! Ball-n-chain! I ain’t ashamed! Ain’t no freedom

from his heart filled with sin. I ain’t lyin’, this time they made me nearly twice as mean as a snake, Momma…” Bleeeep… Bleeeep… Bleeeep… Johnny’s cell phone was ringing on his hip. He pulled it from his belt, pressed the “send” button, and placed it to his left ear, all without removing his eyes from Fester’s cigarette. “Ouch!... Bueno?” He answered it. Fester was still singing, with growing volume, as he worked on Johnny’s arm. “…Well I was sired by a hurricane, kin to an earthquake, the original old iron-head from Arkansas! Complete desolation, born on probation, breakin’ hearts and a bustin’ jaws, baby! Unnngh!...” Fester thrusted his naked hips at the side of Johnny’s head. “Como? What did you say, baby?” said Johnny, into the phone in Spanish. “…Here, hang on a second Athens. Fester! Ouch!! I can’t hear, man. Hold it down for a minute, please!” Johnny was becoming exasperated. Fester’s eyes were closed now. He banged his head, up and down, as he sang on, oblivious to the rest of the world. Somehow, the ash was still hanging on for the ride. “…I’m the mad meth maker, cousin to the undertaker, half brother to mayhem, on the granny’s side! On the granny’s side, baby! I’m the mainline road dawg, hometown outlaw… I can’t even spell cotton-bell. Good Lawd!!! Ball-n-chain, baby!” “No!... Of course not. There are no women here, Athenas. I swear. Calm down, Míja. ¿Me entiendes? I’m telling you, I’ve been hurt, okay? That’s why I sound out of breath…” said Johnny. “…I ate nineteen alligators, a truck-load of rattlesnakes, achasin’-it with whiskey at a dead-hard run! Bled for forty-seven days straight, and I didn’t die. My Pappy was a sawed-off, and I’m a barrel of fun!” “I have to go! I’ll talk to you later… I’ll call you la… I don’t have time for this shit, Athenas. Coño! Look, I told you it’s Fester!” shouted Johnny. Fester’s eyes were still closed. Johnny hadn’t noticed

that Fester was dancing now, grinding and gyrating his hips, just off to the side of Johnny’s face. “…When I go fishin’, they call the state militia, honey. So don’t make me sic these smack smack smack thangs… on… you… Yeah, baby!!! “Fester!” shouted Johnny. “Ay!... Me tengo que ir Athenas. Alrato eh?” He hung up. “I said my Momma never has to worry! My Daddy’s safely back in jail. And my sister? Awww Johnny, she just loves to twwwwwist dat’ monkey! And I’ve got the devil by the tail!...” Everything moved in extreme slow motion… “Somebody… hep’… me!!! Said Fester, with closed eyes, and one last great pelvic thrust… Johnny turned his head away in disgust, covering his face with the back of his left hand… The one and a half inch long ash finally broke free… The light brown tile floor of the bathroom, looked like little acres of farm land, as seen from an airplane at 30,000 feet… The bomb fell, its nose slowly rotating earthward, as it plunged through the cigarette smoke filled clouds… The entrance wound on the front side of Johnny’s tricep oozed, wide open and awaiting, like the hungry maw of a hatchling robin… Down… Down… Down… Down… Impact! Hole in one. Johnny’s eyes opened wide. **** 15 de Septiembre 0730hr. Ciudad de Mexico… The Comandante pushed the “end” button on his red Nokia cell phone, finishing his conversation with agent Contreras. He looked to

the left, at the pallet of plastic-wrapped cardboard boxes. A black Italian wool jacket was draped over the top of them. Cuauhtémoc looked down at his watch. The white French cuffs, of his very well tailored silk shirt, were rolled up to his elbows… 7:31 He folded his arms, looking at the ground in contemplation. He unconsciously began to tap the antenna of the cell phone against his forehead. He closed his eyes. Time was running out. Cuauhtemoc’s temples ached. They drummed with the fatigue of two sleepless nights, and the ebb of his fading high. He inhaled deeply through his nose, without success. It was packed, stuffed with a thick, residual cocaine mucus. He tried again. This time it worked. His mouth filled with a bitter, mucilaginous mass. He grunted, coughing, as he spat out the mouthful of blood onto the concrete floor. That’s the problem with doing coke a mile above sea level. The altitude of the Distrito Federal, always wrecks havoc on delicate nasal tissue. Cuauhtémoc pinched at his nose then looked at his fingers, to see if it was bleeding any. It wasn’t. Cuauhtémoc had unmistakably Aztec features. He was fivefeet-five-inches tall, with thick jet-black hair, and flawless dark rustcolored skin. He was forty-three-years old, but could easily pass for twenty-eight. His eyes were soft and almond-shaped, practically Asian. They gave his face an expression of almost perpetual serenity. Yet to the observant, just beneath the surface, one could sense a terrible potential about Cuauhtémoc. The man had an extreme capacity for violence. He had the leer of the truly evil… The lighting in the damp warehouse was poor. Only two of the high pressure sodium flood lamps, hanging overhead, were working. They flickered on and off, casting two dim circles on the floor, about fifteen feet apart. Cuauhtémoc stood under one of the flashing spots of light. He wiped his mouth with a handkerchief. Under the other, was

a second pallet of boxes. Ana Lilia’s brother, Manuel, was bound to the top of it with a massive amount of silver duct tape. His legs draped lifelessly, over the edge of the boxes. Manuel’s arms were secured to his sides. His mouth was taped shut. His chest heaved, but the tape held him fast. Two blood-stained nails protruded from his scalp, just above his hairline. Blood and perspiration trickled down his semi-conscious face. His hair was soaking wet. Alligator clips were attached to each nail. A split white extension cord was attached to the alligator clips. The wires traveled back over Manuel’s head, down, across the cold cement floor, to a dimmer switch. The dimmer switch rested casually, in the right hand of agent Sanchez. Agent Sanchez was a short, thin, ferret of a man. He had cropped, greasy black hair. It was combed across his forehead, and parted on one side. He wore a pencil-thin mustache above his sweaty upper lip. His face had rodent features: big ears, a long pointed nose, and pinhead eyes. Sanchez was dressed in a very tacky, turd-brown polyester suit, with an atrocious cream-and-yellow striped tie. The tie, like the jacket, hung loosely open, exposing his lightly bloodsplattered, white shirtfront. “Hey, Butcher…” said Cuauhtémoc. He pulled a pack of Cartier cigarettes from his pocket. He lit one with a silver Zippo. “Si Comandante,” said Sanchez. “Look… I think we are very close here. In fact, I’m almost one hundred percent convinced that we have all the information we need. I just don’t want to take any chances. ¿Me entiendes?” said Cuauhtémoc. The flickering light was irritating his eyes. He exhaled a cloud of smoke through his nose. He rubbed a hand over his face. “Yes, Comandante. It is always better to use patience. We must not act impulsively. Once he is gone, we can never get him back, no?” said Sanchez. “Exactamente.”

Cuauhtémoc walked over to the other pallet of boxes, rolling his sleeves back down. He replaced the elegant gold cuff links. “So I want you to keep him alive, until we know for sure. Do you understand me, Butcher?” Sanchez smiled, baring his decayed yellow teeth. “Órale Jefe. Don’t worry, I’ll be very, very careful. In fact, I think I’ll even keep him awake until I hear from you. Just to be safe.” “Bueno… Just to be safe then,” said Cuauhtémoc. He clipped the Nokia to his belt, and put on the double-breasted black jacket. “I’ll call you in a couple of hours. I have to meet with our money connection first. If everything goes well, we’ll be rid of all these damn two-hundred-peso notes by this afternoon. Then we’ll only have El Mecanico to deal with. After that, we all go our separate ways. We have to move quickly, my friend. We’re out of time here. The wolves are closing in now.” “I understand, Jefe…” “Good,” said Cuauhtémoc. He straightened his tie, and threw the cigarette to the floor. “Well, if this works, we will all finally get out of this fucking dirty city.” “La noche de la independencia, no, Jefe?” “Yes… Independence night. Independence night indeed, my Butcher…” said Cuauhtémoc. He stepped back into the flickering circle of light. He forced a smile. “Bueno… I go now.” He turned his back on Sanchez and Manuel. He walked down the long, dark, open space, towards the rickety bay doors at the front of the warehouse. Sanchez smiled. “Alright hijo, time for you to wake up…” he whispered in Manuel’s ear. He snatched the duct tape from his mouth. Cuauhtémoc removed his sunglasses from his inside breast pocket. He reached the front door. Sanchez turned the dimmer switch a quarter of a turn clockwise…

Cuauhtémoc opened the door, and put on his sunglasses. Morning sunlight poured in through the open doorway. Manuel’s scream ripped through the warehouse, with chilling sincerity. Cuauhtémoc shut the door behind himself. The alarm of the black Grand Cherokee parked out front, chirped twice as he approached it. **** 15 de Septiembre 0730 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… The Politician poured himself another double William Lawson’s and soda. He squeezed a quartered lime over the top of it, then dropped it into the lead-crystal highball glass. “Wee-yam, Low-sons…” he said in heavily accented English, mimicking a popular Mexico City television commercial. The ice cubes jingled, lightly brushing against the sides of the Politician’s glass. He had quite an affinity for good scotch. He just hated trying to pronounce the names. “Why would someone give such ambrosia, strange names that are so hard to say?” he mused. This was the Politician’s third double of the morning, and he was just now beginning to relax. He’d been awake since four o’clock. Sleeping last night was nearly impossible, an anxious mind knows no rest… He knew today would prove to be the most critical day of his life. And there was so much room for error in his plans. Things could easily go terribly wrong. There were at least a hundred variables that could destroy everything, leaving him naked in the spotlight. Nothing was certain. The only certainty was that he would never be seen again. Either he would succeed, and disappear without a trace… Or he would be killed, and his body never found, as was the custom. Today he would betray them all. Today, he would abandon everyone and everything that had ever been important to him. His wife, Fabiola, his

daughter, Athenas, his political career, he would sacrifice it all. For today was the day of the Iscariot, and there would be no turning back… The Politician took a long sip from his scotch. His stomach rolled with trepidation. He could feel his heartbeat pulsating on the side of his neck. He took a thin, deep breath through his mouth. It tasted of alcohol. The house was silent. The maid still hadn’t shown up. She should have been there by six-thirty. Fabiola was upstairs, knocked out cold, from her nightly twenty milligrams of Valium. Athenas hadn’t returned yet, from wherever it was she had stormed off to last night… He felt himself getting angry for a moment, from reflex, but he stopped. What did it matter now? Yes, his whole family had completely fallen to pieces. They had slipped through the screen of his deceit, falling far beyond his reach. His neglect and absence had surely been the cause, and he realized this. He had watched it all slowly transpire over the past six months. Yet the knowledge of his guilt, did nothing to curb the bitterness he felt towards the whole situation. Did he still care? Did he even dare to? At the pinnacle of his treachery, at the very moment of his great betrayal? Could he really have the audacity to care, still…? Yes. He sure didn’t want to, but he did, miserably. The nervousness and dread returned, increasing in strength. It crept back, through the numbing fog of William Lawson’s Scotch. The Politician took another deep swallow from his cocktail, as he tried to suppress the surge of fear. He looked out of the large windows in his office, over the quiet neighborhood of Polanco. This was once the Politician’s favorite room in the house. It had a very classic motif, reminiscent of the offices of many conservative politicians worldwide. The room was filled with Persian rugs, thick red leather-backed chairs, bookcases and lead crystal. Portraits of famous statesmen adorned the

wood-paneled walls… The Politician had met with, and entertained many powerful and influential members of Mexico’s government, right here in this very room. He had made speeches. He debated, passionately defending his arguments into the wee hours of the morning. This was the same room where he had once burned the midnight oil with his entire staff. It had witnessed the birth of his proposals, for Derechos Humanos and Trabajo Social, that had made him famous, as a champion for the poor. He used to stand in the exact same spot that he was standing in now, and contemplate how he would someday make Mexico a better place for all Mexicanos… And now? Now he only contemplated how he would forsake them. He took another drink. It was strong, and cold. He gathered his paisley silk robe around himself, tying it closed. He looked back out at the view. Somewhere, out there beyond the trees, President Zadillo would soon be giving a speech about Mexico’s independence. The Politician was supposed to be attending. “Que ironico…” he thought to himself. And it was ironic. Of all the days to make his departure, why did it have to be done on the night of the 15th of September, Independence night? There was no choice though, everyone had been very adamant about the timetable. The Politician smiled. He chuckled to himself, derisively raising his glass in a mock toast. He held it high, pointed towards the endless city, stretching on for an eternity beyond the trees… “A chinga su madre, entonces…” he said with an indifferent shrug. He downed the entire glass in three mighty swallows. **** THE POLITICIAN Epifanio was a compulsive liar, a “mentirosón”, but he hadn’t always been that way…

Born in the small village of Pidicos Sinaloa, Epifano grew up in extreme poverty. Poverty would always be Epifano’s most loathsome nemesis. Even when he had finally become a wealthy man, his fear of it, would forever keep him from being truly happy. Poverty shaped Epifano’s existence, from a very young age. At three-yearsold, it took his father from him. Lorenzo Lopez had contracted hepatitis from infected well water. It could have been treated, but they could not afford the medication. He eventually developed severe liver problems and died, slowly and painfully, in their tiny home. After his father’s death, Epifano’s mother moved out to the coast, to live in even poorer conditions with her sister’s family in Acapulco. By the time Epifano was six, he was sent to work with his cousins every day, selling chicle7 up and down the beach. There were six of them in all, between the ages of five and eight, in the raggedy little bare-footed pack. Their hair was wild, their shorts were worn, and their skin was the color of soot and dark sand. When night would fall, they would all head over to work in front of the town’s few cantinas and restaurants. Acapulco didn’t have her vast hotel zone, and nightclubs yet. The nights could still prove to be profitable, though. Sometimes they made even more money at night, than they had all day long on the beach. Teary-eyed, rich, white tourist women could almost always be counted on for a few extra pesos. Epifano’s cousins enjoyed running around in the streets all night, hustling and making money. Epifano never did. He was always too worried about his mother. There was a great amount of tension in his aunt’s house lately. His mother had become sick now. The hepatitis was destroying her liver. All she could do was lay around all day. She was too weak, and unable to work anymore. Once again, no one could afford the medical attention she needed so badly.

Chicle: gum

Even at six-years-old, Epifano understood the situation perfectly well. His mother was dying, and if they somehow had more money, she wouldn’t be. He had overheard the grown-ups talking about it, late at night once. Epifano began to work harder and harder. He would always remember so clearly how he would follow the rich tourists around, grabbing at them, hanging onto them, with unshakable determination. He would try to explain his situation, using the only English he knew. “Money, please. Mi mother… Money, please! Mi mother…” Epifano would always give the entire sum of his earnings to his mother, when he returned home from working each night. He never held anything back, unlike his cousins. But even the meager amount Epifano would bring in, his mother would in turn, hand over to her sister. After all, everyone had to eat. She knew very well the burden she and Epifano were placing on her sister by staying there. Especially since she could no longer work anymore. Marta Lopez passed away that winter. It was a long and drawn-out affair that would leave the seven-year-old Epifano scarred for life. He would forever be plagued with vivid nightmares of his mother's time of dying. **** 15 de Septiembre 0745 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… The Politician walked back over to the massive, highly polished “encino” wood desk. He placed his empty cocktail down on top of it. He pulled the chair back and knelt down on one knee. He rolled back the rug underneath the desk, exposing the combination lock of a safe, set into the floor. He began spinning the dial to clear it. Right 0… Left 6… Right 28… Click. (The numbers to Athenas’ birthday.) With trembling hands, Epifano removed bundle after bundle of five-hundred-peso bills from the safe. He piled them onto the wide,

red, leather chair behind him. Except for Fabiola sleeping upstairs, Epifano knew that the house was empty. Yet he felt as if he were being watched. His heart pounded in his chest. Perhaps it was God, looking down upon his sin, he thought to himself. Epifano worked quickly, nervously, wishing that the whole business were already done with. If only he could just blink his eyes, and transport himself to the other side of the tightrope… Yes, to the other side, where that glorious airplane would be awaiting, to carry Epifano and his one true love away to safety together. Then his real life could begin. The thought made Epifano’s stomach twist with excitement. At fifty-nine years old, he figured that it was about high time he finally started living. It was now time to think only of himself. He closed the safe and pulled the rug back over it. He stood, looking over his shoulder at the door. His nerves were practically making him sick. He reached over and picked up the empty, perspiring highball glass from the desktop. It left a wet circle on the polished surface. Epifano wanted another Scotch. There really wasn’t enough time though. His visitor would be here any moment now. He looked at the large pile of pesos sitting on his chair. He thought of his mistress… Epifano’s stomach plunged into a trembling freefall. Love, it rushed through him like a thunderbolt. Powerful love, electrifying, it permeated his every cell. The kind of love that makes you want to scream her name from the roof of the tallest building, whip yourself like Martin Luther, or just beat your head against the nearest brick wall. Ooooooh, c’est l’amour! C’est lamour! Vive l’amour! He put the glass down and picked up the phone. Normally he wouldn’t risk using his home line, but what could it possibly matter now, he thought. For some reason, he just needed to hear her voice one more time, before he entered the fray, and crossed the point of no return. He dialed her cell phone number.

**** 15 de Septiembre 0800 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… The black Grand Cherokee slowly cruised up the tree-lined Polanco neighborhood street. The tinted windows and the detailed body reflected the tops of the trees and the grey sky above, as it drove by. Click. Cuauhtémoc pulled the cigarette lighter from its port in the ashtray. He touched the glowing orange coil to the tip of his Cartier cigarette. He exhaled with a cloud of smoke and replaced the lighter. Cuauhtemoc’s eyes felt dry and fogged. He’d been awake a bit too long now. The soft shade of his Giorgio Armani sunglasses helped, but what he really needed was a little Visine and a line of some good coke. He pulled the scrambled cell phone from his hip and auto-dialed number three… “Bueno?” said agent Contreras, answering the phone. “Well…?” said Cuauhtémoc. He took another draw from his cigarette. “Everything is quiet here, Jefe. We’re still in position though.” “Y El Mecanico…?” said Cuauhtémoc, with a sigh. “Señor Rausch? Well, Jefe, we don’t really have a visual of him right now, but we do know that he is still in the house. The girl is still in there too.” “No movement then?” “No. No movimiento, Jefe…” “Bueno,” said Cuauhtémoc. The back of the white Electra delivery van came into view on the left side of the road. It was parked under a tree. “Just stay in position then, I’ll check back in with you both, in person, after my meeting this morning,” he said. “Órale, Jefe,” said Contreras. “We’ll be right here. If he starts to move, we’ll call in. I just hope you’re not too far though, because

traffic is going to be hell. It will take you at least three hours to get here from the north side of town pretty soon. Cuauhtémoc smiled as he approached the van. He took one last draw on his cigarette. He rolled down his driver’s side window. “I’m closer than you think, cabrón…” he said. He flicked the cigarette out of his window, as he drove past the van. The cigarette exploded in a shower of orange sparks, against agent Martinez’ tinted passenger-side window. Cuauhtémoc could hear agents Contreras and Martinez both curse with surprise in his cell phone. Cuauhtémoc laughed and hung up. He glanced up at the rearview mirror, for one last look at the van as it disappeared behind him. Cuauhtémoc shook his head, thoroughly amused with himself. “I am such a culero…” said Cuauhtémoc, as he began to laugh again. He took two squares of green chicle from the center console, without looking away from the road ahead. He popped them into his mouth… ****

15 de Septiembre 0800 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Ana Lilia gazed up at the ceiling with hollow, empty eyes, devoid of emotion. Her lips parted. Her breath became short and rhythmic. Her hands clutched the back of Eduardo’s hair, the way she knew he liked it. She spread her legs wider. Eduardo thrusted and pounded into her, with savage intensity. Her body shook with the impact of each of his desperate strokes. It was beginning to burn, and hurt badly now. He was making her raw. She wasn’t even the slightest bit wet. Eduardo’s eyes were closed. Tears were streaming down his face, as he lovingly kissed her neck and shoulders.

“Oh my love, I’m so sorry… I love you so much. I believe you, Ana. You just make me crazy, Míja. Oh…! See? See how crazy you make me? Ahhhhhhh… Yes!” grunted Eduardo. Ana Lilia tried to focus on just one spot on the ceiling, but it was becoming more and more difficult. Her vagina was on fire, burning with friction. Eduardo grabbed ahold of Ana Lilia’s thighs, with both of his hands. He pushed her knees back towards her ears. His hips bucked like a powerful mule, as he plunged on with pistonlike fury. “Oh, Aníta… Mi, Aníta! Oh… Do you feel it, baby?” He moaned. She tried to think of nothing. She just wanted to get it all over with, so she could get away from him. This time she would leave. This time she would not come back. If she could only get away… Burning. Burning. Pounding and pounding, Eduardo drove into her. He was sweating like a ranchero. At first, she had felt guilty when she returned home this morning, sad that she no longer felt anything for Eduardo. But now she did feel something for him. Now she hated him. She would make him pay for everything he head ever done to her. She began to cry. Eduardo leaned back, without breaking stroke, and looked down at Ana Lilia’s face. Her eyes were closed. The sight of her angelic face, wet with tears, and flushed red with what Eduardo assumed was passion, pushed him over the edge… “Ay!” she cried in pain. “Oh, Ana! Oh, you do feel it, don’t you!? Ayyyy Diooooos!!” he shouted. He pulled out of her, stroking his rigid penis with his right hand, above her chest. He exploded. Stream after stream of thick semen sprayed across Ana Lilia’s neck, hair, and face… Eduardo collapsed on top of her, smiling blissfully, pinning her legs all the way back to her shoulders. They were both breathless.

Ana Lilia’s eyes popped wide open. She stared out over Eduardo’s shoulder at the ceiling again, through gluey ropes of semen, hanging from her eyelashes. Her body trembled with shock and rage… “Te voy a matar…! I will kill you, Cabrón!” she thought to herself. Outside, beyond the front gate, a black Grand Cherokee gently glided up the quiet street, past the estate… **** 15 de Septiembre 0820 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Cuauhtémoc pulled over across the street from Epifanio’s residence. He parked a half block down the street, under the shade of a large tree. Cuauhtémoc loved Polanco. He had always dreamed of living here one day. It was such a contrast to the various colonias he normally spent his time working in. The quiet streets, the trees, the walled gardens of the beautiful Colonial estates, always made Cuauhtémoc feel as if he were traveling back in time. Cuauhtémoc removed his sunglasses, and reached over to open the glove compartment. He rummaged through its contents until he found the “micha” he was searching for (folded envelope of cocaine). He pulled out a hollowed ball-point pen from the center console. He opened the micha. He looked over his shoulder. He had to make sure that no one was about to walk up on him, and catch him unawares. The windows were bullet-proof, and so darkly tinted, that it would have been impossible for anyone to have even seen inside. Cuauhtémoc knew this, of course, but such is “El Paniquiado”… He inserted the pen and inhaled, as if it were his last breath. Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhgh! Pow! He was himself again. The fog lifted, replaced by a sharp, crystalline glaze. He crumpled up the empty one gram micha, and

dropped it into the ashtray. Cuauhtémoc tilted his head back, looking into the rearview mirror to check his nose. He snorted, pinching at it a few times, until it was clear of all evidence. He put his sunglasses back on, and stepped out of the Cherokee. He opened the backseat door, and removed two black duffle bags. The alarm chirped twice as Cuauhtémoc crossed the street, heading toward the wrought iron gates of the Politician’s home. **** 15 Septiembre 1030 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Ian opened his eyes. The tiny apartment was muggy. It smelled of cigarette and stale sweat. Ian was uncomfortable. He could feel the crumbs of “Sabritas” potato chips on the mattress beneath him, sticking to his bare back and ass. His right leg was asleep, so was his right shoulder and arm. His pubic hair was pinched, pulled taut under Rosa del Mar’s left thigh. Ian didn’t move though. He didn’t want to wake her. He smiled. “My little baby…” he whispered. It broke Ian’s heart, just looking at her. Her right cheek was pressed against his chest. Little wisps of hair had fallen across her forehead and eyes. Her face was flushed from the heat. Her lips were pursed into a sleeping pout. Ian gently brushed the hair away from her face, with the fingertips of his free hand. She stirred. Rosa del Mar lifted her head, blinking her eyes. She looked around the room, suddenly, as if she didn’t know where she was. Her cheek had lines pressed into it, from the time spent sleeping on her hair. She looked up at Ian, then relaxed. She smiled.

“Mmmmmmmm… Mi cariño,” she said. She laid back down on Ian’s chest, and began to inch her way up his torso, until her head was nestled under his chin. She kissed Ian on the neck. “My beautiful Ingles,” said Rosa. “You feel so good, míjo… I could lay like this forever.” Ian wrapped his arms around her little naked body. He kissed the top of her head. “So could I” said Ian. He ran a hand over Rosa del Mar’s ass, up her spine, then back down again. She sighed, snuggling in closer to him. “Ian?” “Si mi vida…” “Do you love me?” “You know I do Rosa, more than anything in the world.” She laughed. “Why must you always mock me? Does everything have to be some sort of game with you? I’m trying…” “No, no, I’m sorry, Ian,” she interrupted, “I’m not laughing at you, míjo, not at all. It’s just your español, you acento, it’s so adorable.” She kissed him on the neck again. “Ay! Mi papi chulo…” She scratched his chest with her left hand, leaving three red welts on his skin. “So I’m adorable, eh?” he said. “Si mi morenito, chocolatíto, I adore you.” “Then what the hell are we doing here, Rosa? Why won’t you just come and live with me, and get away from all of this filth, this basurero? It’s dangerous here. I’ve told you a million times, that I will take care of you, Míja. You don’t have to live like this…” “No, Ian,” she said, “I’m not going to run off with you, and wait around for the first time that you get angry with me. Just so you can throw me out into the street? A la verga! Never… I don’t trust men, Ian. And I definitely don’t trust you, cabrón. Why should I? It’s

not like you’re asking me to go with you before God and the holy Virgin, to become your wife. Eh culero?” “Well, I…” “Well what?” “I mean, I suppose if we were to take some time, to think everything over. Well, then perhaps we could go ahead and…” “Oh, Ian, stop. Please,” she said. She reached up and covered his mouth with a hand. She began to laugh again. “You don’t have to lie to me, míjo. I told you, I don’t care. I really don’t. So don’t waste my time, Ian, and make me listen to your mamadas, okay?” “Mama la verga…” said Ian “Ay! Listen to you…” said Rosa, “you sound more and more like a ‘chilango’ everyday.” She sat up and straddled his bare chest. Her sex was soft against his skin. “Don’t get mad, papi. I just don’t feel like playing games. ¿Me entiendes?” “I’m not playing games, Rosa. I’m very serious,” he said. Rosa del Mar planted both of her hands firmly on Ian’s chest. She leaned back, stretching her spine. “Mira…” she said, her expression becoming serious again. “A lot of men tell me that they love me, Ian. And a lot of men tell me they want to give me things, and take care of me…” “What are you telling me this shit for, Rosa?” “Eschúchame cabrón, listen to what I’m telling you… I’ve had many chances to do, exactly what you’re asking me to do now, but I never have. And I never will, Ian. That is not the kind of life I want.” “Well, what kind of life do you want, Rosa? This? Do you really want to spend the rest of your life as a…” “As a what, cabrón?” SILENCE “Chinga tu madre…” she said. Rosa del Mar climbed off of Ian. She walked across the room, over to the pile of clothes sitting on the floor, beneath the window. She dug through them until she found a

pair of black jeans. She pulled a pack of Pall Malls and a green lighter from the back pocket. She turned to face Ian. He sat at the foot of the bed, looking down at the floor. Rosa removed a cigarette and began tapping it against the box. She placed it between her lips and lit it, all the while staring at Ian. Her eyes narrowed, as if she were scrutinizing him. She leaned her head back and exhaled into the air above her, with a cloud of smoke. “Toma…” she said. She tossed the box of Pall Malls towards him. They landed at his feet. She tossed the lighter onto the bed. She turned away from Ian again, and looked out of the window. “Do you really want to know what I want?” she said. A single tear began to work its way down her cheek. “Please, Míja… Just tell me.” Ian lit a cigarette. He looked up at Rosa del Mar, standing naked at the window, with her back to him. He sighed. “I want to get out of this horrible city, Ian,” she said. She stared down at the cats, rummaging through the overflowing trashcans, in the alleyway below. “I have to get away from this place… I have to. I want to get a bunch of money together and go to Oaxaca, to Hatulco. I want to buy a nice little casa, close to the sea. I want to open a little restaurant on the beach, that sells fried fish with lemon. And I want to have niños, and live a normal life, Ian…” “Rosa, that’s exactly what I want too,” he said. Rosa del Mar turned around. Her eyes flashed with disdain. “I don’t mean with you, cabrón. I’m talking about me,” she said. RRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!!! The alarm clock next to Rosa del Mar’s stereo echoed through the apartment. Ian reached over and pushed in the plastic pin, in the back of it. The ringing stopped. He began to wind it back up. “I have to go,” she said. She walked to the bathroom. “Where are you going?” he called after her. The water in the bathroom began to run. She didn’t answer. “Rosa…?” Ian picked up

his boxers, off the floor, and put them on. He extinguished his cigarette, in the ashtray on the bed. “Rosa!” NOTHING. “ROSA!!!” Ian threw the ashtray at the poster of Leonardo Di Capprio, above the bed. It struck the wall, broke neatly in two, then fell harmlessly onto the mattress. Rosa del Mar walked out of the bathroom wearing a tight black miniskirt and a white blouse. She tied it into a knot, exposing her stomach. She slipped into a pair of black stilettos, as she grabbed her purse from the top of the refrigerator. She pulled out her lipstick, and applied a generous shade of plum. She crouched down, picked up her black leather jacket from the floor, and started walking towards the door. She put the lipstick back into her purse, fished out her keys, and put her sunglasses on. “I won’t be here when you come back, Rosa…” said Ian. She stopped. “Not this time.” Ian sat down on the bed, and began to put his pants on. Rosa del Mar turned around. “Ian, listen to me. You don’t understand what is going on. You come in and out of my life whenever you feel like it. When you want me, whenever you feel the need for me, I am there for you, cabrón. I give you all of my time. I give you all of my care. I give my body to you, and let you do whatever you want with me. But you only come to me when you are unsure of yourself, Ian, when things aren’t going smoothly for you in that perfect little world of yours… And even though being with you messes up my head, so badly, because of the things you say to me, I am there for you. I listen to your stories. I listen to your promises, and I believe you. Then just when I finally let myself begin to feel something for you, you disappear for two weeks. And I sit here night after night, with the face of the stupid, waiting, listening for your footsteps on the staircase, when I should be out there making my money… Then when I do give up on you, here you come again, bien paniquiado, telling me the same old shit. And now you actually have the huevos, to act jealous with me, and then try to tell me

what to do? Chinga tu madre, puto… Why don’t you have the huevos to really love me, to be a man, and help me get out of this fucking city?!” “Rosa, I do love you,” said Ian. He walked to the door and leaned against it, preventing Rosa from opening it. “Don’t you understand that? I would do anything for you. If you really wanted to get out of this city, I’d leave with you tonight.” Rosa del Mar took three steps away from Ian, then turned around to face him. She placed her hands on her hips. “And what about your big fiesta tonight? What about your job at Medusas, and your wonderful life here, eh cabrón? Are you telling me that you would walk out on everything, right this minute, and take me to live in Huatulco…?” “Yes, I would.” “Right now?” “Right now.” “You would do that?” “Let’s go…” he said, with a shrug. “Rrrrrrrrgh!!” She closed her eyes, clenched her fists, and stamped her foot on the hardwood floor. “Damn you, Ian… Why do you always have to show up and make things so difficult for me? Why, míjo? Why do you do this to me?” Ian crouched down on his haunches, with his back against the door. “I love you, Rosa. Nothing else here matters to me…” he said. Rosa del Mar walked back over to the bed, grabbed a Pall Mall from the box, and lit it. She inhaled deeply, then exhaled with a long cloud of smoke. She looked directly at Ian. “Okay, cabrón, listen to me… God, why am I even doing this?” She hesitated for a moment. She took another draw on her cigarette. “Bueno…” she said, with a sigh. “Ian, I’m leaving Mexico City. I’ll have a chance to get all of the money I’ll need this evening. Then I’m getting on a bus, and never coming back. It’s going to be dangerous, Ian. I don’t know if I’ll even make it. And even if I do, I’ll

have to look over my shoulder for a very long time, because it means burning some powerful people here. ¿Me entiendes?” “Oh shit, Rosa, I don’t think that’s a good-” “Cállate. Listen to me damn it, you have no say in this, Ian… I have to look out for myself. Tonight is the quince de Septiembre, Independence night. And I swear before God, that this is my very, last, night in this hellhole. I don’t care what it takes. Come tomorrow, I will be in Oaxaca, or I’ll be dead, and it won’t even matter anymore. With or without you, it makes no difference. Either way, I am getting out of this God-forsaken place tonight, Ian. Do you understand me? Now, if you really love me, the way you always claim that you do, then you will help me…” Ian looked down at the floor in thought. He began to nod his head. He stood, and folded his arms over his chest. “Bueno…” he said. “Tell me everything then.” Rosa del Mar’s face lit up. She smiled and removed her sunglasses. She ran to Ian, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor. She wrapped her arms around him, and buried her face in his chest. She was crying. “Hell, I never did like this dirty city anyway…” said Ian, in English. He held her tightly, and caressed her hair. “Oh mi amor… Oh Ian. You’ll really do this for me? You will really help me get out of this terrible place?” “Si. Si, Míja. I just have to make some arrangements first. So tell me exactly what is going on here…” “Baby, I can’t. There just isn’t time. I have to go now. I’m late already.” She kissed his bare chest. “Stay here, Ian. I’ll be back in a couple of hours, okay? I’ll explain everything then. Just be patient with me, papi. Stay here. Don’t leave, Ian. I mean it. I’m counting on you…” She opened the door. She tossed her cigarette into the hallway. “But Rosa, if we’re really going to do this, I at least have to get started on closing up mi apartamento. I have to get someone to watch my things. I have e to call Johnny about my equipment, and the party. Then I-”

“Ian, just wait, okay?” said Rosa. “Look, I’m telling you, we will have so much money after this, we won’t even know what to do with it all… Stay here, papi. I will be right back.” She stood on her tip-toes, clasped the back of Ian’s neck, and pulled him into an urgent kiss. Rosa sighed through her nose. She sucked his bottom lip into her mouth, gently bit it, then pulled away from him. She slipped out of the door, and trotted down the hallway. “Rosa, wait!” called Ian, from the doorway. “Stay here!” she shouted, over her shoulder. She ran down the stairs, and disappeared from sight. Ian stepped into the hallway. He could feel the crumbs and dirt beneath his bare feet. He picked up Rosa del Mar’s cigarette off the hardwood floor. He took a hit, and exhaled through his nose like a dragon. He looked toward the staircase, at the end of the hall, and shook his head. “Bloody hell…” he said in English, “what have I gotten myself into this time?” **** 15 de Septiembre 0930 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… The cab worked its way through the sea of traffic, drifting south. Johnny sat in the backseat. Even though the front passenger seat had been removed, there still wasn’t much room inside the green and white Volkswagen Bug. Both front seat windows were rolled down. Smog and contaminacíon circulated through the car. Johnny closed his eyes. He swallowed and exhaled slowly. He opened his eyes, blinking, then adjusted the sunglasses on his nose with his left middle finger. The combination of the morphine and the speed had just about brought Johnny to a functional equilibrium, but he was still struggling, wavering between the two sensations. The speed pushed at his heart rate, kick-starting his consciousness. The morphine pulled at his eyelids, lulling him back towards the void, and unconsciousness.

“Wow… Johnny Rocket, baby. Johnny Rocket, yaaaaaasir! Look at him go…” Johnny thought of Fester’s words, the reverence in his voice, when he pulled the syringe of batch “B” from Johnny’s arm. He shivered. He closed his eyes again, then took a breath of cabrón dioxide. He swallowed. It tasted of bitter methamphetamine residue, at the back of his throat. The cab turned left, away from the traffic, and began to wind its way through la Colonia Polanco. Johnny’s hand trembled. He pulled a box of Marlboro Lights from the breast pocket of his jacket. He removed one with his teeth, then offered the box to the driver. “Quieres cigarro, hermano?” “Órale… Gracias, Jefe, eh? Muchisimas gracias.” The taxista took the pack, placed one between his lips, and handed the box back to Johnny. Johnny lit his cigarette with a Zippo. He exhaled through his nose, with a cloud of smoke, looking at his watch. 10:25 The taxi pulled up in front of a white colonial estate. Johnny looked up at the wrought iron gates, and the rose gardens beyond them. He smiled. “Cuanto le debo?” he said. “Eighty pesos, chief…” said the taxista. “I give you one hundred then, twenty for the tip.” Johnny climbed out of the cab. The driver made a U-turn and drove away. Johnny raised his right hand, to take the cigarette from his lips, but stopped. He winced. He used his left hand instead. “Damn you, Fester…” he whispered through his teeth. He took one last drag on the cigarette, then dropped it to the street, smashing it under foot. Johnny buttoned up his green Italian wool jacket, with his left hand. He looked around his surroundings. There was a white delivery van parked across the street, but he didn’t pay it much mind. He adjusted the sunglasses on his nose, once again, with his middle finger, then walked up the steps to the gate.

“A…B…C… Always be closing. Always be closing,” he said. He rang the bell. “This is the time. This is the place. I am the man. I will act now.” Johnny quoted the passage from “The Greatest Salesman In The World.” The gate popped with an electric buzz. He closed it behind himself. He walked down the brick walkway, winding through the rose garden, until he reached the front door. “Hola, señor. Buenos dias,” said the maid, as she opened the door for Johnny. “Señor Rausch is expecting you. This way, please…” She led him through the house, past the double staircase, across the living room, down the hall, to the open French doors of the patio. Eduardo stood as Johnny approached the table. He laughed. “Es tut mir forschbar leid, das ich so spat komme,” said Johnny, apologizing in German. “Nonsense,” said Eduardo in German, as he embraced him. “This is Mexico, my little brother, and by Mexican standards you are still quite early. Come, setz dich, sit here and tell me what brings you to Polanco, on this wonderfully contaminated, Mexico City morning…” They both laughed. Johnny sat down across from Eduardo. He looked out over the swimming pool, across the lawn that stretched all the way to the tree line, to the far end of the grounds. He leaned back in his chair, and crossed his legs. He inhaled deeply through his nose, smiling. “Contaminated? What could you possibly know of contamination, living up here? This is paradise, Edward,” said Johnny in German. “Now where I live, my friend, one learns the true meaning of contaminacíon. Believe me, and this is definitely not it.” Eduardo looked at the maid, and nodded his head, signaling her to leave them. “Ach du lieber! Please, John, you make it sound as if you live in squalor over there. Living in la Colonia Condesa is like living in your North Beach, in San Francisco. It’s actually quite charming,” he said in German.

“Sure, if you dropped North Beach right in the middle of downtown Los Angeles, at rush hour, on an August day with no breeze… vieleicht, maybe.” “Ja, vieleischt…” said Eduardo. He smiled. “So, would you like some breakfast, brother? There’s enough to feed an army here.” “No, gracias,” said Johnny. “Spreche Deutsch Johan! Come on, speak German John. It’s so rare that I even get the opportunity anymore.” “Okay, like I was saying, thanks but no thanks. I couldn’t eat anything right now, even if I tried,” said Johnny in German. The table was covered with food. Cressants, rolls, and pastries were in baskets. There was an abundance of fresh fruit, mangos, strawberries, bananas, and papáya. Platters of sausages and bacon sat at the center of the table, surrounded by plates of chilaquíles, and huevos rancheros with chorizo. Blue and yellow china from Guadalajara adorned each place setting, above the exquisite Spanish lace tablecloth. Johnny looked at the empty plate in front of Eduardo and smiled, knowingly. Eduardo noticed. “Well… Yes, I guess I’m not that hungry either,” he said. “Wirklisch, really…?” said Johnny. They both began to laugh. “Okay, enough…” said Eduardo in German, “you were right, John, that was very good stuff you gave me the other night. I’ve never seen anything quite like it before. Actually, I haven’t slept one minute yet in the past four days. And to be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever felt better in my life. Really, I mean that. I’ve somehow managed to read five novels, John, five. I handled all of my business for this week. Plus, I took care of a couple of personal issues, that I would have never got around to otherwise. I’ve become so productive. It’s incredible. Everything is in perfect order. And I’m sure you know how difficult that can be to do in this town. It’s as if I’ve become this extremely efficient being, an efficient, um… What?” Johnny was laughing again. “What is it?” said Eduardo in German.

“Slow down, Edward… You’re rambling, brother.” “I am rambling, aren’t I?” He began to laugh, too. “It’s amazing, John. We have to talk about all of this. You see, I can help you. I know exactly why you came back here today. It all makes perfect sense, I mean, from your perspective of course. And yes, I shall help you, far more than you even realize. But there is a much larger picture, things that we must take into careful consideration before we do anything. There are forces at work here that you know nothing about, my friend.” Johnny sat up in his chair. “Hey, Edward, I don’t want you to get the impression that I only came out here to try to pitch you some sort of-” “John…” said Eduardo, with a raised hand. “Look, there’s no need to be subtle. I hate to play games, my friend. I hate to waste time, and I hate to lose money. So let’s not skate about the issue at hand. I’ve already told you that I am interested, nicht war? I can make you a very wealthy man, mein bruder, very wealthy. But if we are going to do something here, then we are going to do it my way, John. And on that point I cannot compromise. Do you understand me?” “Absolutely,” said Johnny in German. “I trust your judgment one hundred percent, Edward. I’ve made quite a bit of money over the past two years, thanks to you. You have been very kind to me.” “That’s because I like your ambition. You know how to keep your mouth shut. And you have always been willing to take a risk, without asking any dangerous questions…” said Eduardo in German. Johnny crossed his legs, and reclined back into his chair. He nodded his head, listening to Eduardo’s every word. His expression was neutral, it betrayed nothing. “You see, there were a hundred other companies that would have killed for my account, John. But they always had too many questions. They wanted far too much information. And as we both know, too much information can be a very dangerous thing in this

country. They were terrified of the high volume cash transactions. They were scared of the heat, frightened of the possibility of being audited by “Hacienda”8. They could only see the potential problems. No one was thinking in terms of possible solutions. No one had enough vision, or creativity, to see the lucrative profits that awaited beyond the obstacles. No one but you, mein bruder…” Johnny smiled. “I guess I’ve always had good instincts…” “Yes, I’ve come to see that. And I must say that you have handled everything with extreme competence and professionalism” Eduardo pulled a box of Cartier cigarettes from the pocket of his shorts He put one between his lips, and lit it. “Darf ich?” said Johnny. “Of course,” said Eduardo in German. He passed Johnny the box of cigarettes and the lighter. “When Manuel approached you at Ameritrans with an order for fifteen trailers, you were not intimidated in the slightest,” said Eduardo, with an exhale of smoke. “And when he told you that we wanted to make the transaction in cash, you didn’t even blink an eye. He said that you agreed on the spot. Weren’t you even a little concerned that Ameritrans might have rejected the sale? What if they had asked you to obtain some sort of guarantees from us, to cover their exposure with Hacienda? What would you have done then?” “So who’s asking all the questions now, my brother?” said Johnny in German. He gave Eduardo his deal-closing smile. He lit his cigarette, took a drag, then shook his head in the negative. “I had very good report with the home office in Boston. I know the owner’s son, quite well. I explained to him how we could bring in the cash through Banco Serfan, and a simple wire transfer to an offshore account. Plus I told him that you would be a consistent buyer, and that even larger purchases were sure to follow.”

