Yeah, to murder him would be wrong … but somehow, it feels so right …

Outside, the sounds of the men unpacking the truck could clearly be heard, but he knew they would not hear the shot. I wonder if El Pero has even heard of an Italian silencer …

El Pero’s body went rigid and he belched in pain, letting go of Lily’s hair and looking back over his shoulder. Jack had rammed the pistol so hard, that his own knuckles were between El Pero’s fat buttocks.

“You like things up the ass, fatso?” asked Jack.

El Pero’s eyes went wide with fright, his buttocks automatically clenching tighter as he gasped and his lips floundered as his brain searched for what to say.

“You have the right to remain silent,” said Jack, as he pulled the trigger.

The muffled explosion that followed caused El Pero’s body to immediately go limp when the bullet travelled from his rectum, up through his intestines, stomach, and heart before stopping at his shoulder blade.

“Come on, we’ve got to get out of here,” said Jack, grabbing El Pero by the arm and rolling his body off of Lily, who lay collapsed under his weight. “Are you able to walk?”

Lily half-rolled on her side and stared up at Jack in shock, but didn’t respond.

“Did you hear me?” asked Jack. “We don’t have much time. Are you able to walk?”

“Why aren’t you wearing any clothes?” Lily asked tearfully.

“Christ, I’m not here to —” Jack paused, shocked that Lily would even think what she was thinking. He sighed and said, “I’m not wearing any clothes because they took them from me. They were torturing me, too. Come on, I came to take you back to Canada.”

“Oh,” replied Lily in shock. She blinked her eyes a couple of times and looked at Jack as he grabbed her arm and said, “Your head … you’re bleeding really bad! You’ll never be able to save —”

“Keep your voice down. Head wounds tend to look worse than they are. I’ve cut myself shaving worse than this. We don’t have time to talk. There are men outside unloading a truck. We only have a couple of minutes. Come on, let’s see if you can stand.”

Lily slowly pushed herself back up on one knee as Jack held her arm and helped her to her feet. She stood wobbling for a moment.

“You’re doing good,” said Jack, trying to sound encouraging. “Can you walk on your own?”

“I think I can,” she replied and Jack cautiously let go. She took one step and stumbled, but Jack caught her before she collapsed and lowered her back to a sitting position on the mattress.

“I can’t,” she said, her voice becoming louder as panic overcame her shock.

“Shhh! Don’t worry. I thought you might not be able to walk so I have a plan. Wait here and try to catch your breath. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Jack didn’t wait for a reply. Still holding the empty revolver, he grabbed El Pero’s pants and ran back to the laundry room, checking the pants pockets on the way. They were empty. What? You leave your cellphone in the SUV … probably along with your spare bullets … You fat bastard … wish you hadn’t died so fast …

Jack knew El Pero’s pants were far too big for him, so he grabbed his own pants and shirt from the laundry room, but did not take the time to put them on as he padded barefoot out to the kitchen and peeked out the window.

The men had unloaded boxes from a cube van that had a tomato logo on the side of it. A few boxes had been piled to one side and the men were putting the other boxes back in the truck. Jack knew he only had a minute or two left before they would be back in the house.

chapter forty-one

Berto was the first to enter the kitchen as the truck drove away. He grunted as he set a box down on the floor, then turned and wiped his brow and looked at Sanchez and Eduardo who had entered behind him, each carrying a box. He saw Sanchez’s face pale as he stood clutching the box while staring at the floor.

Berto looked to see what the problem was … and then saw the bright red drops of blood leading across the yellow-tiled floor to the counter, which was partially open.

The two mercenaries outside heard the frantic yelling of the men inside. In unison, they dropped the boxes they were carrying and with weapons in hand, burst into the kitchen.

Eduardo pointed to a bloody hand mark on the wall beside the key rack as Sanchez ran down the hall.

Seconds later, Sanchez hollered to confirm that Jack had escaped. He emitted a much louder yell when he screamed that the girl was gone and El Pero was dead.

Eduardo and Berto left the mercenaries to guard the tunnel and ran to the bedroom and stood beside Sanchez as they stared at El Pero’s body. A feeling of dread engulfed them as the realization sunk in that Big Al’s favourite nephew had been murdered … on their watch.

Moments later, the men huddled over the entrance to the tunnel. Berto bent down and flicked on the light switch, but the tunnel remained in darkness. An indentation in the wood revealed where Jack had used the barrel of the revolver to pry a wire lose from the switch.

Berto immediately called the men on the American side of the tunnel. They had not seen or heard anything yet, but would wait with their weapons poised should Jack and the girl attempt to break out at their end. When Berto hung up, he stared at Sanchez.

Sanchez swallowed nervously.

“You do it,” ordered Berto.

Sanchez nodded and used his cellphone to call Big Al.

Adams and Rubalcava were entering the outskirts of Juarez when they saw Big Al’s SUV speeding past in the opposite direction.

“What the hell? Now what?” questioned Adams.

“He couldn’t have been that far ahead of us,” noted Rubalcava. “I don’t think he would have had time to drop Jack off yet.”

“Maybe they forgot something,” suggested Adams. He looked back at the SUV and added, “Christ, whoever is driving is going like a bat out of hell.”

“Jack said they wanted him out of Casa Blanca before a delivery came. Maybe that is why the big hurry.”

Adams didn’t respond as he spun the wheel hard to turn around and follow.

Big Al’s SUV continued to drive at high speed. Adams attempted to keep up for a few minutes, but knew at the speed they were going it would make it too obvious, so he dropped farther back in traffic. They were close enough, however, that when they passed the fruit stand they were able to see a cloud of dust billow over the small hill and know it was Big Al’s vehicle pulling away from the vicinity of where the crew-cab truck was blocking the road.

“Back to the tower?” suggested Rubalcava.

Minutes later, Adams hollered down from the tower. “Little change except the SUV with the two snipers has moved back to its original position on the far hill. The ambush past the fruit stand is still in place like before.”

“Maybe in a few minutes we’ll see Big Al’s SUV returning.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Big Al pulled up to the doorstep and ran into the house. “Where is he?” he asked.

“They’re in the tunnel,” replied Berto.

“Not that piece of shit gringo! My nephew! Where —”

“He was shot in the bedroom,” said Sanchez. “I’ll show you.”

Big Al, Sanchez, Berto, and Eduardo went back down the hall while the two mercenaries stayed to cover the entrance to the tunnel.

Big Al walked into the room and saw his nephew lying on his back on the mattress with his legs over the side. He was naked from the waist down and blood and bodily fluids had oozed out from his buttocks. His lifeless eyes, already dry from evaporation, stared dully up at the ceiling. His fat face was even more grotesquely distorted, like a rubber mask.