She heard squealing and a child’s footsteps just before the door opened wide. Sin quickly hid the gun as a fifteen-year-old, brown-eyed beauty leaped into her arms.
“Serena, don’t hurt our angel before she even has a chance to say hello.”
Sin knew the deep baritone voice belonged to Serena’s father, Manuel.
“Si, Papa,” Serena said.
She begrudgingly stopped hugging Sin, but held tight to her hand as she led her into their small home.
The home, though tiny by U.S. standards, was warm and had a peace about it. A peace that didn’t exist a few years earlier.
During Sin’s last mission in Nicaragua, the mission in which she captured Veloz, she had rescued Serena from the skin smugglers and returned her to her distraught father. Manuel had lost his wife to dysentery and Serena was his entire life. He tried to give Sin money, the little he had, but she refused. He swore his life to her and promised to be there for her if she ever needed anything.
It was time to pay the debt.
Manuel explained that Serena had been up all night waiting for her ‘angel.’ Sin spent the next two hours talking to the young girl about all the things young girls don’t feel comfortable talking to their fathers about. By the time Serena was talked out, she was exhausted, and fell asleep in Sin’s arms. Once she was tucked in, Sin made her way to the small kitchen. The smell of coffee and tobacco helped energize her. Two cups of dark, muddy coffee and three hand-rolled Honduran cigarettes later, Sin was ready to run laps.
“So tell me, Angel,” Manuel said, “what can I do for you?”
“Did you get what I asked for?”
“Si, a motorcycle. It isn’t much, but it is the best I could do.”
He led her out back and pulled a tarp off of an old Honda 250 Enduro Dirt Bike―built for rough terrain―perfect for where Sin needed to go.
Sin squatted beside it and began to check out the bike.
“I know it doesn’t look like much, but I assure you it is in good running condition and will get you to Puerto Cabezas without any problems.”
Sin nodded and stood up.
“Now, Angel, you will come back inside and have something to eat before you leave, and maybe,” Manuel stared at Sin with penetrating black eyes, “you will tell me why you have come.”
Sin ate some homemade bread and fresh eggs from Manuel’s chickens and told him that Veloz was free and living in Puerto Cabezas.
He was stunned.
“Angel, you must be mistaken. We were told that he was put to death for his crimes. You, yourself, captured the devil.”
“I know, it came to a shock to me also, but it is true. The devil lives.”
Manuel shook with nerves. His shirt began to show patches of sweat.
“Manuel, look at me,” Sin whispered.
He continued to stare off in the direction of his daughter’s room.
“Manuel.”
His eyes cut to Sin.
“I promise you that he will never know who helped me.”
Manuel nodded, but he didn’t seem any more reassured than a moment ago.
“And I promise you, he will never harm you or Serena ever again.”
Manuel left the room and came back with an engraved box. “I made this for you after you left. I promised that if I ever saw you again I would give it to you.” He held the box at arms’ length.
Sin took it and sat down. She ran her hands over the intricate engraving of an angel surrounded by little girls. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “Thank you.”
“Open it,” Manuel gestured.
Sin opened the hinged lid and removed a piece of white cloth. What was inside took her breath away. She reached in and removed a pearl handled Balisong or butterfly knife. She held it by the safe handle and flipped open the blade. With her free hand, she ran her fingers over the side edge of the blade. It was so sharp, Sin knew it would cut through whatever she needed with ease. She put her free hand down and with a series of wrist flips, Sin put the Balisong through its paces. She flipped it open and closed, spun it, and changed it from one hand to another with blinding speed and dexterity.
With a final flick of her wrist, she closed it and gripped it in her fist. “It’s beautiful, but I can’t accept it. It must have cost you a fortune.”
Manuel closed his hand over hers. “You gave me back my daughter. There is no price I can ever put on that.” Sin swallowed hard, holding back her emotions. “Promise me one thing,” Manuel said through clenched teeth, tears running down his cheeks. “Promise me you will use it to end Veloz’s reign of terror.”
Sin placed the Balisong in the back pocket of her black jeans. “You have my word, Manuel. He will never hurt anyone again.”
By daybreak, Sin had made it across the border into Nicaragua. By her estimation, she still had another six hours to ride before she reached the Condominio Elegante in the port town of Puerto Cabezas, Nicaragua. The key was to stay unnoticed until she wanted to be noticed.
Sin stayed to rutted, dirt roads and kept her speed down as she passed through the towns and villages in southern Nicaragua.
By the time she stopped for dinner in a small cantina on the outskirts of the city known to be loyal to Veloz, it was raining. Nothing unusual for this part of the world. In a local café, she enjoyed a bowl of Gallo Pinto—a Nicaraguan staple made from a mixture of fried rice, onion, sweet pepper, red beans, and garlic; all mixed and fried together. She noticed a young boy who kept staring at her while she ate. The boy seemed tentative—bordering on scared.
She knew she had made her presence known.
Sin sat back and drank her coffee, purposely let her jacket fall to the side allowing the boy the chance to get a peek at her pearl-handled semiautomatic. She