Hacienda: Mexico’s I.R.S.

“Very perceptive, John… Very perceptive, indeed. But then again, I sensed that about you from the beginning. And we wouldn’t be here talking right now, if it were not so,” said Eduardo. “Vielen dank.” Said Johnny. “I can never thank you enough for giving me that first opportunity, Edward.” “I’m curious though…” said Eduardo, “what led you to believe that I could help you with this new endeavor of yours? After all, you still don’t even know for sure, exactly what it is I really do for a living.” “I have a pretty good idea, Edward, at least that’s what my gut tells me,” said Johnny, with an exhale of smoke. “I had to go with my instincts. I feel very strongly about this opportunity. It was worth the risk of being wrong.” “Well little brother, you do have very good timing. You caught me at just the right moment. Normally, I wouldn’t even consider something like this. But, I happen to be in a state of extreme transition right now. I am going to make some very, very drastic changes around here, John. And I am going to do it all within the next twenty-four hours…” “Twenty-four hours?” said Johnny. He raised his eyebrows. “Yes. But we’ll get to all of that later. So, did you bring any more with you?” “Ice?... Oh yeah, sure. Do you want some?” said Johnny. He smiled. Eduardo began to dry off his empty plate with a napkin. “Give it to me,” said Eduardo. Johnny reached into his inside breast pocket and produced a clear plastic baggie. It contained one gram of Fester’s famous batch “B”. “Tea time, baby… Yaaaaasir!” said Johnny in English. His eyes widened, and his face flushed with blood. Eduardo’s face was blank. “I mean… uh, shall we?” he said in German. He passed the bag to Eduardo. Eduardo went right to work. “Oh God, that was Fester… I can’t believe I’m letting that crazy bastard rub off on me…” he thought to himself. Johnny watched Eduardo pour a quarter of the bag onto his

plate. He smashed the little mound of crystals with an American Express platinum card. CRUNCH!!!! **** 15 de Septiembre 1030 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Manuel kept his eyes shut. It felt like his head was about to explode. There was a steady pounding, a throbbing sensation, growing around the base of the nails that were driven into his skull. Five minutes ago, spitting and gurgling, Manuel had begged for his own death. The torment was just too much for him. He had already bitten off most of his tongue, during the periods of electrocution. His insides felt pulverized and ruptured. Everything smelled of burnt hair. His body was racked with pain and exhaustion. But now, as he awaited the next torrent of electricity, only one thought burned in his mind. “I must survive… I cannot let this man murder me! Oh God! Let me LIVE!!!!!!” Manuel knew that agent Sanchez would begin shocking him again, once he realized that he had returned to consciousness. So he had to be convincing. He laid perfectly still, and tried to gain a brief moment, to gather the last of his strength. He heard footsteps on the concrete floor. Sanchez was walking back towards him. Manuel’s heart beat faster, with each approaching step. He swallowed, hard and dry, breathing through his nose… The panic was nearly consuming him. Yet, somehow, Manuel managed to keep still. He held his breath. The footsteps stopped. Sanchez was standing right next to him now. The silence felt like a weight, pressing down on Manuel’s chest. Two fingers probed, roughly along the left side of his neck, searching for a pulse… SMACK!!! The back of a hand struck him across the cheek. Blood sprayed from his lips. Manuel didn’t respond though. He laid motionless. Sanchez circled around behind him. He leaned over,

eclipsing the light above Manuel, casting a shadow on his face. Manuel could hear the wheezing of Sanchez’ breathing, as he drew closer to him. A sharp spear of pain shot through Manuel’s skull. Agent Sanchez toyed with the nails, checking the connection of the wires. His face was only a few inches above Manuel’s. Despite the pain, Manuel didn’t move. He could feel Sanchez’ foul breath on his cheek now. He inhaled through his nose, tightened his neck muscles, and conjured all of the rage, anger, and fire left in his body. Manuel’s eyes popped open. Sanchez noticed, but it was too late… Manuel launched his head forward with all of his might. It was a powerful head-butt. THOK!!!!! The nail protruding from the right side of Manuel’s forehead plunged smoothly into agent Sanchez’s left eye socket. Sanchez let out a high-pitched shriek, as he tried to pull away. But Manuel shook his head, from left to right, gouging and mutilating him. The eye was plucked out. It fell free, hanging on by only a few strands of optic muscle tissue. Blood poured from the wound, onto Manuel’s face. Sanchez screamed wildly. He grabbed Manuel’s head with both hands and jerked back, freeing himself. Sanchez instinctively reached for his hanging eye. But in that fraction of a second, Manuel flung his head back up at the stunned PGR agent. He clamped onto Sanchez’s nose like a Bull Terrier. His mouth filled with blood. Sanchez gasped, squealing like a pig. His right hand flew to his waist, searching for the double-edged dagger attached to his belt. Manuel shook his head, biting deeper into the flesh, fighting back with the only means left to him. Sanchez pulled the dagger from its sheath, at the small of his back. He slammed it into Manuel’s side as hard as he could. It struck Manuel’s pelvic bone. The pain hit him like a thunderbolt. He bit Sanchez’s nose off. Sanchez released the dagger, and fell backwards onto the concrete floor. He sat up touching the eyeball hanging onto his left cheek. He felt for his nose and screamed.

Blood streamed down his face, over his lips, and fell in long strands from his chin. “Son of your whore mother!!!! You’ve mutilated me!!!! You’ve mutilated me!!!! I’ll kill you!!!!” screamed Sanchez. Manuel spit out Sanchez’s nose. It landed on his chest. Even though his arms were taped to his sides, Manuel was just able to reach the handle of the dagger, wedged into his own hip. He screamed and pulled it out of himself. He slashed at the silver duct tape that was binding him, in a frenzy of rage. Adrenaline rushed through Manuel’s body, giving him strength. “You want to kill me, cabrón?!!!” he screamed. Manuel cut through the last of the duct tape. “You want to kill me?!!!!!!” He sprang to his feet. Agent Sanchez was still sitting on the floor, stunned. He looked up at Manuel, with his one good right eye. He saw the dagger clenched in Manuel’s fist. The wires were still attached to the nails, sticking out of his head. He looked like a demon, with horns, staring down at Sanchez. His eyes blazed with vengeance. “You want to kill me?!!!! Come on, puto!!!!!” shouted Manuel. He picked up the nose, and threw it at Sanchez. He missed. It hit the floor, bounced, then skidded into the darkness. Sanchez ducked. He looked to his left, at the dimmer switch laying on the floor, ten feet away. He looked back at Manuel. “Tu Maaaaaaaaaaaadre!!!” he shouted, spitting blood. Everything moved in slow motion. Sanchez scrambled on all fours toward the dimmer switch. Manuel ran after him, holding the dagger overhead… Sanchez grabbed the switch, and rolled onto his back… Manuel leaped headfirst into the air, screaming. Sanchez turned the switch all the way to the right, releasing the full charge from the wide open line. Manuel landed on top of agent Sanchez, plunging the dagger into his chest, as the current struck. Their bodies bucked and convulsed, as they clung to each other in a quivering embrace. ****

15 de Septiembre 1030 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… SMACK!!!! The Politician slapped Cuauhtémoc across the face. “Demon! May God curse your bones for what you have done!” said Epifanio, shaking an index finger at the PGR agent. Cuauhtémoc dropped both duffel bags to the floor. He took a step backwards, and drew the Sig Sauer 9mm from its holster, under his arm. He pointed it at Epifano’s face. “Bajale de huevos, puto!” said Cuauhtémoc through his teeth. “You better lower your balls, and come back down to reality, cabrón. Or I will shoot you dead, right here in your own house. Don’t push me, Epifanio. It’s been a long enough morning already. ¿Me entiendes?” He snorted the cocaine drip, running from his nose. Epifanio nodded his head. Perspiration rolled down his face. “Me entendistes, cabrón?!” said Cuauhtémoc. The Sig Sauer trembled in his hand. “Si. Si, I understand,” said Epifanio, stepping backwards. “It’s just that you said no one was going to get hurt, Cuauhtémoc. You promised me!” Cuauhtémoc lowered the pistol. “Things didn’t go as smoothly as I had hoped they would,” he said. He turned away from the Politician, walked over to a red leather chair by the windows, and sat down with a long sigh. He wiped the perspiration from his forehead, with the back of his hand, still holding the Sig Sauer. He leaned his head back, and closed his eyes. “Cuauhtémoc, you promised me that no one would be hurt. Pablo was not just a business associate of mine. He was my friend, cabrón!” Cuauhtémoc opened his eyes. “I told you, things didn’t go as smoothly as I had hoped,” he said. The Politician was at the desk, pouring two William Lawson’s and sodas.

“Smoothly? In the name of God, Cuauhtémoc, they were all tortured to death! You hammered nails into their skulls! You beat them, and electrocuted them. The newspapers said that they were probably tortured for several days, before they were killed. Damn you! Their faces were all over the front page of La Prensa, hijo, those hideous faces…” “Don’t get righteous with me now, Senator,” said Cuauhtémoc. “Your hands are just as bloody as mine. You sure didn’t seem to mind the possibility of bloodshed, when you came to me with this idea of yours. And now that the heat is on, you’ve lost your stomach for it? Is that what you are telling me? A la verga! Hey, if the money is too bloody for your conscience, Epifanio, perhaps I should just keep it then.” He smiled. “Chinga tu madre…” said Epifanio, as he walked over to Cuauhtémoc. He offered him one of the double scotch and sodas. “No, no, no. Everything goes as we agreed. I have your money here. All I am saying, is that you have brought us a lot of extra heat, hijo. Esta caliente, esa madre. This thing is hot, Cuauhtémoc. We have to be extremely careful. People are asking questions now, dangerous questions. And if we don’t get our asses out of here soon, those same people will start asking us questions. ¿Me entiendes?” “I know,” said Cuauhtémoc. He took the cocktail with his left hand. “I’m sorry compadre, I’m under a lot of stress right now. Believe me, I know exactly what kind of heat you’ve been dealing with downtown. Pinche Derechos Humanos, those human rights bastards have been all over my office too. But we’re almost out of this. Everyone goes their separate ways tonight. No one can prove anything yet. We just have to hold it all together for a few more hours, okay? Esta facil.” They touched glasses in a toast. Both their hands trembled, as they raised their cocktails to their lips. Cuauhtémoc took a sip. Epifanio downed the whole thing. The Politician walked back to the desk, and set the empty glass on top of it. He took a halfsmoked cigar from the crystal ashtray, and placed it between his lips.

He turned back around and faced Cuauhtémoc. He produced a silver lighter, from the pocket of his robe, and relit the cigar with shaking hands. “Facil? Easy?...” said Epifanio. He blew a mouthful of thick smoke overhead. He lowered his gaze, and pointed his cigar at the PGR agent. “There is nothing easy about any of this, my friend. Look at yourself, Cuauhtémoc. Look at me. We have the color of the same shit, cabrón. We’re both bien paniquiados, and it shows. I didn’t sleep at all last night. And you, you look like you haven’t slept in weeks.” Cuauhtémoc stood up. “Okay. Bueno. We have the color of the same shit. I didn’t come all the way out here to listen to your opinions, puto. I came here to get paid. So do you have my money or not? Yes or no?” “Si. Aquí lo tengo,” said Epifanio. “Good. Then give it to me.” BLEEP…BLEEP…BLEEP… Cuahutemoc’s cell phone rang. **** 15 de Septiembre 1035hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Johnny looked toward the French doors, and stood up. “Buenos dias, Señora Rausch,” he said with a smile. Eduardo pinched at his nose, then looked up at the entrance to the patio as well. He smiled, and rose from his seat. “Ah, mi amor, so there you are. I was beginning to wonder,” he said. Ana Lilia stood in the doorway. She was a picture of elegance, of beauty. She wore a white Chanel dress, with dark blue buttons down the front. Her hair was pulled back into a long ponytail. Gold-framed Cartier sunglasses rested on her delicate nose. She carried a white leather Chanel purse and a pair of gloves that matched the dark blue of her dress and high heels. Johnny swallowed. His heart raced, as he watched her. Perhaps the line of Ice he had just done

with Eduardo, contributed to the sensation a bit. But either way, Ana Lilia’s presence rattled and distracted him. “Sweet Jesus…” whispered Johnny, forgetting himself. Ana Lilia looked at Eduardo, then at Johnny. Her lips twisted into a mischievous smirk. She walked toward them. “We’ll talk about everything when she leaves,” said Eduardo in German. “Ja, ob du willst. Es ist mir egal. Sure, if you want. It makes no difference,” said Johnny. “Come on, you two, don’t be rude. Speak Spanish. You know I don’t understand that stuff,” said Ana Lilia. She kissed Eduardo on the cheek, then walked around to the other side of the table. She removed her sunglasses and took the seat right next to Johnny’s. Her perfume filled the air. Ana Lilia intimidated Johnny. She knew this. Johnny shuddered at the thought of offending Eduardo, and blowing the deal. And as Ana Lilia stood in front of the seat next to him, waiting for Johnny to push it in for her, he looked to Eduardo with an expression somewhere between guilt, apprehension, and downright terror. Eduardo gave him an indifferent shrug Johnny pushed Ana Lilia’s seat in for her. “Gracias Juaníto…” said Ana Lilia. Her eyes flashed. She gave Johnny a shameless smile. Johnny ignored it. He did however, note Eduardo’s scowl. He glared at Ana Lilia from across the table. Johnny took his seat. He cleared his throat. “So…” began Johnny, “it looks like Club America just might win the classic today against Guadalajara. That is, if Cuauhtémoc Blanco really is able to play. What do you think Eduardo?” Eduardo and Ana Lilia both stared at Johnny as if he were mad. Ana Lilia leaned in closer to Johnny. She placed a hand on his forearm. She wrinkled up her nose and shook her head. “Eduardo doesn’t like futbol, Juaníto. No le gusta.” “I hate soccer, Johnny. I despise it,” said Eduardo. He continued to stare directly at Ana Lilia, his eyes burning. Ana Lilia

glanced back at Eduardo, with a blank face. She raised her eyebrows, daring him to start an argument with her. She knew he wouldn’t, not at the table, not with Johnny present. For now, she could do whatever she pleased. She returned her attention to Johnny, smiling. “I cannot believe you, Juaníto. I haven’t seen you in months now, and the only thing you have to say, when I sit down at the table with you, is that Guadalajara may lose the clasico today? Shame on you. I want to hear what you have been up to.” She leaned forward in her chair, crossing her legs. She placed a hand on Johnny’s knee under the table. “Well…” said Johnny. He removed Ana Lilia’s hand from his knee. “I’ve been so very busy lately…” She put her hand back on Johnny’s knee. “…Business has been good, Señora Rausch, it’s just that…” Her hand slid up his thigh. “…the hours, they’ve been absolutely…” She squeezed his crotch. “…Insane!” Johnny fell into a fit of coughing. Ana Lilia didn’t move her hand away. “Are you okay, John?” said Eduardo. “Here, take some water, Juan,” said Ana Lilia. She passed him a glass of water with one hand, while her other unfastened his pants. Her eyes sparkled with excitement. She was almost laughing now. She unzipped Johnny’s fly. Johnny’s eyes widened. His mouth worked like a fish. “John?...” said Eduardo. “Excuse me, Señor Rausch,” said the maid. She stood at the French doors. “You have a phone call, sir. Would you like me to bring it to you out here?” Eduardo looked at Johnny, then at Ana Lilia. He stood. “No Mirna, I’ll take it inside, that’s okay,” he said. “Excuse me, John. This will only take a minute. Are you okay, brother?”

Johnny took a few swallows from the glass of water. He set it down on the table in front of him with a sigh. “No, no, I’m fine, Edward. Go ahead. I just have to stop all of this smoking, that’s all,” he said. Eduardo smiled. “Yes. It will surely be the death of us all. Won’t it, Ana?” Eduardo stood there, looking at both of them. His words hung in the air. “Okay. I’ll be right back,” he said. He turned and walked toward the French doors. “And for God’s sake Ana, eat something. No one has even touched Mirna’s chilaquíles. You know how she gets,” he said over his shoulder. Eduardo entered the house. Johnny and Ana Lilia looked at each other. Their faces were expressionless. Her hands flew to Johnny’s crotch. She unzipped the fly and opened his pants. She buried her face in his lap. Ana Lilia laughed as she searched for his penis with her tongue, through the opening of his boxers. “Ana!” whispered Johnny. He grabbed her head with both hands, and tried to pull her off of him. She resisted. She took him into her mouth. His penis was shriveled down to a pathetic little nub. “Ana!” She spit him out with disgust, and sat up. She crossed her legs and reached for her purse on the table. “Yuck. I don’t know why I even bothered. You are absolutely useless when you are on that shit, Juan… Useless,” she said. She took out a compact mirror, and began to reapply her lipstick. “Have you completely lost your mind!?” whispered Johnny. He looked over Ana Lilia’s shoulder, towards the French doors. He zipped up his pants. “What do you expect? I’m supposed to become overwhelmed with desire for you, as you fondle me right in front of Eduardo? Do you want to get us both killed?” he said. “I’m not afraid of him, Juan,” she said, as she put the lipstick and compact back inside her purse, on the table. “I know, Ana. I believe you,” said Johnny.

“I hate him, Juan. Lo odio,” she said. Ana Lilia leaned in closer to Johnny, and took his right hand between both of hers, imploring him. “You have to take me away from here, Juan. Please, baby. I just can’t take it anymore. No puedo mas.” She squeezed his hand. Johnny looked over at the open French doors, then back at Ana Lilia. He lowered his voice. “Ana, you have to be patient, mami. I’m going to need just a little more time,” he said. “But don’t you want me? Juan, you told me that you were in love with me! You promised that you would take me away from that bastard. Me jurastes! You swore it!” “Shhhhhhhhh… someone will hear you,” he said. “Ana, I do love you. You make me crazy, Míja. I think of you twenty-four hours a day. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep…” “Then let’s leave this place, Juaníto, now. Tu y yo, baby. Before it’s too late. Things are out of control. This city is destroying us, Juan. Eduardo has completely lost his mind. People are searching for him. His socios, the people he does business with, they all want to kill him. And me, I can’t tell the difference between what is really happening, and what my mind is imagining. Nothing seems real! I mean, everything seems real! Oh God, Juaníto, I’m going crazy!” “Ana, tranquila. It’s okay…” “No, it’s not! Juan, I take 6 or 7 Reinas9 every day, and I don’t even fall asleep anymore. I just walk around in a dream, a nightmare that I can’t wake up from. And once a day passes, it is lost to me forever. I can’t even remember what happened to me yesterday!” she covered her face with both of her hands. She was crying. Johnny looked at the French doors again, then back at Ana Lilia. He placed a hand on her thigh.

Reinas: Rohypnol. Valium to the tenth power. Roche labratroes 2 mg. knockout. The infamous date-rape pill. Known as Reinas, Cho Chos, Roofies, etc.

“Ana… No, no, no, baby. Come on,” said Johnny. “Don’t cry. It really is going to be alright. I promise. We’re going to get out of here. Soon, mi amor, soon.” “When? Why can’t we leave now? Juan, you don’t understand. None of us are going to make it out of this situation alive. And look at you. You’re too paniquiado to even see it!” “Ana, calm down.” said Johnny. “Listen to me. Everything will be fine. All I have to do is close this deal with Eduardo, and we will be able to do whatever we want.” Ana Lilia stood up. “Eduardo, Eduardo, Eduardo. My God, Juan! That’s all you ever talk about. Why don’t you just go and fuck him then?! Saves que, Juan? You know what, you don’t care about me. You never have, cabrón. You only care about money! You have no passion. None! Now Ian, Ian has passión. He will take me away from this madness. I will go to him today. I will give myself to him. I will throw myself at his feet if I have to.” She put her sunglasses on. Johnny scooted his chair back and turned towards Ana Lilia. He slid to the edge of the seat and caught her by the wrist. He pulled her towards him. His face was level with her stomach. “Ana wait…” he said, looking up at her. She refused to look at him. She stared out, over the pool. “Ana, I love you. I love you so much. You just have to be patient with me, Míja. Believe me, we are going to need this money. How are we supposed to survive?” Ana Lilia looked down at him. “Ian isn’t obsessed with money, Juan. He doesn’t worship it the way you do. All Ian cares about is me,” she said. “Ian is broke! He has nothing, Ana. Don’t be a fool!” He tightened his grip on her wrist. She tried to pull away. Johnny didn’t let go. “I don’t care about the money, Juan. That’s something you will never understand,” she said. “That’s bullshit. You’ve forgotten what it’s like to be broke. Look at you. Look at the queen. Your habits, your tastes… You wouldn’t last

a week with someone like Ian. And that’s if Eduardo doesn’t kill the two of you first,” he said. “Well, at least I would die loved, with a real man!” she said. Johnny pushed her away. “Trampa! Whore! Get away from me then. I don’t need this shit. Go ahead, go to Ian. Vete a la verga! Why did I even lower myself like this? To sleep with you. Why?” said Johnny. “Why…?” she said, walking back towards him. Her eyes flashed. She placed one leg on each side of Johnny, straddling him. She looked over her shoulder at the French doors, then back at Johnny. His face was just a few inches from her crotch. “I’ll tell you why. It’s because you can’t say no to this…” She slowly pulled up the front of the little Chanel dress with both hands. She wasn’t wearing panties. Her pussy was manicured to perfection. Johnny’s mouth dropped open. He gazed at it, unable to move, hypnotized by its beauty. It was absolutely flawless. The scent of her perfumed body powder, radiated from between Ana Lilia’s open thighs. It rushed to Johnny’s head, making him giddy. “…Because you are in love with my cuca, la cucarrachita,” said Ana Lilia. She spread herself open with the fingers of her right hand. Johnny closed his eyes. He leaned forward, brushing his nose against her pubic hair. He inhaled slowly, sniffing her completely. His bottom lip quivered. Ana Lilia cupped a hand around the back of Johnny’s head, pressing his face against her vagina. He moaned. “So it’s over then, Juan? Is that what you’re trying to tell me? Do you think you can just walk away from this?” she said. Johnny licked the inside of her open lips, nodding his head in agreement. “Did you think it would be that easy…?” She looked back at the French doors. She smiled, then looked down at the top of Johnny’s head. “Chinga… tu… MADRE!” she said. A powerful stream of urine sprayed from Ana Lilia’s vagina. It flooded Johnny’s open mouth, rushing down his neck and shirt front.

She clamped her fingers together, behind his head, and held him in a death lock. Johnny coughed and gurgled, choking on the bitter fluid. He struggled to free himself with one good arm, but he was just too weak. Johnny finally gave up, and let his arms hang at his sides, as Ana Lilia continued to befoul him without resistance. When she was finished, Ana Lilia pushed Johnny back into his chair. She stepped back, holding her dress up, and took the cloth napkin from Johnny’s place setting at the table. She reached down, wiped herself dry, and threw the napkin in Johnny’s lap. She pointed an index finger at him. “Listen, cabrón. Your ass is mine. I’ll do whatever I want with you. And nothing is over, until I say it’s over. ¿Me entiendes? I’m warning you, Juan. If you piss me off one more time, I will tell Eduardo everything, every single detail. And as soon as he is finished killing me, he’s going to come looking for you, cabrón. I don’t care anymore. I’m a crazy bitch, Juan. So you better keep me happy.” Johnny sat there, blinking in disbelief. Ana Lilia smoothed out her dress with a little sigh. “Bueno…” she said, smiling. She picked up her purse and gloves, and started to walk away. She took four steps, then stopped. “Oh, and another thing, Juan,” she said, as she turned around to face him again. “Next time, I’ll shit on you, cabrón.” She laughed, and walked towards the French doors. “And you know I will,” she said, over her shoulder. **** 15 de Septiembre 1033 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Cuauhtémoc stood in the sala downstairs, so he could take the phone call in private. Epifanio was upstairs in his office. He was counting out the counterfeit 200 peso notes that Cuauhtémoc had brought him. “Bueno…? This better be important, Contreras, I’m in the middle of a meeting,” said Cuauhtémoc.

“Si, Jefe. Tenemos movimiento, we have movement. A male subject, about one-ninety-five meters and a hundred kilos. He just arrived in a taxi, and entered the residence,” said agent Contreras. ****

15 de Septiembre 1033 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… “Bueno?” said Eduardo, as he took the phone call in his office upstairs. “Ah, uncle, how good it is to hear from you. Let me call you right back,” he said. He hung up. Eduardo pulled the scrambled cell phone from his belt and dialed the number. “Bueno?” said Epifanio, answering the scrambled cell phone Eduardo had given him three days ago. “Uncle, I’ve been expecting your call. I suppose you were calling to check on the children, no?” said Eduardo. “Yes. Como estan los niños10? How are the children?” said Epifanio, using the code words Eduardo had instructed him to use. “I was hoping to spend some time with them. I want to take them with me, to celebrate Independence Night tonight.” “That would be very nice for them,” said Eduardo. “You’ll definitely have your hands full though. Are you sure you will be able to handle all of the kids yourself? Because I must insist that they all go together, uncle, or not at all. On that point, I have to be very firm. They each want to be your favorite, you see. And it just wouldn’t be fair to the other children, if you only took a couple of them with you.” “No, nephew, that’s fine. I wanted to take them all with me tonight,” said Epifanio. “Good…” said Eduardo, “I’m sure they’ll be very excited.”

Los niños/the children: common code word for cocaine amongst traficantes

“And how much money do you think I should bring along for each of them?” said Epifanio. “Sixty pesos each11 should be enough,” said Eduardo. “I wouldn’t want you to spoil them, Uncle.” “No, no, no, we wouldn’t want to do that, nephew. Bueno, so what time should I come by to pick them up?” said Epifanio. “Well, they’re all over at the babysitter’s house right now. Why don’t I call you back at this number in an hour?” “That’s fine, nephew. I’ll be waiting. Hasta luego,” said Epifanio. “Hast luego,” said Eduardo. He hung up. **** 15 de Septiembre 1035 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… “Listen to me,” said Cuauhtémoc, “if anyone leaves that house, and I mean anyone, you are to follow them. Call the Butcher as soon as we hang up. Tell him to leave the meat in the freezer, lock up the shop, and bring his ass down here to cover the house. I’ll be down there myself, in the next thirty minutes or so, to cover until the Butcher arrives. If we have any more activity between now and then, call me immediately. Do you understand me?” “Si, Jefe,” said agent Contreras, “I’ll take care of everything, now.” “Good,” said Cuauhtémoc, “don’t disappoint me, hijo. Everything depends on this, everything.” “No hay problema, Jefe,” said Contreras. “Órale pues…” said Cuauhtémoc. He pushed the ‘End’ button the black Nokia. Athenas walked in through the front doors. She saw Cuauhtémoc, and stopped at the foot of the staircase. Her eyes widened. Cuauhtémoc smiled, masking the rage burning within him. 11

(60,000 pesos approximate 7,000 U.S. dollars x 500 units = 3,500,000 dollars)

“So there you are…” he said, as he clipped the cell phone to his belt. He walked towards the foyer. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you since yesterday, Míja. Your cell phone was turned off, all night. I thought that something might have happened to you. I’ve been worried sick,” he said, almost spitting the last word through his teeth. His eyes flashed. Athenas took a step backwards, up onto the stairs. “Cuauhtémoc… I, I just needed some time to think, to clear my head, that’s all,” she said. She looked around the house, hoping her father would walk in and interrupt them. “There are so many things going on in my life right now, it’s very complicated. I mean, I am absolutely flattered that you would want to marry me, Cuauhtémoc. Believe me, I am. Es que… Es que, it’s just my father, he will never approve. Never.” Athenas took another step backwards, up the stairs. Comandante Cuauhtémoc Jimenez terrified Athenas. Since he was an associate of her father’s, Athenas had overheard the rumors about Cuahutemoc’s scandalous love affairs. She knew that he had been married once, that his wife had disappeared, and was never seen again. She also heard of a young girl that Cuauhtémoc had been obsessed with. At first the girl had rejected his advances. A month later her little brother was kidnapped. After she finally gave in, and they had been living together for a few months, she too disappeared. Her body was eventually discovered in La Colonia Acueducto de Guadalupe. She had been hacked into pieces, then stuffed into an empty diesel fuel barrel. Cuauhtémoc had never been investigated, for either case. “Athenas… We really must talk,” said Cuauhtémoc. His eyes narrowed. He grabbed Athenas’ wrist, looking up at her. She was trembling. “So much is happening right now, my love. There is no way I can even explain it all,” he said. He smiled with excitement. Athenas

stared at the Sig Sauer in its holster, peeking out from under Cuahutemoc’s jacket. “Believe me, your father won’t even be a concern for us. We can be together now, Athenas, you and I para siempre, forever, mi amor. There is nothing to worry about. I’ve already worked out all of the details. You will be my queen. I will give you everything you have ever wanted. We will have so much money, so much freedom. The world will be ours! All for you, mi amor, all for you. All you have to do is pack your things. I’ll come for you tonight. We’ll leave before dawn, and start our new lives together.” Cuahutemoc’s eyes shined with hope. Athenas swallowed. She could barely breathe. “Oh, Cuauhtémoc… That sounds so wonderful. It really does. And I’m sure a million other girls would kill for the opportunity to go with you, and live such a life. But, I can’t leave the Distrito, Cuauhtémoc. How could I? My whole life is here. My family, my friends, my school. How can-” “Perhaps you didn’t understand me,” said Cuahutemoc. He tightened his grip on her wrist. It hurt. His expression blackened. The evil began to surface. “You will be ready tonight, Athenas, and you will leave with me. Don’t make me put a bullet through your father’s head, and slit your mother’s throat, first. I’m not in the mood, but I’ll do it right now, just to make the point. And my point being this; I am a Comandante in the PGR, Athenas. I am beyond anyone’s reach. I do what I want, when I want, period. And what I want right now, is for you to take your pretty little ass upstairs, pack your things, and wait for me to return for you. Do you understand me?” he said. Athenas’ eyes grew wider, and her mouth dropped from the impact of Cuahutemoc’s words. She didn’t answer. Cuauhtémoc smiled. He was still holding Athenas’ wrist. He drew the Sig Sauer with his free hand. With one motion, he pulled her arm towards him, placed the barrel of the pistol in her mouth, and forced her down onto

her back, on the stairs. He straddled her, crouching on his haunches. He squeezed her cheeks together with his left hand, opening her mouth wider, as he forced the pistol deeper inside. She gagged. “I asked you a question, Athenas… Do you understand me? Si o No?” he said. She nodded her head spastically. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Bueno,” said Cuauhtémoc. He pulled the pistol from her mouth, returned it to its holster, and stood up. He ran a hand through his hair and looked down at her. He sighed. Athenas was curled up into a ball on the stairs now. She hid her face in her hands. “It has been a very, very long morning, Míja, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be a bastard. It’s just that I’m under such a great deal of pressure at the moment. ¿Me entiendes? Just do what I say, okay? Everything is going to be great, you’ll see. I’ll treat you so good, baby, I promise. We just have to get out of this pueblo cagado, this stinking town.” He lightly kicked her ass with his shoe. “Go on, go to your room, Míja. Get everything packed and wait for me. Keep your cell phone on. I’ll be calling you.” Athenas crawled away from him backwards, up the next two steps. She jumped up, then ran the rest of the way to the top of the staircase. She raced down the hallway, without looking back, and burst into her room. She locked the door behind herself. She rushed to her bed, and pulled out a black shoebox from under it. Her chest heaved, she was almost hyperventilating. She opened the shoebox and removed a black Browning 3.80, that Johnny had given her, as well as a little pink plastic baggie of crushed “glass”. She tucked the .38 under her arm. Athenas fumbled with the baggie, trying to open it. It opened. She scooped out a little mound with her pinky nail. She held it beneath her nostrils and inhaled deeply. POW!!!

The fire ripped through her skull, burning her nose, and throwing her nervous system into high gear. Her eyes blurred. Two single tears rolled down each side of her face. She wiped them away with the back of her hand, tilting her head back. She pinched her nose, and snorted to clear it. She took the pistol in her left hand, and looked towards the door. Her senses were sharp now. Her head was crystal clear. She stood up. “Okay, puto…” she said under her breath. “You want to go somewhere with me tonight? I’ll take you then.” She racked the slide of the 3.80. CLICK CLICK. “Straight to hell, cabrón… Straight to hell!” ****

15 de Septiembre 1040 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Eduardo walked back through the French doors, out to the patio, as Ana Lilia walked past him, into the house. She left a trail of perfume in her wake. “Baby…” said Eduardo, turning around to look after her. “Where are you going, Míja?” “Shopping!” she said, over her shoulder. She headed down the hallway. “Well did you at least try the chilaquíles?!!” he said. “No!” she shouted, “They were too soft!” Ana Lilia disappeared from sight. Johnny’s eyes widened. In a state of panic, he took the glass of water from the table in front of him, and poured it over his chest. Eduardo turned around with a shrug, almost catching Johnny in the act. “Ach, sheise! Shit!” said Johnny, standing up. “I’ve soaked myself.”

Eduardo laughed, as he approached the table. “Sei vorsichdich, bruder, be careful brother,” he said in German. “What did you spill?” “Oh, it’s nothing, it’s only water,” said Johnny, “but I’m still soaked. Do you mind if I use your restroom?” “No, go right ahead, brother. We’ll talk when you come back. I have some very good news, as well as a proposition for you to think about. It can wait though, go on. While we’re talking, I’ll have Mirna launder your shirt for you. Mirna! Come here please,” he said, looking towards the French doors. **** 15 de Septiembre 1043 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… The gates of the white colonial estate slowly rolled open, exposing the long driveway. Ana Lilia’s forest green Jaguar XJ6 pulled out into the street, turning left. The white “Electra” delivery van waited a few seconds, then pulled away from the curb in pursuit. Further up the street, a dark blue Suburban also pulled away from the curb. It followed the delivery van at a distance of a hundred meters. **** 15 de Septiembre 1043 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Eduardo sat at the table, alone, waiting for Johnny to return from the bathroom. BLEEP…BLEEP…BLEEP… “Bueno?” he said, reclining in his chair. “They’re following her, señor. I’m right behind them, now,” said the voice, with a Colombian accent. “Now that is interesting,” said Eduardo. “That does take care of two matters at the same time, too. Okay. Be sure to keep an eye on them, of course, but don’t bother getting too close. We already know what they want. What I do want, however, is to know every single detail of Señora Rausch’s movements. ¿Me entiendes?”

“Si, patrón.” “Good,” said Eduardo. “So, do you mean to tell me that they have no one covering the house right now?” “Nadie señor, no one. Paco is still in position, just in case, but for the moment the street is clear.” “Amazing…” said Eduardo, with raised eyebrows. “Rather sloppy, wouldn’t you say, Emilio?” “Very sloppy, sir.” “Yes…” said Eduardo. He looked out over the pool, in thought for a moment. “Well, just keep me posted then, eh? So far everything else is moving along according to the timetable. That means I won’t be needing you back, until it’s time to pick up the children from school.” “I’ll be ready, patrón.” “Good enough…” said Eduardo, “Hasta pronto.” “Hasta pronto, señor.” Eduardo hung up. He ran a hand through his hair. “Oh Anna…” he whispered, “how did we ever come to this place, to this infinite sadness? It never used to be like this.” He closed his eyes, and shook his head, trying to dislodge her image from his mind. Eduardo took a deep breath through his nose. He let his thoughts drift, away from the memories, and back towards the task at hand. He thought of Dante, of “La Comedia Divina”. And with his eyes still closed, he began to recite the Italian from memory: “Lo giorno se n’andava… The day was now departing; the dark air Released the living beings from the earth From work and weariness; and I myself Alone prepared to undergo the battle Both of the journeying and of the pity, Which memory, mistaking not, shall show. O Muses, o high genius, help me now…” He opened his eyes. “Help me now…”

**** 15 de Septiembre 1044 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Cuauhtémoc ran across the street towards the black Grand Cherokee. In one hand was a tan leather briefcase. It was full of legitimate five-hundred peso bills. In his other hand was his Nokia cell phone. He pressed the redial button one more time, as he approached the Jeep at a full sprint. The line rang, but there was no answer. “Hijo de su pinche madre!!” he said, cradling the phone against his ear with his shoulder. He fished for the car keys in his pants pocket. “Where the hell are you, Sanchez?!!” He pushed the alarm button on the key chain. It chirped twice. He jerked the door open, threw the briefcase into the passenger seat, and climbed inside. The Cherokee roared to life. It pulled away from the curb, into a violent U-turn, and sped down the street. ****

15 de Septiembre 1045 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Epifanio continued to empty out the floor safe, under his desk. He was sweating heavily now. A mountain of cash sat on the Persian rug in the center of the room. He ran from behind the desk with an armful of five-hundred-peso bills, breathing hard. He dumped the bundles of money onto the massive pile, mixing them in with the stacks of two-hundred peso bills. He ran back to the safe. He gathered up another armful. Sweat poured down his face. He started to run for the pile again. KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!!!

The pounding on the door startled Epifanio. He tripped and fell onto his stomach, scattering bundles of five-hundred-peso bills all over the floor in front of him. “Papá, Papá! Open the door!” said Athenas, from the other side. Epifanio groaned. He had hit his left elbow on the floor when he fell. “Athenas! You’re going to have to wait. I’m very, very busy right now!” he said. He began picking up the bundles of money on his hands and knees. Athenas beat on the door with both fists. “Papi! Please, I need to talk to you, now! Open the door!” she said. “Athenas!!” shouted Epifanio. He jumped to his feet. He was clutching a fistful of pesos in each hand. The alcohol rushed to his head, reddening his face. “I said I was busy, can’t you understand that?! Who the hell do you think you are?!! First you leave the house, after I order you to stay. Then you spend the whole night in the streets, like a common WHORE!!! And now you come back here to make demands of me?!!! Lárgate. Lárgate de aquí! Get out! Get out of my house!!!!” The roar of Epifanio’s words ended in silence. He could just barely hear the pitter-pat of Athenas’ footsteps, running down the staircase, outside the door. **** 15 de Septiembre 1100 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Rosa del Mar fought her way through the living sea of people, pressing on towards the Avenida Insurgentes Metro Station. She didn’t want to take the subway, but it was much faster than catching a cab in midday traffic, especially on the 15th of September. Rosa del Mar hated being out in the daylight like this. Even with her dark sunglasses on, it was still too bright for her. The crowds made her feel claustrophobic.

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The smell of cigarette smoke and armpits nauseated her, as she descended the stairs leading to one of Mexico City’s busiest metro stations. She held her purse close to her chest. Her heart beat faster. Bodies pressed against her from all sides. She placed the paper ticket into the slot, then walked through the reilete (turnstiles). Rosa del Mar followed the painted line on the wall, winding down the corridors, to the platform for the Bellas Artes train. A rush of hot air blew up the tunnel, it smelled of oil. The lights of the train came into view. ****

15 de Septiembre 1100 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Johnny sat at the table across from Eduardo, wearing only a white T-shirt under his green wool jacket. He leaned forward in his chair, his heart pounding in his chest, as he clung to Eduardo’s every word. “So you see, John, your idea does have merit. If you were to make the proper capital investment, and increase your production. Then combine that with some solid political connections, to protect your exposure on the distribution end… The numbers could really turn out to be quite staggering. And I never use that term lightly, John.” Johnny’s eyes widened. “However,” said Eduardo. He reached for his cup of lemon tea and took a sip. “If I were to participate in such a venture, there is absolutely no way it could be a Mexico City-based operation, John. That would be simply out of the question.” “But the Distrito Federal has such potential, Edward,” said Johnny. “Ice doesn’t even exist here yet. We’d take the whole city by the throat. We would have a monopoly on the entire-”

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“John, I’m not disputing the potential of the market here,” said Eduardo, with a smile. “I’m just telling you, I cannot participate in anything here. I’m leaving Mexico City tomorrow, John. I won’t be coming back.” “Edward, I don’t understand. I mean, you said that you were interested in working together on this project,” said Johnny. “Look, John. There isn’t enough time to go into all of the details of what is happening here. So I’m going to make this very brief and to the point. This is my offer. You and your chemist pack your bags, and settle all of your affairs today. Tomorrow morning, we leave for Switzerland. I take care of the financial end of the operation in Geneva. After which, we fly to Germany, and set up a laboratory in Munich. I have several contacts there. The profit margin will be ten times that of Mexico City, just because of the strength of the Deutschemark alone. Besides, distribution will be a much smoother process, due to the already existing market there… We could have everything up and running within sixty days.” Eduardo took out the pack of Cartier cigarettes and the lighter again. He placed one between his lips, and lit it. Johnny closed his eyes, and nodded his head. He almost began to shed tears of joy. (Ice can make one very emotional at times.) He sighed with relief. “Deutschland…” he whispered. A smile stretched across Johnny’s face. “Ja, Deutschland,” said Eduardo, with an exhale of smoke. “München, John, Munich. Can you see it, my brother?” “Oh, yes,” said Johnny. “As clear as glass.” **** 15 de Septiembre 1130 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Ian put on his black leather jacket. He removed a pair of yellow-lensed sunglasses from the inside pocket, and put them on. He

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took one last look around Rosa del Mar’s apartamento, then stepped out into the hallway. He checked the knob, to make sure the door was locked, then shut it. He turned to walk down the hall. “Boo!!!” said Fester. He had been standing right behind Ian. Ian jumped back, shielding his face with both hands. Fester howled, cackling with laughter. “Hell, wood! You must have jumped six feet straight into the air just now. Hee, hee, hee!” “Oh piss off, Fester,” said Ian, regaining his composure. “So, whatcha doing down here, stud, lookin’ for some pussy?” said Fester. He pulled a box of Marlboro reds from the back pocket of his 501’s. He removed one with his teeth. His hair was still standing up like Einstein. Ian looked at Fester and shook his head. He smiled. Fester chuckled over the cigarette, pinched between his teeth. “Come on, Big Ian. You can tell Uncle Fester. Have you been down here diggin’ out some of that sweet little Indian poon-tang? Is that what you’ve been up to, you nasty English bastard, you? Hee, hee, hee! It looks like you still have a little milk on your whiskers, too!” He produced a green Bic lighter, from inside the box of Marlboros, and lit his cigarette. “Fester… You never cease to amaze me, you know that?” said Ian. He walked over to him, and put an arm around Fester’s shoulder. He steered him back down the hall, towards apartment ‘B’. “Oy, give us a smoke, eh?” he said, as he took the cigarette from Fester’s lips. “You still haven’t answered my pregunto, amigo,” said Fester, as they walked down the hall. “Why are you holdin’ out on me, Big Dawg? I know you’ve been down there taxin’ that little youngster’s ass. You smell like pure pussy, man.” He sniffed at the side of Ian’s face twice. “Oh, yaaaasir, and it’s strong too.” He sniffed Ian’s neck. “Wow! That stuff’s kickin’ off you like Hong-Kong-Fooey, Ian. She glazed you like a doughnut, baby. Ooooooh, man, and she’s such a young, pretty little thing. I betcha that pussy still tastes like pee, don’t it? I know it does! It has to!” Fester’s eyes flashed, with greed.

