Up the embankment, several more gunshots tore through the early morning stillness. He heard shouting and then he heard more bullets and the shouting stopped.
Then, suddenly, besides the sound of the burning SUVs, there was silence.
Horacio paused. Was that it? Was it over?
He glanced up the embankment and saw the figure standing there. It held a rifle at its side. It didn’t move for a long moment, but it was more than enough time for Horacio to raise his pistol.
The figure was quicker, squeezing off a single round.
Horacio’s other leg screamed in pain as the bullet tore into his thigh.
He dropped the pistol and went to grab it again, conscious of the fact that the figure was making its way down the embankment. It wasn’t even hurrying, knowing that it had time. All the time in the world.
Or no—that wasn’t right. The figure was limping, favoring its left leg. Based on the blood soaking the pant leg, the figure had been shot.
Horacio’s fingers grasped the pistol and he raised it again, but suddenly the figure was right there beside him. The figure bent down and tore the pistol from Horacio’s grasp, tossed it toward the burning SUV.
The figure wore all camouflage. And a black mask. Only the eyes could be seen, though with the lack of light, Horacio could hardly see them.
It didn’t matter, though. Horacio’s gut told him this was the Devil. No doubt about it.
Horacio knew he was going to die, so he figured what the fuck, might as well go out in a blaze of glory.
“We tricked you, you son of a whore. You thought we were transporting them, but that was just what we wanted you to think.”
The Devil said nothing. He leaned on his right leg while his left leg continued to bleed.
Horacio hawked a loogie to spit at the Devil.
“We outsmarted you, you piece of shit. You’ll never get to them.”
The Devil set his rifle aside on the ground and stepped close to Horacio.
Horacio said, “Get it over with and kill me, motherfucker. I won’t tell you shit.”
The Devil reached for his belt, unsheathed a long knife.
“You think death is the end?”
There was something wrong with the Devil’s voice. It sounded muffled, though it wasn’t because of the mask. There was something internally wrong, like the man’s lungs and vocal box had been damaged.
The Devil crouched down beside Horacio. He held up the knife, and slowly moved the blade so its tip touched the space between Horacio’s eyes.
“There are some things worse than death.”
Keeping the tip of the knife pressed against the space between Horacio’s eyes, the Devil used his other hand to pull up the mask.
Horacio had been prepared for it, but the sight was still enough to make him cringe. Only it didn’t manage to distract him from his true intention—which was reaching for his own knife sheathed to his belt.
With the Devil so close, Horacio jerked up and plunged the blade into the Devil’s side.
The Devil grunted, fell to a knee. With his free hand, he punched Horacio in the face, then gripped the knife from Horacio’s hand and flung it away. The Devil rose up, pressing his hand against the new wound.
Grinning, Horacio whispered, “I won’t tell you where they are.”
The Devil grunted again and crouched back down, carefully this time, pressing the tip of the blade even harder against the space between Horacio’s eyes.
“Yes, you will.”
Thirty-Two
I don’t have any nightmares, but I don’t sleep well either.
I spend the few remaining hours of night on Gabriela’s bedroom floor. She’s given me pillows and a blanket, and I lie on my back staring at the ceiling. Carlos’s gun—a nine-millimeter Glock—is only inches away. If need be, I can grab it within seconds.
Sleep comes and goes, and in the morning when Gabriela stirs, I’m already wide-awake.
She sits up and looks down at me, frowning.
“Didn’t you get any sleep?”
“Maybe an hour or two.”
“You look exhausted.”
“I am exhausted.”
“Is it because you’re on the floor? If you want, you can try to sleep in my bed.”
“I’m okay.”
I’m not, though, and it’s obvious. It’s been days since I got a full six hours of sleep. They say the body needs at least eight hours of sleep, and maybe that’s true, but in my line of work, I’m lucky if I can get six consecutive hours.
Except I’m not in any line of work anymore. Those days are behind me. Now I’m … well, just what the hell am I?
Gabriela takes a shower in the bathroom down the hall. I lie on the floor and stare at the ceiling, deciding what needs to be done next. When Gabriela enters the bedroom, wrapped in a towel, she tosses an extra towel at me.
“Are you going to shower?”
Oh yes.
Standing under the warm water beating on my skin, I’m half tempted to close my eyes and fall asleep. But I don’t. I’m in and out, as fast as possible, and when I return to Gabriela’s room she has some clothes waiting for me.
“We’re about the same size. You’re a little thinner than me, but I think these clothes will fit you.”
I thank her for the thought but tell her I’ll just wear the clothes from yesterday again.
She shakes her head.
“Absolutely not. They’re filthy. And there’s even some blood on them.”
In the end I relent. Her jeans and T-shirt fit just fine, and once I’m dressed and have my hair dry, I head downstairs to find Gabriela has woken her grandmother from her grandmother’s first-floor bedroom. She helps her grandmother into the kitchen. She pulls out a chair at the table and eases her grandmother down.
Her grandmother smiles at me, as if just seeing me for the first time.
“Buenos días.”
I smile and nod and repeat the same.
Gabriela drifts over to the refrigerator, glances back at me.
“Would you like breakfast? We normally only have protein shakes in the morning, but we have some eggs and bread if you’d like that.”
“I’ll have