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Ian coughed, with a cloud of smoke. They were standing in front of the open door of apartment ‘B’ now. He removed his arm from around Fester’s shoulder, and passed the cigarette back to him. He thought of socking Fester in the mouth, for a split second, but the thought quickly passed. Ian sighed. He smiled. “Fester, I swear you are absolutely, indisputably, the most foul and pestilent bastard I have ever encountered in my entire life,” he said. “But I forgive you.” “Well, hell, yeah, Big Dawg. I know I’m fowl… You’d be fowl too, if you’d been up as long as I have. I ain’t had a wink of sleep in the past 17 days, you understand me? 17, Dawg. I ain’t had a shower in three days. My back is killing me, from hunching over a flask for the past 18 hours straight. I’ve got chemical burns on my hands. I broke my pinky toe three days ago. My hair has been completely unmanageable, as you can plainly see. My hemorrhoids have swollen up like a bunch of cherries, Ian. And thanks to another unfortunate incident this morning, I now have bacon strips in my underwear, about a mile long each. So yes, I’d have to concorde with you, mister high and mighty. And say that I probably am pretty fowl right now, indeed. And I can accept that.” He looked down at the floor. He dropped the cigarette, and smashed it with his foot. “Oh come on, Fester, you know I was just joking,” said Ian. Fester didn’t look up. Ian placed his arm around Fester’s shoulder again. He put him into a mock-headlock. “Fester… You bloody wildman, snap out of it! I was only joking. Come on, lad. Tonight’s the big night, eh? Tonight it all pays off. You, me and Johnny, it’s out show. This is what you’ve traveled all those kilometers, and worked so hard for. Tonight we’re going to rave, baby. We’re going to get pissed, high, paid and laid, all at the same time.” Fester smiled. He slipped out of Ian’s grasp, and gave him a friendly twohanded shove in the chest.

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“We’re gonna get high, paid, and laid?” said Fester. His eyes shined with excitement. “Of course,” said Ian. “What did you expect?” “Drinking, dancing, trippin’, and fucking?” said Fester. “Like the bloody Romans, Fester,” said Ian. “You’ve never been to a real rave before, have you? And I’m not talking about one of those pathetic so-called undergrounds, you guys put on in the United States either. I’m talking about Mexico City, baby. No rules, no permits, no boundaries, no limits. Anything goes.” “Anything?” said Fester. He was rubbing his crotch. “Anything,” said Ian. “Well, hell, Dawg, we have to get ready!” said Fester. He grabbed Ian by the sleeve of his jacket. He pulled him into apartment ‘B’. “Come on, it’s time to snap out of this fog. I’m tweeking balls over here.” He shut the door behind them. “Fester, really, I must be going now. I have to run by my flat, pick up all of the music, and get ready myself. There are still a million things that need to be done, before we can even dream of opening tonight,” said Ian. “Calm down, Big Ian, this will only take a minute,” said Fester. He ran to the other side of the deepfreeze, and dug through his box of supplies. “I scored these off some guy I met in that park, cha-luck-tapuck.” “Chapultepec?” said Ian. “Yeah, that’s what I said,” said Fester. He held up a small plastic baggie full of blue-and-white capsules, and shook it up and down. “Anyway, I’ve been saving these for just the right occasion. But I ain’t taking this stuff alone, you’re coming with me, wood.” “Fester, no, really, I have to be going now,” said Ian. “No, no, no, brother,” said Fester. “IF you can bring your ass all the way down here to get laid, and then insult my feelings, then you can at least spare one more minute to get high with me. Come on,

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Dawg. I’ve never taken these before. You take ‘em all the time, every night, they probably won’t even get you high.” “What are they?” said Ian. “They call ‘em Tachas. It’s just Mexico City Xstasy, that’s all,” said Fester. He tapped two capsules out into the palm of his hand, and walked back over to Ian. “Here, let’s have us a little pre-game warm-up. I’ve gotta take the edge off this high. I’m so damn spun, you know what I mean?” Fester’s left eye began to spasm again, fluttering from left to right. Ian took the two capsules from Fester’s trembling hand. Fester grabbed a two liter bottle of distilled water, from the top of the deepfreeze, and gave it to Ian. “17 days…” thought Ian. “It’s a wonder he hasn’t gone completely insane.” He looked at Fester, the mad meta-chemist, hunched over, shaking, and on the verge of a total physical collapse. Ian’s stomach dropped. “Go on, Dawg, pound ‘em,” said Fester. Ian felt a surge of panic grip him. Everything suddenly felt very wrong. Everything that had once seemed so real, and concrete, now seemed no more than an illusion. His life, his relationships with Rosa del Mar and Ana Lilia, the city, his job, Johnny, fester, and all of their plans… It was all a house of cards. He thought of his family, how he hadn’t spoken to anyone in months. He thought of London, of home, and just how far gone, and utterly alone he had become. “What the hell am I doing here? Where the hell am I going, anyway?” he thought to himself, nearly whispering the words out loud. He looked down at the two capsules in the palm of his hand. He looked up at Fester. “Yeah, maybe you are right, Fester,” he said. “Maybe it will take the edge off a bit. I’ve been thinking entirely too much lately, anyway.” “Hell, yeah, baby,” said Fester. “Go ahead, get your groove on. Give your mind a little break. We still have a long ass night to get

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through, Ian.” Fester popped two capsules into his own mouth, and reached for the bottle of water. Ian gave it to him. Fester took a swig from the bottle, and passed it back to Ian. “Ahhhh. Yaaaaasir, that should do the trick,” said Fester. Ian smiled. He raised the bottle towards Fester, in a mock-toast. “Cheers,” he said. Ian popped the capsules into his mouth, and washed them down with water. **** 15 de Septiembre 1130 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Johnny walked through the front gate of the estate, down the brick steps, to the sidewalk below. His stomach twisted and contorted with nervousness. He turned right, and began walking up the street. The gravity of the situation was just now sinking in. Everything he had been dreaming of, the endless nights of planning, in less than an hour, they had all become reality. This was rally happening. Twenty hours from now, he would begin an entirely new life. And he would never see Athenas again… Johnny’s pace quickened. The pain returned to his arm. He was already short of breath, but he didn’t care. He ran. His eyes blurred. A tear rolled down his left cheek. “Oh, God, what am I doing? What am I doing?” he said, through his teeth. He ran faster. The last fragments of his common sense, the remainder of his logic, told him to turn around. He knew that he should go back, call a cab, and forget about her. There was far too much at stake. Yet he continued to run. He couldn’t stop. He was beyond all reason now. He had to see her, even if it threatened to destroy everything. He leapt from the curb, sprinting into the open road, his left arm pumping at his side. His right arm hung and bounced. The pain made him whimper. He bit down, breathing through his teeth. A red VW Jetta came into view, in the road ahead of him. It stopped in the

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middle of the street. The driver’s side door opened. Athenas jumped out of the car, and ran towards Johnny. “Míja!” said Johnny. His voice cracked. They collided, melting into each other, with an embrace full of longing and relief. Athenas clung to him. She buried her face against his neck. She cupped the back of his head with her hand. Her face was wet with tears. “Oh, mi amor. Oh, Juaníto, where have you been?” she said, between breaths. “I need you so much, baby. I… I was so afraid. I thought you might have left me. I called you, and called you, but your phone was turned off. I thought the most terrible thoughts. Oh, mi vida, I would just die if you left me. Promise me you will never, never leave me. Promise me.” Johnny closed his eyes. His heart ached. It crumbled at the sound of her voice. He held her little body, tightly to his own, with his good arm. He inhaled deeply, smelling her hair. And for some inexplicable reason, at that moment, Johnny loved her. He loved her more than anything on earth. “I will never leave you, Athenas, never. Te amo… I love you. I love you. I love you so much, Míja.” They kissed, in the middle of the street, beneath a contaminated Mexico City sky. The world spun around them. And for a brief moment, nothing else existed. **** 15 de Septiembre 1132 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… The gates of the white colonial estate slowly rolled open, exposing the long driveway. Eduardo’s black Mercedes 500SL pulled out into the street, turning left. **** 15 de Septiembre 1132 hr. Ciudad de Mexico…

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Cuauhtémoc sat in the black Grand Cherokee, with the motor running. He was parked 150 meters up the street from Eduardo’s estate. He punched the dashboard with his right fist. “Damn it! No! No! No!” he said, as he watched the gate roll open. He turned around in his seat, looking through the rear window at the couple embracing in the middle of the street behind him. He drew his Sig Sauer. The veins in his neck stood up. His face reddened. He looked back at the estate. He knew that the car in the driveway was Eduardo’s. And his gut told him that “El Mecanico” was now making his move. He was probably heading for the “mercancia”. This was what he had been waiting for. His eyes darted between the rearview mirror and Eduardo’s driveway. The couple climbed into the red Jetta. **** 15 de Septiembre 1133 hrs. Ciudad de Mexico… Eduardo looked up at his rearview mirror. He smiled. He raised his scrambled cell phone to his ear. “Okay, Paco,” he said. “Don’t follow him too close, now. ¿Me entiendes?” “Si, patrón,” said Paco. “Let’s have some fun with this ‘machetero’, eh?” said Eduardo. He watched the Cherokee pull away from the curb in the rearview mirror. “I’ll lead him all the way to… What the…?” Suddenly, the Cherokee made a U-turn. Eduardo looked back over his shoulder, as it drove up the street, in the opposite direction, behind a red VW Jetta. “He’s following your guest, señor,” said Paco. “What the hell is this?” said Eduardo, “Following Johnny? They can’t be that stupid, Paco. They can’t be…” “Should I follow him, señor?”

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“What kind of agents are these guys? This is insane,” said Eduardo. He stepped on the brakes, looking up at the rearview mirror again. “Señor?” “Bueno, follow him then. Just uh… Well yeah, just keep me informed. This makes absolutely no sense, Paco, whatsoever. What the hell is going on here?” said Eduardo. “Yo no se, patrón. I don’t know. But I’m behind him now.” “Good,” said Eduardo. He took his foot off the brake pedal, and drove on. “Don’t let him out of your sight, either. I don’t like this, at all. Something is very wrong here. I’ll just go and check on the children early then.” He stopped at the stop sign and turned left. “Oh, one more thing, Paco.” “Si, patrón…?” “I want you to keep trying to get ahold of Manuel. He still hasn’t called in yet. And I’m going to need him tonight. This isn’t like him. It just doesn’t feel right,” said Eduardo. “No hay problema, señor. I’ll keep trying all of his numbers. I’ll check back in with you in the next 30 minutes, and we can take it from there.” “Okay, Paco. Gracias, eh?” said Eduardo. “The pleasure’s mine, sir.” They hung up. **** 15 de Septiembre 1133 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Epifanio’s blue Volvo 740 turbo pulled out of his driveway. He turned left. A red VW Jetta passed him, going in the opposite direction. He thought of Athenas, and how he had behaved towards her. It saddened his heart, but it was too late now. He had already crossed the point of no return. He would not be coming back. He passed a black Grand Cherokee, followed by a black Bronco II.

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Epifanio looked at his watch, as he stopped at the stop sign. He was late. He turned left, flooring the gas pedal. **** 15 de Septiembre 1240 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Ana Lilia turned left onto Calle Fernando Montez de Oca, entering the heart of La Colonia Condesa. Half a block down she pulled over, across the street from a very chic, brown, five-story building. It was Johnny’s building, Ian’s building too. It was built in the early 1950s, a time of fire escapes, floor to ceiling windows, hardwoods, and impeccable cityscape vistas. Johnny said that the penthouse was “a closer’s dream”. He claimed that anyone who walked through his door would become an instant ‘lay down’, once they took a look at the view. He had to have the place. Ana Lilia trotted across the street, pushing the top button on her key chain. The alarm of the green Jaguar, chirped behind her. She used the key that she had forced Ian to give her, to open the ground floor door of the building. She walked inside. The door closed automatically. She climbed the stairs to the fourth floor. Ana Lilia flipped through her key ring, found the right one, then unlocked Ian’s door. **** 15 de Septiembre 1245 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Rosa del Mar exited the metro station on Calle Juarez. She walked one block over to the Hotel Monte Real. The hotel was only a block down from the park, and “Bellas Artes” (Mexico City’s palace of the performing arts). There were posters and signs everywhere along the way, advertising the Broadway musical “Gypsy”, starring Alejandra Guzmán.

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Rosa del Mar walked up the stairs, and through the glass doors of the hotel. She stopped at the front desk to pick up the key to the room. Instructions had been left with the staff, for them to give it to her. She walked to the elevators, and pushed the ‘up’ button. The room was on the 11th floor. Rosa felt more relaxed now. She was ready to do this. Her resolve was firm. Her mind was clear. The butterflies in her stomach had all disappeared. She stepped out of the elevator and turned right. She opened the door of room 1120 and walked inside, closing it behind her. She tossed her purse onto the bed closest to the door. She walked over to the second bed and laid down, flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling. She closed her eyes. “Rosa, I do love you. Don’t you understand that?” Ian’s words echoed through her mind. “I would do anything for you…” She shook her head. She had to stay focused. “I love you…” Thinking of Ian would only affect the sincerity of her performance. She could not allow that to happen. Rosa del Mar sat up. She picked up the phone and called room service. **** 15 de Septiembre 1300 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Epifanio tipped the valet, then the bell boy, insisting that he wanted to carry his own bags. He climbed the stairs, and entered the Hotel Monte Real. ****

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15 de Septiembre 1300 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Ian tipped the Taxista one-hundred pesos. The cabbie stared at the bill in his hand, then back at Ian, puzzled. “Señor?” he said. Ian patted him on the shoulder. “Te quiero, compadre. I love you… Keep the change, okay?” he said. Ian stepped out of the cab. He floated across the street, towards the brown five-story building. His smile was twenty kilometers wide. “What is love? Baby don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me, no more!..” Ian began singing as he unlocked the door and walked inside. He removed his black leather jacket, and draped it over his left shoulder. He took the stairs, two at a time, giggling all the way to the fourth floor. His door was unlocked. It didn’t make him wonder in the slightest. Ian walked inside, caressing his chest with one hand. Ian removed his yellow-lensed sunglasses, and sauntered down the hallway, towards the living room. He stopped for a moment, to look at the photographs hanging on the wall. Pictures of Ian working and hanging out with celebrities, in London, Germany, and Mexico City were everywhere. All those who knew Ian, knew of his vanity. Yet it wasn’t a turn-off, or abrasive in any way. Ian’s personality made up for it. He was one of the more likeable people on the planet, the kind of person that very few people could get angry with. He made everyone he knew, feel as if they were the closest friend he’d ever had. Ian’s biggest character flaw, however, was the fact that it was almost physically painful for him to say “no” to people. Ian stared at the black-and-white photo of himself, surrounded by beautiful women at Medusas. “You are a handsome devil, aren’t you?” he said, as he dropped his jacket to the floor. He spun around and wandered into the living room.

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“Ahhhhhhh…” he sighed, with pleasure. Ian walked across the room, to the wall of glass windows that made the building so unique. The view of the city, even from the fourth floor, was most impressive. He cocked his head slightly to the left, and pressed his face to the glass. “Mmmmmmmmm… Yummy,” he said. “Hey stranger,” said a voice, in heavily accented English. Ian looked to his right, his eyes at half mast. He smiled. “Hey… Wow… Ana, what are you doing here?” he said. He took a step back from the wall of glass, swaying back and forth. “And you’re naked. Ooooooooh, how pretty.” Ana Lilia smiled. She stood barefoot on the hardwood floor, by the glass coffee table. Her right foot rested on top of her left. She curled her toes. She was completely naked. Her long curly black hair was loose and unruly. She shook it over her left shoulder, then took a sip from the glass of red wine she was holding. She swallowed. Her eyes flashed. “Did you miss me, Ian?” she said in English. Ian closed his eyes. He inhaled through his nose. The smell of Chanel perfume radiated from Ana Lilia’s warm flesh. It attacked Ian’s senses, turning him into a jellyfish of love. “Yeah…” he said, with a sigh. He opened his eyes. He was swaying back and forth still. Ana Lilia crouched down, keeping her knees together, and set her glass of wine on the floor. She stood, then slowly walked over to Ian. “Ana… I… I mean, you really shouldn’t…” said Ian. Ana Lilia slipped up against Ian, wrapping her arms around his waist. She nuzzled her face into his chest. She began to kiss, lick, then suck on Ian’s neck, with irresistible tenderness. “I shouldn’t what, Ian?” she said between kisses. Ian moaned. His chest heaved. He gasped for breath. The Xstasy amplified the sensation, to a point near delirium.

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“You…” said Ian, gasping again. Ana Lilia unbuttoned his shirt. She slipped it off his shoulders, all without removing her mouth from his neck. “Mmmm –hmmm…?” she said. She backed him up against the windows. Her hands unfastened his belt, and opened the fly of his pants. **** 15 de Septiembre 1305 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Epifanio closed the door of room 1120 with the heel of his shoe. He dropped the two enormous black duffel bags from his shoulders. They hit the floor with a thud. He stood at the door, panting, sweating from his every pore. He reeked of scotch. Rosa del Mar sat on her knees, with her legs tucked underneath her, on the second bed. Her little black skirt was hiked up, just enough to give the slightest glimpse of her black lace panties. She smiled, then raised her arms like a little girl who wanted to be picked up. She opened and closed her hands. Her shoes were on the floor, at the foot of the bed. “Papi! You came for me. I’ve been so worried about you. Come over here, now. I missed you. I missed you so much,” she said. Epifano took off his sunglasses, and tossed them onto the bed closest to the door. He ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper grey hair. It was soaked with sweat. He shook the perspiration from his hand and loosened his tie. “Ay, Míja…” he said, still breathing heavily. “I’m soaking wet. I better get into the shower first.” He removed his grey silk jacket, his tie, and began to unbutton his shirt. “No!” said Rosa, in a baby girl voice, pouting. “I want you just like you are, papi. Come here. Don’t you love me?” Epifanio smiled. His eyes shone with endearment. “Oh, Rosa. My sweet Rosa… I love you more than life itself,” he said. “And I

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will never refuse you anything.” He walked over to the second bed, and into the outstretched arms of Rosa del Mar. He laid on top of her tiny body. She spread her legs, and wrapped them around Epifanio’s waist. They kissed. Rosa’s lips were soft. She tasted of cigarette. Her tongue explored Epifanio’s mouth. The residue of scotch was still prevalent and strong. She thought of Ian now, his hands on her breasts. His mouth, kissing her neck, her stomach, the insides of her thighs, and even her toes. She shivered. She began to jones for his touch. It shook her concentration. Epifanio pulled at her panties. They slipped off her ass, and down her thighs a few inches, just enough to expose her open vagina. Epifanio’s hand went to the fly of his pants now. “Mmmmm… Mmmmm… Mi amor, wait. Wait a second,” she said between kisses. She slid out from underneath Epifanio, on her back, across the bed. “What’s wrong, Míja?” said Epifanio. He rolled over onto his back. Rosa del Mar pulled up her panties, crawled back to Epifanio, and kissed him on the forehead. She hopped off the bed and walked to the bedroom. “I have a surprise for you, Papi,” she said, over her shoulder. “A surprise?” said Epifanio, still laying on his back. “Si,” she said, in her baby girl voice, “it’s your favorite, Daddy.” Rosa del Mar went straight to work, her heart pounding in her chest. Her hands trembled, as she poured a double William Lawson’s scotch into the glass on top of the bathroom sink. She had already crushed up six 2 mg. cho chos, and dumped the powder into the glass, before Epifano arrived. She stirred the cocktail with her middle finger. She added a few ice cubes, from the bucket the bellboy had brought. She looked over her shoulder. Her heart raced.

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“See, Daddy?” she said. She picked up the bottle of scotch with one hand, and the glass with her other. She walked out of the bathroom, smiling. “Isn’t this the type you like?” Epifanio sat up on the edge of the bed. He clapped his hands, then rubbed them together. “Ay, mi amor…” he said, beaming with pleasure. “You ordered me a bottle of William Lawson’s?” “Si,” she said. “Just for you, Daddy.” She handed him the glass and the bottle. He took both. Rosa del Mar stood in front of him, smiling, with her hands clasped behind her back. She twisted from side to side, like a proud little girl. Epifanio looked at the label on the bottle, then took a sip from his glass. “Ahhhhhhh…” he said, “Now that’s just what I needed.” He placed the bottle and the glass on the carpet, at his feet, next to Rosa del Mar’s back stilettos. He reached out for her. “Come here, Princess. Let’s make love…” he said. The thought made Rosa del Mar sick to her stomach. Ian had already messed up her head too much. He had finally slipped through her wall. She just couldn‘t do it now. For some reason she felt as if she was going to break down into hysterical crying. She had to fight it. She was so close now. Everything she wanted was within her reach. But there was no way she was going to let Epifanio have sex with her, to be inside of her. Not this time. Only in her new life, would she ever give herself completely to a man again. And only to the man she loved. Love… Did she really love him? Could she? The very person that she swore she could never love, with such vehemence? Yes. Hell, yes. And all at once she realized that it was true. She was in love with Ian, she had been all along. And now she would do anything, everything, to insure that she could be with him for the rest of her life.

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“Come here, baby…” said Epifanio. He kicked off his shoes. He pulled his pants down, sitting on the edge of the bed. His socks were black. “I just have to keep him drinking, then I’ll be free…” she thought to herself. Rosa del Mar took a deep breath. She stepped towards Epifanio. She knelt down on the floor, picked up his cocktail, and handed it back to him. “Here, Daddy. You just relax, and enjoy your drink. Don’t worry about me,” she said. She pulled his white boxers down over his knees, down to his ankles. Epifanio slipped them off his feet, as he took another sip from his cocktail. He was already hard with anticipation. She took him into her mouth. She placed a hand on each of his thighs. Epifanio moaned. Rosa del Mar’s head moved up and down, with a gently, yet determined rhythm. **** 15 de Septiembre 1320 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… The red VW Jetta turned left onto Calle Fernando Montez de Oca. Athenas pulled over across the street from Johnny’s building. She parked behind a blue Suburban with tinted windows. The Suburban was parked behind a white Electra delivery van. Johnny and Athenas both climbed out of the car. Johnny walked around to the driver’s side. He took Athenas’ hand. They locked their fingers together. He led her across the street. Athenas’ curly red ponytails bounced up and down, as they jogged up to the entrance of the building. She had a neon yellow backpack slung over her left shoulder. Johnny unlocked the front door. They walked inside. As the door automatically closed behind them, a black Grand Cherokee crept up. It stopped in front of the building. The reverse lights came on, as the driver backed into a parking space, a couple of car lengths behind the Jetta.

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A black Bronco II drove by. It pulled over to the right, and parked a half a block up the street, in front of a green Jaguar XJ6. **** 15 de Septiembre 1320 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Fester turned the dimmer switch a quarter of a turn clockwise, increasing the heat to the flask. “Alrighty, Igor, let’s get us a nice hard reaction here. A little les water this time around, because time’s a-waistin’, yaaaasir!” he said. He stood, and walked out of the bathroom, into the living room. His right leg buckled, nearly causing him to fall. “Whoa, easy there, Igor. Hee, hee, hee! I guess that Tacha is kicking in, isn’t it?” he said. He took off his black T-shirt and tossed it on top of the deepfreeze. It was already soaked with sweat. Fester swayed back and forth. He rubbed the palms of his hands together, then squeezed his crotch. “Damn, Igor…” he said, “I am feeling gooood!” He looked down at his box of supplies. “Now what the hell was I lookin’ for again?” he said, still rubbing his crotch. He looked towards the kitchenette. One of the brown paper bags that Johnny had brought over in the morning, sat on the sink. It was full of food. Fester looked back at his box of supplies. The box grew, elongating, stretching itself up the wall. “Wow…” said Fester. He rubbed his eyes. “Do you see that shit, Igor?” “Yessssssssssssir…” whispered a voice. “Hey,” said Fester, looking up at the ceiling. “How come you only feel like talking when no one else is around, Igor?” He looked towards the bathroom, then at the kitchenette again. There was no answer.

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“What, cat got your tongue, Igor?” he said. He looked up at the ceiling, then shrugged his shoulders. “Alright, fine. Be that way, then. I don’t give a rat’s ass.” He looked back at his box of supplies. “Now let’s see here… I know I was supposed to be doing something, or getting’ something… Damn… I am feeling good though. Hee, hee, hee!” He rubbed his chest. “Hit one,” whispered the voice. “What did you say, Igor?” said Fester. “Hit one. Hit one,” whispered the voice. “Ohhhhh. Hit one,” said Fester, nodding his head. His eyes flashed. “Now that’s what I was going to do. Good lookin’ out, Wood! Thanks for reminding me.” He smiled. Fester unbuttoned his 501’s, and struggled out of them, stepping on the pants’ legs. He was naked now, and hard as a rock. Fester walked over to the windows. There was already masking tape over the bullet hole. He bent over, and dug though his sleeping bag on the floor. “Now where’d I put that damn Vaseline, Igor?” he said. Across the street, two figures stood in the window of the brown colonial apartment building. Señora Gonzales’ three-year-old granddaughter clung to the hem of her black skirt, as they looked out of the window. She covered the little girl’s eyes with her left hand. She made the sign of the cross over herself and kissed her fingers. “Don’t look, Míja. Never look at such things, at such filth. Oh, that nasty, nasty gringo! Ay dios mio, spare us from the ‘cochinera’s’, the dirtiness of that evil man, who murdered our sweet Papi Chulo.” A tear rolled down her cheek. **** 15 de Septiembre 1320 hr. Ciudad de Mexico…

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Eduardo walked up to the chain-link fence of the Gutierrez Trucking yard. He unlocked the padlock, and pushed the right side of the gate all the way open, walking inside. He jogged back to the black 500SL, and drove into the yard. He stopped, ran back to close and lock the gate, then climbed into his car again. There was a large warehouse at the far end of the yard. Eduardo drove towards it, passing row after row of trailers, all bearing the Gutierrez Trucking emblem. The company indirectly belonged to Eduardo. The trucks had been used to transport cocaine, from the borders of Guatemala and Belize, as far as Tijuana, Nogales, Laredo, and Matamoros. The cargo, upon delivery, would pass into the United States. Eduardo was given the responsibility of managing the Mexico City based liña (line/route), in Medellin Colombia five years ago. Fabio, “El Montañero”, the younger brother of “Him”12, had been a friend of Eduardo’s when they were young. Fabio and Eduardo had attended some of the same classes in Bogotá. After Eduardo had already worked for the family in the Bahamas, Columbia, and then finally Miami, he was called back to Medellin. “He”, was now in hiding. There was still a bit of a war going on with the cartel in Cali, and Fabio was running the day to day affairs in Medellin. One of Fabio’s concerns at the time, was the amount of planes that were going down over Mexico. The losses were beginning to accumulate. Fabio wanted to try to send more mercancia (merchandise), by land through Mexico instead. He wanted to establish a new solid liña, an open artery, that could be protected, and used to move a large volume of mercancia

Señor E., whose infamous name is never even directly uttered by Colombian traficantes. They will only refer to him as “He” or “Him” , for fear of ever being quoted, implicating “him” in any way.

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from border to border. But who could be trusted to run such an operation? Fabio needed someone intelligent, not some “machetero” who would screw everything up. The ranks in Medellin were filled with such people, Columbian traficantes who stuck out like tacky tropical shirts. They’d pulled into town swinging their egos around like machetes, making quick and risky arrangements, that at first seemed profitable, but eventually brought down the entire operation. He needed someone who would be able to negotiate the family’s interests, with certain politicians in Mexico City. That person would also have to be familiar with the jungle, la selva, and capable of planning and coordinating the routes through the jungles of Chiapas, Oaxaca, and the Yucatán. He needed someone who could handle all of the contingencies, that are inherent to transporting illicit cargo by trucks, cars, and other vehicles. He needed a ‘Mecanico’, a Mechanic, someone who could solve the family’s transportation difficulties in Mexico. Whenever anyone in Medellin needed to move mercancia, though Mexico, they would consult ‘El Mecanico’. And because of this, Eduardo had become a wealthy man. The backbone of the entire operation, was the Gutierrez Trucking line. The president of the company was Manuel Gutierrez, Ana Lilia’s brother. The trailers that were fitted to carry la mercancia, Gutierrez trucking had purchased from a Mexico City based company from Boston, called Ameritrans. The salesman who put the whole deal together, and handled the erasing of the paper trail, was Johnny. The Politician, who the family had in place in Mexico City, to help Eduardo obtain licensing, as well as protection from government inspection, was Epifanio… Eduardo looked out at the ranks of empty trailers as he drove by. Like skeletons, the remains of abandoned tanks and

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chariots, these were the war machines of Eduardo’s fallen army. And his heart grieved for them. “So much work,” he said, “only for it to come to this…” He turned left, driving around to the back of the warehouse. He parked in front of the 25 foot high blue bay doors. 15 de Septiembre 1320 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Ana Lilia’s naked body pressed against the wall of glass. Her arms were raised, her hands open, her palms flat against the glass on each side of her head. Her face was turned to the side. Her cheek was glued to the window. Her eyes closed. Her lips parted. A circle of fog formed on the glass, from her breathing. She stood on her tip-toes, with her legs spread wide, so she could get high enough to take in the full length of Ian’s deep strokes, from behind her. The muscles in her thighs tightened. Her calves flexed. Ian’s palms were pressed flat against the glass, on each side of hers. He raised himself onto the balls of his feet, as he thrusted into Ana Lilia, with a rush of chemical abandon. His entire body was one large penis, one gland, absorbing all stimuli. Sweat trickled down the curve of Ana Lilia’s back, from underneath her mane of curly, black hair. It pooled at the bottom of her spine, spilling over her waist and hips, rolling down her abdomen, soaking her pubic hair. Her breasts expanded and contracted, as they smashed against the wet glass, with each of Ian’s thrusts. **** 15 de Septiembre 1320 hr. Ciudad de Mexico…

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Emilio sat behind the wheel of the dark blue Suburban, parked behind the white Electra delivery van. He auto-dialed number one on his cell phone. “Bueno?” said Eduardo. “It’s Emilio, señor. I’m in La Colonia Condesa, not far from the park, on Calle Fernando Montez de-” “Emilio,” said Eduardo. “Si, patrón?” “Please… Please, Emilio. Just tell me who she’s with. Where is she now?” said Eduardo. Emilio looked up at the building across the street. Something in the windows of the fourth floor caught his attention. “She’s… Oh my God!” said Emilio. **** 15 de Septiembre 1322 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… The temperature in the twenty-two-thousand ml. flask was rising to dangerous levels. The ¾ inch rubber tubing, on top of the exhaust port began to bend from the heat. The line began to plug. The flask rumbled. It shook and vibrated on top of its Romanex wire stand. In the background, just barely audible above the rumbling of the flask, were the sounds of Fester’s grunting, and the slippity-slap of petroleum-jellied meat-beating, coming from the living room. **** 15 de Septiembre 1323 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Johnny sat on the edge of his claw-foot tub, with no shirt on. Athenas rummaged through the medicine cabinet,

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behind the brass-framed mirror. She walked back towards Johnny, barefoot, across the Spanish tile floor. She carried a roll of gauze, and bottle of purple antiseptic liquid. “Juaníto, we have to talk about all of this,” she said. Johnny nodded his head, looking down at the floor. “Si… Yo lo se, Míja, I know,” he said. “I’ve wanted to be open with you, about everything, baby. It’s just that I’ve been trying to keep you safe, Athenas. I don’t want to get you any more involved in this mess than you already are. I don’t want to put you in any danger.” “Peligro? Danger?” she said, as she lifted Johnny’s right arm up by the elbow. “Juaníto, I love you, cabrón, sin condiciones, without conditions.” She poured the purple liquid over the clotted blood that covered his gunshot wound. Johnny groaned. “I love you with money. I love you without money…” she said. She began to wrap Johnny’s arm with gauze. “I love you when you’re doing right, and I love you when you’re doing wrong. ¿Me entiendes? I even love you when you’re all shot up, stinking, and paniquiado, puto. You are my man, Juan, the only man for me. I would do anything you tell me to do. I would follow you into hell, cabrón. So you need to be honest with me, okay?” “OW! Jesus, Athenas, easy!” he said. “Okay. I’ll be totally honest with you. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, just… Just take it easy, sweety. You’re hurting me.” “Órale,” she said, with a nod of her head. She tied off the gauze and gave Johnny a light slap on the arm. Arrrrgh! Why does everyone in this damn country have to be so rough and heavy-handed?” he said in English. Athenas didn’t understand every word, but she caught the general meaning. “No llores, hijo…” she said in a mock-chilanga accent. “Don’t be such a crybaby.” She sat on Johnny’s lap and wrapped her arms

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around his neck. She looked into his eyes. Her expression became serious. “Ay, Tienes los ojos del sapo…” she said. “You have the eyes of the frog, Juaníto. There’s so much droga in your body, baby, you’re making me scared for you.” Her voice was filled with tenderness now. Johnny smiled. He kissed Athenas on the forehead. “Don’t worry, baby. I’m okay, really, all things considered. I know I probably look like hell, but it’s just been a hell of a day, that’s all. And I still have to make it through tonight… But after this is all over, I’m going to sleep for a week, Míja, I promise. This twenty-fourhour-a-day, manic shit? It’s done with. I’m going to eat like a horse, lay off all of the dope, and get my health back,” he said. Athenas smiled. “Do you promise?” she said. She poked him in the stomach. “I miss your big strong body, papi… Ay, that stuff’s making you bien flaco, Juaníto, so skinny.” She felt her own thigh with her hand. It’s even making me skinny, Juan. I don’t like it.” She hopped off of Johnny’s lap and rushed over to the mirror. She turned around and stood on her tip-toes. She looked over her left shoulder, trying to see the reflection of her ass in the mirror. “I look terrible,” she said. “No, Míja,” said Johnny. He smiled. He’d been through this ritual a million times with Athenas, over the past six months. “You look beautiful, baby, maravillosa, tan sexi y guapisima.” “Do I?” she said, still looking in the mirror. “Yes,” he said. And as he sat there smiling, admiring her, the sinking feeling returned. Could he really just leave her here, all alone in Mexico City? She adored him. She loved Johnny, like no one had ever cared for him before in his life. He imaged what it was going to feel like tomorrow, when he would lose her forever. The panic gripped him once more, right at the bottom of his stomach. He thought of his plans with Eduardo. He thought of Germany…

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Athenas continued to look into the mirror, but her mind was elsewhere. She thought of Cuauhtémoc. Her stomach tightened with fear. How could she put Johnny in such a dangerous position? How could she be so selfish, she thought. He loved her, and he was already involved in so much trouble, as it was. Besides, Cuauhtémoc was obsessed now, just like all the others had been. Athenas knew all too well what would come next. She’d seen men do this with her so many times. The only difference, this time, was that Cuauhtémoc was insane. He would not hesitate to hurt and kill to get what he wanted. Everyone around Athenas was in danger. She thought of what Cuauhtémoc would do to Johnny, if he knew where she was right now… She turned and looked at Johnny. He was already staring at her, his expression serious. She took a deep breath. “I have to tell you something…” they both said, at the same time. **** 15 de Septiembre 1323 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… “Ay! Ian! Si, mi amor, like that, just like that! Oh, I’m so close!” said Ana Lilia, as Ian drove her body up against the glass with his hips. Her ass slapped loudly against Ian’s abdomen. BLEEP… BLEEP… BLEEP… Ian’s cell phone rang. It sat on top of his clothes, piled on the floor. The sound snapped Ian out of the euphoric fog of Xstasy for a moment. He realized where he was now, and what he was doing. “Oh, my God,” he thought. The rhythm of his hips slowed. “Oh, God, Rosa. What the hell am I doing!?” He stopped, mid-stroke, and looked at the phone. “No! Ian! What are you doing?” said Ana Lilia, looking over her shoulder. She worked her own hips, up and down, forcing him in

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and out of her. She saw him looking towards the phone. “No! I’m so close, Ian. Don’t! Don’t you dare, cabrón!!!” She reached back with her left arm and grabbed ahold of Ian’s ass, pulling him into her. **** 15 de Septiembre 1323 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Cuauhtémoc stepped out of the black Grand Cherokee. He walked a half a block back up Calle Fernando Montez de Oca. He crossed the street at the corner. He removed his glasses, put them into his inside breast pocket, then took out his box of Cartier cigarettes. He stood, concealed by a tree, as he looked back down the street. He lit a cigarette. His eyes narrowed. He saw it. “Chinga su madre, ese güey…” he said, under his breath. “El Mecanico. Perhaps I underestimated you, cabrón.” Down the street, parked two cars in front of the Electra delivery van, was a black Bronco II. Cuauhtémoc had noticed it in his rearview mirror, all the way back in Polanco. He pulled the cell phone from his hip and auto-dialed number three. **** 15 de Septiembre 1323 hr. Ciudad de Mexico, Aero Puerto Internacional de Benito Juarez (Benito Juarez International Airport)… Aero Mexico Flight 603 from Santa Fe de Bogotá, Colombia, arrived on time. The passengers slowly made their way up the ramp, through the gate, heading towards the customs inspection point. At the front of the crowd were eight gentlemen. Seven of them were dressed in white silk suits, with rather flamboyant tropical-colored shirts underneath. The one walking ahead of them, looked much more casual. His short brown hair was cut close, almost military-like. He

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wore only faded blue 501s, a green Polo shirt, and sandals. He did, however, have a platinum Rolex Submariner on his wrist. The customs agent studied the photo in the Colombian passport in his hand, with a blank expression. He looked back up at its owner, standing before him. “Señor Fabio E?” he said. “Si,” said Fabio. “And the purpose of your visit, señor?” said the agent. “Estoy de vacaciones, I’m on vacation,” said Fabio, with a smile. “Bienvenidos a Mexico señor, welcome to Mexico City,” said the agent. He handed Fabio his passport. “Gracias,” said Fabio. He put the passport in his back pocket, and walked toward the sign pointing to the baggage claim. The seven men in white suits followed him. He handed his ticket to one of them. “Get the bags, and meet me out front. The car is already waiting,” he said. **** 15 de Septiembre 1323 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Agent Contreras held the eyepiece of the Quark surveillance telescope to his fat, sweaty face. Agent Martinez sat in the passenger seat. He was leaning all the way across Agent Contreras’ lap, pressing his face against the driver’s side window. He reached for the telescope, but Contreras slapped his hand away. “Calmate, güey! Calm down, it’s my turn,” said Contreras. “No mames, puto! Come on,” said Martinez. “It’s my telescope. I’m the one who’s supposed to be-” “Ayyyyyyy!” Contreras squealed with delight, cutting Martinez off. “Toma! Take it girl! Wheeee!!”

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Martinez pressed his thin face to the window again. The grease from his hair smeared the glass. He looked up at the fourth floor of the building across the street. BLEEP… BLEEP… BLEEP… Without removing his eye from the telescope, or the smile from his face, agent Contreras pulled his cell phone from his hip, and placed it to his right ear. “Bueno?” he said. “Contreras, what the hell are you doing?” said Cuauhtémoc. “Don’t worry, Jefe. Everything is under control. Martinez and I are in position now in La Colonia Condesa. I have a visual of the girl as we speak,” said Contreras. “I know,” said Cuauhtémoc, “I’m a half a block up the street from you. I can see everything.” “Everything, Jefe?” said Contreras. “Yes,” said Cuauhtémoc, “and I don’t like what I see either. Something is very wrong with this picture.” “What do you mean, Jefe?” said Contreras. He adjusted the zoom on the telescope, to get a closer look at Ana Lilia’s naked body, pressing against the glass. He grinned, exposing his silver-capped teeth. A toothpick was wedged into the corner of his mouth. “Contreras, look closely, cabrón…” said Cuauhtémoc, “don’t you see anything odd or strange about this whole scenario?” “My God, Jefe! You’re right! It is very strange…” said Contreras. “That cabrón doesn’t even look like he’s enjoying himself. In fact, it almost seems like he’s pushing her away! Look!” “No, you idiot!!!” said Cuauhtémoc,” Look around you, pendejo! The cars… No one on the street has left their cars! One, two, three, four, five, cabrón. Five cars! We’re all here watching each other, like fools!!” “Y El Mecanico?” said Contreras. “Who’s watching him?” Silence.

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“Chinga su madre, El Mecanico,” said Cuauhtémoc, “Don’t worry about the Mechanic. I’ll take care of him personally. Listen to me. The male subject you observed going into the Polanco residence earlier, do you remember him?” “Si señor,” said Contreras. “Mira, look, he is inside of the building now. He is with a female, red hair, twenty-two-years old. If they leave the building, I want you to follow them. Do you understand me?” said Cuauhtémoc. “Si, Jefe,” said Contreras, “but, what about…” “But, nothing!” said Cuauhtémoc, “You just do what I say! Don’t make me come over there and shove my pistol up your ass, cabrón. We’re running out of time here! I’m going to lead my tail away from this place. I’ll let him follow me all the way to the butcher shop. That way I can find out what the hell is going on with Sanchez, as well as El Mecanico, all in one trip. All you two idiots have to do, is keep the phone turned on, and not let that piece of shit out of your sight. Do you understand me?!!” “Si, Jefe,” said Contreras. “Órale,” said Cuauhtémoc. He hung up on Contreras. **** 15 de Septiembre 1326 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… CRASH!!!! The vase exploded against the wall, inches above Ian’s head. Fragments of glass, and water rained down on his bare back. “You bastard!” shouted Ana Lilia. She looked at the coffee table, and the large fishbowl full of M&Ms, sitting on top of it. Ian held his clothes to his chest. He was still naked, but he was becoming more sober by the second. His cell phone continued to ring, on top of the pile of clothes in his arms.

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“Ana, I’m sorry… I just, I’m sorry, I have to go,” he said. He made a dash for his shoes in the corner. He cut his right foot on a piece of glass. “Bloody hell!” he said. He grabbed his shoes. “Go to hell!!!” said Ana Lilia. She hurled the fishbowl at Ian with both hands. Ian ran for the door, leaving a trail of bloody footprints. The bowl arced through the air, bearing down on him. He turned down the hallway as the bowl struck. It shattered against Ian’s buttocks, cutting his cheeks, spraying M&Ms across the hardwood floor. “Arrrrrgh! Bloody strumpet!!!” shouted Ian, over his shoulder. He ran out of the door, and rushed up the stairs to Johnny’s place. Ian banged Johnny’s door with his fist. Johnny opened it. He looked normal again. He wore a black wool suit, with a black T-shirt underneath. Athenas stood behind him, looking at Ian around Johnny’s shoulder. She had showered and changed as well. Her long curly red hair fell over the shoulders of her black leather jacket. She wore combat boots, black stretch pants, and a black T-shirt. After all of the chaos that had already taken place this morning, the sight of a naked and slightly bloody man, standing in the doorway, did not surprise either of them. Hello, John, Athenas…” said Ian, as he squeezed into the hallway, covering his genitals with his clothing. “This is dreadfully embarrassing, but may I use your bathroom for a moment?” he said. “Yeah, go ahead,” said Johnny. He closed the door, and followed Ian into the living room. He noticed the several cuts across Ian’s butt cheeks. “Ian, what the hell happened to you?” he said. “Ian, que te pasó?” said Athenas, “who did this to you? You’re bleeding!” “No, no, no, it’s quite alright, really,” said Ian, in Spanish, “it’s only a scratch. I don’t suppose you would have any antiseptic in here, would you?” he said, as he closed the bathroom door behind himself. “There’s a bottle in the medicine cabinet…” said Athenas. She walked into the kitchen, to get a rag to clean up the bloody footprints.

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“Gracias,” said Ian. “Ian, what the hell is going on here, buddy?” said Johnny, in English, “You know how much work we still have to do before we can open tonight, right?” “I know, John… believe me, I know,” said Ian. “Don’t worry about me, mate. My end of the deal’s covered. I’ll be ready in a couple of hours. You just worry about what you have to do.” “Okay, okay… No need to get defensive, man,” said Johnny, “I’m just making sure we’re all still on the same page here, that’s all. I trust you, buddy. You say it’s handled, it’s handled… So, do you want to tell me what happened to you?” Johnny leaned up against the bathroom door. “You want to know what happened?” said Ian, “I’ll tell you what happened. I just had a run-in with that crazy strumpet, that’s what. Actually, she’s tearing apart my flat, even as we speak.” Johnny’s stomach dropped. “What crazy strumpet?” he said. Athenas listened intently, but she couldn’t follow the English, especially with Ian’s heavy accent. She crouched down, and wiped up the floor next to the couch in the living room. “You know damn well which bloody strumpet I’m talking about, John. Or do you want me to spell it out for you, lad? En Español perhaps?” said Ian. “No, no, no,” said Johnny, into the crack of the bathroom door, “I understand. I understand. Oh Jesus, Ian, we’re in deep shit, man. You have no idea what you’ve just done. We’ve got to get the hell out of here!” “Speak Spanish, damn it!” said Athenas. She threw the rag to the floor and stood up. “What’s going on, Juaníto? We just finished talking about being honest with each other, cabrón. So don’t try to talk around me like I’m stupid! No more secrets! What is going on here?” she said. BLEEP… BLEEP… BLEEP…

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BLEEP… BLEEP… BLEEP… Both Ian and Johnny’s cell phones began to ring. **** 15 de Septiembre 1326 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Fester masturbated, with a fist of fury, as he stood in the window of apartment ‘B’. Across the street, Señora Gonzales stood transfixed, horrified, yet unable to look away. She held her granddaughter’s face to her skirt, preventing her from witnessing the fowl “chaquetaso”. “Porquerias!” she said, through her teeth. “Filthiness! May God punish you, for what you have done, gringo! May he punish you for your porquerias, and the blood of Papi Chulo!” In the bathroom of apartment ‘B’, the flask shook violently, emitting a high-pitched whistle, like a tea kettle… **** 15 de Septiembre 1326 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Rosa del Mar sat on the edge of the bed, closest to the door. She dialed the number to Ian’s cell phone again. She was beginning to panic. The duffle bags had been much too heavy for her to carry, and they each contained more money than Rosa del Mar had ever seen in her life. Her heart pounded. “Please, Ian… Where are you? Answer the phone, Papi,” she said. She was shaking now. She cleared her throat, it was still sticky with semen. She picked up the bottle of William Lawson’s and took a drink. Her hands would not keep still. She swallowed. Her expression twisted, from the strong scotch. Four rings… Five rings… Still no answer.

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She looked over at Epifanio. He was naked, on his back, on top of the bed across from her. His hairy stomach moved up and down, with the rise and fall of his breathing. His eyes were partially open, and rolled back white. There was a white, pasty film, forming around his open lips. Six rings… Seven rings… A tear rolled down Rosa del Mar’s cheek. **** 15 de Septiembre 1326 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Fester slapped his penis against his stomach, as he jumped up and down, on the hardwood floor. “Oh, yaaaaaaasir! Here we go, Igor! Here… We… Go! Yaaaaahooo!” he said. BOOOOOOOOOOM!!! Every window in apartment ‘B’ blew out. Glass flew into the street below. The blast lifted Fester off of his feet, and tossed him back like a rag doll, up against the ceiling of the kitchen. He fell, face first to the floor, just as a stream of broken glass, tile, wire, and debris showered over him. A noxious cloud of purple and white smoke, billowed out of the bathroom. It filled the entire apartment, and poured through the shattered windows, out into the open air. The building appeared to be on fire. Señora Gonzales ran to her telephone. She dialed the number for the bomberos (fire department). Fester’s body was stunned from the concussion of the blast, as well as the fall. It hurt to breathe. He covered his mouth with his hand, coughing. He began to low-crawl, across the rubble-strewn floor, on his belly, back into the living room. He reached the sleeping bag, and buried his face inside of it, so he wouldn’t breathe in the toxic fumes. His naked body was covered with small cuts. He felt for the

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pair of black 501s, on top of the sleeping bag. He pulled the cell phone from the belt. **** 15 de Septiembre 1327 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… “Que?! What?!” said Ian, from behind the bathroom door. Rosa, listen to me, baby. Calm down, okay? Just stay where you are. I’m on my way now!” “What?!!!” said Johnny into his cell phone. He paced back and forth, in front of the living room windows. “Oh, you’ve got to be shitting me! God damn it, Fester!!!” Johnny ran to the kitchen. Athenas stood in the middle of the living room listening, her temples pounded with fear. “Stay there! Don’t you fucking bail on me, Fester. Pack up everything that can be salvaged, clear out the deepfreeze! I’ll be there in five minutes!” said Johnny. He hung up. BLEEP… BLEEP… BLEEP… Athenas’ cell phone rang in her jacket pocket. Ian burst out of the bathroom, fully dressed, in jeans, a T-shirt, and a leather jacket. He rushed past Athenas. “John! I have to go!” he said. He ran to the front door. “I’ll catch you at the warehouse at five!” Athenas answered her phone. “Bueno?” she said. “Ian!!! Wait, damn it!” said Johnny from the kitchen. He ran his hand across the top of the cabinets, until he felt the butt of the Ruger .45, he had stashed above them. “I specifically told you to stay home and wait for me to call you, Athenas,” said the voice of Cuauhtémoc. It sent ice down Athenas’ spine. She felt like she was going to pee on herself. She couldn’t breathe. The phone trembled in her hand.

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“Cuauhtémoc?” she said. “No seas tonta! Don’t act stupid with me, girl,” said Cuauhtémoc. “You have no idea what you are playing with.” Athenas ran to the corner of the windows, in the living room. She peeked down at the street. “There’s no time, John!” said Ian, from the open doorway. “Just meet me at the warehouse at five!” “Wait!!!” said Johnny. He racked the slide of the .45 with a grunt of pain. He tucked it into his pants, at the small of his back, and pulled his jacket down over it. He ran to the front door. “Listen to me,” he said, grabbing Ian’s left arm, “you do what you have to do, but get your ass down to the warehouse, Ian. We have to talk. That bitch downstairs is gonna get us both killed, if we’re not careful. It might already be too late. I’m not fucking around here. Watch your ass. You hear me?” “Okay. Okay, I’ll be careful,” said Ian. “Don’t worry, John. I know what I’m doing. I’ll see you at five o’clock.” He ran down the stairs. Athenas saw Cuahutemoc’s black Grand Cherokee pull away from the curb. It drove down the street. A black Bronco II also pulled away from the curb. It followed the Cherokee, two cars behind it. “Leave the building now, Athenas. Take your ass home, this minute, and wait for my call. I’m giving you a chance to earn my forgiveness, Míja, because I do love you. But if you are not home by the time I call you back, I will see to it that you die, the most painful death I can imagine. I will dismember you. I will ruin you, destroy you, cut you into tiny little pieces with my own hands, Athenas… Right alongside your little friend there. ¿Me entiendes?” said Cuauhtémoc. “Si,” said Athenas, barely above a whisper. “Go home!” said Cuauhtémoc. The line went dead.

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“Athenas!” said Johnny. Athenas screamed, dropping her cell phone to the floor. Johnny ran into the living room from the front door. “I have to go, baby, now! I’ve got big trouble…” “Juaníto, listen to me!” said Athenas, cutting him off. “That was him, Cuauhtémoc, the one I told you about. He’s crazy, Juan. He knows where we are! He said he’s going to kill us!” “Well, he’s going to have to catch us first,” said Johnny. He pulled the .45 from the small of his back. “I’ve come through entirely too much bullshit, just to be stopped now. By this time tomorrow, I will either be swimming money, safe in Germany, or I’ll be deader than shit. I can’t promise your safety, Athenas. But I do love you. And if we make it, what’s mine is yours. You can go home, or you can come with me, baby. But we have to go now! It’s up to you…” “Órale pues…” said Athenas, “Let’s get the hell out of here. I’m coming with you, Juaníto.” “What did you do with the .380 I gave you?” said Johnny. “It’s in my purse,” she said. “Good girl,” said Johnny, “let’s go!” They ran for the stairs. **** 15 de Septiembre 1327 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Eduardo sat on the back bumper of a white Dodge ram van, inside the warehouse, at the back of the Gutierrez Trucking yard. The van’s two back doors were open. The cargo space was filled with cardboard boxes. The boxes were marked fragile, they supposedly contained water purification units. In reality, they were filled with the missing 500 units (kilos) of cocaine. “Eduardo held his cell phone to his ear. He looked down at the cement floor, in contemplation. “Señor?” said Emilio, waiting for an answer.

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Eduardo continued to stare at the floor. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. “Bueno…” he said, “Kill him. Don’t fail me, compadre. Call me when it’s done.” “Si, patrón,” said Emilio. Eduardo hung up. He looked at his watch. 1:28 He dialed Ana Lilia’s cell phone number. **** 15 de Septiembre 1328 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Emilio left the motor running in the blue Suburban. He watched Ian run out of the building across the street. Ian jogged half a block down, to the corner, and raised his arm to hail a cab. Emilio racked the slide of his Beretta 9mm, and returned it to its holster, under his green Nautica windbreaker. He put on his sunglasses, and stepped out of the truck. Ian waved his arm overhead, at the approaching green and white VW taxi, but it passed him by. “Damn it!” he said. Emilio crossed the street. He walked down the sidewalk. Ian’s back was to him, his arm still raised, trying to get the next cab to stop. It didn’t. Emilio looked back over his shoulder. No witnesses. He focused on the back of Ian’s head, as he closed the distance between them at a casual pace. 50 meters… 30 meters… 10 meters… Emilio reached inside his jacket. He took hold of the Beretta. His index finger slid into the trigger well… “Oh, come on!” said Ian, waving his arm at the approaching cab. Emilio was close enough to hear him now.

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The green and white VW Bug pulled over. Ian ran up to it. Emilio dropped his arm to his side, turned around, and jogged back towards the Suburban. **** 15 de Septiembre 1328 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Johnny and Athenas burst through the front doors of the building. They almost knocked down a man in a green Nautica windbreaker, as they ran across the street towards the red Jetta. Athenas climbed behind the wheel. She was the “getaway girl” now, and loving it. She smiled. Johnny climbed into the passenger seat. He put the .45 in the glove box. The tires squealed, Athenas peeled out down Calle Fernando Montez de Oca. The white Electra delivery van struggled to keep up, as the Jetta took the loop around the park, racing towards La Colonia Roma. **** 15 de Septiembre 1328 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Ana Lilia smoothed out her white Chanel dress. She removed her compact from her purse, on the broken coffee table. She walked over to the wall of windows and looked out at the view. “Nice…” she thought. But it was nothing like the view she and Eduardo had. Their high-rise apartment building uptown, above Chapultepec, had been like a fairy tale palace, floating high above the clouds… She sighed. Ana Lilia’s mood had improved. It had taken two more Reinas, and the total destruction of Ian’s apartment to do the trick, but she did feel better now. She began to reapply her lipstick. She pressed her

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lips together, then smiled at herself in the mirror of her compact. She looked down at the street. Johnny and Athenas ran out of the building. They almost knocked over some poor guy in a green jacket. They climbed into a red VW Jetta across the street. Ana Lilia shook her head. “Oh, God…” she said, with disgust. “Men…” Ana Lilia walked across the living room, to retrieve her purse from the shattered coffee table. She placed each step, with care, so she wouldn’t damage her shoes. The floor was covered with pieces of glass, china, television parts, pottery, torn paper, and couch stuffing. She picked up her purse, and started to make her way towards the door, glass crunching under her feet. BLEEP… BLEEP… BLEEP… She stopped. She reached into her purse and answered her cell phone. “Bueno?” she said. “Aníta…” said Eduardo. Ana Lilia’s heart froze. She didn’t reply. “Ana… I’m tired, Míja,” said Eduardo. “I feel so very sad, such an infinite sadness. Why, Ana? Why do we have to be like this? How did we ever become like this? We used to be so happy, so in love with each other. Don’t you remember, mi amor?” Ana Lilia didn’t answer. Tears began to run down her face. “That’s all right, baby. You don’t have to say anything. I know you’re there. I know you can hear my voice…” “You do realize that I know exactly what you’ve been doing, don’t you? I know where you are. But, you don’t have to be afraid, though. I’m beyond being angry with you… Now, I’m only sad, sad and completely alone, Ana… Ana?” said Eduardo. Ana Lilia swallowed. She closed her eyes and sniffled. The tears ran over her lips. She couldn’t speak.

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“I remember the first time I laid eyes on you, Ana. You were such a little girl then, sad and tragic, so fragile. I remember the way you looked at me, not like a little girl at all. It pierced me like a dagger, burning into my heart,” said Eduardo. “You inspired me. I was consumed by a desperate need to rescue you, to protect you. I wanted to give you everything, all of the good and beauty that the world could offer. I loved you so much, I wanted to tear the flesh from my bones, to suffer, just to prove myself worthy of your favor, of your love.” “Eduardo, stop,” said Ana Lilia. “Please.” “I couldn’t sleep for weeks,” said Eduardo. “I had visions. I knew you were destined to be my wife. I knew we would eventually be together. And then you told me that you loved me, that you would die without me. You became my wife, and I swore that I would give you anything and everything you desired…” “We were happy then. We were happy for such a long time… What did I do wrong, Ana? Why? What did I do, to make you like this?” Ana Lilia looked up, still holding the phone to her ear. She wiped her tears away. Her posture stiffened. “Eduardo…” she said, “Please listen to me. I do love you, and even if you don’t believe me, because of the way I act, it is still the truth. That is why I am in so much pain… But, things have gone too far now. We’ve done too much damage to each other. Can’t you see that?” “Ana, I know,” said Eduardo, “that’s why I’m-” “Escúchame!” said Ana, interrupting him. “Listen to me! I heard what you had to say, now it’s my turn, Eduardo. I’ve had to stand aside and watch you fall apart over the past four months, one piece at a time. I’ve watched the vicio, the vice, take control of your mind! That brilliant mind of yours, that I admired so much about you, has become twisted and evil. You’ve let our whole world crumble down all around us, and you act as if it means nothing to you!”

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“It does mean nothing to me!” said Eduardo. “Vapors, dust, things! Es una mierda, Ana, it’s all shit! You, Ana… You are the only thing that matters to me.” “But what about our life, Eduardo?! We had a perfect life! And I was happy, you bastard… Tan enamorada contigo! So in love with you,” she said. “Then why did you betray me?!” he said. “Why have you been carrying on with that cockroach? Me pusiste los cuernos! You put the horns to me, Ana! You’ve turned me into a goddamned cuckold! Un cornudo!” “Because I was as good as dead to you, Eduardo!” she said. “One day, about three months ago, I ceased to exist for you. You completely shut me out! You locked yourself away from me, day after day, as you sat up there in your office reading and doing dope! You just sat there, caring about nothing, waiting for the end to come.” “Waiting for the end?!” said Eduardo. “Ana, I’ve been up there, working around the clock for weeks now. I’ve been putting together a deal that would allow us to walk away from this situation, with everything we have, plus a few million dollars more. While you-” “While I have been scared to death! Listening to the threats, trying to figure out how I could escape. Watching the cars parked out front, knowing that the Americans, the Mexicanos, and even your own people in Colombia want you dead. Waiting every night for a bunch of killers to storm into the house and murder us!” She covered her eyes with her hand. Her body shook from her sobbing. Her words returned in spurts. “I’m so scared. I feel like I’m losing my mind. I can’t take this anymore. No puedo mas…” she said. “So now I’m leaving, Eduardo. I have to. ¿Me entiendez? Before it’s too late, and I’ll do whatever it takes to get away, because…” Her tears flowed with renewed vigor.

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“Because I’m not going to wait around here and watch them kill you, mi amor. I… I can’t… I… Goodbye, Eduardo,” she said. “Ana, wait!” said Eduardo. **** 15 de Septiembre 1350 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Three black Suburbans rolled down Avenida Insurgentes in a tight column. Fabio sat in the passenger seat of the lead truck. His window was rolled down. He raised a Motorola mini flip-phone to his ear. Four girls in a yellow convertible Mustang 5.0 pulled up, driving alongside them. The driver honked her horn twice. “Hola, chico!” “Hola, guapo!” “Papásito!” “Ay, a donde vas, mi amor?!” they said. Fabio smiled. He waved at them. “Ahhhh, Mexico City. It is good to be back…” he thought to himself. “Bueno?” said the voice of Mario, Fabio’s second in command, as he answered the phone. He was in the Suburban directly behind Fabio’s. “Listen to me,” said Fabio. He smiled and waved at the girls again. They were blowing him kisses now. “I want you to take your team to the apartment, Mario. Enrique’s team can handle the trucking yard. I’ll take care of the Polanco residence, personally. I seriously doubt that he has made his move yet, but we must be extremely careful and observant. ¿Me entiendes?” “Si, señor,” said Mario. “I don’t want him to slip through our fingers. We’ll only get one shot at this, so we have to make it count. Believe me, El Mecanico knows the game, my friend. If he so much as suspects that we are even in this city, he will vanish without a trace. We must move

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quickly, firmly, and without mercy. Do you understand me?” said Fabio. “Si, Patrón,” said Mario. “Good,” said Fabio, “let’s go to work.” He pushed the ‘end’ button on his Motorola, blew the girls a kiss, then rolled up the tinted glass window. The column of Suburbans split up. They each went their separate ways. 15 de Septiembre 1400 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… The red VW Jetta skidded to a stop next to the park, across the street from the blue colonial apartment building on the corner. Clouds of purple and white smoke poured from the second-story windows. Broken glass was scattered all over the little street that ran parallel to the building. The neighbors were beginning to gather, up and down the sidewalk. Johnny and Athenas ran across the street, up the steps to the front door. They slipped inside. Athenas locked the door behind them. They rushed up the staircase, coughing on fumes. “Fester!!!” said Johnny, as he walked through the open door of apartment ‘B’, fanning his arms in front of himself. Athenas followed, coughing. “Over here, dawg!” said Fester. He materialized out of the smoke, right in front of Johnny’s face. He had a T-shirt tied around his nose and mouth. His arms were loaded down with Ziploc freezer bags full of “Ice”. He was still naked, from stem to stern. The sound of sirens approaching filled the room. Athenas coughed, snapping her fingers at Fester. “Apúrate, dámelas!” she said. She reached for the bags. “Hurry up! Give them to me. We have to get out of here, now! The police will be here any minute!” The sirens grew louder still… Fester looked at Johnny.

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“What did she say?!” he said. His voice was muffled by the Tshirt. “Give her the bags, for fuck’s sake!!” said Johnny. Fester did. Athenas took them in her arms and ran into the hallway, coughing. Johnny dove head-first into the deepfreeze. He pulled out the remainder of batches ‘A’ and ‘B’, passing the bags over his shoulder to Fester. The sirens were almost deafening now. Fester ran to the hallway. Johnny pulled the last two bags of “glass” from the deepfreeze. He started to run, then stopped. He saw his Beretta 9mm on the floor. It was the same pistol that Fester had shot him with this morning. He picked it up. “Apártanse! Get back, clear the sidewalk!” said a voice over a bullhorn in the street. Johnny slammed into Fester’s naked body in the middle of the doorway. SMACK!!! “I gotta get my clothes!” said Fester. “Juan! The fire department and the police are out front!” said Athenas, from the top of the staircase down the hall. “There’s no time, Fester! Run! Move!” said Johnny. He ran past him. “Juan!!! Oh, God!” said Athenas. She was shaking, holding her fifteen-year sentence in a Mexican prison, tightly in her arms. “What do we do?!!!” “Shit!!!” said Johnny, in English. He stopped. He looked down the hall at Athenas, then back at Fester, standing in the open doorway. Fester’s eyes widened. “Come on! This way!” said Fester. He ran up the hall towards apartment ‘C’, in a flurry of slapping feet and swinging genitalia. Johnny and Athenas followed. The firemen smashed the glass window of the front door downstairs…

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Fester kicked Rosa Del Mar’s door open with his bare foot. CRACK!!! **** 15 de Septiembre 1430 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Ian paid the taxistia, then ran up the steps of the Hotel Monte Real. He stopped at the door to catch his breath, then entered the lobby. Ian worked his way through the flow of the hotel guests walking in and out of the building. He stayed close to the bar and restaurant, as he headed for the elevators. He didn’t even look towards the front desk, with its security cameras glowering down from above it. He could almost feel the suspicion, the eyes watching, following him as he walked past. He stepped into the elevator on the left, just before the doors closed. The eleventh floor was silent. A linen closet was open to Ian’s right, next to the staircase. It was filled with brooms, mops, cleaning products, and a loaded maid’s cart. There was no sign of the chamber maid, though. Ian continued down the hallway, until he reached room 1122. The door was locked. He knocked three times. “Rosa, it’s me,” said Ian. “Abre la puerta, Míja. Open the door.” The bell of the elevator rang. Ian could hear movement inside the room. Someone exited the elevator and walked down the hall. The door of room 1122 opened. Rosa del Mar was perspiring. She smiled. “Oh, thanks to God. You made it, mi amor,” she said. She reached for Ian’s hand, in slow motion. A man in a green Nautica windbreaker passed behind Ian. Ian smiled at Rosa del Mar.

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The man turned his head and glanced at Rosa over Ian’s shoulder as he walked by. “Hey, baby…” said Ian. The man drew a pistol from under his jacket. Ian took Rosa del Mar’s hand and stepped over the threshold to embrace her. The man turned back towards room 1122, bringing the pistol around with a straight right arm. Rosa del Mar’s expression paled. Her eyes widened, and her mouth opened. The man pointed the pistol at the back of Ian’s head. His face hardened with resolution. He squeezed the trigger. **** 15 de Septiembre 1430 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Cuahutemoc’s lips twisted into a smirk of satisfaction, as he looked up at his rearview mirror. The Bronco was still behind him. Even though he could not see it, he knew it was there, just a few cars back. He had already double-checked, by making a few unnecessary turns in La Colonia Condesa. He turned right, entering the warehouse district. This was Cuahutemoc’s playground. Down here, Cuauhtémoc could do whatever he pleased. Other police agencies didn’t like to venture this far into the dark heart of La Colonia Tepito. It was one of the most dangerous districts in Mexico City. One could buy anything in Tepito. Everything was for sale, and almost everything being sold had been brought to market by suspect means. Tepito was home to narco traficantes, fences, counterfeiters, black marketeers, video pirates, pick pockets, bank robbers, forgers, carjackers, kidnappers, motorcycle-riding purse snatchers, prize fighters, and pimps…

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It was a place of high risks and large rewards. Opportunities were everywhere, for those with the huevos to step up and snatch them. Cuauhtémoc was at ease now. He was back within his element again. These were the streets where he had grown up as a boy. The grit, the hard reality of Tepito coursed through Cuahutemoc’s veins. He was as much akin to the violence and vicio of this place, as the pigeon was to Zócalo, and the Cathedral downtown. He turned left into a callejón (alley) between two warehouses. He took his time, to insure he didn’t lose his tail. He pulled the black Nokia from his hip and auto-dialed agent Sanchez’s number. ****

15 de Septiembre 1430 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Paco kept his distance, like the professional he was. He held back, let a taxi turn first, then turned right at the light. The black Cherokee was four cars ahead of him now. He pulled his cell phone from the center console and auto-dialed Eduardo’s number for the third time. It was still busy. “Hijo de puta…” he said, under his breath. He pushed the ‘end’ button, then auto-dialed Manuel’s number. As the line began to ring, the black Cherokee made a left turn between two warehouses. **** 15 de Septiembre 1430 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… BLEEP… BLEEP… BLEEP… BLEEP… BLEEP… BLEEP…

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The sound of the two cell phones ringing echoed through the warehouse. Manuel laid on his back, unconscious on the cement floor. His eyes opened. The world was pain. Nothing else existed. He tried to move, but could not. He was alive though. This he was sure of. Every centimeter of his body hurt, even the flesh beneath his toenails. The plaster of dried blood and saliva cracked, then gave way, allowing his lips to part. His tongue was like a piece of leather. He inhaled through his mouth. It sounded like wood being split apart. He coughed. The phones continued to ring, from different parts of the warehouse, light years away. The ringing penetrated his disorientation. It began to ground him, and bring him back to full consciousness. It was the pain though, that brought him back to reality. Then came the recollection of what had happened to him. The beatings, the electrocution, getting stabbed in the hip, biting off agent Sanchez’s nose, he remembered it all now. “Wait…” he thought, “where is that bastard?” Manuel used all of the strength he could muster to turn his head to the right. The floor was wet against his cheek. Five feet away, laying on his back, was the body of agent Sanchez. The handle of his double-edged dagger protruded from the center of his chest. The light from the ceiling flickered on and off, illuminating the pool of blood that engulfed them both. Manuel raised a hand to his head with a grunt of pain. He felt for the nails. They were still there. The wires were gone though. He gave the left nail a slight tug. “Ayyyyy!!! Ay, Dios! Oh, God…” Fire ripped through his brain. His eyes blurred and filled with tears. The phones continued to ring. “I am not dead. I am alive, and I will stay alive,” he thought to himself. “I can make it out of this. But I must get out of here now. If that other one returns, I’m a dead man.” He rolled onto his stomach.

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**** 15 de Septiembre 1445 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Johnny and Athenas both had their ears pressed to the door of Rosa del Mar’s apartment, as they leaned up against it, keeping it shut. Fester was between them, doing the same. They weren’t bothered by Fester’s nudity anymore. They were too scared to even pay attention. “What are they sayin’ out there?” said Fester. “Cállate!” whispered Athenas. “Shhhhhh!” said Johnny. Despite the amount of people moving in and out of the building, the bedlam in the hallway had subsided a bit. The bomberos had stopped the smoke now. And as they packed up their hoses and equipment, the first wave of the Policia Judicial arrived. They went right to work, examining the remains of the makeshift laboratory. There was a commotion downstairs, out in front of the building. A woman fought her way through the police barricade. She ran up the steps to the front door. “Justicia!” she cried. “Justice! I want justice! I saw who did this, let me pass!” “Let her come up!” said a captain from the Policia Judicial (PJG) in the hallway upstairs. He was dressed in a green and khaki uniform with plenty of braided rope and brass showing. He stood next to the chief fire inspector from the bomberos, in front of the open door of apartment ‘B’. The woman lumbered up the stairs to the hallway above. She was shrouded in black. Tears were streaming down her face. In her arms was the bloody corpse of a four-foot-long iguana. “His name, was Papi Chulo…” she said. And with tearful eyes she began to describe everything she had witnessed through her living room window. “Ay, no…” said Athenas. Her eyes widened, “son porquerias.” “Oh, Jesus, Fester,” said Johnny, listening.

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Fester stepped back from the door. “What? What are you talking about?” he said. Athenas continued to listen through to the door. Johnny walked over to Fester and pushed him in the chest with his left arm. Fester fell back onto Rosa del Mar’s bed. “OW!” said Fester. He had landed on a piece of a broken ashtray. “You nasty, perverted, son of a bitch. What have you done?” said Johnny, just above a whisper. “What I do?” said Fester. “You let that poor woman out there see you pulling on yourself, all over that damn apartment,” said Johnny. “She’s so traumatized by it that she can remember every single detail about your funky ass.” “Well, hell, Wood…” said Fester, “I was only-” “Shhhhhh!” said Johnny and Athenas. “I said I was only tryin’ to shake off a little stress, Johnny. I mean come on, big dawg.” “Okay, okay. Forget about it,” said Johnny. “We just have to find a way out of here, before the police start knocking on doors.” Athenas understood most of what Johnny had said in English. She walked over to Johnny and Fester. “Juan, how are we going to get out of here?” she said. “How are we going to get out of here with him? Está desnudo! He’s naked, and bien bien paniquiado. They’ll recognize him on sight, thanks to that woman. If we leave with him, Juan, we are both going to end up in jail.” “Yo lo se,” said Johnny, “I know.” Fester stood up. “What did she say, Dawg?” he said. “Hang on, Fester. Let me think for a second,” said Johnny. He wiped the sweat from his face with the palm of his hand. “But we’ve got to get out of here, man…” said Fester. He was starting to panic.

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Johnny looked around the room. He walked towards the bathroom. “Juan, no me oiste? Didn’t you hear what I said?” said Athenas. SILENCE… “You and I are fine,” said Johnny, from the bathroom. He walked back out into the living room. He looked at the pile of dirty laundry by the windows. “Fester’s the one they’re looking for, not us.” “Johnny would ya stop talking that Spanish shit for a second and listen to me?” said Fester. Johnny crouched over the pile of clothes at the window. He pulled out a black lace bra and examined it closely. “I didn’t skip out on my parole and come all the way down here, just to end up in prison again!” said Fester. “Do you have any idea what would happen to a white boy in prison down here?” Johnny tossed the bra onto the bed. “Calm down, Fester. You’re not going to prison,” he said. “We’re going to get out of this.” He dug through the pile of clothes again. “What do you think I am, stupid?” said Fester. “I know how it all goes down in these foreign countries. I’ve seen that move, ‘Midnight Express’, Johnny. I seen it two times when I was locked up at Corcoran State Prison. So don’t try to lie to me!” He walked over to Johnny and snatched the Beretta from the back of Johnny’s pants. “And I’ll tell ya right now…” he said, as he racked the slide. “Ain’t nobody beatin’ on my feet. You hear me? And I ain’t celling up with no punks either.” Johnny stood up. “Fester, put the gun down,” he said. “Fester, tranquilo…” said Athenas, stepping forward. Her voice was full of compassion. “Baja la pistola, míjo. Put the gun down.”

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Fester backed away from both of them, onto the bed. “I ain’t bullshittin’, Johnny,” he said. “A man’s gotta draw the line somewhere. And if they want to beat on the bottom of my feet, then I’d just as soon go out blastin’… Take a few of them bastards out with me before I go.” Johnny stepped up onto the bed. He grabbed the pistol out of Fester’s shaking hand. “Give me that,” he said, “we don’t have time for this.” He picked up the bra and gave it to Fester. “Here, put this on.” “What the hell for?” said Fester. “If you don’t want to end up in prison, then you’ll put it on,” said Johnny. “You’re the only one the police are looking for, Fester, and that’s your own fault. Athenas and I can walk out of here right now. So if you want to make it out of this place, you’re going to have to change your appearance, and fast. Now take your ass in the bathroom and start getting dressed.” “But a bra?” said Fester. “Come on, Dawg.” “We’re going to have to put the dope somewhere,” said Johnny. “Besides, you’re going to need some tits, anyway.” “Oh, that’s perfect, Juaníto! It could work. It could really work,” said Athenas. Her eyes flashed with hope. “It’s only perfect, if it’s convincing,” said Johnny. “We have to hurry. Why don’t you go help him, baby. There’s makeup, hair spray, and all kinds of stuff in the bathroom.” Athenas smiled. “Órale,” she said, “I’ll see what I can do.” She ran to the bathroom. Johnny walked over to the front door and put his ear to it. The woman was still out there, weeping and carrying on about her dead iguana. Johnny knelt down and began to pick up the Ziploc freezer bags of “glass” off the hardwood floor. ****

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15 de Septiembre 1440 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Rosa screamed. She pulled Ian’s hand toward her. He fell forward, into the room. BLAM!!! The round from the Beretta impacted into the wall, above a small table on the other side of the room. It missed Ian’s head by a few centimeters, echoing down the hall. Rosa del Mar kicked the door shut with all of her might. It slammed on Emilio’s extended right arm, smashing his wrist. He dropped the pistol with a howl of pain. The door bounced back open… The moment froze in time, with all eyes wide, watching the pistol slide over to the nightstand across the floor. Everyone dove for it at once. Emilio and Ian collided as they landed on the carpet, inches from the pistol. They entangled, clawing, punching, and trying to strangle each other. They rolled on the ground like savages. Rosa bounced off of them like a pinball hitting a bumper, as she caught a wild foot to the face. She fell onto her back. Her nose was broken and bleeding. Emilio and Ian rolled into the nightstand, sending a lamp crashing to the floor. Emilio was on top now. He reached out for the pistol, just beyond the grasp of his right hand. Ian clenched his hands around Emilio’s throat. He squeezed harder, forcing Emilio to grab Ian’s wrists, instead of reaching for the pistol. Emilio was losing the battle. With a surge of panic and desperation, he reached down and seized Ian’s testicles. He grabbed, twisted, pulled, and grabbed again. Ian shrieked in a terrifying falsetto. “Aieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!” They rolled out of control, bouncing off the wall, then over to the bed. Ian’s head spun. He felt as if he were going to vomit. Emilio’s face was beet red. He could not breathe at all now.

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Ian’s grip was failing him. The pain was too intense. He let go of Emilio’s throat with his right hand. His left held fast. Emilio gasped for breath. He tried to stand; but Ian’s right hand slammed into his crotch, clamping onto his testicles like a vise. Emilio’s grip automatically tightened on Ian’s balls. They rose to their feet, screaming in the same bloodcurdling falsetto, as they danced the waltz of the emasculator… Rosa del Mar was still stunned from the kick to her nose. She stood though, watching in horror, as Ian and the man fell onto the bed. They landed on top of Epifanio’s naked body, smashing his stomach. Emilio was on top again. Rosa grabbed the bottle of William Lawson’s from the floor and rushed over to the bed. She swung at the back of Emilio’s head, but Ian and Emilio rolled to the left, over Epifanio’s genitals. The bottle shattered on Epifanio’s forehead. Blood poured down his face. Rosa screamed. She ran to the nightstand and picked up the Beretta. She pointed it in Emilio and Ian’s direction. “Suéltalo!! Let him go!!” she said. BLAM!!! The pistol fired. Rosa screamed. The mirror shattered on the other side of the room. Emilio and Ian froze, releasing each other. They both looked at Rosa del Mar. Emilio held up a hand, imploring her. “Wait…” he said. BLAM!!! BLAM!!! BLAM!!!... Rosa was screaming. She couldn’t stop pulling the trigger. The first round went through the palm of Emilio’s right hand, and struck him in the chin. It knocked him off of Ian, and onto the floor. The second and third rounds slammed into forehead and cheek, destroying the remainder of his face, and blowing the back of his skull against the wall behind him. Blood and brain matter covered the shattered mirror and television set. His body slumped over, as Rosa

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continued to pump rounds into him. He was becoming a mass of bloody pulp. “Rosa, ya!! Ya basta! That’s enough!” said Ian. BLAM!!! BLAM!!! Click… The magazine was empty. The Beretta was smoking. It trembled in Rosa del Mar’s hands. Her eyes were wide. Her chest heaved from her breathing. Blood was still flowing from her nose, and dripping off her chin. Ian sat up on the bed. He stood. He was out of breath. Fighting back the wave of pain and nausea, he staggered to the door. It was still halfway open. He leaned against it, closing it. He stayed there for a second, trying to catch his breath. **** 15 de Septiembre 1440 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… “Eduardo, there’s nothing left to say,” said Ana Lilia’s voice through Eduardo’s cell phone. “I have to go now.” “Go where?!” said Eduardo. He paced the warehouse floor, back and forth, behind the white cargo van. “Where could you possibly go, Ana? And with whom? Who would protect you? That cockroach? Come on, Ana, be reasonable. Surely you weren’t thinking of running off with such a desgraciado, such a wretched and despicable person. Please tell me you weren’t.” “I don’t know, Eduardo!” said Ana Lilia. “I just want to get away from here, before it’s too late.” “But with him?!” “I said I don’t know!” “Tell me! Say it! I want to hear it from your own mouth.” “I don’t know!!!” “Lies! Don’t lie to me, Ana. Dime la verdad! Tell me the truth!” said Eduardo.

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“The truth?! You really want to know the truth, Eduardo?” said Ana Lilia. “Yes…! There, are you happy now? Yes, Eduardo. Yes, I’ve been fucking him. And yes, I’m going away with him. Is that what you wanted to hear?!!” Eduardo laughed. “What?!” said Ana Lilia, “You think this is some sort of game, Eduardo? You think I’m playing with you?” “I’m sorry,” said Eduardo. “I was just thinking, or wondering rather, how you expected to run off with your friend when he’s already left you behind?” “No, he hasn’t,” said Ana Lilia, her voice full of defiance. “Ian would never-” “Ana, believe me. He has. I should know,” said Eduardo. He sat back down on the rear bumper of the van. “How do you think I know where you are now? Calle Fernando Montez de Oca, en La Colonia Condesa, perhaps? Think, Ana! Those pills have distorted your reality so badly, you don’t even realize what is happening around you.” “I-” “You what?” said Eduardo, “Took me for a fool? Did you honestly think that I would just let all of this slide by? God, Ana, you are lucky. You are lucky that I love you so damn much. That is the only reason we are talking on the phone right now, instead of laying your troubled soul to rest in some dark warehouse somewhere. And even then, that’s only because this situation is over with.” “But, what about-” “Ana, it’s over. He’s gone,” said Eduardo. “When he left the building, I had someone take him on a very long trip. He won’t be coming back.” “You bastard!” said Ana Lilia, “Y Juaníto tambien? What have you done to Juaníto?” “Que me dijiste?! What did you say?!” said Eduardo. He stood up.

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“Oh to hell with you!” said Ana Lilia, “to hell with all of you! I give up. If you want to kill me, I’m sure you’ll know where to find me. Or maybe your business problems will come back to kill us all first. Either way, so be it. I’m tired Eduardo, and I’m not running anymore. I’m going home, to my home… Ciao.” The line went dead with a steady buzz. Eduardo kept the phone to his ear, staring at the ground in silence. **** 15 de Septiembre 1445 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Paco slowed. He allowed the black Cherokee to exit the alleyway and turn left ahead of him. When it disappeared around the corner, he floored the accelerator and shot to the end of the alleyway himself. He pumped the brakes, then eased the nose of the Bronco out, just far enough to look down the narrow street after it. The Cherokee pulled up to the chain-link fence gate of a deserted electronics warehouse. A sign, covered in rust, bearing the name “Electra Electronics” hung from one bolt over the left side of the gate. Paco watched Cuauhtémoc climb out of the Cherokee and walk over to the chain and padlock. BLEEP… BLEEP… BLEEP… He pulled the cell phone from the center console and pushed the send button. “Bueno?” he said. “Paco,” said Eduardo, “it’s me, hermanito.” “Señor, I’m down in La Colonia Tepito. I still have a visual of our friend with the Cherokee. He’s going into some sort of old warehouse,” said Paco. “Drop him, Paco,” said Eduardo. “He doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve already picked up the children from school. Under the

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circumstances, I think it’s best to just do everything early today, que no?” “Si señor,” said Paco. “Bueno,” said Eduardo. “Now listen carefully. I’m taking the children to my sister’s place right now. So I need you to meet me there as soon as possible. ¿Me entiendes?” “Como no, señor. Of course,” said Paco. “I’m on my way.” He pulled out of the callejón turning right, away from Cuauhtémoc. He sped up the street. **** 15 de Septiembre 1500 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… “This is bullshit…” said Fester. He stood in the doorway of the bathroom. His toenails were painted neon yellow. His legs, quite shapely as a woman’s now, were shaven and smooth. A tight yellow ‘minifalda’ (miniskirt) offered risqué shots of possibility, peeking out between a pair of freshly shorn upper thighs. Above the skirt, a white ‘mini-T’ was stretched taut, over a pair of generous breasts. His face now had an elfin look to it. Shades of gold, yellow, and glitter decorated his lips, eyes, and cheeks. The mop of blonde hair that had once looked like Einstein’s, was now clean and trimmed. Bangs fell gently over his forehead, accentuating his blue eyes. The rest was parted into two silky ponytails, on each side of his head, and adorned with barrettes. The only shoes he could fit into were a pair of Rosa Del Mar’s white platform sandals, since they were adjustable. They were still too tight, but at least they were passable. Fester’s skinny frame had no problem fitting into Athenas’ leather jacket though. It helped to cover up some of the obviousness, of the slightly overstuffed breasts protruding out from under the mini-T. Athenas had done it. Fester did not look at all like some second-rate, or low quality drag queen. He oozed with sensuality. Athenas had successfully transformed him into a sexy little Mexico City waif, with a touch of true ‘raver’ fashion.

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“Johnny turned away from the door and stared, awestruck. His mouth hung open. “My God…” he said. Athenas slipped up behind Fester and wrapped her arms around his waist. She kissed him on the neck, then peered at Johnny over Fester’s shoulder. Her eyes flashed. “Isn’t he beautiful, Juaníto?!” she said with excitement. “Que maravilla, mi Chiquita!” She squeezed him tighter and kissed him on the cheek. Fester groaned. He rolled his eyes. “The Jean Genie…” said Johnny, with reverence. He nodded his head in approval. A smile stretched across his face. “This is going to work! Okay, okay… We can get out of here now.” BLEEP… BLEEP… BLEEP… Johnny quickly pulled the phone from his hip and answered it. “Bueno?” he said, keeping his voice down. “Johann, wo bist du denn gewessen, mein bruder?” said Eduardo. “Where have you been? I’m down here at Ameritrans now, and the gates are still locked.” “Edward, es tut mir leid, I’m so sorry,” said Johnny. He took a deep breath. His heart pounded in his ears as he tried to conceal the stress in his voice. “The DJ should have been there a half hour ago, to open up with the sound men. He must be caught in traffic. Look, the combination is 18-12-26. Go ahead and park behind the office on the right. I left the back entrance open. The office is already set up for your meeting. All of the preparations for the party will be taking place in the warehouse, on the other side of the yard. So no one will disturb you.” “Excellent,” said Eduardo. “Again, I just want to apologize, Edward,” said Johnny. “I didn’t realize you were still going to use the office for your meeting this evening… I mean, not after what we discussed this morning, that is.”

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“On the contrary, my brother. I still have to tend to these last few details, and tie up a couple of loose ends before we can depart,” said Eduardo. “And since we have a 7:00 am flight to catch, I think it would be more prudent if we all just left directly from here. Besides, I am rather curious what this gathering of yours is going to be like.” “I’d be honored to have you as a VIP guest, Edward,” said Johnny. “That way you and I can celebrate our last night in the D.F. together.” “I’d like that,” said Eduardo. “You’re a very loyal friend, Johann.” He emphasized the word, loyal. “Plus there’s something I need to talk to you about, in person. But we’ll get to that later. Until then, leave your phone on, okay? I want to be able to get ahold of you if need be, understand?” “Klar, of course,” said Johnny. “Gut. Aufwiedersehen,” said Eduardo. “Aufwiedersehen.” The line went dead in Johnny’s ear, with an idiot buzz. He stood at the door, looking right through Fester and Athenas, as he contemplated Eduardo’s tone of voice. “I don’t like this…” he said to himself. “Juaníto…” said Athenas. “Huh?” said Johnny. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, let’s get the hell out of here. He clipped the cell phone to his belt. **** 15 de Septiembre 1510 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Cuauhtémoc flung the gates of the yard open with one push. “A la verga!” he said. He marched back to the Cherokee and roared into the parking lot. The engine screamed. Gravel sprayed out behind him with a cloud of dust. He skidded to a stop in front of the warehouse and climbed out. He slammed the driver’s side door.

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SLAM!!! He stomped over to the gates, locked them shut with the chain and padlock, then walked towards the warehouse door. He was grinding his teeth. The perspiration fogged up his sunglasses. He spat on the ground and took them off. Cuauhtémoc unlocked the service door and stepped inside. “Sanchez!” he said, looking toward the pallet where Manuel had been tied down earlier. He drew the Sig Sauer from under his jacket. CLICK CLICK. He racked the slide. “Sanchez?” he said. He approached the pallet of boxes with caution, the Sig Sauer in both hands. It followed the movement of his eyes, as he looked around the warehouse. “Contéstame cabrón, answer me…” The light continued to flicker on and off above the pallet. Cuauhtémoc noticed the pool of blood on the floor. He followed it around to the other side of the boxes. His face twisted into a scowl of disgust, at the sight of Sanchez’s body. “Imbécil…” he said. “You idiot!” BLAM!!! He fired a round into Sanchez’s face, blowing it apart. He took aim again then paused, checking his anger. He thought of the locked front door. “The gate was locked as well,” he thought to himself. He looked down at Sanchez’s waist. His key ring was still attached to his belt loop. He smiled. “Alright, cabrón…” he said, nodding his head. “I know you’re still in here!” He walked towards the other pallet of boxes, across the warehouse. “There is no way to escape. So you might as well just… Chingada Madre!!!”

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Cuauhtémoc slipped on something the size of a bar of hotel soap. He fell backwards. His feet left the ground, sailing toward the rafters. CRACK! BLAM!!! The back of his head slammed against the warehouse floor. The Sig Sauer fired, as his elbow made contact with the concrete, in an eye-popping funny-bone smash. He lost consciousness. **** 15 de Septiembre 1530 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Ana Lilia walked out of the building in a blur of cho-cho induced indifference. The glaze over her eyes was hidden by her sunglasses. She crossed Calle Fernando Montez de Oca with a slightly off-balanced gait, as the pills really began to kick in. The alarm of the Jaguar chirped twice. Ana Lilia climbed into the driver’s seat and shut the door behind her. She opened the glove compartment, removed a chromeplated Browning .25 semi-automatic, and tucked it into her purse. She pulled away from the curb, into a u-turn. The Jaguar headed for Chapultepec, and the high-rise apartments that laid beyond it. **** 15 de Septiembre 1545 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… A black Suburban pulled up across the street from the Gutierrez Trucking yard. Enrique passed two MP-5 machine guns to the two men sitting in the front seats. Both men chambered their rounds, letting their bolts slam home. CLACK!!!

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Enrique dialed Fabio’s phone number. He cradled the cell phone to his ear with his left shoulder, as he racked the slide of his Glock .40. ****

15 de Septiembre 1550 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Mario and his two ‘panaderos’13 walked through the front doors of the Chapultepec Garden Towers. Their loud tropical attire did raise an eyebrow from the elderly gentleman behind the front desk. But the 100 dollar bill that Mario gave to him had the desired effect. They walked to the elevators unmolested. 15 de Septiembre 1600 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… A white cargo van sat behind the back entrance of the Ameritrans administration building. Eduardo paced back and forth, in the second-floor office that Johnny had prepared for him. He dialed Epifanio’s cell phone number for the fourth time. As the line rang, Eduardo peeked through the Venetian blinds, holding open a two finger gap. The van was still there, of course. Epifanio’s voice mail picked up again. This time Eduardo left a message. “Uncle… This is your favorite nephew calling. I just wanted to confirm that you still wanted to take the children with you to independence night fiesta. I’m assuming that everything will be as we discussed this morning, then. As far as when and where to pick them up, let’s just meet at my sister’s place. We’ll be there this evening, at the time we talked about last week, okay? I’ll make sure that they’re dressed, and ready to go for you by the time you arrive… Hasta entonces, Tio.” He hung up. 13

Panadero-Baker: Commonly used as a code word for “hit man” among Colombian Traficantes, especially Medellin.

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“Shit,” he said. He tried to keep his mind on the matter at hand, and away from Ana Lilia. He closed his eyes, and ran a hand through his hair. “Damn it, Ana.” He opened his eyes. He started to dial her phone number. BLEEP… BLEEP… BLEEP… Eduardo’s cell phone rang. A black Bronco II pulled up next to the cargo van downstairs. He looked through the blinds then took off in a sprint. He pushed the ‘send’ button on his phone as he reached the top of the staircase. He rushed down, taking the steps two at a time. **** 15 de Septiembre 1600 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… The door of apartment ‘C’ opened. The police captain, the fire inspector, and señora Gonzales all turned their heads. An attractive young man stepped into the hallway with two prostitutes. One was a blonde, the other was a redhead. They watched him give some money to the redhead and kiss her on the cheek. She giggled, clinging to him without shame. The blonde just stood there, until the young man smacked her on the ass, rather hard. She clung to him without shame now too. The man wrapped an arm around the waist of each girl. They sashayed down the hallway laughing. The blonde nuzzled her face into the young man’s neck. “Excuse me,” said the captain from the Policia Judicial. He stepped forward, blocking their path. “Do you people live in this building?” “Si, señor,” said the redhead, stepping away from the young man. She stood in front of the captain. “I do. I live in apartamento ‘C’.” Her eyes widened. She touched the captain with both hands, as she tried to peek around him into apartment ‘B’. “Oye! Que ha pasado aquí, eh? Hey, what has happened here” she said.

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The fire inspector’s eyes were glued to the redhead’s ass, as were the captain’s. They were both taken aback by her beauty. Señora Gonzales was disgusted. A spirit of lustfulness and goatishness seemed to be filling the hallway around her. Spirits that would surely lead to more porquerias and cochinadas, as far as she was concerned. She cleared her throat. “Capitan…?” she said. She was still holding the dead iguana. “Well, señorita,” said the captain to the redhead, ignoring señora Gonzales, ”there seems to have been some sort of fire.” He was staring at her breasts now. “You, uh… You wouldn’t happen to know the name of the gentleman who lives in this apartment, would you?” “Lo siento señor, pero no. Yo no se,” she said, using the full power of her blue eyes on him now. ”I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t know. I just moved here last week from Guadalajara, and these are my friends.” “Hola señor,” said the young man. He extended his hand to the captain. The captain shook it politely. He noted the Rolex on the young man’s wrist. “Guadalajara?” said the Captain. His eyes beamed with pleasure as he turned his attention back to the redhead. “How wonderful. My whole family is from Guadalajara!” “Capitán!” said señora Gonzales. “Señora, por favor…!” said the captain, with a scolding glance. “I am talking here. Could you please wait?” Señora Gonzales puffed out her cheeks, offended. “Well, yes…” said the captain, turning to the redhead again. “You and your friends are going to have to vacate the building for now, or at least until my men are finished up here.” “Bueno,” said the young man. The blonde still had her face nuzzled into his neck. “We were all on our way out anyway. Gracias.” They started to walk to the staircase.

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“Claro, sure…” said the redhead. “That’s fine, captain. I’ll be back later tonight though, from eleven on. That is, if you still have any questions for me.” Her eyes flashed. She turned and followed her friends. They walked downstairs. “Hey, stop!” said the fire inspector. He rushed down the steps after them. The young man and the redhead turned around in surprise. The inspector walked down past them, to the blonde. He tapped her on the shoulder. “Señorita, excuse me, but you dropped this. It fell out of your jacket pocket,” he said with a smile. He was holding one of Johnny’s ‘rave’ flyers in his right hand. Johnny and Athenas went pale. “Señorita?” repeated the fire inspector. Fester turned around to face the inspector. He smiled, and took the flyer from his hand. “Gracias,” said Fester, in his best female impersonation. It was atrocious. “Hasta la bagel…” He turned and walked down the stairs. Johnny and Athenas smiled at the inspector, then took off downstairs after him. The fire inspector stood there with a puzzled expression on his face. He wrapped his arms around his abdomen, holding himself, as a cold chill washed over him. “No mames…” he whispered. “What the hell was wrong with her voice?” Outside, a half a block up the street, agents Martinez and Contreras waited in the Electra delivery van. They watched Johnny, Athenas, and Fester walk towards the red Jetta. “There they are,” said Contreras. He was sitting in the passenger’s seat, with the surveillance telescope aimed through the windshield. “Oooooooh! Look at that!” said Martinez. “Mira la huera, look at the blonde one! Ay, que chulada… What ass! Oh, sweet father in heaven, what assss!!!” He bit the back of his fist.

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Back upstairs, the captain and the fire inspector both walked into apartment ‘B’, to get a closer look at the damage. Señora Gonzales, still holding the lifeless body of Papi Chulo, turned to leave. She stopped. A piece of paper on the floor caught her attention. It was another of Johnny’s flyers, that had fallen out of Fester’s pocket. Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. **** 15 de Septiembre 1600 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Ana Lilia walked into the Chapultepec Garden Towers. As she crossed the blue marble lobby, the elderly gentleman behind the front desk looked up and smiled at her. “Why señora Rausch… Buenas tardes!” he said. “It’s so good to see you. You were abroad for quite a while this time. I was beginning to wonder if you and señor Rausch were ever going to return from Europe. It mush have been lovely, no?” Ana Lilia didn’t even acknowledge him. She walked to the elevator and inserted her key. The doors opened. She walked inside and pushed the button for the penthouse. When the elevator stopped, she stepped out into the foyer. She walked up to the white doubledoors, and inserted her key into the brass lock. She was home. She closed the door behind her and sighed with relief. The penthouse looked exactly the same as it always did. Nothing was awry. Nothing had changed. For some reason, she had expected to find everything destroyed. She smiled. The panoramic view of Mexico City was spectacular from the twentieth floor. And once again she felt like a princess, safe in her palace, floating high above the clouds. Ana Lilia swayed from side to side, thanks to the cho chos she’d taken, as she removed her heels and sunglasses. She descended

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barefoot from the marble entranceway, down the staircase of white carpet, to the living room below. Tinted glass windows rose from the carpet to the vaulted ceilings, in a 180 degree arc around the perimeter of the penthouse. She turned left, walking past the champagne-colored leather couches by the fireplace, heading towards the bar in the corner of the living room. She set her purse down on top of the bar, lifted the entry panel, and walked behind it. She slid the remote control from its sheath under the bar top and pointed it at the ceiling. The room came to life with the sounds of David Bowie. Eduardo’s CD was still in the player. “Oooh we’ll love Aladdin sane. Bottled cries and champagne, just in time for sunrise”. “Bueno,” she said, with a smile. She put the remote down. “Vamos a tomar algo entonces, let’s have us a little drink then.” With hands on her hips, she turned around and surveyed the collection of bottles behind her. “Ron? No… Whiskey? No. No quiero whiskey tampoco.” Neither rum no whiskey appealed to Ana Lilia. “Well, let’s just stick to tequila then.” She took the bottle of Don Julio and a brandy snifter, set them down on the bar, then poured herself a triple. She downed it in one swallow. “Ay…” She exhaled, almost coughing. Her chest and stomach burned. She poured herself another shot, then walked out from behind the bar. “What a sensation now… Paris or maybe hell, are waiting”. “Mmmmmmmm,” Ana Lilia sighed as she removed the clip that held back her ponytail. She shook it free. Hair flowed over her back and shoulders in beautiful black curls. She meandered toward the wall of windows, swaying her hips to the music, the snifter cradled in her hand.

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She looked down at the castle of Chapultepec, sitting on its hilltop above the lake, towering over the trees of the park. She took another sip from her cocktail and closed her eyes. “A pretty woman shouldn’t drink so much…” said a voice, coming from the dining room. Her eyes popped open. She froze. “Only whores drink like that.” Ana Lilia turned her head. There were three of them. Two still had their sunglasses on. The one in the middle, the one doing all of the talking, held his glasses in his hand. He looked about forty-yearsold, with deep-set green eyes and tight olive-colored skin. He smiled. “You know, this is a very beautiful placed you have here, señora Rausch. Que Chévere, no? How nice it is…” Ana Lilia recognized the Colombian expression. Ice shot down her spine. These men were from Medellin! She dropped her glass and sprinted for the bar. The two men with shades on took chase. The third walked. Ana Lilia reached the bar. She pulled the Browning .25 from her purse and spun around, pointing it at her pursuers. “Get back!!!” she screamed. She racked the slide, then pointed the pistol from one man to the next. Their bodies were tense, like wolves ready to pounce, waiting for her to make the slightest mistake. The third man walked up slowly, between the other two. He was still smiling. His arms were in front of him with his palms turned up, trying to show that he meant no threat. “Tranquila… Señora Rausch, please,” he said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. Please relax. No one is going to hurt you. I promise.” Ana Lilia stood about eight feet away from them, with her back to the bar. The pistol was aimed at the chest of the man in the center. She smiled, then took a deep breath.

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“You’re right,” she said. “No one is ever going to hurt me again.” Ana Lilia gripped the pistol with both hands and shoved it into her mouth. “No!!!” shouted the man in the center. He ran at her. The other men were too stunned to move. Ana Lilia closed her eyes. She squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. The safety was engaged. The man tackled her to the floor, straddling her, trying desperately to pull the pistol from her mouth. She released the safety with her thumb. “No!!! Don’t do this!!!” said the man with one last pull on her wrists. She squeezed the trigger. Click. It wasn’t loaded. The man’s eyes were wide with shock. He finally snatched the pistol from Ana Lilia’s hands. She laid on her back, looking up at him with glazed eyes. Her chest heaved from her breathing. The man sat up on his knees, still straddling her, and tucked the pistol into the back of his pants. He was breathing hard as well. Ana Lilia smiled. “Oh well…” she said. “So now what happens?” The man shook his head in disbelief. “Jesus, lady…” he said. “You have quite a set of cojónes on you, for a woman.” He began to laugh. His eyes beamed with pleasure. Ana Lilia burst with laughter. The other two men began to laugh. Ana Lilia’s laughter grew louder. It became forceful, taking on a strange tone. It had a chilling edge to it. She laughed and laughed, without ceasing. Everyone else grew silent. They stared at her now.

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“Oooooooh we’ll love Aladdin sane! We’ll love Aladdin sane! We’ll love Aladdin Sane!” **** 15 de Septiembre 1630 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… The black Bronco II pulled up to the Gutierrez Trucking yard. Eduardo climbed out of the passenger’s side and walked over to the chain and padlock. He unlocked the gates and pushed the right side open. “Any luck?” said Eduardo, climbing back into the passenger seat next to Paco. “No, señor. He’s still not answering his phone,” said Paco. He tossed his cell phone on the dashboard, then drove through the gate. “Something has happened. I think we should assume that Emilio is out of play, sir. There is no way he would break protocol like this. As for Manuel, I don’t know what to think. I know we need him to set up the exit and all, but the children are already out of school, sir. We cannot risk being left without a back door.” They drove past the rows of empty trailers toward the warehouse at the back of the yard. Eduardo looked at Paco through tinted sunglasses. His expression darkened. “That is true,” said Eduardo. “As hard as it may be to accept, we must assume that you and I are the only two left in play, Paco. And we must act accordingly, hermanito. We are out of both time and options here.” “I agree, señor,” said Paco. “The slightest error in judgment will cost us our lives. You know this. Now, I can’t do everything that needs to be done all by myself. So I’m going to put some of it into your hands this time.” Eduardo placed his left hand on Paco’s shoulder. “You arrange the back door. Use your own discretion as far as personnel and

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transportation. I will handle the exchange. I’ll give you Emilio’s share, plus Manuel’s percentage, on top of what I am paying you already. That will bring your end to one million U.S. dollars, cash. How about it? Are you ready to take up the chalice?” They turned, left behind the warehouse, pulling up beside Eduardo’s Mercedes. “De acuerdo, claro, okay. I’m in,” said Paco. “Of course, I’m in, señor. Thank you. That’s a lot of money, I… Gracias, señor.” “Chévere…” said Eduardo with a grin. He slapped Paco across the back. “And yes, it is a good sum of money. But that’s why we all wanted to be mafiosos, no?” Paco smiled. “So relax, Paco. Three days from now, we’ll be laughing about all of this over cocktails in Zurich.” Eduardo opened his door and stepped out. He reached back inside to pick up a tan leather portfolio from the floor of the passenger side. His jacket swung open, just enough to show the almost comical size of the Desert Eagle strapped into its holster beneath Eduardo’s left arm. “Follow me back,” said Eduardo. “We’ll figure out the details over at Ameritrans.” A black suburban backed across the corner of the warehouse, blocking the exit behind them. Two men jumped from the passenger and back seats. One held an MP-5 at the ready. The other carried a pistol. Eduardo turned his head and saw them. The rear window of the Bronco II imploded with the impact of automatic rifle fire. Paco fell across the passenger seat. “Mecanico!” said the one with the pistol. It was aimed at Eduardo. “No te mueves, cabrón! Don’t even think about moving!” The one with the MP-5 now trained the muzzle of his weapon on Eduardo as well. The driver appeared from around the back of the suburban. He walked up and took a position at the weak right flank of Mario, the one with the pistol. He held his MP-5 high, with the stock

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pressed firmly into his right shoulder. The front sight tip was aligned with Eduardo’s head. “Muchachos, relax,” said Eduardo, remaining calm. His voice projected easily over the motor of the Bronco II, idling beside him. “I don’t believe in pulling weapons on people, to compel them to do things. It’s bad business. There’s no need for any of this. One is already…” He looked at the inside of the Bronco II. “One is already dead! And for no reason at all.” He took a deep breath. “I know you’re not going to kill me, because El Montañero is waiting somewhere, anxious to have a talk with me, no?” “Cállate!” said Mario. “Shut up! Put your hands in the air, and slowly back away from the truck until I say to stop!” Paco lifted his head from the passenger’s seat of the Bronco II. He looked at Eduardo, questioning what to do with his eyes. Eduardo gave him a slight nod. “Cállate tú, cabrón!” said Eduardo. He turned to face them, tossing the portforlio on the ground. He shoved his arms out in front of him, with his palms up. “Look, I am unarmed! I don’t have time for this bullshit. What are you going to do? Shoot me? So El Montañero will never find out where I’ve hidden la mercancia?!” The other two men glanced at Mario. “Well?” said Eduardo. “What are you waiting for? Go on… Call Fabio. Tell him I’ll meet with him. Let’s get this shit over with.” He reached down and picked up the portfolio. He walked towards them. Eduardo’s heart pounded in his chest. He struggled to keep his face set with a look of irritation and indifference, to hide the fear that was mounting with each step he took. This was the attitude expected of a traficante of Eduardo’s stature, even under circumstances such as these. It was the only attitude these men understood. It was the only attitude these men respected. All three weapons were still pointed at him as he approached.

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“Stop,” said Mario, when Eduardo was ten feet away. He pulled a cell phone from his hip with his free hand. He kept the pistol aimed at Eduardo’s chest. He dialed a number then placed the phone to his ear. “Search him,” he said, to the man on his right. “And what do we have in the bag, señor Mecanico?” “Money,” said Eduardo. His face was blank. The man walked toward him, with his MP-5 at the ready. “Ah, señor…” said Mario, speaking into the phone. Eduardo looked to the man approaching. “Here,” he said, “take it.” He tossed the portfolio at him. Out of reflex, the man caught it. The engine of the Bronco II roared to life. It lunged into a tirescreeching reverse. All heads snapped in the direction of the Bronco, except for Eduardo’s. He drew the Desert Eagle. BLAM!!! Mario never knew what hit him. His head exploded from the devastating impact of the .44 caliber round. The headless body stumbled dumbly backward, spewing blood, then collapsed to the ground. The man on Mario’s left had already opened fire on the Bronco, when Mario fell. Eduardo turned to the man with the portfolio. BLAM, BLAM, BLAM!!! The rounds punched through the portfolio, before he could even squeeze off a round in his defense. Fist-sized exit wounds erupted from the man’s back, knocking him from his feet. Before the body hit the ground, Eduardo was already turning back to take aim on the remaining man. He wasn’t fast enough though. The man had already turned to fire on Eduardo. SMACK!!! The Bronco II ploughed into the man, thundering backwards at full speed. It smashed into the suburban.

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Then there was silence. Eduardo lowered his pistol. He looked at the Bronco, at the lifeless body underneath the rear axle. He surveyed the carnage that encompassed him. His mind raced. His heart continued to pound from the rush of fear and adrenaline. He froze. The panic gripped him like a vise. “Oh God,” he whispered. “Ana…” He thought about the last words of their phone conversation earlier. “I’m going home, to my home… Ciao.” Home. The apartment. He had to stop her. Paco climbed out of the Bronco. He ran towards Eduardo. His eyes widened at the sight of the mutilated bodies. “Señor. We have to get the hell out of here!” he said. “I know!” said Eduardo, “Come on, we’ll take the Mercedes. The Bronco’s through. Let’s go!” He snatched the cell phone from the hand of the headless corpse, that was once Mario. He ran towards the black 500SL dialing Ana Lilia’s number. Paco followed. **** 15 de Septiembre 1630 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Cuauhtémoc opened his eyes. “Chinga… su… madre,” he said. He struggled to get up. The concrete was now more sticky than wet. He still gripped the Sig Sauer tightly. Cuauhtémoc peeled himself from the floor and stood. His suit was ruined. The backside was covered with blood and dirt. He ran a hand through his hair and discovered that it too was matted with blood. Anger boiled within him. Cuauhtémoc looked down at the floor to see what it was that he had slipped on. When he spotted the culprit, lying five feet in front of him, his eyes narrowed with malice. It was Sanchez’s nose.

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“Hijo de su, PINCHE madre!!” he said. Cuauhtémoc pointed the Sig Sauer and squeezed the trigger. BLAM!!! The nose vanished. There was a flash of sparks and flying cement chips. The round ricocheted into darkness. BLEEP… BLEEP… BLEEP… Cuahutemoc’s phone rang. He was still too angry to even pay attention. He jerked his jacket off, slammed it to the floor, then stomped on it. He spun towards the body of agent Sanchez with his Sig Sauer extended. BLAM!!! BLAM!!! He pumped two more rounds into Sanchez’s chest. Realization descended upon Cuauhtémoc. His phone continued to ring. He looked around the warehouse and remembered that Manuel was still inside somewhere. He snatched the phone from his hip and pushed the ‘send’ button. “Espérate, wait,” he said. He clipped the phone back to his belt, then squatted down to pick up his jacket. He walked over to Sanchez’s body and ripped the key ring from the dead man’s belt loop. He took one last look around the warehouse. There was no sign of Manuel. Cuauhtémoc walked to the front door. He used Sanchez’s keys to lock it shut behind himself. He wanted to ensure that if Manuel were still alive, he would not be able to escape. He tucked the Sig Sauer into its holster, under his left arm, then pulled the phone from his hip again. “What is it now?!” he said. “Jefe, it’s me, Contreras. They’re on the move again. We followed them from the Colonia Roma. They picked up some girl there, una huera, a blonde with a big ass.” “No me digas mamadas, puto,” said Cuauhtémoc. “Don’t give me your bullshit, just tell me where they are.” “Actually, Jefe, we’re heading in your direction, a Tepito, towards Tepito and the warehouse district,” said Contreras.

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Cuauhtémoc wrinkled his brow in thought. Clickety clickety click… “He meets with El Mecanico this morning…” His mind began to run through possible scenarios, searching for answers. “Jefe?” said Contreras, “Are you still there?” “Cállate, cabrón!” said Cuauhtémoc. “I’m thinking. Okay, he meets with El Mecanico this morning, then he ends up with Epifanio’s daughter… They, in turn, end up at the very same building as El Mecanico’s wife… El Mecanico’s men follow both of us there, yet they do nothing. Óye! Hey, are you still being followed, cabrón?” “No, Jefe,” said Contreras, “the one in the blue Suburban followed the cabrón who was fucking El Mecanico’s wife.” “Ah, yes,” said Cuauhtémoc. “Then there’s that situation to consider as well. Okay, everyone leaves the Colonia Condesa, except El Mecanico’s wife then, correct?” “Well, at least she was still there when Martinez and I left,” said Contreras. “Right…” said Cuauhtémoc, “Now, I was the one followed from the Condesa. But as soon as I reach Tepito, my tail breaks off and leaves, as if he’s not interested anymore. And now you tell me that the Jetta is heading towards Tepito, as well. What does it all mean? It doesn’t make… Wait a minute. It’s a long shot… But just maybe…” “What’s a long shot, Jefe?” said Contreras. “Olvídalo, forget about it,” said Cuauhtémoc, “listen to me. How far away are you right now?” “With the traffic, twenty, maybe thirty minutes,” said Contreras. “Órale,” said Cuauhtémoc, “look, I’m going to take a quick trip over to Gutierrez Trucking. I may be wrong, but I can’t seem to shake this feeling I have. You know I don’t believe in coincidences, cabrón. And today has already been full of far too many. Everyone is connected in this somehow. We all are… And the connection is right

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under our noses, I know it is. I’m just failing to see it. I haven’t had enough time to step back and look at the whole picture yet.” “Well, what do you want us to do, Jefe?” said Contreras. “Stay with them,” said Cuauhtémoc. “If for some reason they change direction, call me inmediatamente, immediately, cabrón. ¿Me entiendes?” “Si, Jefe,” said Contreras. “Good,” said Cuauhtémoc. “And be careful. El Carnicero, the Butcher, has already fucked up and gotten himself taken out of play. So pónte verga, cabrón. Watch the fuck out, eh?” “¡¿Que?!” said Contreras. Cuauhtémoc hung up. He checked the knob on the warehouse door, to make sure it was secure. He gave the door a little kick. “I’ll deal with you later, puto,” he said under his breath. He turned and jogged towards the Cherokee. **** 15 de Septiembre 1650 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Ian looked back towards the blasted body of Emilio. Rosa continued to point the pistol at the dead man. She shook, gawking, unable to turn away. It was the splatter of brain matter that finally got to Ian though. His gourd rose at the sight of the befouled mirror and television set, above what was once Emilio’s head. He crouched down, his shoulder sliding against the front door as he sank to the floor. His stomach reeled. He was already sick as it was, from the abuse Emilio had wreaked upon his testicles. He vomited. BLEEP… BLEEP… BLEEP… The cell phone on Emilio’s belt rang. Rosa blinked, dropping the pistol to the floor. She ran to Ian and squatted down in front of

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him, avoiding the puddle of vomit. She was still barefoot. She stroked Ian’s head. “Ian… Come on, mi amor. We must leave here, now,” said Rosa del Mar. There was panic in her voice. “I don’t know what to do, papi. You have to help me. Please, Ian, don’t fall apart on me. Please.” Ian lifted his gaze from the floor. He glanced at Rosa del Mar’s little brown feet, then at the black panties peeking between her thighs, under her skirt. He looked to her face. Blood still flowed from her nose, covering her mouth and chin. Her eyes were wild. He took her head in both of his hands. He kissed her bloody lips. She kissed him back. Ian pulled away, looking into her eyes. His mouth was stained with her blood. “You saved my life,” he said. “Yo se, I know,” she said, shaking. “He was trying to kill you. I…” “Do you love me?” he said. “Con toda la fuerza de mi Corazón, mi vida. With all the strength in my heart,” she said. “And you’re ready to go to Oaxaca with me, then?” he said. Rosa nodded her head. “Si. Yes, anywhere you want, papi, just take me from here, take me with you,” she said. Ian kissed her forehead, then placed his brow to hers. “I will get us there, baby. I promise you, we will make it okay?” said Ian. “We just have to stay calm. So let’s think here for a second, alright?” “Alright,” she said. She was still trembling. Ian caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. “Now, no one has called the room yet, so I don’t think anyone heard the noise,” he said. He stood up, lifting Rosa to her feet with him. “But we still have to get past the front desk, though. So why don’t you go and clean yourself up a bit, so we can get out of here.

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And I’ll try to get rid of all the evidence that could place us in the room.” “Okay,” she said, just above a whisper. She walked to the bathroom, stepping over the outstretched legs of Emilio. Ian picked the Beretta 9mm up off the floor. He looked over at Emilio’s body and winced. “That bitch downstairs is gonna get us both killed, if we’re not careful. It might already be too late…” Johnny’s words echoed in Ian’s ears. And in that moment of epiphany it became clear to him. “Shit…” he whispered to himself, “this had nothing to do with Rosa at all. It was me.” The water in the bathroom began to run. Fighting back the nausea, Ian crouched down next to the body and started going through Emilio’s pockets. “Ian, what are we going to do about the senator?” said Rosa del Mar from the bathroom. “He’s still alive. And when he wakes up, there is going to be hell to pay.” Ian pulled a wallet and a loaded magazine from the pockets of Emilio’s windbreaker. “What are you suggesting, Rosa?” said Ian. He ejected the empty magazine from the Beretta. It fell to the floor. He slapped in the new one, racked the slide, and engaged the safety. “That we should kill him too?” He tucked the pistol into the back of his pants. “No, I don’t mean… I don’t know what I mean,” said Rosa del Mar. “We have to do something though, Ian.” “This is no time to start getting all paniquiado, Rosa,” said Ian. He thumbed through the dead man’s wallet. “We’re already in enough trouble as it is. Besides, the senator is going to have a hell of a problem on his hands too, if he tries to explain his way out of this. No. He’s going to have to sneak out of here just like us.” Ian’s heart sank into the pit of his stomach as he looked through all of the business cards, addresses, and phone numbers from Colombia. “Oh, God,” he whispered.

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“Well, we have to get out of the D.F., Ian,” said Rosa del Mar, “as soon as we… ¡Ay! Mi nariz, my nose.” The water continued to run in the bathroom. “I know, baby,” said Ian, “don’t worry, I already have it worked out. I have friends who will help us get out of the city before sunrise. Plus, they owe me a nice sum of money.” He took the liner out of the little wastebasket next to the dresser. He dropped the wallet and empty magazine into it. “We don’t need any more money, Ian,” said Rosa del Mar. “Get the two bags from the other side of the bed. We should just get out of town now, mi amor, before la policia get involved in this.” Ian stepped over Emilio’s legs. He looked over at Epifanio. He was still flat on his back, naked, and bleeding badly from his forehead. His face was covered in blood and fragments of broken glass, from the bottle of William Lawson’s scotch. Ian walked to the far side of the bed, and crouched down next to the two black duffle bags. He tried to pull one closer to him, and was shocked when it did not budge. “What the…?” he said, as he unzipped the top of the nearest bag. It was stuffed solid with bundles of 500 peso bills. “Holy mother of God… I don’t think we’re going to be able to slip past the front desk with these, Rosa.” “Well, we can’t just leave it all behind, Ian,” said Rosa del Mar. The water stopped running. “No, no. We’ll figure it out,” said Ian. “How are you doing in there? Are you okay, baby?” He walked back to the other side of the bed, stepping over Emilio, and picked the telephone up off the nightstand. “Si. I guess so,” said Rosa del Mar, “I stopped the bleeding, at least. But I think it might be broken, though. I look so ugly, like a monster, Ian.” “No, mi vida. You’ll always be beautiful,” said Ian. He sat on the bed nearest to the door, and cradled the receiver to his ear with his

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shoulder. “Well, since we have so much cash on hand, we shouldn’t have any problem getting out of here, if we use the hotel staff to do it for us. I’ll just call the front desk.” “Estas loco, Ian?! Are you crazy?!” said Rosa del Mar, from the bathroom. “Shhhh. Espérate,” said Ian, “hang on, it’s ringing.” “Bueno?” said a woman’s voice, on the other end of the line. “Yes,” said Ian, “this is room 1122 calling. Look, I was wondering if you had a laundry service here in the hotel?” “Si, señor. Would you like me to send someone to collect your laundry?” she said. “Yes, please,” said Ian. “Oh, wait. Could you tell me how long it will take to get my clothes back?” “It depends, sir,” she said, “probably by tomorrow afternoon, though.” “Ay… no,” said Ian, “that’s too late. And I have so many things to wash too. Hmmm… Sabes que? You know what? Could you tell me if there is a lavandería near by?” “Claro, señor. Sure,” she said, “actually, there is a Laundromat not very far from here.” “Perfecto,” said Ian, “and would you happen to know, offhand, how much they charge per kilo?” “No. Lo siento, señor. Pero no se,” she said, “I’m sorry, but I don’t know, sir.” “Está bien,” said Ian, “that’s okay, it doesn’t really matter. Alright, could you call me a cab then, and send someone up to pick up my bags? They’re a little heavy. That is, if it’s not too much trouble.” “No… No hay problema, señor,” she said. “Of course, it’s no trouble at all. I’ll get your taxi for you now, and the bellboy will be up in a few minutes.” “Gracias, señorita. That’s very kind of you,” said Ian. “No. El gusto es mio señor. The pleasure is mine,” she said. Ian hung up.

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“Okay, how are we doing in there, baby?” said Ian. “It’s almost showtime. The bellboy’s on his way up.” Rosa del Mar walked back into the bedroom. Her nose was a little swollen. But with makeup on, and her hair freshly combed, she was now definitely passable. “It’s the best I can do,” she said. “I…” Rosa del Mar looked down at the body of Emilio. She gasped. “Ay, Ian. Ven, mi amor. Come on, let’s get out of here. We have to get out of here.” She tiptoed over Emilio, to the door. She grabbed her shoes from the corner and slipped them on. “We’re leaving right now, Míja,” said Ian, “Just let me get the bags.” He hopped over Epifanio’s naked body, to the other side of the bed. He slipped a strap over each of his shoulders and stood up, struggling under the weight of the duffle bags. Rosa del Mar stood at the door, bouncing up and down with panic. She shook her hands nervously, like they were on fire, or as if she were trying to fan herself with them. “Apúrate, Ian. Hurry!” she said. Ian lumbered over the body of Emilio, heading towards Rosa del Mar. “Okay,” he said, “open the door, quick.” Rosa reached for the knob. BLEEP… BLEEP… BLEEP… They both jumped with fright. It was Emilio’s cell phone again, not the door, as they had feared. “Sod that bloody phone!” said Ian in English, his heart still in his throat. Rosa del Mar opened the door and slipped into the hallway. Ian followed. He dropped the bags to the floor. She closed the door behind him. “Okay,” said Ian. He unzipped the corner of one of the bags, pulled out a stack of 500 peso bills, and stuffed it into his jacket

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pocket. He zipped the bag back up. “All we do now is over-tip the bellboy, and then drop an obscene amount of money on the front desk staff, to set aside a couple bottles of whiskey for our friend, and to leave him undisturbed until he calls for room service. ¿Me entiendes?” He raised his eyebrows and smiled at Rosa del Mar. “They should be too excited about the money to get suspicious after that.” “Bueno,” said Rosa del Mar, “so we go to the aeropuerto now?” “No, Míja,” said Ian, shaking his head. “It’s not that simple. Not with this much money. We’d get stopped before we could even get on the plane. Besides, even if it were safe to travel by plane or bus with this kind of money on us, who knows what might happen with this room before we even have the chance to catch that flight? No. It’s too risky.” “Ian, please,” she said, imploring him, “let’s just get out of here.” Ian took her in his arms and held her against his chest. He stroked her hair. “No te preocupes, don’t worry,” said Ian, “I’m going to take you to the safest place anyone could possibly hide in this whole city, under the circumstances. A place where no one would ever think to look for us. And while everyone is celebrating tonight, and the entire country is out of control, you and I will slip away, and begin a new life together.” Rosa exhaled against Ian’s chest. “Okay,” she said, “you promise we’ll be alright?” “Si. Te lo juro, I swear it,” said Ian. The elevator doors opened at the end of the hallway. The bellboy stepped out, pushing his empty baggage cart. “So where are we going then?” whispered Rosa del Mar. “Where is this safe hiding place of yours?”

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Ian smiled. He kissed the side of Rosa del Mar’s head, then whispered in her ear… “Tepito.” **** 15 de Septiembre 1700 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… The black Mercedes slipped in and out of traffic with breakneck speed. Eduardo turned onto el Paseo del la Reforma, heading towards Chapultepec. “Still no answer, señor,” said Paco, in the passenger seat. He pushed the ‘end’ button on his cell phone. His hand was on the dashboard, to brace himself against. Eduardo’s slaloming. “Her phone must be turned off.” Eduardo’s jaw muscles rippled beneath his skin, as he ran the red light at Florencia. The tires squealed. They swung into the flow of traffic looping around the angel of independence monument. The trees of Chapultpec came into view up ahead. “Almost there,” said Eduardo. He was perspiring, despite the air conditioning. **** 15 de Septiembre 1710 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Under the Bronco II’s rear axle, the surviving member of Mario’s panaderos writhed in pain. He had several broken ribs, and was coughing up blood. Blood poured down the side of his face and neck. His hairline was askew. The right side of his scalp had been peeled back by the Bronco’s tail pipe, when Paco ran over him. The flow of blood pooled about his head like a crimson nimbus. He was still alive though, and that is what really matters. “Ay Dios…” he said, straining to move his legs. He was flat on his back. “Please help me. Please help me, God.” He reached out with an arm and took hold of the running board, beneath the passenger’s side door. His hand shook. The

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knuckles were skinned down to the bone. He tried to pull himself towards the sunlight, out from under the Bronco… AGONY!!! His scream echoed through the yard. He let go of the running board. His arm fell to the ground. His chest heaved, as he struggled to re-gather the strength and will to try again. “14Dios te salve, Maria, llena eres de gracia, el Señor es contigo…” he said, with lips trembling. He reached for the running board. “…bendita tu eres entre todas las mujeres, y bendito es el fruto de tu vientre, Jesus…” His fingers closed around the edge of it. Pain shot up his arm. Tears welled up in his eyes. “…Santa Maria! Madre de Dios! Ruega por nosotros pecadores, ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte. Amen!” He pulled with all of his might. AGONY!!! He released the running board with another scream. The scream, like his prayers, fell upon deaf ears. He wept, overcome with defeat. Then came the sound of footsteps. He could hear the crunch of gravel under a pair of shoes, not far behind him. Was it possible? “Did someone hear me?” he thought to himself. The footsteps grew nearer. “Auxilio! Help! Help me!” he said. His voice cracked, as he fell into a fit of coughing that racked his body with pain. A pair of black shoes came to a halt on the passenger’s side of the Bronco.

The Hail Mary

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“Are you badly injured?” said a voice, full of concern. “Can you move at all?” The man got down on his hands and knees and looked underneath the truck. He had a kind face. “Si. Si pero… Yes, I can move, but I think my ribs are broken. I’m bleeding bad, señor. I need an ambulance,” said the injured panadero. “I know I probably shouldn’t try to move you,” said the man, “but you need to get to a hospital, hombre. And I don’t see any phones around here. Come on, dame la mano, give me your hand. Let’s get you out from under there.” He extended an arm toward the injured man. The panadero hesitated. “Don’t worry, hombre. I won’t hurt you. Soy policia, I’m a cop,” said Cuauhtémoc, with a smile. The man gave Cuauhtémoc his hand. **** 15 de Septiembre 1730 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Enrique’s Suburban pulled up to the gates of the Polanco estate. A second Suburban was already parked inside. One of Fabio’s panaderos opened the gate manually for them. The sun reflected off his dark glasses. The driver parked behind the other Suburban. Enrique climbed out of the backseat. He lead Ana Lilia up the brick steps by her elbow. The driver followed. Enrique’s other man wasn’t with them. The front doors were unlocked. Fabio’s second panadero was waiting inside the salon. He pointed his MP-5 at them. Once he recognized Enrique, he lowered the barrel. “Donde esta el patrón? Where’s the boss?” said Enrique. The panadero looked at Ana Lilia. Her eyes were red, with a glassy film over them. She was flying now, from the combination of alcohol and rohypnol.

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“Out back,” said the panadero, “by the swimming pool.” “Which way?” said Enrique. The panadero pointed down the green marble hall. “Through there, to the left, then to the right. When you come to the kitchen, keep going, until you come to a pair of French doors. He’s out there.” “Bueno,” said Enrique. He led Ana Lilia down the hall, followed by his driver. Out back, Fabio stood with his back to the French doors. He tucked a hand into the back pocket of his jeans, as he leaned against a vine-covered pillar. He looked out over the swimming pool and the grounds beyond. Just behind him on the ground, Mirna, Eduardo’s maid, laid flat on her back. Her forehead had a small entrance wound tattooed in its center. The back of her head, as well as its contents, were scattered about the concrete behind her in a gory display of red, white, yellow, and black. Her eyes were wide. Her tongue stuck out between her teeth and lips. “Señor,” said Enrique. He walked through the French doors with Ana Lilia. He glanced at the dead maid. The sight did not surprise him in the slightest. Ana Lilia saw Mirna, and her eyes widened from the initial shock. But the dope lulled her back into a tranquilized state. Fabio turned around. He looked at Ana Lilia and smiled. “Aníta! How good it is to see you,” he said, beaming with pleasure. “It has been entirely too long, muchacha. Como estas, Míja? How have you been?” Enrique took a step back from Ana Lilia. Fabio walked over and embraced her. He kissed her on the cheek, took both of her hands in his, then stepped back to appraise her, lifting her arms slightly. “Look at you…” he said, “Que Hermosa, how beautiful. You never change, do you, Ana?” Ana Lilia smiled. “Fabíto…” she said, slurring her words. “At least you are un caballero, a gentleman, when you are about to kill someone.”

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“No me digas,” said Fabio, laughing. He kissed Ana Lilia’s right hand, then led her to the table where she had sat with Johnny and Eduardo earlier that morning. “Ana don’t be ridiculous. You know that I would never even dream of harming one single hair on your pretty head.” He pulled a chair out for her, strategically chosen so that she wouldn’t have to look at Mirna’s body. She sat down. Fabio walked to the other side of the table, and took a seat directly across from her. He motioned for Enrique and his driver to leave them alone, with a wave of his hand. They walked back into the house. “Then why did you kill Mirna?” said Ana Lilia, “Por que, Fabíto? Why? Why do such a thing?” “Well…” said Fabio, with a sigh. He reclined in his chair and made a steeple with his fingertips beneath his chin. His platinum Submariner shone in the evening sunlight. “To be honest, I was very angry when I arrived and found that Eduardo had been here, but left. The maid told me that she didn’t know where he went, nor when he might return. And I believed her.” “Then why?” said Ana Lilia. “Why did you…” Fabio pointed to a shattered plate of food on the ground. His finger trembled. “The chilaquíles…” he said with revulsion. His face contorted. A chill shook his body. “They were atrocious! The woman tried to poison me, Ana. I’ve been in your bathroom for the past 45 minutes. I was dying in there. I had to say tres rosarios para levantarme, three rosaries just to raise myself from the toilet! Then when I came back out here to get some fresh air, she laughed at me. I don’t know what came over me. And may the holy virgin forgive me, but the pressure, Ana. The pressure our Eduardo has put me under, combined with the barbarisms of that terrible woman, I just snapped, Míja.” His expression was the picture of remorse.

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“Ay, Fabio, no,” said Ana Lilia, shaking her head, “Tiene niños, Fabíto. She has children! This is so wrong.” She swayed back and forth from her high, as she continued to shake her head. “Ana, listen to me,” said Fabio. “That woman is just the beginning of what is about to start happening around here. We are all in very serious trouble, Aníta. Do you even realize what Eduardo has done, by pulling this little stunt of his?” “Fabíto…” she said. Her eyelids closed, then opened again. “What was he supposed to do? None of you wanted to pay him.” “That was not my responsibility, Ana,” said Fabio, “that was between Eduardo and el cliente, the client. Besides, he could afford to take the loss. He would have made it back in less than a week with the volume of the new line. 500 units is nothing.” “Then why all of the trouble then?” said Ana Lilia. She tilted her head to the side. “No es la cantidad, Ana,” said Fabio. He shook his head and lowered his voice. “It’s not the amount that matters. You don’t understand. Things have changed in Medellin, since you and Eduardo left. I tell you this as a friend. I cannot be Eduardo’s buddy from the university anymore. Those days are over. I have terrible pressures and responsibilities on my shoulders now. My brother is in prison. Those hijos de puta from Cali want to wipe us out, and take advantage of the situation. Meanwhile, I’ve got the rest of the associates in Medellin looking to me, to make the right decisions, and make all of them money. Then Eduardo pulls this shit on me, and everyone gets nervous about Mexico. No se fian de el, Ana. They don’t trust him now. And what’s worse, is that I’m expected to deal with it. ¿Me entiendes? And if I don’t, where does that leave me? With ‘him’, el, my brother in prison? Where does that leave me, Ana… Do you see the position I’m in? I have to resolve this situation. Eduardo cannot be allowed to get away with what he is trying to do.” He rubbed a hand over his face.

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Ana Lilia nodded her head. “Yes,” she said. She took Eduardo’s half-empty box of cigarettes from the table and removed one. “I guess we really are in serious trouble then. Quieres? Want one?” she offered Fabio the box. Fabio smiled. “I usually don’t,” he said, “but, what the hell… I’ve already smoked ten, just by breathing the air in this city since I’ve been here.” He reached across the table and took one. BLEEP… BLEEP… BLEEP… Fabio’s cell phone rang. **** 15 de Septiembre 1800 hr. Ciudad de Mexico, La Colonia Tepito, Ameritrans Warehouse… The bay doors were opened to the top. The sound men and lighting technicians scurried about the warehouse floor, taping down cables, checking power connections, climbing their ladders high into the rafters. Ian and Rosa del Mar looked down upon the activity. They stood atop a large mass of scaffolding that formed an elaborate Mayan step-pyramid at the far end of the warehouse. Midway up the pyramid, a stage platform had been constructed. Torches burned around the perimeter. Above the stage, the steps continued their climb up to the DJ booth. It sat at the apex of the pyramid, in the shape of an altar. Above and behind the altar, hung a great circular screen, like a full moon. The lighting engineer tested the main projector, running one of Ian’s video mixes from Medusa’s. Fifteen-foot high Balinese girls began to dance across the screen, above Ian and Rosa del Mar’s heads. Rosa del Mar looked up at the screen behind them. She took another hit on the joint she was holding, then looked back at the two black duffle bags, safely stashed beneath Ian’s DJ equipment.

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She exhaled, with a cloud of smoke. The herb was from Acapulco. It was heady and strong. Though her nose still throbbed, and her stomach still fluttered from the panic, she could feel herself relaxing a bit. She glanced at the Beretta, tucked into the back of Ian’s jeans. He stood in front of his mixer and CD decks, adjusting the cables. Rosa del Mar took another hit, held it, then walked over to Ian. He turned around and smiled at her. His yellow-lensed glasses were propped up on his head. “Estas bien, Míja? Are you okay, baby?” he said. Rosa del Mar nodded her head. Her eyes closed slightly. She tilted her head back and exhaled smoke into the air above her. “Mmmmmmm, que rico,” she said with a sigh. “I’m beginning to feel better now.” She passed Ian the joint, then stepped forward to look out over the vast open space below. She’d never seen anything so grand in her life. Torches burning, giant Mayan statues that really seemed to be made of stone, stood like menacing sentinels over the dance floor. Their yellow eyes glowed. Vine-covered pillars, palms, and artificial jungle foliage were everywhere. The lighting engineer now tested out the fog. It rushed from jets planted underneath and around the pyramid, rolling down the steps, covering the dance floor. Rosa Del Mar’s heart beat with excitement. Outside the open bay doors, the sun was setting over the endless city beyond. Ian stood with one hand on his hip, looking up at the Balinese temple dancers on the screen. He took another draw on the joint and exhaled through his nose. He looked at Rosa del Mar. He could see her excitement, and it pleased him. He was king of all he surveyed now. They had all of the money in the world, weapons to protect themselves with, and they had sanctuary, hidden away, safe in Ian’s domain of sound, light, and music.

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Ian walked up behind Rosa del Mar and embraced her. He reached around and held the joint to her lips. She inhaled, watching the workers move about the fog below. Ian kissed the top of her head. One of the sound engineers was waving his arms above his head, on the other side of the warehouse. He gave Ian a thumbs-up. Ian reached under Rosa del Mar’s arm, and clicked over to channel two on the mixer. He pushed the play button on CD 1, raised the master volume a few notches, then slid the cross-fader all the way to the left. He smiled. “Let’s spin us a little Enigma for starters…” he said, in English. The room filled with a circling of synthesized sound. The crystal clear tapping of the intro, flowed like shards of glass from the array of high-range speakers. The base dropped in, vibrating through every square inch of the warehouse, like a great heartbeat. “I see love, I can see passion I feel danger, I feel obsession…” The lighting engineer turned on the remaining twelve projectors. They casted their images on sheets of screen mesh, hanging from different parts of the ceiling around the warehouse. To the naked eye, the screens themselves were invisible in the darkness. Yet when the light from the projectors passed through them, they caught the images like a hologram, a video, floating in mid-air above the dance floor. “Don’t play games with the ones who love you ‘cause I hear a voice who says: I love you… I’ll kill you…” Green light radiated from behind the pyramid. The jungle of the dance floor was bathed in red light. Fog was even rolling out of the open bay doors. “Loneliness, I feel loneliness in my room…” The twelve projectors casted images of erupting volcanoes, floating high above the dance floor.

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“Look into the mirror of your soul love and hate are one and all” Ian’s trademark video mix from Medusa’s now appeared on the big screen above the pyramid. The head of the gorgon, snakes writhing, her eyes glowing green. (It was a clip from the film “Clash of the Titans”.) She slithered through the catacombs with her bow and arrows, searching for Perseus, high above Rosa del Mar and Ian’s heads. “Sacrifice turns to revenge and believe me You’ll see the face who’ll say…” A red VW Jetta pulled up to the open bay doors. Athenas, Johnny, and a blonde, whom Ian didn’t recognize, walked into the knee-high fog. “I love you… I’ll kill you… But I’ll love you forever.” Athenas lifted her arms and began to dance. She tilted her head back, looking up at the volcanoes erupting in the air above her. She spun round, moving to the rhythm of the music. Johnny waved to Ian and Rosa del Mar, then joined Athenas. They both began to sandwich the blonde between themselves, as they continued to dance. The music was too loud to hear them, but Ian could tell they were laughing. Well, Johnny and Athenas were laughing. The blonde stood there, with a face of stone. “Those are your friends?” said Rosa del Mar. She looked up at Ian, over her shoulder. Ian nodded, smiling. He took another hit from the joint, inhaling deeply. He turned Rosa del Mar to face him, as he continued to inhale. She wrapped her arms around his neck, waiting for him to finish taking in all the smoke that his lungs could hold. She rose onto her toes to kiss him. She inhaled, taking all of Ian’s breath and smoke into her own lungs.

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They kissed, breathing life into one another. The music played on. The volcanoes erupted. Medusa stared down upon them, and the world spun round, away from the violent day, and into the night… “Loneliness, I feel loneliness in my room.” **** 15 de Septiembre 1815 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Eduardo stepped out of the elevator, followed by Paco. The doors of the penthouse were unlocked. Eduardo drew his Desert Eagle. Paco produced a Mac-10 from under his jacket and chambered a round. Eduardo’s heart raced, as he turned the brass knob. They walked inside. A lone man stood at the windows in the living room below. He was looking out at the view of the sun setting behind the castle of Chapultepec, as he nursed a cocktail. He paid no attention to Eduardo and Paco, standing at the top of the staircase. Eduardo walked down the steps, his Desert Eagle pointed at the panadero’s head. “Donde esta ella? Where is she!? Said Eduardo. His voice cracked. The panadero turned towards Eduardo and Paco. He smiled. “So there you are, señor Mecanico… We’ve been looking for you,” he said. Eduardo closed the distance between them. He stopped when he was fifteen feet away from the panadero. He kept the Desert Eagle trained on the man’s head. Paco stood to Eduardo’s right, the Mac-10 extended in his right hand, aimed at the panadero’s chest. “I said, where is she?” said Eduardo. “You’re going to have to take that up with El Montañero,” said the panadero. “I’ll take you to him.” “No,” said Eduardo, “get Fabio on the phone now.”

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The panadero shrugged his shoulders. He pulled the cell phone from his hip and dialed Fabio’s number. He placed the phone to his ear. BLAM!!! His head exploded from the impact of the .44 caliber round, fired from the Desert Eagle. The panadero’s body fell backwards, covering the white carpet with a ghastly flow of blood. Eduardo stepped forward with care and pried the cell phone from the Panadero’s death-grip. He wiped it on the carpet, then placed it to his ear. “I hope you have good news for me,” said a familiar voice. “What have you done with Aníta, Fabio?” said Eduardo. “Ah… Eduardo,” said Fabio, “well, if it isn’t my long lost friend. ¿Que te pasa, hombre? What’s with you, man? Don’t you have anything more to say to me, after so much time incommunicado?” “Listen to me, Fabíto,” said Eduardo, “there’s no need for pleasantries here. We both know how this game plays itself out, no? So we might as well skip right to the heart of the matter. We will either handle this situation my way or not at all. ¿Me entiendes?” “Eduardo,” said Fabio, “you seem to be forgetting that I have-” “No tienes nada, hombre,” said Eduardo, cutting him off. “You have nothing. Go ahead, keep her, kill her, do as you please. I almost killed her myself today. You have no idea what that woman has put me through. Ana is not the issue, Fabíto. The issue is that if I do not get what I want, I will take the children and leave. And you will never find me again, compadre.” “Well, what’s stopping you?” said Fabio. “Why are we even speaking to each other then? Why did you call me asking what I may have done with our beautiful Aníta, if you no longer care about her welfare? Explain that to me, compadre.” “Look,” said Eduardo, “I’m willing to make a trade, okay? I have my own reasons why. What I want, is what I’ve wanted from the

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beginning. I want what is mine, no more, no less. As a man of such high principles, you should be able to understand that, no?” “Naturally,” said Fabio. SILENCE. “What the hell happened to you, Fabíto?” said Eduardo. “Why did you betray me? Why did you allow them all to take advantage of me like this? As if you all don’t have enough money already. Why did you have to try and dig into my pockets? That’s so like ‘Him’, not like you, hermanito. You always had a better head for business than that. This is bad business, Fabíto. This is your brother’s kind of business.” “You don’t understand, Eduardo,” said Fabio. “You have no idea what I have to deal with in Medellin.” “You’re right, hombre. I don’t understand,” said Eduardo. “I don’t understand any of you anymore. You know, as much as you hate them, you all could learn a great deal about how to do business from ‘Los Caballeros’, the gentlemen of Cali.” “And I suppose that’s what you’ve been doing, señor Mecanico?” said Fabio. “Is that what you have been up to during all these days of your disappearance, practicing good business?” “Look,” said Eduardo, “all I want is the money that you owe me, Fabíto. The money and my wife back, nada mas. I have to take care of a few arrangements first, since the children are obviously not with me at this moment, then I’ll call you with the location of the exchange.” “And if I disagree?” said Fabio. “Well, I guess I would just have to learn to deal with the loss of Ana, by spending the money I can get from taking the children elsewhere, no?” said Eduardo. “The choice is yours, Fabíto.” “I see,” said Fabio. “Well, since the choice is mine, I think I’m going to change your agenda a bit, my friend. I say we meet at your house in Polanco then.” SILENCE.

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“Don’t worry,” said Fabio, “I already know how to get there. We can meet in, let’s say, two hours. That should give you plenty of time. I’ll bring Ana Lilia and the money, you bring the children… It will be like a family reunion. We’ll have a wonderful time. Of course, if you’re late, however, well, we all know the game, no?” “No,” said Eduardo, “not that game. I’m not interested then. Do what you want. Goodbye, Fabio.” “Espérate, hombre…” said Fabio, “let’s not be hasty here. I’m only making suggestions, that’s all. Bueno, where would you like to meet then?” “I’ll call you after I pick up the children,” said Eduardo. “And Fabíto, I truly hope you’re not contemplating a tumbarme15 , because you’ll only get yourself hurt, hombre. Believe me, I’m better at this than you. I’ve been playing this game with ‘Him’ for the past 20 years now. So as they say here in Mexico, No me chinges, eh? Don’t fuck with me, Fabio.” “You have my word, compadre,” said Fabio. “I just want the children, nada más.” “Bueno,” said Eduardo. “I’ll be calling you in the next couple of hours, then.” He hung up. Eduardo stood before the wall of glass. He tapped the antenna of the cell phone against his bottom lip, in thought. He looked out over the city. The last rays of sunlight faded behind the castle of Chapultepec. He held the Desert Eagle loosely, at his side. He clipped the dead man’s cell phone to his belt, next to his own. “Señor?” said Paco, from behind him. “Si, Paco,” said Eduardo. He continued to look at the view. “Are we really going to give him the children, sir?” said Paco. “No, Paco,” said Eduardo, “we are not. It’s too late for that. Besides, you and I have come too far just to give up now. No. There 15

Tumbar: To “Jack”. To take out another traficante, killing him, then stealing his money and his stash.

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is only one way out of this… Tonight, I must take the life of my oldest friend. If I do not, he will surely take mine. And so, I grieve for him now.” Eduardo closed his eyes. The sky darkened. The night approached. Eduardo surveyed the blackness, behind the windows of his soul, searching for the strength, the will to carry out what he knew he must do. ‘Where was Machiavelli’s ‘virtue’ now?’ he thought, with an inward sigh. He opened his eyes, quoting “Capitoli”… “Her natural might spurs every man on earth, and always violent her kingdom is unless checked by virtu’s worth.” “Señor?” said Paco. Eduardo blinked. He was ready now. “Let’s go,” he said, turning to face Paco. “There isn’t much time. **** 15 de Septiembre 1900 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… “No,” said Cuauhtémoc, into his cell phone. “Just stay where you are. If by some chance el Mecanico shows up, call me. If not, maintain surveillance on the Jetta and wait for my call. I’m only up the street from you anyway, at la carniceria, the butcher shop. So relax, cabrón.” He hung up. “Now where were we?” said Cuauhtémoc. He clipped the cell phone to his belt and rolled up his shirt sleeves a little more. Manuel looked on in horror. He laid on his side, trembling. He had buried himself under a pile of oil-stained burlap sacks, on the other side of the warehouse. There was a slight gap in the sacks, just large enough for Manuel to see through with one eye. He watched Cuauhtémoc walk back towards the pallet of boxes beneath the

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flickering light. It was the same pallet of boxes where Manuel had been tortured by agent Sanchez earlier. Now it was someone else’s turn. He could just make out the form of a naked man, bent facedown over the top of the boxes. The man’s ass was in the air. His ankles and calves were bound with silver duct tape. His arms, and the remainder of his body from waist to neck, were strapped to the boxes with duct tape as well. Protruding from the man’s asshole, was a three foot piece of white PVC pipe. Cuauhtémoc stepped into the flickering spot of light alongside the defenseless panadero. The man was crying now, from the pain in his broken ribs. Cuauhtémoc patted him on the head. He stepped back and checked the piece of PVC pipe with one hand, to ensure that it was firmly wedged into the panadera’s rectum. It was. The panadero wailed. “No mames, güey,” said Cuauhtémoc. “Come on, don’t be such a crybaby. A man should at least show a little huevos when he’s in a situation like this… Then again…” He chuckled to himself, as he realized the joke he’d made. “Well, I guess you are showing a little huevos, aren’t you?” He looked back at the panadero’s ass and roared with laughter. “Okay!” said Cuauhtémoc, clapping his hands, then rubbing them together. “Let’s get started, shall we?” He stepped over the bloated corpse of agent Sanchez, and walked towards a large black duffel bag, sitting on the warehouse floor. It contained agent Sanchez’s tools of the trade. Cuauhtémoc removed a pair of leather work gloves, and an eight-foot-long coil of barbed wire from the bag. He returned to the pallet of boxes and stood in front of the panadero’s face. Cuauhtémoc tested the point of one of the barbs with his index finger. “Ay, que afilosa la puntita, how very sharp the point is,” he said, with a smile. He dropped the coil of barbed wire to the floor and put on the gloves.

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“Tell me,” said Cuauhtémoc, “usan la cola de Lucifer en Colombia? Do they use Lucifer’s tail to extract information in Colombia? I’ve been told you guys get pretty creative down there.” “Nooooooo, señor. Por favor, please!” said the panadero. Tears streamed down his cheeks. “Please don’t do this. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know!” “I know you will, hijo,” said Cuauhtémoc. He bent down and picked up the coil of barbed wire. “I know you will…” He walked back to the panadera’s exposed ass, and took hold of the PVC pipe sticking out of it. The panadero screamed. “I would relax if I were you,” said Cuauhtémoc. “It will only make things worse if you tense up.” He shoved the pipe deeper into the panadero’s rectum. “You see, we wouldn’t even have to do this if some culero, hadn’t stabbed my friend over there and broken all of my equipment in the process. Then I could have given you Lucifer’s hammer instead. Granted, it’s not as fun, but it doesn’t make nearly half the mess. It’s okay, though, like they say…” He leaned his weight on the pipe, giving it one last twist. “Variety is the spice of life!” The panadero’s eyes and mouth popped open, yet no scream escaped. Only a cracking sound at the back of his throat. The cracking turned to wailing, as he sobbed with pain and terror. Cuauhtémoc looked around the warehouse. His eyes narrowed. He kept the pipe held firmly in place with his one hand. The coil of barbed wire was in his other. Sweat was already shining on his forehead, in the flickering light. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about you either, culero!” he said, addressing the darkness beyond the pallet of boxes. “I hope you’re watching this señor Gutierrez, because you’re next, puto! And I won’t be so gentle with your chicloso!”16 16 Asshole

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Cuauhtémoc began to feed the barbed wire into the pipe. It snaked down the shaft, deep into the panadero’s lower intestinal tract. Under the pile of burlap sacks, Manuel squeezed his eyelids shut. The screaming was almost too much for him to bear. Cuauhtémoc pulled the length of PVC pipe out of the panadero’s ass, sliding it over the remainder of the wire. It was streaked with blood and fecal matter. The panadero’s asshole closed around the wire, leaving a three-foot long tail, hanging outside. The remaining five feet were trapped inside of him. Cuauhtémoc tossed the pipe into the darkness. Clank… Clank… Skid… “Bueno,” said Cuauhtémoc, “now, you need to stop screaming like that and listen to me. Listen very carefully.” “Ay señor, please…” said the panadero, gasping for air, “please don’t do this!! Ask me anything. I’ll tell you! I’LL TELL YOU, I swear! Before the santísima virgen, I swear!” “No hombre,” said Cuauhtémoc, “That is not how the game is played. First of all, you do not speak, unless I ask you to do so. And when I do ask you to speak, you will speak clearly and truthfully. If you do not, I will hurt you. It is a very simple game. Do you understand?” “Si! Si, señor!” said the panadero, trembling with shock. “No,” said Cuauhtémoc, “not yet, you don’t. There is no way you could possibly understand yet. First you must learn how serious I am, no? So I’m just going to give you a little taste of what lies ahead.” He grabbed the tail of barbed wire. “No! Wait! WAIT, PLEASE!!!” Cuauhtémoc gave the wire a small jerk, allowing only one single barb to tear free of the panadero’s anus. “Aiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!” A fine mist of blood sprayed from the ripped orifice, staining Cuahutemoc’s shirtfront with red droplets. A flow of blood ran down the back of the panadero’s thighs.

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Under the burlap sacks, Manuel was urinating on himself. His heart thundered in his chest, at the side of his neck, and painfully around the nails that were driven into his forehead. He could not subdue the panic. “Now…” said Cuauhtémoc, “what were you doing at Gutierrez Trucking today?” **** 15 de Septiembre 2000 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Epifanio opened his eyes with a great amount of difficulty. They had been sealed shut with dried blood. His head swam with cho-cho fog. His body felt numb, puffy, and stuffed with cotton. He stared at the ceiling, unsure of where he was, nor what he should do. Everything was a blank. He wanted to make sense of something. There was something that had to be resolved, yet he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. His eyelids were still heavy though. They fluttered for a moment, then his eyes rolled upward. Maybe he should get some rest first. Yes. Maybe that’s what he was supposed to be doing. He did feel awfully tired. If only Rosa would just… Wait. Rosa. His mind clung to the word, anchoring itself, the significance coming back to him. “Mi amor?” he said, slurring the words. “Where are you, Míja?” Epifanio attempted to rise. A dull yet throbbing sensation came to life across his forehead, preventing him from doing so. His head plopped back onto the pillow. “Ow…” he said, “what happened to my… Ay!” He reached up and ran his fingers over the knot of lacerations that covered his forehead and scalp. They were still packed with shards of glass from

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the bottle of William Lawson’s scotch. Sharp pain pierced through Epifanio’s fog. His eyes widened. He stared at the blood sticking to his fingertips in disbelief. “Rosa?!” he said. He bolted upright, looking around the room. His vision blurred, in and out of focus. His heart pounded. Epifanio threw his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. He still couldn’t really focus clearly on anything. He just stood there, swaying back and forth. “Rosa!!” said Epifanio. He was beginning to panic. He felt for his pockets, patting himself, only to find that he was as naked as a jaybird. His vision cleared. Epifanio gasped. Hunched on the floor, was the body of a man. His head had been completely blown apart. Blood was everywhere. Epifanio clapped a hand over his mouth, but it was too late. Vomit shot between his fingers. He doubled over, his stomach heaving. When he was finished, he crouched down and took a few deep breaths to clear his head. His eyes were closed. A long string of saliva hung from his bottom lip to the carpet. He opened his eyes. He needed something to wipe his mouth on. There was a piece of paper on the floor, beneath the foot of the bed nearest to the door. He took it up and wiped the vomit from his lips. Epifanio stood, still swaying severely from the amount of cho cho in his bloodstream. Yet despite the fog, one thing was perfectly clear. Rosa del Mar was gone. The pain from Epifanio’s head injury was increasing in strength. He winced. Dried blood cracked on his cheeks. He looked to the dead man once more. He no longer felt sick. Now he was getting angry, angry at his confusion. “What the hell happened here?” he whispered, “Where is… Ay Dios! Oh God!”

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He ran for the far side of the bed, towards the bathroom. He tripped over the dead man’s legs and fell face first onto the carpet. Epifanio scrambled on all fours over to where he had put the duffel bags. They were gone. His eyes went wild. “Ayyyyyyyyyeeeeeeeeee!!!” He slipped into a blood rage, pounding the floor with his fists. “Chinga tu Madre! Chinga tu Madre! Chinga tu Madre! Chinga esta su puta Madre! Chinga tu Madre! CHINGA TU MADRE!!!” The paper flew from his fist as he continued to beat on the floor. Epifanio stopped. He was out of breath, panting. His chest rose and fell like a winded beast. He gnashed his teeth. Fury blazed in his eyes. They darted around the room. Drool fell from his lips. “Me ha traicianado! She has betrayed me!” said Epifanio. He snatched a fistful of hair from his head. The cho chos numbed him, yet prodded his anger along. He threw the ball of hair at the empty space of carpet, where the duffel bags once sat. “Me ha traicionado! Me ha…” Epifanio looked down at the piece of paper he had been holding, sitting on the floor in front of him. For some reason it drew his attention, despite his wrath. It was a flyer, advertising some sort of party. Epifanio recognized the address. His stomach tightened. 1442 Calle Jiminez, Colonia Tepito Ameritrans Warehouse Ameritrans! His meeting place with Eduardo, if Eduardo were to use the code phrase ‘Meet me at my sister’s house’. Epifanio’s eyes narrowed.

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**** 15 de Septiembre 2100 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… The black Grand Cherokee fishtailed onto the dirt road in front of the electronics warehouse. Headlights cut through dust clouds rising in the darkness. Tires spun, then caught traction. The Cherokee shot down the road. Cuauhtémoc turned right onto a paved street. He floored the gas pedal and headed south, weaving in and out of traffic. The headlights shining in the rearview mirror illuminated his eyes and eyebrows. He raced into the night. Cuauhtémoc pulled his cell phone from his hip and auto-dialed agent Contreras’ number. He almost rear-ended a green-and-white VW Taxi, as he placed the phone to his ear. He swerved out of the way, just in time. He continued to pass cars in a blur. “Bueno?” said the voice of agent Contreras, answering the line. “Escúchame, cabrón,” said Cuauhtémoc, “listen to me. I had to leave the butcher shop in a hurry. It seems that El Mecanico’s creditors have shown up. Apparently they are laying in wait for him at his Planco residence, even as we speak. This may prove to be the break we’ve been hoping for.” “That’s great news, Jefe!” said Contreras, “Do you want us to meet you in Polanco?” “No,” said Cuauhtémoc. He flashed his high beams on and off as he ran a red light. “I can handle this myself. Besides, we cannot afford to place all of our eggs in one basket. You stay in position, just in case El Mecanico shows up there. Plus, I want you to keep an eye on the Jetta, understand?” “Si, Jefe,” said Contreras. “I also left a pretty, big mess at the butcher shop. There was no time to clean up after myself. There’s still a rat running around somewhere in the warehouse. ¿Me entiendes?” said Cuauhtémoc.

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“I understand, Jefe,” said Contreras. “What do you want us to do?” “You’re only a few blocks away from the butcher shop,” said Cuauhtémoc. “Send Martinez down to do some clean-up. Make sure he puts the meat away, scrubs the place down, and gets rid of the rat. You stay in position and keep your eyes open. Call me the moment you have the movement of any kind.” Cuauhtémoc cut to the right, missing the rear of a Modelo beer truck by inches. His stomach tightened. The Cherokee roared past. “Órale, Jefe,” said Contreras. “We’ll take care of everything. No te preocupes, don’t worry. It’s as good as done.” “Órale pues,” said Cuauhtémoc, “All right then. This is it, cabrón. The deal’s about to go down, so stay on your toes. We must be the ones left standing tonight. I don’t care if we have to put down fifty men to do it, but we’re not leaving here without the money, and La Mercancia!” “Éso, Jefe!” said Contreras. “That’s what I’m talking about. Vamos a tumbar a esos hijos de la chingada! Let’s bury these sons of bitches!” “That’s the idea,” said Cuauhtémoc. “Stay in contact.” He hung up. Cuauhtémoc tossed the phone onto the passenger seat. He gripped the steering wheel with both hands and floored the gas pedal. The Cherokee plunged on, ripping through the southbound traffic. **** 15 de Septiembre 2130 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Epifanio zipped up the fly of his pants. He still swayed a bit from the cho-chos, but his head was clearing. He cradled his cell phone to his ear with his shoulder. The voice mail messages continued to play. A message from Athenas…

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A message from his wife… A message from the office of Direchos Humanos, instructing him to return their call immediately… Epifanio paced the carpet in front of the dead man. His heart pounded. A message from the lead investigating agent of the PGR internal affairs probe, demanding that he call immediately… Epifanio looked around the room. He rubbed a hand over his face. A message from Eduardo… “Uncle… This is your favorite nephew calling. I just wanted to confirm that you still wanted to take the children with you, to the independence night fiesta. I’m assuming that everything will be as we discussed this morning, then. As far as when and where to pick them up, let’s just meet at my sister’s place. We’ll be there this evening, at the time we talked about last week, okay? I’ll make sure that they’re dressed, and ready to go for you by the time you arrive… Hasta entonces, Tio.” Epifanio pushed the ‘end’ button on his phone. “Ameritrans…?” he said. His brow wrinkled with confusion, then suspiction. He looked at the flyer, lying on the bed. “Ameritrans…” BLEEP… BLEEP… BLEEP… The dead man’s cell phone rang. **** 15 de Septiembre 2130 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Manuel crawled across the warehouse floor. Burlap sacks fell from his back and shoulders. They dropped down one by one, spreading out in a wake behind him. He had no strength to stand. The room rocked from side to side, like the deck of a ship. He pressed forward, on hand and knee, towards the flickering light ahead of him.

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The dead laid in their poses of pain and torment, frozen in the grim embrace of “La Muerte”. Manuel reached the body of agent Sanchez. He rested his head on the dead man’s stomach, trying to catch his breath. The persistence of the throbbing, around the nails that were driven into Manuel’s skull, seemed to be the only thing that kept him from passing out. His left hand ran over Sanchez’s waist, searching for the ring of keys he had noticed earlier. It was gone. Manuel’s heart sank. Tears welled up in his eyes. Then he saw it. On the floor, just barely peeking out from underneath the small of agent Sanchez’s back, was the tip of a black antenna. He pulled it free. It was the dead man’s cell phone. Manuel’s fingers trembled. He dialed the first number that came to his mind. **** 15 de Septiembre 2130 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Chrome rims spun, shimmering in the September night. Street lights danced over the dark lacquered surface of the Mercedes 500 SL. Eduardo sat in the passenger seat. He held his cell phone to his ear. Paco was driving. Eduardo looked at his watch. 9:33 “Still no answer from the senator,” said Eduardo. His voiced trembled. His hands shook. He pushed the ‘end’ button and set the phone down on the center console. The angel of independence shone against the backdrop of the night. They approached Avenida Florencia. Traffic was already beginning to clog El Paseo de la Reforma, in anticipation of the “Noche de la Independencia” celebration. The street would soon be closed to all vehicles.

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“What are we going to do if we can’t get ahold of the senator in time, sir?” said Paco, without taking his eyes from the road. “Then we’ll have to draw Fabio and his men down to Ameritrans, and bring that situation to a close first,” said Eduardo. He reached into the inside breast pocket of his black Italian wool jacket. He removed the plastic baggie of ‘Ice’ that Johnny had given him. Johnny… One more betrayal, in the seemingly endless sea of deceptions that now threatened to drown Eduardo. He had a flash of Ana Lilia and Johnny in bed together, but snapped the image from his mind with a shake of his head. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Either way,” said Eduardo, “we settle all accounts tonight. We’ll make this last play en nuestra cancha, on the playing field of our choice. ¿Me entiendes? That will be our advantage. Let’s just hope it’s enough to make the difference.” “De acuerdo,” said Paco, “okay, Ameritrans it is then. Well, let’s go and get this thing set up.” He pointed the Mercedes on a course toward Tepito. Eduardo dug a small mound of ‘Ice’ from the baggie with the corner of his American Express platinum card. “I just have to mentally prepare myself for this,” said Eduardo. He balanced the credit card in front of his face. “My mind is scattered, too many images. They’re pulling my attention from the issues that need one hundred percent of my concentration. I have to focus.” He held the corner of the card beneath his left nostril and inhaled. The mound of crystalline powder disappeared, with a burning rush of olfactory stimuli. Eduardo’s eyes widened. He coughed. A single tear ran down his cheek. POW! “Ausgezeichnet,” whispered Eduardo, “outstanding.” Thousands of tiny thunderstorms ripped over his cerebral cortex, setting the cityscape of his brain alight. The light singed and banished

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the thoughts of Ana Lilia, replacing them with sublime clarity. He dug another mound from the baggie with his platinum card. “Here,” he said, balancing the card. He moved it towards Paco’s face. “It will sharpen your edge.” “Gracias, señor,” said Paco. He looked toward Eduardo for a second then back to the road ahead. Eduardo held the card beneath Paco’s nostrils. Paco inhaled. “Bueno,” said Eduardo, sniffing. He returned the card and baggie to his inside breast pocket. “Now let’s try to get ahold of Epifanio again.” He took his cell phone from the center console and auto-dialed Emilio’s number by mistake. The line rang. He held the phone to his ear, sniffing again. The bitter drip of ‘Ice’ ran down the back of Eduardo’s throat. He winced, and swallowed it down. “Bueno?” said the voice on the other end of the line. “Hola, Tio!” said Eduardo. Paco grinned, punching the steering wheel with excitement and relief. “Uncle! It’s me. I’m so glad I got ahold of you. I’ve been trying to reach you all evening.” There was a long silence on the other end of the line. “Yes… I… I’m sorry nephew,” said Epifanio, “I had a very difficult time getting away from… home. I received your message, though. Are the children ready to go then? “Si, Tio,” said Eduardo, “Yes, uncle. They’re very excited about tonight. Es la noche de la independencia, no? Well, we’ll wait for you at my sister’s house then, say, dos horas, two hours?” “Independence night…” said Epifanio. He slurred the words. “This day has been full of ironies.” He laughed. “Yes nephew… an hour will be just fine. See you then. Ciao.” He hung up. Eduardo looked up at the Angel of Independence. They made the loop across Avenida Florencia. He unconsciously scrolled through the list of previously dialed phone numbers on the screen of his Nokia. He contemplated Epifanio’s tone of voice. Something was out of place.

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He looked down at the screen. The last number he had called was Emilio’s. No. That was impossible. BLEEP… BLEEP… BLEEP… Paco’s cell phone rang on his hip. Eduardo dismissed the thought from his mind and tossed his Nokia back into the center console. “Well, go ahead, answer it,” said Eduardo. Paco pulled the phone from his belt, pushed the ‘send’ button, and placed it to his ear. **** 15 de Septiembre 2200 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Everyone sat in a circle on the floor of the DJ booth, at the top of the pyramid. They all held cans of Modelo in their hands. A joint passed counterclockwise. Fester sat on a crate of records with his knees together, to avoid giving up shots of the view up his minifalda. Athenas sat to one side of Fester, on a milk crate of her own. Her arm was around his shoulder. Rosa del Mar sat to the other side of Fester. She held the joint to Fester’s lips, smiling. Ian sat Indian-style on the floor next to Rosa. He exhaled a cloud of smoke overhead. Johnny stood in front of them, dressed in black, his left hand gesturing like a priest about to give a benediction. “My friends,” he said, “we are here, in this place, in this dreamland-made-reality, by the sweat of our brows, and the steel…” He held up an index finger for emphasis, “…the steel of our will power.” Ian laughed. “Por favor, John,” said Ian. “You don’t have to sell this to us anymore. We’re here, okay?” Athenas and Rosa del Mar laughed, covering their mouths with their hands. Fester coughed, with a spray of saliva and smoke. He

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began to laugh too, even though he hadn’t understood one word of the Spanish. Johnny laughed as well. “Okay, okay…” said Johnny, “look, all I am trying to say is that this…” He made a sweep of the warehouse with his right hand. “None of this came easy. And everyone did their part to bring us thus far. So I thank you all.” Athenas took a hit on the joint, then offered it to Johnny. He stepped forward and took it. “Though I must say,” he continued, “that this day has been, at least for myself, one of the longest and most hectic days of my life.” Everyone nodded in agreement. “But we are here now, safe under the pleasure dome, and free to do as we please.” Johnny inhaled on the joint. He continued his speech in a cramped voice, holding in the smoke. “So let’s make some money, watch each other’s backs, but most of all…” He exhaled, passed the joint to Ian, and picked up his can of Modelo from the floor, “…let’s have a good time. Salúd.” “Salúd!” they all said in unison, raising their cans. Johnny took a seat on the crate of records next to Athenas. Fester stood up. “Okay, that’s all fine and dandy there, brother,” said Fester. “Cheers, salute… but I gotta get outta these clothes, now! Okay? This G-string is beatin’ the hell out of my hemorrhoids, you understand me?” “No,” said Rosa del Mar, pulling Fester back down by his wrist. “No te cambies la ropa, don’t change your clothes,” said Athenas, “You look beautiful!” She pulled him down by his other wrist. Johnny and Ian laughed. Athenas scooted over to make more room for Fester to sit down. Her right leg pressed against a black duffel bag under Ian’s DJ stand. There were two of them. The bags looked familiar to Athenas.

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“Now lookie here, ladies…” said Fester, sitting back down. “I realize I can be very sexy. But, I’m not going to hang out in drag all night, just for your entertainment pleasure. No sir! Well, not unless ya’ll wanted me dressed like this to keep some sort of female flavor going, in one of them ménage-a-twat type of situations. But that’s a whole different mix of Kool-Aid there, see? Then I’d have to-” “Before I forget!” said Ian. He stood up, “I have a little treat that I’ve been saving for everyone.” BLEEP… BLEEP… BLEEP… Johnny’s cell phone rang. He excused himself, walked down the stairs a ways, then answered it. “Bueno?” he said. “John, it’s me,” said Eduardo in German, “listen, I’m on my way to the warehouse now. I want you to meet me in the administration building in forty-five minutes. We need to talk, okay?” “Fünfundvierzig Minuten? Ja, kein Problem, Bruder,” said Johnny, “forty-five minutes? Yeah, no problem. I’ll see you there.” “Gut… Aufwiedersehen,” said Eduardo. He hung up. Johnny stared at the phone in his left hand. A chill passed over him. He could still hear everyone laughing in the DJ booth overhead. He looked up in their direction, then back down at his cell phone. He closed his eyes. He tried to remember a phone number he hadn’t called in quite some time. He opened his eyes. His fingers trembled as he dialed the number and pushed the ‘send’ button. **** 15 de Septiembre 2200 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… “Que?! What?!” said Paco, into his cell phone, “I can barely hear you, Manuel. Slow down. Just tell me where you are.” “Let me speak to him,” said Eduardo, reaching for the phone. Paco gave it to him. Paco honked the horn then swerved into the next

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lane, avoiding a collision with the rear end of a Microbus. He sped down El Paseo de la Reforma. “Manuel, this is Eduardo,” said Eduardo, “now just calm down, okay? Tranquilo, eh…? I understand you’re locked in… Que? What…? What warehouse? Look, you are going to have to give me more to go on than that. Tepito is full of warehouses, Manny.” Eduardo ran a hand through his hair, squeezing his scalp. He looked at his watch. He frowned, shaking his head. Paco looked at Eduardo. Their eyes met. As tragic as it was, they both knew that there was no time for this. Paco looked back to the road ahead. “Electra?!” said Eduardo, sitting up, “Electra Electronics…? Are you sure…? No, Manny. You did good. If it’s on the boxes… Yes, it has to be the same one. We are already heading in that direction, as we speak. Just sit tight, cuñado17, okay? It won’t take long. We should be there in the next 15 minutes. No te preocupes, don’t worry… No, Manny. I promise. I’m not going to leave you behind. 15 minutes, I swear, te lo juro, okay? I’ll see you in a little bit.” He hung up. “It’s your call, señor…” said Paco, without taking his eyes from the road. “Mierda!” said Eduardo. He punched the door of the glove compartment. “It is on the way though,” said Paco. Eduardo looked at his watch again. 10:15 He looked at Paco. “De acuerdo,” said Eduardo, “Let’s get him. But we are going to be cutting it damn close.” The Mercedes roared through the sea of southbound traffic. 17

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**** 15 de Septiembre 2200 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Epifanio pushed the ‘end’ button on Emilio’s cell phone. Nothing made sense now. Eduardo calling on the dead man’s phone? Rosa gone… Money gone… The flyer, a party? At Ameritrans? Could Eduardo and Rosa be…? Nothing fit. There was only one certainty now. It was over, everything. He was ruined. Nothing good could possibly lay ahead, and behind was only prison, public disgrace, and complete desolation. Tears welled up in Epifanio’s eyes. He looked down at the dead man. There was a slight bulge under the left pants’ leg, near Emilio’s ankle. Epifanio took a deep breath. He closed his eyes, and wiped his tears away. He swallowed, letting go, giving himself over to the pull, to the maelstrom of destiny. He opened his eyes. Epifanio walked to the bathroom and turned on the faucet. He washed his hands, then wiped the blood from his face with a washcloth. He dried his hands, then adjusted his tie in the mirror. Deadpan eyes stared back at him. He returned to the bedroom, took the flyer from the bed, and put it inside the breast pocket of his jacket. He squatted down. Epifanio rolled up the dead man’s pants leg. He removed the Ruger .38 from Emilio’s ankle holster, and tucked it into his pants at the small of his back. He stood, smoothed out his suit, and walked towards the door.

****

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15 de Septiembre 2230 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Manuel laid on his back panting. He squeezed agent Sanchez’s cell phone in his hand. He fought to maintain consciousness. He focused on the pain of the nails, the knife wound in his hip, and the burning of his urine-soaked pants against his thighs… But it was the sound of keys, attempting to unlock the front door, that brought on the flood of adrenaline and panic. Manuel sprang to his haunches. His eyes darted around the warehouse. He swayed back and forth. Whoever was outside the door, was not having much success with the lock. Another key was inserted… then another… Manuel snatched the dagger from agent Sanchez’s chest. He scrambled around to the other side of the pallet of boxes on all fours. He almost fell flat on his stomach. It felt as if the floor was still moving. The front door opened. Manuel’s chest heaved, from his breathing. He squeezed the dagger in his fist. His whole body shook. The door closed. No other sounds followed, only silence, it filled the warehouse, thickening the tension. Manuel closed his eyes. Sweat poured down his face. He strained his ears, trying to hear, something, anything. CLICK CLICK. The sound of a slide being racked, brought no comfort whatsoever to Manuel, but at least he knew what he was up against. He heard footsteps approaching. His stomach tightened. He steeled himself against the panic. The footsteps stopped, on the other side of the boxes. Manuel held his breath. “Ay, Dios… Oh, God…” said a man’s voice, in a whisper. Then came the tell-tale sound of the man turning away and retching.

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Manuel did not hesitate. He sprang to his feet, rounding the pallet of boxes without a sound. Agent Martinez only had time to wipe the bile from his lips with the back of his hand. Before he could turn around, Manuel fell upon him. The dagger was a blur, a frenzy of stabbing. It plunged four times into his kidneys before agent Martinez even had a chance to scream. He elbowed Manuel in the stomach, and stumbled away from him, turning to shoot. Manuel managed one last stick, in parting. He buried the dagger into the side of Martinez’s neck, before collapsing to the floor. The last of his strength was now gone. Agent Martinez staggered dumbly backward. Blood hosed from his neck, and gushed from his side. He groped at the dagger with his hand, and pulled it free. He fell to one knee, gurgling and coughing. The dagger clanked against the warehouse floor. His eyes widened with shock. He pointed the pistol at Manuel. It shook. BLAM!!! Sparks and chips of concrete erupted, inches from Manuel’s face. The round ricocheted into the darkness. Manuel blinked, but he couldn’t move. BLAM!!! The round impacted into the pallet of boxes. BLAM!!! BLAM!!! BLAM!!! Agent Martinez’s body shook, spasmed, then pitched forward. He fell face-first onto the floor. Manuel smiled. Just before he lost consciousness, he looked up at the two men walking towards him. “Gracias, cuñado…” he said. **** 15 de Septiembre 2220 hr. Ciudad de Mexico…

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Johnny looked back up at the DJ booth, then at his watch. He cradled the phone to his ear with his shoulder. The line continued to ring. “Come on…” he whispered through his teeth, “pick up!” “Bueno?” said Ana Lilia, on the other end of the line. “Ana, it’s me, Johnny,” he said, “listen, I have to talk to you. Es preciso, it’s important.” SILENCE. “Ana? Hello… Are you there?” said Johnny. SILENCE. “Ana?” “Si,” said Ana Lilia, “I’m here. What is the matter?” “Ana, I just received a call from Eduardo. He sounded very strange,” said Johnny. “Now, I’m not asking for any favors here… But please, baby, if there is anything I should know before I-” “Are you going to meet with Eduardo?” said Ana Lilia. “Yes,” said Johnny, “that’s precisely why I must know if-” “When are you supposed to meet?” she said. “In about forty-five minutes,” said Johnny. “Ana, listen to me. Eduardo said-” “Where are you meeting him?” she said. “What the hell is this?” said Johnny. “You know where we meet, Ana, at Ameritrans. I’m just saying…” The line went dead. Johnny’s stomach sank. “What the hell is going on here?” he said. He pushed re-dial. One ring… Two rings… Three rings… “Oh, come on!” he said. Four rings… Five rings… Six rings… “Shit!” “Juaníto?” said Athenas, looking down at him from the DJ booth. What’s wrong?” “Nada, mi amor,” said Johnny. He pushed the ‘end’ button and began to climb up the stairs. “Nothing, baby. Everything is cool.”

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**** 15 de Septiembre 2300 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Cuauhtémoc sat low in his seat, smoking a cigarette. The Cherokee idled in the shadows, across the street from Eduardo’s estate. He watched the gates open. Two Suburbans emerged, turning left. Cuauhtémoc smiled. He exhaled through his nose, like a dragon. The Suburbans headed down the street. He gave them a nice little head start, flicked his cigarette out into the calle, then pulled away from the curb in pursuit. **** 15 de Septiembre 2330 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… And so began La Noche de la Independencia. All eyes turned towards the capital city, via satellite, on television sets and large screens, in homes, restaurants, and nightclubs around the nation. The epicenter of the excitement was “Zócolo”, (the square in front of the great cathedral) and palace downtown. The shoulder-to-shoulder crowd went wild. They cheered at the top of their lungs. The honor guard appeared on the balcony, high above the square. They carried the national colors. “Me-xi-co! Me-xi-co! Me-xi-co!” The chant of millions echoed across the whole of La Republica Mexicana… “Me-xi-co! Me-xi-co! Me-xi-co!” Presidente Zadillo and the first family appeared on the balcony. And just as Miguel Hidalgo Costilla had done 190 years before, to start the revolution, Presidente Zadillo now rang the ceremonial bell.

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VIVA MEXICO!!! The went up in every city across the nation. Fireworks filled the night sky with endless explosions of light and color. Mariachis played. Their music poured down every calle, avenida, and paseo. The people of Mexico danced in the streets. Beep-Beep-Beep! Beep-Beep-Beep! Beep-Beep-Beep! The horns of cars honked out the rhythm of the grito, as well. “Me-xi-co! Me-xi-co! Me-xi-co!” And so began La Noche de la Independencia. ‘grito’18

**** 15 de Septiembre 2330 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… An ocean of tail lights, headlights, turn signals, and brake lights surged towards the Ameritrans warehouse. Green and white taxi cabs, as far as the eye could see, converged on the lone dirt road from every adjacent calle in la Colonia Tepito. Two Suburbans sat, in bumper-to-bumper traffic, eight blocks south of the warehouse. “Where the hell are all of these people going?” said Fabio. He sat next to Ana Lilia in the backseat, looking out through his window. University students dressed in neon colors, some with their faces painted, some without, filled the sidewalks on both sides of the street. Whistles blew, confetti flew, and canisters of silly string sprayed in their wake. They made their way towards Ameritrans. “Me-xi-co! Me-xi-co! Me-xi-co!” The crowd pounded out the rhythm on the rooftops and hoods of cars, as they waded through the traffic with flyers in their hands. Fabio looked at his watch and cursed under his breath. Ana Lilia laughed, exposing perfect teeth.

El grito de la independencia, the cry of independence. In the same manner we count down and shout Happy New Year!

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“I told you, Fabíto,” she said, “Juan is throwing a party tonight.” Fabio looked at her. His expression darkened. “Eso no fue lo que tú me dijiste,” said Fabio, “You didn’t tell me that he invited the whole damn city, Ana…” **** 15 de Septiembre 2330 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… “Well, what can you see!?” said Cuauhtémoc, into his cell phone. The phone was cradled to his ear with his shoulder. He drew the Sig Sauer from its holster, under his arm, and rolled down his window. A group of five boys were pounding out the rhythm on the hood of the black Cherokee. “I can’t see a thing!” said agent Contreras, on the other end of the line. “Es un manicomio! It’s a madhouse! There are people everywhere!” “Que?!” said Cuauhtémoc, “hang on, I can’t hear a damn word you’re saying!” He leaned out of the window, pointing his pistol at the five boys. “Sáquense a la verga! Get the hell away from my truck!” They scattered. Cuauhtémoc rolled his window back up. “Listen to me, cabrón!” he said, “I want you to stay where you are, and wait for me! That has to be where these guys are going with El Mecanico’s wife. So keep your eyes open. El Mecanico is bound to show up, now. It could be any moment. You must be ready! ¿Me entiendes?” “Si Jefe!” said Contreras. “Bueno,” said Cuauhtémoc. “Now, what about Martinez, any word?” “No,” said Contreras, “do you want me to keep trying?”

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“No. You just keep watching for El Mecanico. I will deal with Martinez,” said Cuauhtémoc. “The idiot probably forgot to turn his phone on.” “Órale, Jefe,” said Contreras. “Órale,” said Cuauhtémoc. He hung up. **** 15 de Septiembre 2345 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Epifanio sat in the backseat of a taxi. He had been too high to drive. “Olvídalo!” said Epifanio, “Forget it! This is fine, right here!” He shoved a 100 peso bill at the taxista. He stepped out of the cab, and into the chaos of the street. Cars were bumper to bumper, as far as the eye could see in both directions. Horns were honking. No vehicles moved. People streamed around the cars, like water over stones in a brook. Their eyes were glazed with tequila and cerveza, red with mota, dilated with LSD and Xstasy. “Me-xi-co! Me-xi-co! Me-xi-co!” A crowd of boys from U.N.A.M.19 fell upon Epifanio. Their faces were painted red, white, and green. They washed over him, throwing arms around his shoulders, jumping up and down cheering. The wave of students washed Epifanio down the street with them. They were oblivious to his screaming. “Let go of me, you sons of bitches!” said Epifanio, “Let go of me!!!” The living flood poured into the dirt road that ran in front of Ameritrans, Epifanio among them. They converged with another great river of bodies, thousands of them. Though Epifanio flailed his arms 19

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and legs, he was still swept on. Whistles blew. Horns continued to honk. He was becoming snow-blind, losing his direction. Epifanio was propelled through a blizzard of airborne confetti. It seemed to be falling from the very heavens. “Me-xi-co! Me-xi-co! Me-xi-co!” The mass of bodies surged onward. And like moths drawn to a lamp, they descended on the Ameritrans trucking yard. **** 15 de Septiembre 2350 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… “My God…” said Paco. He stepped on the brakes. The headlights of the black Mercedes cut down the length of the callejón. The alley would have been a shortcut to Ameritrans, earlier in the day. Now, the end of the callejón was blocked by a solid wall of bodies, inching its way toward the front gales of the yard. “Damn it!” said Eduardo. He was still in the passenger seat. Manuel was curled up in a ball, unconscious in the little backseat behind them. Paco looked at his watch. “We’re not going to make it, señor!” said Paco. “We have to!” said Eduardo. “We have no choice! Back us out of here!” Paco looked over his shoulder. The tires spun in reverse, kicking up a cloud of dust in front of the Mercedes. They shot back up the callejón. The car slid sideways, out into the street from which they had come. Paco shifted into drive. He floored the accelerator. They peeled out, up the road. “A few blocks ahead, there’s another callejón on the left!” said Eduardo, pointing. “It will bring us directly behind the back fence, by the administration building.” Paco slammed on the brakes. Eduardo’s seat belt locked, preventing him from smashing into the dashboard. The Mercedes skidded to a stop, almost plowing into a crowd of girls and boys, crossing the street in front of them.

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“Me-xi-co! Me-xi-co! Me-xi-co!” The revelers did not seem to take notice of their near brush with death. “Come on, Paco, drive!” said Eduardo. “I’m trying!” said Paco. He floored the accelerator again. The black Mercedes peeled out. Tires screeched and smoked. They lunged forward. **** 16 de Septiembre 0000 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… The bass reverberated out of the entrance to the warehouse, and into the night sky. Entering the inner sanctuary of the fenced-in yard, surrounding the warehouse, people gave their tickets to the security personnel. They adorned themselves with glow sticks of every color. The glow stick concession was already generating so much money, that the cashier was screaming to his walkie-talkie, for Johnny to send someone to pick it up. “Juan! You have to get someone down here!” said the cashier. He was dressed in black jeans and a yellow windbreaker with ‘Security’ across the back. “Es un manicomio! I have way too much money on me. We’re going to get robbed!” He waved an arm overhead at a security guard standing by the fence near the entrance to the yard. The security guard had a Rottweiler on a leash. “Just sit tight for a couple more minutes, okay?” said Johnny’s voice, through the cashier’s earphone. “Javier is on his way down to pick up the drop!” “Well, if he doesn’t get here quick, there won’t be a drop to pick up!” said the cashier. “I’m telling you, Juan, I need more people out here! There is no way the eight of us can control a crowd of this size for much longer! We’re almost to capacity at the door as it is.

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¿Me entiendez? Once we have to start turning people away, we are going to have a real problem on our hands!” The security guard with the Rottweiler took up a position in front of the cashier. The dog sat up at attention on its haunches. **** 16 de Septiembre 0005 hr. Ciuadad de Mexico… “Okay, okay, listen to me!” said Johnny, into his walkie-talkie. He stood behind Ian in the DJ booth, atop the pyramid. Athenas and Rosa del Mar stood on each side of Ian, looking down. Spotlights swept over the ocean of dancing bodies below. Fester was next to Johnny, dancing by himself. His eyes were glazed and dilated. “I’ll try to send you some of the guys from the back entrance!” said Johnny, into the walkie-talkie. He crouched down and plugged his right ear. “What?!.. I can barely hear you!” The rhythm of the music was infectious. Ian began to mix in a loop of “Jungle/Trance…” Fester’s hips pumped. His arse shook, inches from the side of Johnny’s face. Johnny pushed him away. “Give me five more minutes!” said Johnny, “I’ll be there myself by then!” He stood up, turned around, and froze. Trails, trails, and more trails of colored light flashed before his eyes. He smiled. Johnny swayed back and forth. His face glistened with sweat. Athenas materialized out of the light in front of him. Her hair was wet with perspiration. Strands stuck to her forehead and cheeks. Her eyes were half-closed. She rubbed her hands over Johnny’s face, then all the way down to his stomach. Her body moved to the rhythm of the music. She closed her arms around his neck, and rested the side of her face against his chest.

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Johnny’s eyes began to half-close as well, giving in to the sensual lull. He found himself dancing with her, in slow motion. They moved through an opium-like nebula of velvet air. “Wooooooooooooo!!!!!” said Fester, tossing his blonde ponytails from side to side. He threw his hands in the air. Rosa del Mar turned around. Sweat poured down her face. Her eyes were barely open. She smiled at Fester, then lazily raised her arms skyward. She began to dance. They were “candy-flipping” now. Ian had given them each a hit of red microdot and a Tacha (LSD-25 and Xstasy). They began to ‘peak’. Ian slid the cross-fader to the right, putting on his pre-recorded mix. It would carry the party on auto-pilot for the next 45 minutes. “Alright, come on everybody!” said Ian. He removed his headphones and placed them on top of the mixer. He turned around to face his friends. His eyes widened. He gasped. Ian stared up at the big circular screen above them. Godzilla marched across a Tokyo cityscape, destroying everything in his path. He snatched a train from its tracks and hurled it into the city… Godzilla turned his head and looked directly at Ian… Ian could barely breathe. Godzilla smiled. He blew Ian a kiss with his left hand, then winked at him. Ian nodded his head, his eyes almost closing. He smiled, and blew a kiss back to Godzilla, up on the screen. The crunch of Fester’s platform sandal on Ian’s foot pulled his attention from the hallucination. “Ow…” said Ian. He looked at Fester and Rosa del Mar. They were dancing with each other. He grinned. “Come on, baby!” said Ian. He took Rosa del Mar’s hand, and started towards the stairs. Rosa grabbed ahold of Fester’s hand. Fester took Athenas by the hand, as he was towed behind Rosa. Athenas

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clasped onto Johnny’s hand, as she was dragged away laughing. Johnny allowed himself to be hauled off as well. They descended the stairs. Johnny was almost certain that there was something he was supposed to be doing. He looked down at Athenas, pulling him by the hand behind her. She looked back at Johnny over her shoulder. Her wet face shined in the blue light. Her eyes flashed. She was laughing. Athenas returned her attention to the steps below her. Johnny watched her ass move as he followed her down. **** 16 de Septiembre 0030 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… “Lo siento, señor…” said the security guard at the front gates. “I’m sorry, sir. There is no way I can allow you to park inside the yard.” The driver of the Suburban handed him a 100 dollar bill (U.S.). “Just pull up and park next to the administration building, on that side of the yard,” said the security guard, pointing off to the right. “Chévere…” said the driver with a smile. His window rolled back up, leaving the security guard looking at his own reflection in the glass. The two Suburbans parted the crowd before them. They crept towards the administration building. **** 16 de Septiembre 0030 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Once the two Suburbans were swallowed up by the crowd of people inside the yard, Cuauhtémoc placed a red police light on the roof of the Cherokee. He turned it on. A high-pitched bark from the Cherokee’s siren parted the crowd in front of Cuauhtémoc. He drove up to the gates, turned off the red light on the roof, then pulled his badge from the center console.

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**** 16 de Septiembre 0030 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… The black Mercedes pulled up to the double gates, at the back entrance of the Ameritrans yard. Paco rolled down his window. A security guard approached, holding a clipboard and a flashlight. “Como se llama usted, señor?” said the security guard. “What is your name, sir?” “Señor Rausch and party,” replied Paco. The security guard ran his flashlight down the VIP list on his clipboard. He nodded his head. “Go right ahead, sir,” he said, “turn left, then park near the back of the administration building over there.” He pointed with his flashlight. “Gracias,” said Paco. He handed the security guard a 200 peso bill. “Gracias a usted, señor,” said the security guard. He tucked the bill into his pants pocket, then signaled the other guard with his flashlight, to open the gates. The black Mercedes drove into the yard. **** 16 de Septiembre 0030 hr. Ciudd de Mexico… “Me-xi-co! Me-xi-co! Me-xi-co!” Epifanio was now chanting right along with the crowd of facepainted college students. He tilted a bottle of Sauza tequila blanca skyward, drinking, as if it were water. The snow of confetti fell all about them. They pressed on, towards the gates of Ameritrans. The boys howled their approval as Epifanio continued to drink. Their eyes widened. One boy snatched the bottle from Epifanio’s lips.

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Epifanio gasped for breath. Tequila spilled down his chin and neck. His head spun. He looked up at the moon, through the cloud of confetti overhead. AAAAAAA jaaa jaaa jaaa jaiiiiiyyy!!” Epifanio's cry rose to the night sky. Clutching a flyer in his right hand, Epifanio and the boys skipped arm in arm through the gates, past a black Grand Cherokee, and into the Ameritrans Yard. **** 16 de Septiembre 0100 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… The music played. The lights all turned to green. Fog rolled down the steps of the great pyramid, pouring over the dance floor. Orgiastic scenes from the movie “Caligula” floated in the air above the crowd. More naked Romans frolicked in “el bacchanal”, on the screen above the pyramid. Ian dragged the chain of his friends onto the stage below the DJ booth. The stage sat midway up the pyramid, just above the heads of the dancing crowd. Torches burned around its perimeter. Only a select few people danced on the stage. Girls, whom the security guards at the foot of the pyramid had chosen, to get a gander up their skirts, danced with each other. A group of gay go-go boys, in skin-tight plastic pants and neon half-shirts, Vogued, sashayed and dominated the floor space. Ian, Rosa, Fester, Athenas, and Johnny worked their way to the center of the stage. The rhythm pounded in their chests. Everyone was laughing. Everyone was dancing. “I’m Alive!!!!” said Johnny, lifting his arms. He felt no pain now. “I’m Free!!!!” said Rosa del Mar. She spun in a circle, looking up at the lights above her.

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“I’m beautiful!!!” said Athenas. She rotated her hips to the music, as she made a slow turn. She raised her arms. “I’m in the house now, baby!!!” said Ian. He danced his way towards the edge of the stage. His ass shook with vigor and intensity. “I’m getting’ HARD, y’all!!!!” shouted Fester. He jumped up and down. “Yaaaaaasir!!!” Two of the go-go boys in the plastic pants were dancing nearby. They stared at the lump rising in Fester’s minifalda. Their eyes widened. Their mouths fell open. “Ay, que rico! How delicious!” said one of them. **** 16 de Septiembre 0100 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… The two Suburbans parked in front of the Ameritrans administration building. Ana Lilia’s head spun. She placed a hand on Fabio’s right shoulder for support. She swooned for a moment, then her balance returned, with her smile. “Are you okay, Ana?” said Fabio. “Si, estoy bien,” she said, “I’m fine. So, are we going to Juaníto’s party then?” “No,” said Fabio. “We are going to wait here for a little while.” The driver turned around in the front seat. “Do you want us to have a look around, Patrón?” said the driver. “No,” said Fabio. “We just have to be patient. He will show up. There are far too many people around here. I don’t want to risk the possibility of any of us becoming separated in the confusion of the crowd. We are better off waiting right here.” **** 16 de Septiembre 0100 hr. Ciudad de Mexico…

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Cuauhtémoc opened the two back doors of the white Electra delivery van. He climbed inside and closed the doors behind himself. “Damn it, Jefe!” said Contreras, turning around in the driver’s seat. “You scared the hell out of me. No mames, güey!” He had drawn his .45. Contreras returned it to his shoulder holster. Cuauhtémoc crouched down and walked up to the passenger seat. He sat down next to agent Contreras. “Okay, cabrón, listen to me,” said Cuauhtémoc. He was perspiring. He reached for Contreras’ pack of Delicados on the dashboard and lit one. Smoke filled the front of the van. He took another drag, then exhaled through his nose. “Do you see those two Suburbans right across from us, parked next to that building over there?” “Si, Jefe,” said Contreras. He reached for the pack of Delicados now. “I’ve been waiting to see who was going to climb out of them. I had thought that it might be El Mecanico.” He lit his cigarette. “No,” said Cuauhtémoc. “I followed them here all the way from El Mecanico’s house in Polanco. Those are El Mecanico’s Colombian creditors. They have his wife in the Suburban on the left.” “Y cuántos son?” said Contreras, “How many are they? He exhaled with a cloud of smoke. “Because Martinez still hasn’t checked in, and if we’re going to-” “Relax, cabrón,” said Cuauhtémoc. “I’ve already called in backup. It doesn’t matter how far up our asses those bastards from Human Rights are right now. This still falls under my jurisdiction. I’ve called in the rest of the team. We’ll handle this just like any other narcotics bust. Procedure-wise, we are covered one hundred percent. I told headquarters that due to the inherent risk of an arrest such as this, I would only feel comfortable if I were allowed to hand pick my support personnel. ¿Me entiendes?” Contreras nodded his head.

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“Excellente, Jefe,” he said. “The cut will be smaller, of course. But at this point, we hardly have much choice.” Contreras took another draw on his cigarette, and exhaled through his nose. His hand trembled. “Human Rights is on to us, Jefe. I couldn’t even return to my house after this if I wanted to. They’ve been staking me out for the past four days now.” “I know, hijo,” said Cuauhtémoc. His voice softened. He looked Contreras in the eye. “This is it though. We are going to take these sons-of-their-whore-mothers down tonight. Then we can get the hell away from this city, from this damn paniquiado.” “Órale, Jefe,” said Contreras. He nodded his head. “There are only six of them in the Suburbans,” said Cuauhtémoc. “El Mecanico will make seven. But if we are patient, and let the Colombians do all of the work for us…” He took another drag on his cigarette. “Then we can just pull them over on their way out, take all money and mercancia, strike a deal to let them walk empty-handed, take the team to the butcher shop, split up la ganancia20, then go our separate ways. It’s not that complicated.” “Who did you request for backup?” said Contreras. “Basically the same team from the Banco Bitel operation,” said Cuauhtémoc. “There will be eight of us total.” **** 16 de Septiembre 0130 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Epifanio’s eyes widened. He had never seen anything like it before in his life. Images that appeared to be scenes from a Roman orgy, floated in the air above him. He rubbed his eyes with both fists, then looked up again. It was no hallucination. The orgy played on. One of Epifanio’s new companions from the university pulled his attention from the scenes overhead. He handed Epifanio a plastic 20

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cup of what looked like water. All ten of the boys were holding similar cups. The crowd pressed in on them from all sides. Bodies danced. They rubbed up against one another, to the rhythm of the trance, mixed by Ian. The hair of young girls, wet with perspiration, whipped against people around them as they danced. No offense was ever taken. There was far too much love, far too much Xstasy in the air for offense. All that mattered was the music, and the dance… Dance… And dance they did, all of them, one tribe, one people, on and on into eternity, or so it seemed. Epifanio drank from his cup. It tasted like the smell of pine needles. The combination of cho chos, alcohol, and now GHB distorted his perception of reality. The sensations of each pumped through his veins, to the rhythm of the music. Everything moved to the music. Epifanio wasn’t consciously dancing, but his body was being moved by the current of the crowd, dancing around him. He was tossed about on the waves, adrift on the sea of love, chemicals, and candy. Epifanio gasped. States of mind, natural and chemical, blurred and swirled in constant flux. Euphoria, then confusion, ecstasy, then the grip of panic, complete release, then claustrophobia passed through him like spirits. One would possess him for a moment, only to be replaced by another in the next. He was only one of many though. Everyone in the building was in an altered state of some sort. Xstasy, LSD, marijuana, nitrous oxide, GHB, and of course, Fester’s award-winning ‘Batch B’ circulated in abundance. **** 16 de Septiembre 0130 hr. Ciudad de Mexico…

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“Damn it!” said Eduardo. He released the doorknob. The back door of the Ameritrans administration building was locked. Paco stood by the open door of the Mercedes. It was parked next to Eduardo’s cargo van, that contained the 500 units of cocaine. He looked back down at Manuel, lying unconscious in the backseat. He shivered. “Animales…” said Paco, in a whisper. “Animals.” “Paco,” said Eduardo, walking back towards the car. Paco turned around. “Si, patrón,” he said. “It’s locked,” said Eduardo. He looked at his watch. His hand shook. “We are running out of time. I have to find Johnny. I’ll be right back.” He turned to leave. “Señor…” said Paco. Eduardo walked off. “Señor…” Eduardo kept walking. “Eduardo! Wait!” he said, jogging up after him. Eduardo stopped. “Paco,” said Eduardo, “just stay here and keep an eye on the children. I’ll handle-” “There isn’t enough time, sir!” said Paco. “This is not going to work! If things were different, maybe… But we don’t even know if Epifanio is going to show up at all yet. And now you want to bring señor Fabio down here? How can we possibly deal with those ‘macheteros’ in this madness, with all of these people? Es imposible! And even if we could, how the hell are we going to get away?!!” “Paco, they have Ana!” said Eduardo. His voice cracked, “I have to try!” “At what cost, Eduardo?!” said Paco. “Listen to me. Listen to the voice of reason, for God’s sake! If you do this, we will fail! We will die here tonight, and it will be for nothing!” “Paco, I know what I am doing!” said Eduardo. “If you want out, leave now. But I am going through with this.” “That’s not what I am saying, señor,” said Paco. “It’s just-”

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“Then do your job!” said Eduardo. “Start setting up the back door! I’ll handle the rest. If you’re in this with me, you’re going to have to trust me, Paco.” He turned and ran off towards the corner of the administration building. “Señor!” said Paco. Eduardo disappeared around the corner of the building, heading for the front of the yard. “Hijo de puta!” said Paco. He kicked at the gravel on the ground. He looked back at the Mercedes and the cargo van. “Back door…” he said, under his breath. He looked at his watch. “How the hell do you expect me to set up a back door in this?” Paco pulled the cell phone from his hip. He dialed a number and pressed ‘send’, shaking his head. “Damn you, Eduardo. I’ve got to be crazy… I’ve got to be crazy…” **** 16 de Septiembre 0130 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Ian and Fester smiled at each other. They danced side by side at the edge of the stage. The two go-go boys in plastic pants danced directly behind Fester. They stared, lusting with their eyes, lusting ‘sin vergüenza,’ without shame. Their eyes were glued to Fester’s ass. It undulated. It popped and shook, beneath the spandex of Fester’s minifalda. The base thundered through the warehouse. ‘The funk phenomenon! The funk phenomenon!’ All hands were in the air. “You were right, big Dawg!” said Fester. “What?!!” said Ian. The music was too loud to hear. “This is the shit!!!” said Fester. They continued to dance. The LSD had plastered permanent grins on both of their faces. “It’s really jumping now, baby!” said Ian. “What?!!” said Fester.

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“Jumping!” said Ian, “it’s really jumping now!” “Jump in?!! Now?!!” said Fester. “Oh yeah,” said Ian, nodding his head. “Okay!” said Fester. He leapt head first into the air, tucking into a magnificent summersault. His platform sandals rotated skyward. He soared over the heads of the crowd. It was a stage dive, worthy of the highest praise. A rift appeared. People scattered out of the path of Fester’s trajectory. Fester spread his arms like wings. His heels rotated past the zenith of his summersault. Ian watched in awe. Fester vanished from sight, like a meteor punching through the tree line of a distant mountainside, or Icarus, splashing down into the Icarian sea. SMACK!!! He was swallowed up by the ocean of dancing bodies. Rosa del Mar appeared at Ian’s side. They looked at each other, unsure if they had hallucinated Fester’s flight. They looked back over the crowd. **** 16 de Septiembre 0140 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… “Señor!” said the driver of the Suburban. He turned around in his seat. “Look! It’s him. That’s El Mecanico, right there!” He pointed at a man moving quickly through the crowd, in front of the Suburban. Fabio shot out of his seat to get a closer look. The man was heading towards the entrance of the warehouse. Fabio’s eyes narrowed. “Hijo de puta, son of a bitch, it’s him!” said Fabio. He slapped the driver on the shoulder. “Go! What are you waiting for?! After him!!”

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The driver jumped out of the Suburban. He whistled to the men in the other Suburban, signaling them to follow with a wave of his arm. He jogged off into the crowd, in pursuit of Eduardo. All of the doors of the second Suburban opened at once. **** 16 de Septiembre 0140 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… “Ve! Go! Follow them!” said Cuauhtémoc, pushing agent Contreras out of the driver’s side door of the van with his foot. “Follow who?! Said Contreras. He tried to spot the two Suburbans, parked in front of the administration building, directly across from them. It was nearly impossible to see, though. The people had become an impassable river between them. “There!” said Cuauhtémoc, pointing at the four heads moving quickly through the crowd. “Don’t let them out of your sight, cabrón!! Go! I’ll stay here on the lead Suburban, and meet the team when they arrive. Now hurry!” “Órale, Jefe!” said Contreras. He ran off into the crowd. **** 16 de Septiembre 0145 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Eduardo ran. He cut sideways, slipping between some people, sliding past others. He fought his way through another great mass of bodies that surrounded the glow stick stand. They were clogging the yard, making it impossible to reach the entrance of the warehouse, only twenty-five feet away. “Espérense! Wait, damn you!” said a man in a yellow security windbreakers. “You must all wait your turn! I will not allow this to degenerate into a free-for-all! Now get back! I’m warning you!!!” Eduardo could just barely see the man, off to his right. The crowd pressed in, swallowing the entire glow stick booth.

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Eduardo fought against the current of people converging on the booth, inching his way to the entrance of the warehouse. He heard wood snapping and splitting behind him. A dog barked wildly. The booth collapsed. The two security guards at the entrance of the warehouse stood in shock, watching the riot commence. Eduardo ran between them, into the warehouse. He gasped. The crowd outside had been challenging enough for Eduardo to deal with. This crowd, the ocean of dancing bodies inside the warehouse, was overwhelming, and three times as dense. “My God…” said Eduardo. He stood transfixed, gazing at the great pyramid in the distance. The orgiastic images, floating above him, captured his attention next. His upturned face shined with awe in the green light. He hadn’t realized that he was moving yet. The current pulled him into the sea. He could feel the base, vibrating in his throat and chest. Bodies brushed up against him, churning, dancing, propelling him along. A girl, no more than 17, wearing black sweat pants and a tank top fell against Eduardo. She was beautiful. Her hair and face were wet with perspiration, her eyes, glazed and dreamy. She wrapped her arms around his neck. Her body moved to the rhythm of the music. She kissed Eduardo on the lips. Her eyes closed. Her mouth opened. She tasted of peppermint. Bodies pressed in all around them. The girl was pulled away. She vanished into the crowd. Eduardo could still taste the candy of her breath. The girl’s perspiration trickled down the side of Eduardo’s face. He blinked. **** 16 de Septiembre 0150 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… The five panaderos moved along the outskirts of the crowdgone-mad. The two security guards from the warehouse door bumped

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into the Colombians. The guards were running to the aid of the glow stick cashier. “Johnny! Johnny!” said the cashier, into his walkie-talkie. His back pressed against the side of the warehouse. It was too late. There was no answer anyway. The stand lay in ruin, splintered and scattered about him. The other security guard was unconscious on his back. His hand was still wrapped in the leash of the rottweiler. The rottweiler lunged and snapped at the looters. The cashier swallowed the lump in his throat and steeled himself for his last stand. “You sons of Bitches!!!” said the cashier. He threw his walkietalkie into the angry mob. A boy of 18, his face painted red, white, and green, went down in a splatter of blood and electronic components. The mob responded with roars of disapproval. “Get him!” shouted a girl’s voice. The cashier snatched up a cluster of 15 glow sticks in each fist. He gripped their ropes tightly. He spun them in defensive circles, one in front of his body, one overhead. “You want some of me?!!” he said. The sound of whirling glow sticks grew louder. The people at the front of the mob hesitated for a moment. The cashier lowered his gaze, his eyes burning into the crowd. He crouched into a fighting stance. The glow sticks spun, two perfect circles of light. He had accepted his fate. “Get him!” cried more voices in the crowd. A great roar rose to the sky, as the mob fell upon him. He dove headfirst into the fray like a Jedi Knight, swinging his glowing weapons, and shrieking his battle cry. The two security guards from the door reached the mob. They wielded their flashlights like battle axes. Twenty-five feet away, the five panaderos entered the warehouse. ****

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16 de Septiembre 0155 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Agent Contreras could just barely see the tops of the heads of the five panaderos. They were far ahead of him, beyond the frenzy of the crowd. The crowd. Agent Contreras now realized that this was no mere crowd he was approaching. It was a vicious mob, in the throws of a bloodlust. Bodies were kicking, punching, and flailing at something trapped at the center of the mob. Contreras’ eyes widened. He didn’t want to get too close. The crowd seemed impassable. The only way to reach the doors of the warehouse now, would be to pass through the mob itself. The sound of an inhuman wail sent a chill down Contreras’ spinal column. He sprang to his right, out of the way, just in time. A dog, entangled with a mass of some 200 glow sticks shout out of the crowd. It bolted past Contreras at a full sprint. The dog tore through the gates of the yard, and the ocean of people on the street, like a meteor, blazing with light and color. Contreras looked back at the mob. The torso of a man popped up, like a cork out of water. He bobbed on the surface of the angry sea, above the shoulders of the frenzy. Contreras stared, unable to look away. The man’s clothes hung in shreds, torn from his back. His ponytail had been snatched free. Blood-soaked hair flew in disarray about his neck and shoulders. Blood poured from his nose. His eyes were swollen shut. His head bounced from side to side. The man raised an arm. His fist held a cluster of 15 glow stick ropes. He took one last feeble swing at the heads of the crowd, who held him high above their shoulders. His grip failed him. The glow sticks sailed through the air, in slow motion… Contreras stared on, in shock. The crowd pumped and surged before him. Confetti blew through the night sky, falling like snowflakes.

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The glow sticks soared higher… The man lifted his arms to heaven. “Me-xi-co! Me-xi-co! Me-xi-co!” Horns honked. People continued to chant in the streets… “Oh, God!!!” screamed the cashier, “I bleed!!! I bleed!!! I bleeeeeeed!!!” The glow sticks pelted agent Contreras across the face. ****

16 de Septiembre 0200 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Epifanio downed the rest of his plastic cup. He coughed, covering his mouth with his fist. His eyes fluttered. He swooned, rocking on his heels. He almost fell backwards. Three of his new companions, dancing nearby, saw and caught him. Epifanio blinked. He smiled at them with sheepishness. Perspiration ran down his face. The three boys laughed. They looked at something above and behind Epifanio. Their expressions paled. Their eyes widened. They ran. Epifanio turned around. A madwoman with arms spread, into a perfect swan dive, fell from the air above him. Her eyes were closed. Her lips twisted into a smile of bliss. Epifanio shielded his face with both arms. “Puta madre,” he said. SMACK!!! **** 16 de Septiembre 0150 hr. Ciudad de Mexico…

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“Johnny! Johnny!” screamed the voice in Johnny’s earphone. He removed his lips from Athenas’ neck. He stopped dancing and took a step backwards. Athenas laughed, with red lips and white teeth. Her eyes flashed. She leaned her head back, dancing to the music. She spread her arms and turned circles, looking up at the lights. The images spun above her. Ancient Rome frolicked in the abandon of ‘orgy-porgy’. In a daze, Johnny plugged his left ear. He reached for the volume knob of the walkie-talkie, clipped to his belt. He turned it all the way up. “You sons of Bitches!!!” The voice boomed through Johnny’s earphone. There was a crash of some sort, then only static… Johnny’s eyes widened. “Oh, shit,” he said, “The money from the gate, the money from the concessions, the money from the batch, the money from… Oh shit! Eduardo! What am I doing?!” He ran for the stairs. He was too high to manage his departure smoothly. Athenas was too high to notice him leave. Johnny fell to one knee before he reached the steps. The rush of blood to his head made him hallucinate. “Get up, Johnny!” said a voice. The music played, but Johnny could no longer clearly hear it. Bodies danced around him in near silence. A pair of polished Italian leather shoes stood before Johnny. He looked up. A delightful, silver-haired gentleman, in a well-tailored navy blue suit, white shirt, and red tie, smiled down on Johnny. His eyes twinkled behind silver-framed eyeglasses. “Zig…? Zig Ziglar?” said Johnny, “The ultimate sales professional?” He blinked his eyes, falling back onto his ass in amazement. “That’s right, Johnny!” said Zig. “But how?” said Johnny, “What are you doing here?”

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“Look Johnny,” said Zig, “when the pupil is ready, the teacher will appear. I was sent her to help you, to help you become the winner you were meant to be!” “But, Zig…” said Johnny. He rested his forearms on his knees. His left eyebrow ticked and spasmed. “Nothing is going the way I planned. And it’s not like I haven’t put in the work, Zig! I did this one by the numbers. It’s just all these X-factors keep popping up. I’m trying, Zig. I swear. But things seem to be slipping away from me.” “Selling is more than just a profession, Johnny,” said Zig, “it’s a way of life… A lifestyle. So let me ask you a question, John. Or better still, ask yourself a question. How’s your lifestyle right now? What kind of life are you leading?” A ranchero with a fringed-leather jacket, white cowboy hat, and white cowboy boots, climbed up the steps. He walked around Johnny, without noticing him sitting on the floor. He stopped. “Hey, Juaníto! I didn’t see you, amigo,” said the ranchero. “Great party! ¡Está chingona!” His voice was muffled, slowed and warped. It sounded as if the ranchero was speaking underwater. Johnny didn’t pay attention though. The ranchero shrugged his shoulders. He turned, and danced out onto the stage, stomping his boots, with his thumbs in his belt. His feet were a blur. “Look, I know I have a problem, Zig,” said Johnny. Sweat poured down his face. “I’m not going to sit here and lie to you, or to myself. But that doesn’t change the fact that people are running around with guns out there, the fact that I’ve been shot, the fact that I have to collect my money from seven different individuals before the night’s over, and the fact that I still have to do a ‘nail-down’, or quite possible a ‘re-close’, on my number one prospect, who may be going through ‘buyer’s remorse’, even as we speak!” “Well, kid,” said Zig, “results follow effort when the effort comes from a competent, confident salesperson. You seldom, if ever, get lucky sitting down. So get up, Johnny!”

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Johnny struggled to his feet. His eyes rolled back, then regained their focus. “I’m on it, Zig!” he said. “I can handle this. I’ll collect the money, then overcome whatever objections Eduardo may still have!” Johnny walked around Zig Zigler and started down the stairs. “Thanks, Zig! Thanks a million!” “Johnny!” said Zig. Johnny stopped. He turned around, on the steps below. Zig wasn’t smiling anymore. “Be careful, Johnny. Stay aware of the entire sales environment. And remember, some prospects will not tell you the true objection.” Johnny smiled. “Don’t worry, Zig…” said Johnny, “I’ll close this deal just for you. It will be one for the textbooks!” “Sure, Johnny,” said Zig. The glow in his eyes faded. Johnny gave Zig a thumbs up. “See you at the top, Zig!” said Johnny. He turned, ran down the stairs, and disappeared into the sea of dancing bodies. Clouds of fog rolled over the crowd. All of the lights turned to blue. “See you at the top, Johnny,” said Zig. He forced a smile. Lines of disconsolation, and hopelessness, formed at the corners of his mouth. Another wave of blue fog rolled down the steps of the pyramid, blanketing Zig and the dancers on the stage. It flowed out into the sea. Zig was gone. The music played. **** 16 de Septiembre 0215 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Paco paced, back and forth behind the black Mercedes. “You heard me,” said Paco, into his cell phone. “Pick up the box at my apartamento, get the truck, and get your asses down here! ¿Me entiendes? Chévere.”

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He hung up. He looked at his watch. **** 16 de Septiembre 0230 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Fabio looked up from his watch. He cursed under his breath. He looked at Ana Lilia, then took a double-take. She was staring at him. “What?” said Fabio. “Nada…” said Ana Lilia. Her smile was full of mischief. She scooted closer to him on the backseat. Fabio scooted away from her. “Ana, stop playing around,” he said. Ana Lilia scooted closer again. “What?” she said. She placed a hand on his knee. Fabio jumped. Ana Lilia laughed. Fabio was pinned all the way up against the door now. She slid her hand up his thigh. “Ya, Ana! Ya basta!” said Fabio, “alright, Ana, stop! That’s enough!” He removed her hand from his thigh. He shook an index finger at her. “I mean it, Ana. I don’t have time to be playing these games with you. Besides, how about showing some respect for Eduardo. I don’t care how much dope you have in you. That’s no excuse for this kind of behavior.” “You’re so full of shit, Fabíto,” she said. “You know you’ve always wanted me, cabrón.” She seized Fabio’s head with both of her hands. “Hey!” said Fabio, “Let go of me!” Ana Lilia pulled him into a primitive kiss. Fabio’s eyes widened. He struggled to breathe. He pushed and pried, but could not break free. They shook. They twisted. Fabio’s eyes grew even wider. He was panicking now. The back of his head smacked against the window behind him. He pushed Ana Lilia with both hands, in the center of her chest.

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They separated. Fabio gasped for air. “You’re crazy…” he said. CRACK!!! Ana Lilia backhanded Fabio across the face. His nose bled. Fabio slapped Ana Lilia across the face. She screamed. He bottom lip busted. Her head snapped to the side. Hair flew over her face. Fabio’s chest heaved from his breathing. He touched the back of his hand to his nose. Blood flowed onto it. Ana Lilia laughed, under the tent of curly black hair that obscured her face. Her shoulders shook. “Ana…” said Fabio, “Ana, I… I didn’t mean to…” Ana Lilia pounced. She leapt onto Fabio in a frenzy of nails, teeth, and flying hair. “Ayyyyyyyyyyyy!!!” screamed Fabio. He tried to shield his face with his arms, but he was no match for the savageness of Ana Lilia’s attack. He fell back against the door, kicking and twisting from side to side. Ana Lilia punched Fabio in the eye. She followed through with a head-butt to the bridge of his nose. CRACK!!! She smashed her elbow into Fabio’s temple. His vision blurred. “I grew up with six brothers, cabrón!” said Ana Lilia. She jabbed a stiff thumb into the side of Fabio’s neck. “Who do you think you’re fucking with?!” She knife-handed him across the Adam’s apple. Fabio coughed, choking. He reached for his throat. Ana Lilia sat up. She brushed a strand of hair back behind her ear. Fabio continued to choke and cough. His eyes bulged. Ana Lilia smiled. Fabio fought for air. Ana Lilia laughed, throwing her head back. Fabio reached for her with both hands. They trembled. He wanted to choke her.

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Ana Lilia slapped his hands away. She kept laughing. Her eyes narrowed. She snatched Fabio’s belt. Her hands moved in a blur. He tried to stop her, but she slapped his hands away again. She unzipped his fly, and opened his pants. She buried her face in Fabio’s lap, taking him into her mouth. “Stop that!” said Fabio. His voice cracked. He was becoming hard, in spite of himself. Ana Lilia’s head moved up and down, coaxing him along with brute sexual force. “God damn you!!!” said Fabio. “You crazy bitch, you better stop that!!!” He rabbit-punched Ana Lilia in the back of the head. She didn’t stop. Her head moved faster. “Stop!!!” he said. His toes curled into fists inside his shoes. “Stop that!!!” Fabio punched the window with the side of his fist. “Stop!!!” Ana Lilia’s head moved faster. “Stop!!!” Fabio looked up at the roof. “Stop that!!!” Fabio pressed the palms of his hands to his temples. The sounds of Ana Lilia’s efforts filled the Suburban. Fabio clenched his teeth. “Ohhh… Shit!” he said. Fabio released his head. His arms fell to his sides in defeat. His hips rose to meet Ana Lilia’s strokes. He moaned, in spite of himself. **** 16 de Septiembre 0215 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Paco looked at his watch again.

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“Damn it, Eduardo!” he said. He looked at Manuel, lying unconscious in the backseat of the Mercedes. He looked at the white cargo van. “I have to find him,” he said, to himself. Paco locked the driver’s side door of the Mercedes. He took off in a sprint towards the corner of the administration building. **** 16 de Septiembre 0215 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… “Donde?!” said Cuauhtémoc, into his cell phone. He could barely see the two Suburbans, parked across from him. The crowd had become far too dense. “Where?! Okay, okay that’s fine. The back entrance? Órale. I’ll be there in five minutes!” He hung up. Cuauhtémoc opened the passenger door of the Electra delivery van, and stepped out. **** 16 de Septiembre 0210 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… A slight gap appeared on the far left side of the mob of looters. Contreras made a break for it. He ran as fast as his feet would carry his heavy frame. Elbows, fists, and knees, pummeled him in passing. He pressed on. It was a nightmare. He almost tripped, but he stiff-armed a girl in front of him to keep from falling, planting a hand on her red, white, and green painted face. The girl went down. Contreras stepped on her chest, stumbling forward. He was almost to the entrance of the warehouse now. Two boys knelt over a pair of unconscious security guards, at the edge of the crowd, up ahead of him. A flashlight, still turned on, laid on the ground next to them. They dug through the guard’s pockets.

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Contreras ran faster, right at them. The crowd closed in around him. Contreras took off like a long-jumper. Hop…! Skip…! JUMP…! The gap in the crowd closed, just as Contreras shot free, soaring into the air. He flew over the heads of the two boys, the unconscious security guards, and crash-landed ten feet from the warehouse doors. He barrel-rolled across the asphalt, and slid to a stop directly in front of the entrance. Contreras sprang to his feet, panting. He brushed himself off. His chest heaved. He ran into the warehouse. ****

16 de Septiembre 0215 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… The five panaderos pushed and shoved their way through the crowd. Eduardo had already disappeared far ahead. They looked from one to another with nervousness. One of them gestured wildly, waving his arms, and shouting commands. No one could hear anything over the music. The dancing bodies separated the panaderos. They were losing visual contact with each other. They were losing their control over the situation. Suddenly, they each found themselves caught up in the activity. Eyes widened with amazement, at the images of the Roman orgy, floating in mid-air overhead. Young girls danced all around them. One girl passed her plastic cup to the panadero in front of her. He was so captivated by her that he took it. She rubbed her hands up and down his chest as she danced. Another girl was grinding her body up against one of the

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other panaderos, to the rhythm of the music. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him on the lips. The group of panaderos had ‘dissipated’, under every definition of the word. They were swallowed up, overwhelmed by the mighty ocean of dancing limbs and love The base thundered. The panadero’s finally began to oblige their dancing partners. They drank the little plastic cups of water, that were being pushed on them. The water either contained GHB, Xstasy, or LSD-25. It varied from cup to cup. But every cup was loaded, and everyone was high, or well on their way. And despite years of discipline and dedication, here and there, throughout the crowd, if one looked carefully enough, one might spot a panadero, his shirt open wide, sweat on his brow, his hands in the air, and dancing like there was no tomorrow. **** 16 de Septiembre 0215 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Agent Contreras swam through the churning sea of dancing bodies. It was like paddling over the face of one fifty-foot swell after the next. He was tossed about on the white caps. A squall, of a hundred people doing some sort of line dance, washed Contreras away, driving him before them. He was swept toward the base of the pyramid. He tried to swim against the current, but his efforts were futile. The waves pounded. The thunder of the base, and the lightning of the strobe lights stormed on overhead. “Oh, God!” said Contreras. Claustrophobia was choking him. He was drowning. Another wave of bodies slammed against him, pushing him on.

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On the circular screen above the pyramid, a giant sea gull flew. Its head ticked from side to side, scanning the ocean below, with the black sea gull eyes. Contreras reached the most dense section of the crowd now. It was becoming too much for him to handle. He couldn’t even move his arms anymore. Bodies pressed in all around him. Clammy bodies, like the dead, bounced and bobbed in the sea. He was surrounded by them. And like the Ancient Mariner, he looked up at the bird of ill omen, even though it wasn’t an albatross, and regretted his decision of making the journey across the waves. Contreras tried to regain composure. He took a few deep breaths, and looked around. He needed to get his bearings. There was still no sign of El Mecanico, nor of the Colombians. He looked up at the stage. The familiar face caused him to gasp, taking his breath away. He was pierced through the heart. “Mi amor…” he said. It was ‘La Huera’, the blonde bombshell from La Colonia Roma. The sight of her calmed his claustrophobia. Even the ocean of bodies seemed more tranquil to him now. “Ay, que chulada!” he said, wringing his hands together. “How beautiful, how succulent!” The girl said something to the man she was dancing next to on the stage. She nodded her head, then leapt into the air, tucking into a summersault. Agent Contreras’ mouth dropped open. **** 16 de Septiembre 0220 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Cuauhtémoc sliced his way through the ocean of bodies that swarmed between the fence-line and the administration building. He

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moved like a predator, a shark swimming through a school of mackerel. They parted before him. Whatever it was, people seemed to naturally move out of Cuahutemoc’s path. He looked at his watch, then in the general direction of the Suburbans. He could not see them clearly anymore. He picked up the pace, jogging toward the far corner of the administration building. He slipped in and out of the crowd. Cuauhtémoc rounded the corner. SMACK!!! He collided with a man who was running in the opposite direction. They both fell, and rolled across the asphalt. Both men jumped to their feet. “Imbécil!” said Cuauhtémoc. He reached for the pistol under his jacket, then thought twice. The other man had already taken off again, running towards the crowd, around the front of the building. “Tu madre!” said the man, over his shoulder. He vanished from sight. Cuauhtémoc ran a hand through his hair. He growled, then spat on the ground. He turned, and took off jogging toward the back of the building. **** 16 de Septiembre 0215 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… SMACK!!! Fester ploughed into Epifanio, laying him flat on his back. The impact of the concrete floor reopened Epifanio’s scalp wounds. He bled, but felt no pain. He had far too many drugs in his bloodstream to feel pain. Fester rose to his feet, swaying back and forth on his platform sandals. He shook his head out, trying to clear the daze. Blonde

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ponytails slapped the sides of his face. The crowd continued to dance all around. Fester took a step away from Epifanio’s body then collapsed. His legs gave out. A man caught him before he hit the floor, a strong and heavy man. “Esta bien, señorita?’ said the man. “Are you alright, miss?” He held Fester close. Fester’s head spun. The seventeen sleepless days of Xstasy, LSD, speed, and weed had finally caught up with him. His eyes rolled back white. His body went limp in agent Contreras’ arms. Contreras scooped him up. He carried Fester, fighting his way through the crowd. “Get out of the way!” said Contreras. “Make way! She needs air, damn it! Get out of the way!” He blazed a trail towards the restrooms, at the far right corner of the warehouse, near the back exit. **** 16 de Septiembre 0210 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Eduardo fought his way towards the pyramid. Sweaty hands stroked, pinched, rubbed, and grabbed at him from all directions. He was getting closer now. “Sheise! Shit!” said Eduardo. He jumped up and down, waving his arms above his head. “Johnny!!!!” He could clearly see Johnny descending the steps of the pyramid, no more than fifty feet away. But in this crowd, with the music as loud as it was, it may as well have been fifty miles. “Johnny!!!” Johnny disappeared into the crowd at the foot of the stairs. Eduardo pushed forward, beserking, like a wild man. He was a blur of high knees, and swinging elbows. He clenched his teeth.

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“Damn it!” he said, upon reaching the foot of the stairs. Johnny was gone. Eduardo climbed the first eight steps of the pyramid, to get a better view over the heads of the crowd. He spotted Johnny. He was heading for the restrooms, and the back exit beyond them. “Johnny!!!” said Eduardo. It was useless. He started back down the steps then froze. His eyes widened. Twenty-five feet to his right, just below the stage, the crowd parted like the red sea. ****

16 de Septiembre 0220 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Ian and Rosa del Mar watched a fat man, in a white-andmaroon striped western shirt, carry Fester away. They looked at each other again, with expressions of bewilderment on their faces. Rosa del Mar looked back down over the crowd. Her eyes widened. She screamed. **** 16 de Septiembre 0220 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Epifanio blinked, staring up at the ceiling. Blue spotlights swept and gyrated overhead. He sat up. The woman who had smitten him was unconscious, and being carried off by a fat gentleman to his right. They disappeared into the sea of dancing bodies. Epifanio rose to his feet. He swayed back and forth. He looked up at the stage. He saw her.

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Epifanio’s eyes narrowed. Rosa del Mar stood next to a man, an attractive man, a man more than 25 years Epifanio’s junior… He clenched his teeth. Tears flowed. Epifanio reached into his inside breast pocket. He though of his wife. He thought of Athenas. He thought of his political career, the years of struggle, all of his accomplishments… Epifanio pulled the .38 free. It was all dust. It was all over. And it was all HER fault. He took aim, swaying from side to side. People dancing around him took notice of the pistol. They scattered. All the lights turned to red. Rosa del Mar turned towards him. Their eyes met. She screamed. “Puuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuutaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!” said Epifanio. BLAM!!! **** 16 de Septiembre 0225 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Paco ran. He pulled himself through the crowd with a combination of breast strokes and butterfly strokes. He moved up the living river with pumping legs and clenched teeth. He passed a Suburban parked against the side of the building to his right. He passed another. He stopped. Paco looked closer at the Suburban, through the flow of people passing him by. His eyes narrowed. He moved closer still… His eyes widened. “Oh my God,” said Paco. “That filthy whore.”

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**** 16 de Septiembre 0225 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… The round from the .38 caught one of the go-go boys in the throat. His eyes darted from left to right, in shock. People scattered away from him. Blood flowed from his neck like a fountain, spraying over the crowd below. He dropped from the stage. Screaming filled the air. The music was still louder. Ian grabbed Rosa del Mar’s wrist, and broke to his right. Rosa pulled in the opposite direction. BLAM!!! The next round slammed into the left knee of a girl, who had ran across the stage in front of Rosa del Mar. The girl dropped, amazed. Blood pooled all around her. “Rosa!” said Ian, “Ven! Come on!!!” Rosa del Mar pulled against him. “No!!!” she said. “Ian, the money! We have to get the-” BLAM!!! The round clipped Ian in the forearm. “Arrrrrrrrrr!!!!” Ian released Rosa del Mar’s wrist. He fell backwards, clutching his wound. He low-crawled away, through the legs of the stampeding people. Rosa del Mar broke left, towards the stairs that lead to the DJ booth. Epifanio followed her, running across the dance floor below. BLAM!!! BLAM!!! Rosa del Mar moved through the people on stage with the agility of a spider monkey. Bullets zipped by, over her head. A girl in a neon blue bodysuit went down. Her shoulder exploded with a splatter of blood.

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Rosa del Mar tripped over the girl’s body. She continued to run, scrambling on all fours towards the stairs. Her greed, fueled by el paniquiado, pushed her on. BLAM!!! The round grazed her calf. She popped back up. Half-running, half-hopping, she reached the stairs. Epifanio reached the bottom of the stairs at the same instant. He pointed the pistol up at her. People scattered, leaving Rosa del Mar exposed and vulnerable on the steps above Epifanio. Only one person stood between them. Rosa del Mar balanced herself on her one good leg. Her eyes darted, looking for a way out. “Epifanio!!!” said Eduardo, shouting over the music. He stood his ground, five steps below Rosa del Mar. “What the hell are you doing, hombre?!! You’re ruining everything!!! We’re supposed to be-” “Cállate!!!” said Epifanio. He pointed the pistol at Eduardo now. “Shut up!! Shut up!! Shut up!!! You! You did this to me too, you bastard!” Tears streamed down Epifanio’s face. Urine trickled down Rosa del Mar’s thigh. She was crying, hyperventilating, and balancing on one leg. Eduardo looked up at Rosa del Mar, then back down at Epifanio, his eyes burning with reproach. “Look,” said Eduardo, “I don’t know what kind of bullshit is going on between you two! And I don’t care! But we had a deal, you asshole! My life is in the balance, your life, everything we’ve ever worked for!!! And you’re throwing it away, because of this child?!! You idiot!!! Wake up!!!!” Still holding the pistol, Epifanio squeezed his head between both of his hands. He closed his eyes, and bared his teeth. He roared. It was a primitive wail of grief, loss and woe. His entire body shook.

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Rosa del Mar looked to her right. The stage was bare now, except for the six wounded, squirming on the floor. Ian was among them. A small group of dancers had huddled together, cowering in the corner. Ian rose to one knee, trying to get up. Rosa saw him. Their eyes met. Athenas appeared. She ran out from the corner of the stage. She fretted over Ian for a second, helping him to his feet. She looked towards the stairs. Her eyes widened. She screamed. “Papá!!!” she said. Epifanio didn’t hear her. The music was too loud. Rosa del Mar took a hop back towards the stage. Epifanio opened his eyes. “Epifanio!!!” said Eduardo, “put the gun away, and let’s get the hell out of here, now!!!” Athenas ran towards the stairs. Ian reached into the back of his jeans, beneath his shirt. He drew the Beretta. His right arm dangled at his side, bleeding. Rosa del Mar took another hop towards the stage. Epifanio pointed the pistol at her. “You ruined my life!!!” he said. The pistol trembled in his hand. “I offered you the world! I sacrificed everything in my life for you! You took everything! And then you shit on me like this?!!! You left me for dead! You left me for dead!!! You greedy bitch!!!!” Rosa tried to run up the stairs. Epifanio charged after her, taking the steps three at a time. Eduardo stepped aside. He drew his Desert Eagle. Epifanio was far too unstable to be trusted with a pistol in his hands. “Epifanio, don’t!!!” said Eduardo. “Papá, no!!!” said Athenas. She ran. “Rosa!!!” said Ian. He ran behind Athenas. Rosa del Mar slipped. Epifanio caught up to her. Blood poured down the back of her calf. She rolled onto her back, holding

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both of her hands out in front of her, imploring Epifanio. He stood over Rosa del Mar, pointing the pistol at her heart. “Please…!” she said. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Por que?!!” said Epifanio, “Why?!!” “I just wanted out…” said Rosa del Mar, crying. “I just wanted out of this life.” “Bueno…” said Epifanio, nodding his head. “Alright.” A tear dripped from his chin. It fell through the smoke-filled air, and splashed onto Rosa del Mar’s forearm. BLAM!!! Rosa del Mar’s stomach dropped. She felt as if she were falling. She could no longer hear the music anymore. She was afraid. Tap Tap Tap… She saw the muzzle flash three more times. She fell faster. Now there was only blackness. Her mind raced with panic, because there was something so important that she wanted to say… But somehow, she just couldn’t remember what it was. She turned end over end, falling through the blackness. Falling… Falling… Falling away, from the city, and the life she had despised so much. **** 16 de Septiembre 0235 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… A security guard pushed the back gate of the Ameritrans yard open. A yellow fifteen-foot GMC moving truck drove inside. It turned to the right, then backed up along the warehouse wall, heading towards the administration building. The truck stopped ten feet from a white cargo van. The cargo van was parked next to a black Mercedes. Cuauhtémoc stood behind the truck. He coaxed the driver back a few more feet with his hand.

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He made a fist. Brake lights bathed Cuauhtémoc in red. The truck stopped. The driver killed the engine. Cuauhtémoc cranked the latch and threw up the back door of the trailer. Five very large and dangerous-looking men stood inside. They wore black jeans and black windbreakers. The letters PGR were written in gold letters over the right breast, and across the backs of their jackets. They were armed with AR-15s, and Mossberg pump shotguns. “Q´vo, Jefe?” said the one in the middle, “What’s up, chief?” Cuauhtémoc smiled. “Q´vo, muchachos…?” said Cuauhtémoc. He extended his hand. They pulled him up into the trailer. **** 16 de Septiembre 0235 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Manuel opened his eyes. He stared up at the roof of the Mercedes. Red light shined through the windows, illuminating the interior of the car, from outside. He could hear a motor idling, not far away, the motor of a truck. His heart beat faster. He was in terrible pain, and still very badly injured. He knew he was alone. He tried to swallow. His throat was too dry. His arm dropped to the backseat floor. His hand brushed against cold steel. He rolled his head to the side. The throbbing around the nails almost made him cry out. He gripped the object on the floor. It was Paco’s MAC-10. **** 16 de Septiembre 0235 hr. Ciudad de Mexico…

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Fester’s head spun. His eyes had gone completely blind, though he knew that they were open. He felt something wet and soft moving up and down the side of his neck. There was a distant mumbling, followed by a slapping sensation across his upper lip. Slap Slap Slap… “What the fuck?” said Fester. He still couldn’t see anything. Slap Slap Slap… Fester turned his head to the side. The slapping followed him, like a fleshy moustache, with a mind of its own. Slap Slap Slap… “Hey,” said Fester, “knock that shit off.” His words were garbled and distorted by the slapping. His vision returned. Fester stared down the barrel of an erect penis, no more than an inch from the end of his nose. He was stone-cold sober now. His eyes bulged. Fester was in a bathroom stall, seated on a befouled toilet. Agent Contreras stood over him, shaking his turgid member beneath Fester’s nose. “Come on, Míja…” said Contreras, “that’s the way. Wake up, it’s breakfast time.” He smiled. His teeth were capped with silver. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!!” said Fester. He backhanded Contreras’ penis away with his left hand and snatched up the pair of testicles with his right. Fester sprang to his feet. Contreras screamed. “You wanna disrespect me, punk?!!” said Fester. He tightened his grip on Contreras’ balls, slamming him against the wall of the bathroom stall. Blonde ponytails swung in a frenzy. CRACK!!! Fester head-butted Contreras across the nose. It broke. Blood gushed.

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Contreras grabbed Fester’s wrist with both hands. He dug his nails into Fester’s flesh, trying to free himself. Fester’s grip only tightened on the PGR agent’s testicles. They spun, crashing into the opposite wall of the stall. Fester saw the 9mm in its holster, under Contreras’ arm. He moved without hesitation, snatching the pistol free with his left hand. Contreras had no time to react. Fester had already pressed the pistol to Contreras’ stomach. “Espérate! Wait!” said Contreras. BLAM!!! BLAM!!! BLAM!!! Fester dumped. He unloaded eight rounds into Contreras, dispelling the illusions of ‘La Huera Chula’, the succulent blonde bombshell of Contreras’ dreams. Blood spewed from between Contreras’ lips. He slid down onto his ass, on the bathroom floor. Fester stood above him panting. The front of his blouse, skirt, and legs were covered in blood. Contreras’ chest heaved two more times, then stopped. Fester’s eyes widened. Contreras died on the bathroom floor. The reality of the situation hit Fester like a thunderbolt. He thought of ‘Midnight Express’. He gave in to el paniquiado… Fester ran for the bathroom door, pistol in hand. **** 16 de Septiembre 0230 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Johnny burst through the back exit of the warehouse. He ran towards the administration building. He passed a yellow GMC moving truck and a white cargo van. He stopped in his tracks.

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“Shit! Eduardo…” he said. Johnny stood behind a black Mercedes, panting. He didn’t hear the footsteps behind him. “Señor…” said a voice. Johnny spun around. Three men approached him. The one in the middle held up a badge. “Policia Judicial,” said Cuauhtémoc, “come with us, please.” **** 16 de Septiembre 0230 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Eduardo held his Desert Eagle at his side. People were running away in all directions. It was a widespread panic. “Epifanio!!!” said Eduardo, “come on, hombre! Leave her! Let’s go!” Epifanio stared down at the body of Rosa del Mar. His shoulders moved up and down. They shook from his sobbing. Ian saw Eduardo. The pistol in Eduardo’s hand made him pause. He turned away, and walked towards the corner of the stage. Athenas ran onto the stairs, next to Eduardo. She didn’t pay him any notice. “Papá!!!” she said. She was crying. Epifanio turned around. He looked down at Athenas. He looked out over the masses, the Mexican citizens, all running for their lives. On top of all of Epifanio’s other crimes, he was a murderer now, and he had done it before the eyes of thousands… He looked back down at Athenas. “Perdoname, hija mia,” he said, “forgive me, my daughter. I love you.” He shoved the .38 into his mouth. “No!!!” said Eduardo. “Papá!!!” said Athenas. She ran up the stairs towards him. BLAM!!!

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**** 16 de Septiembre 0240 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… “I don’t understand…” said Johnny. “What seems to be the problem, officers?” His voice cracked and trembled. They forced him into the back of the trailer. Cuauhtémoc stayed outside. “Handle it,” said Cuauhtémoc. “Órale, Jefe,” said one of the officers. He pulled the back door of the trailer down. There was a muffled scream. Cuauhtémoc turned his back on the truck. He took out his box of cigarettes and lit one. He exhaled with a cloud of smoke. He looked at his watch. **** 16 de Septiembre 0240 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Eduardo’s stomach dropped. Epifanio laid on the stairs above him. His brains were scattered all over the body of the young prostitute, lying dead beside him. A girl with red curly hair knelt over Epifanio, weeping in hysterics. Eduardo returned the Desert Eagle to its holster, under his arm. All bets were off. Now, there was only the getting away. Nothing else could be done. He ran, down the stairs, into the madness of the crowd, and towards the back exit. ****

16 de Septiembre 0245 hr. Ciudad de Mexico…

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Ian ran back to the stairs. Blood poured from his forearm. He took the steps two at a time. He crouched down next to Athenas. “Papá! Papá!” said Athenas. She rocked back and forth, cradling Epifanio’s mutilated head in her arms. She wailed at the top of her lungs. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Ian looked down at Rosa del Mar’s face. His heart crumbled. He brushed the wisps of black hair from her fixed and gazing eyes. He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. He cocked his head to the side. The music played on. Athenas continued to wail and cry. The crowd below fled the building, in screaming pandemonium. Ian heard none of it. “Oh, Rosa…” said Ian. He traced the outline of her lips with his index finger. Tears rolled down his face. “I really do love you, baby… Why wasn’t that ever enough for you?” He closed his eyes. He couldn’t swallow. He couldn’t breathe. He shook his head. “No… No… No, God, please, not my Rosa.” His body trembled. He opened his eyes. Ian leaned forward, and placed his lips to hers. They were still warm. He left his tears on Rosa del Mar’s cheeks. Goodbye, baby,” said Ian. He rose to his feet. Blood dripped from the fingertips of his right hand. He held the pistol in his left. He climbed the steps to the DJ booth in a daze. **** 16 de Septiembre 0300 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… The Salesman’s heart raced with panic. The plastic bag was drawn over his head, flattening his nose, pulling his facial features back into a grim mask of comedy. He gazed down at the grease stains

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on the trailer floor, through the slits of his eyes. The other men took hold of his arms and legs now. He coughed, choking on blood, as the plastic flexed in and out of his sucking mouth, to no avail. His legs were yanked apart. Then came the voice, muffled, distant, and demanding something in rapid Spanish. It was all happening so fast, yet at the same time, the Salesman felt as if time were slowing, brakes screeching and grinding, like a locomotive coming to a halt. A baseball bat arced through the air in slow motion, with PGA form, then fell, smashing into the Y-shaped intersection of the Salesman’s crotch, dead center. He lost consciousness. **** 16 de Septiembre 0315 hr. Ciudad de Mexico Manuel knew the voice outside the car too well. He tightened his grip on the MAC-10. Adrenaline surged through his veins. It gave him just enough strength to sit up. He looked through the window in the darkness. He saw him. “Órale, puto…” said Manuel, almost laughing now. He was so tired of it all. “Alright, motherfucker…” He locked and loaded. CLACK! **** 16 de Septiembre 0320 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Paco fought against the stampeding crowd, streaming out of the front entrance of the warehouse. He was swept back towards the middle of the yard. ****

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16 de Septiembre 0325 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Ian slung one of the black duffel bags over his shoulder. His right arm was becoming useless. He would have to leave the other bag behind. Ian’s heart raced. He started back down the stairs. Athenas was standing now. Ian passed her. She noticed the bag. Ian reached the bottom of the stairs and jogged off into the crowd, heading towards the back exit. Athenas went numb. Things were still unclear. Reality began to descend upon her. The bags… Her father… Johnny was gone… Rosa del Mar… Her father… Ian… The bags… Johnny… Her father… The bags… Her father’s bags… They were her father’s bags…! She ran up the steps to the DJ booth. **** 16 de Septiembre 0325 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Manuel was in pain beyond belief now. He knew that he probably did not have much time left. His head spun. Even if he were to live, they had already ruined him with the unspeakable things they had done to him. He opened the door of the Mercedes and stepped out. Cuauhtémoc stood by the back of the yellow GMC truck, smoking a cigarette. Manuel stepped away from the Mercedes, limping his way into plain view. He raised the MAC-10. Cuauhtémoc caught the movement with his peripheral vision. The cigarette fell from his mouth. He reached for the Sig Sauer, beneath his left arm. ****

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16 de Septiembre 0326 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Athenas struggled under the weight of the black duffel bag. People were running everywhere. She was pushed along with the crowd, towards the front entrance of the warehouse. She exited the building. Athenas turned right, staying close to the wall. Her red Jetta was parked up ahead, in Johnny’s VIP spot. Behind her, a flood of people ran through the front gates of the yard, and into the night. She heard sirens approaching. Tears ran down her face. “Baby, where are you?” she said. **** 16 de Septiembre 0526 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… The driver’s door of the Suburban flew open. Ana Lilia jumped away from Fabio’s lap. Fabio zipped his fly up. “We have to get out here, sir!” said the driver, climbing behind the wheel. His hair was wild. His eyes were glazed. His shirt was open, exposing a hairy chest and stomach. He had no pants on, only boxers. Another panadero climbed into the passenger seat, out of breath. He wasn’t wearing a shirt at all. “Sir, people are shooting the place up! The police should be showing up any minute now!” The driver started the engine. “Okay!” said Fabio, “get us out of here!” The remaining panaderos ran in front of the headlights. They were all shirtless. They piled into the other Suburban. “The crowd is too thick!” said the driver. Ana Lilia laughed. Her lip was still bleeding. “Shut up!” said Fabio. His eyes flashed at her. His nose was still bleeding too. “Drive around the building then! See if we can get out that way, hurry!” He looked at the panadero in the passenger seat.

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“And put some clothes on, for Christ sake!” **** 16 de Septiembre 0327 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… The driver of the yellow GMC moving truck turned up the volume on his police radio. The back door of the warehouse burst open. People streamed into the back lot. The security guards at the gates fled. The crowd poured out of the yard, flowing into the maze of callejónes and dirt roads, behind Ameritrans. The driver’s stomach sank. “No mames…” he said, under his breath, “no way… This is a bust. We’re going to get caught, damn it!” He started his engine. In the passenger’s side mirror, he saw Cuauhtémoc and another man point weapons at each other, illuminated by his tail lights. **** 16 de Septiembre 0327 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… The rumble of the engine brought Johnny back to consciousness. The bag had been removed from his head. He couldn’t move his body. His cheek pressed against the grease-covered floor of the trailer. Only one man stood over him. The others were outside of his field of vision. The man raised a baseball bat overhead arching his body in preparation of his swing. Johnny’s lips parted. “Athenas…” he said, in a whisper. ****

16 de Septiembre 0327 hr. Ciudad de Mexico…

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Athenas reached the red VW Jetta. She unlocked the driver’s door and opened it. She heaved the duffle bag into the passenger seat. She turned to sit down. Fester rushed at her, from the shadows. He was covered in blood. Athenas screamed. “Give me the keys!” said Fester. He grabbed Athenas’ right hand. “Suéltame!” said Athenas. She tried to pull free! “Bitch, I’m not playin’ with your ass!” said Fester. “Give me the god-damned keys!” “No!” said Athenas, jerking away from Fester. Fester grunted with impatience. He took a step backwards, and pointed agent Contreras’ pistol at Athenas’ temple. BLAM!!! **** 16 de Septiembre 0327 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… “¡¡¡Chinga tu Madre!!!” said Cuauhtémoc. “¡¡¡Huevos, Puto!!!” said Manuel. The sound of gunfire erupted through the night air. They ran at each other. Cuahutemoc’s aim was deadly. He shot for body mass. Rounds impacted into Manuel’s shoulder, chest, stomach, and then thigh. Manuel didn’t need good aim. The spray of rounds from the MAC-10 peppered Cuahutemoc’s chest. They stumbled toward one another. Trigger fingers pulled, pulled, and pulled again, pulling them away from the violence, and into the embrace of mother earth below. Their bodies twitched and spasmed for a moment in the dirt, and then no more.

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**** 16 de Septiembre 0328 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Johnny thought of Athenas. He thought of his mother and father, of the lights of the San Francisco skyline. He was tired. It had been a hell of a day. Maybe it was time he left Mexico City. Maybe it was time to just pack his things and go home… The thought made Johnny smile. CRACK!!! The bat slammed into the side of Johnny’s face. His eye popped out of its socket. The second blow fractured his skull. By the third, Johnny was gone. The truck began to drive. **** 16 de Septiembre 0328 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Eduardo ran out of the back exit of the warehouse, fighting his way through the fleeing ravers. A yellow GMC moving truck lurched forward. It ploughed into the crowd just ahead of Eduardo. People screamed. The truck bounced, rolling over the fallen bodies. It blasted through the back gates. Eduardo froze, staring in amazement. A man with a black duffel bag slung over his shoulder bumped into Eduardo in passing. Eduardo’s eyes narrowed. The epiphany rocked him. Everything came rushing back. The photos, the reports, the weeks of surveillance, the order to Emilio, it all fell into place. Eduardo drew his Desert Eagle. He relaxed, extended his arm, and took aim. ****

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16 de Septiembre 0328 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Athenas fell to the ground. Her life poured from the side of her head. Her body shook. Fester snatched the keys from her fist. Sirens screamed, not very far off. He climbed behind the wheel. The Jetta roared to life. Fester turned on the headlights. The crowd, running through the front gates up ahead, made vehicular traffic impossible. “Shit!” said Fester, “Well, let’s try the back of the building, Igor…” He shifted into reverse, and looked over his shoulder. The reverse lights illuminated a woman wearing a black dress, standing directly behind the Jetta. A black lace veil was over her face. “What the…?” said Fester. He rolled down his window and looked back at the woman. He honked the horn. “Hey! Get out of the way, lady!” The woman raised an antique double-barrel shotgun. She aimed it at Fester’s head, sticking out of the driver’s side window. A rosary was wrapped around her forward hand. “For the blood of Papi Chulo!!!” said Señora Gonzales. Fester’s eyes widened. It was too late. BLAM!!! Fester died instantly. The Jetta jerked backwards, then stalled. Señora Gonzales made the sign of the cross over herself. She turned and walked away. **** 16 de Septiembre 0328 hr. Ciudad de Mexico…

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“It’s almost as bad as the front entrance, sir!” said the driver of the lead Suburban. Fabio leaned forward, looking through the windshield. “Jesus! Watch out!” said Fabio. There were two bodies in the dirt in front of them. The driver slammed on the brakes. Everyone was tossed about in their seats. Ana Lilia laughed. She looked back up. Her expression paled. Fabio noticed. He looked in the direction of her gaze. In the road ahead, a very familiar person stood illuminated by the headlights. “Eduardo!” said Fabio. “Quick! Kill the lights! Kill the lights!” **** 16 de Septiembre 0328 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… It was madness. Bodies lay in the dirt, trampled under foot and tire. Ian’s heart beat in his throat. The night air was full, with the sounds of sirens. The gates were just ahead. 20 meters… Ian tried not to think of Rosa del Mar. 15 meters… He could still see her face. His eyes welled up with tears. 10 meters… He shook the image from his mind. 5 meters… He was almost there, almost free now. Ian smiled. A sense of relief washed over him. Pop. There was a sound like a firecracker. Ian’s legs gave out. He didn’t understand. He found himself lying on his back, staring up at the night sky.

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It was hard to breathe. Someone was standing over him now. The man pointed a pistol down at him. Ian understood. “Rosa,” said Ian. BLAM!!! **** 16 de Septiembre 0329 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… “No!!!” said Ana Lilia. She looked on in horror as Eduardo shot Ian a second time. “Shut up!” said Fabio, clapping a hand over Ana Lilia’s mouth. **** 16 de Septiembre 0329 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Eduardo jogged back towards the white cargo van. He strained under the weight of the black duffel bag as he ran. He looked down at the bodies of Manuel and Cuauhtémoc. He didn’t stop though. The sound of the sirens drove him on. He dropped the duffel bag to the ground behind the white cargo van. He fished for the keys in his pants pockets. “Paco!?” said Eduardo, in the direction of the Mercedes. “Well, if it isn’t my best friend in the entire world…” said Fabio’s voice, from behind him. Eduardo froze. “Don’t even think about it, Eduardo…” said Fabio. Eduardo looked over his shoulder. It was too late. Five shirtless panaderos, in black socks and white boxer shorts, seized him. They relieved him of the pistol, the bag, and his car keys. Fabio stepped aside. They shoved Eduardo into the back of the second Suburban. A panadero sat on each side of him.

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Another panadero unlocked the van, and climbed behind the wheel. Fabio climbed back into the lead Suburban, next to Ana Lilia. He shut the door. “Drive,” said Fabio. The two Suburbans and the van drove around the bodies of Cuauhtémoc and Manuel. They eased their way around the other fallen bodies, and out through the back gates of the yard. **** 16 de Septiembre 0330 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Paco watched the caravan drive through the back gates, from the corner of the administration building. “Shit!” he said. Paco ran to the Mercedes. He climbed behind the wheel. He pulled the cell phone from his hip. **** 16 de Septiembre 0331 hr. Ciudad de Mexico… Fabio held his breath. A motorcade of police cars, motorcycles, and vans sped past them, heading toward Ameritrans. The Suburban turned right, down another dirt road, and away from danger. Fabio exhaled with relief. He looked over his shoulder. The other Suburban and the van were right behind them. He smiled. A white Crown Victoria skidded to a stop, blocking the road ahead of them. Fabio’s driver slammed on the breaks. Four more unmarked Crown Victories appeared out of nowhere, boxing in the two Suburbans and the van. Men in SWAT

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uniforms rushed from the cars holding MP-5 submachine guns. They wore baseball caps with the letters D.E.A. across the front in yellow. “Get your hands up!” “Everybody out of the vehicle, now!” “Keep your hands where I can see them!” “On the ground, now!” The agents barked orders. They disarmed Fabio and his men. Eduardo, Fabio, and Ana Lilia all ended up in the backseat of the same Crown Victoria in handcuffs. Ana Lilia was in the middle. Two agents climbed into the front seats. The procession pulled away. “Are you happy now?” said Eduardo. He leaned forward, struggling against the handcuffs behind his back. He looked over at Fabio. “Did it have to come to this, Fabíto?” Fabio leaned across Ana Lilia. The handcuffs bit into his wrists. “You listen to me, Eduardo,” said Fabio, low enough so that the agents in the front seat couldn’t hear him. “You are going to take the fall on this. You will not implicate me in any way. The mercancia is yours, understand?” Ana Lilia was crying. “Shut up!” said Fabio, in a whisper through his teeth. Ana Lilia took a deep breath, trying to calm down. “And if I do not agree?” said Eduardo. Fabio leaned in closer. “If you don’t, you are a dead man. ¿Me entiendes? I’m not fucking around with you, Eduardo. You will do this,” said Fabio. Eduardo looked at Ana Lilia, then out of his window. The city rolled by outside. He sighed. “Bueno,” said Eduardo. “If it is the only way… well, what else can I do?” “Bueno,” said Fabio. He sat back in his seat. “Ana?” said Eduardo. “Go to hell,” said Ana Lilia. Her eyes flashed with hatred. “Ana, please,” said Eduardo, “please listen to me.”

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“No, you listen to me,” said Ana Lilia. “You are dead to me now. I don’t give a fuck what happens to you anymore. When all of this is over, I’m returning to Colombia with Fabíto.” “Don’t say that, Ana,” said Eduardo. “Fabíto… you wouldn’t do that to your oldest friend, would you?” Fabio leaned forward. “Eduardo, you are in no position to ask for anything,” said Fabio. “You will do what you are told, period. And as far as Aníta is concerned, now that I think about it, I just may take her back with me after all.” He smiled. The caravan of Crown Victorias turned onto a dirt road. They drove through the gates of some sort of trucking yard. They parked. The two agents climbed out of the car, leaving Eduardo, Ana Lilia, and Fabio in the backseat. Crack. The distinct sound of a gunshot made all three of them look over their shoulders. Crack. Crack. Crack. Crack. Five shots. There was a sound of several footsteps approaching. Eduardo’s door jerked open. Two agents pulled him roughly from the backseat. Fabio and Ana Lilia watched in terror. The agents turned Eduardo around. Ana Lilia’s eyes widened. The agent uncuffed Eduardo. Several more agents appeared. They were slapping each other on the back, and laughing. Eduardo embraced one of them. He handed Eduardo a Desert Eagle. It was Paco. Eduardo walked back over to the open back seat door. He was smiling. He placed one arm on the roof, and leaned inside.

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Fabio began to urinate on himself. “Eduardo…” said Fabio, “I… I didn’t… I didn’t mean…” “I know, Fabíto,” said Eduardo, cutting him off. “And I forgive you, compadre.” He pointed the Desert Eagle at Fabio’s face. “Goodbye, my friend.” BLAM!!! Ana Lilia screamed. She was showered with blood and brain matter. Eduardo placed the barrel of the Desert Eagle to Ana Lilia’s forehead. “Go On!” she said. “Go ahead!!! I don’t care!!!!” Eduardo’s finger trembled in the trigger well. “I don’t care!!!!!” said Ana Lilia. “No,” said Eduardo. He removed the pistol from her head. “That’s too easy. That’s too good for you, mi reina, my little queen… Perhaps it would be better to leave you be, alone, poor, to fend for yourself for a change… Yes…” He smiled. Ana Lilia’s face paled. “You were made for this city, Ana. And here you shall stay. Adiós.” He turned his back on her, and walked away. Paco walked up alongside Eduardo. Around the Gutierrez Trucking yard, Paco’s ‘cleaning crew’ began to remove all evidence of foul play. “Eduardo!!!!!” said Ana Lilia, from the backseat of the Crown Victoria behind them. Paco and Eduardo continued to walk. “Eduardo!!!!!!” “So now what, señor?” said Paco. Eduardo smiled. “I think it’s about time you stopped calling me sir,” said Eduardo. Paco smiled.

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Eduardo’s Mercedes was parked up ahead. “Okay, Eduardo,” said Paco, “so now what do we do?” “Do you still want to work with me?” said Eduardo. “Of course,” said Paco. “Are you willing to travel?” “Sure.” “And how do you feel about Swiss cuisine?” said Eduardo. “I suppose I could get used to it,” said Paco. He shrugged his shoulders. Eduardo nodded his head. “Paco…?” said Eduardo, “This looks like-” “Like the beginning of a beautiful friendship?” said Paco. They both laughed. “Exactamente,” said Eduardo. “Exactamente…” The alarm of the Mercedes chirped twice. Eduardo sat in the passenger seat. Paco drove. They turned right, onto the dirt road, out of jeopardy, away from El Paniquiado, and into the bright future, rising on the eastern horizon. EL FIN.

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