Revenge of the Assassin

Firearms had allowed thousands of weapons to be purchased in the U.S. and smuggled to cartels in Mexico, which were then used to murder countless people, including cartel members, American border patrol agents, Mexican policemen and soldiers, as well as the usual scores of innocents who were unlucky enough to be in the line of fire. The ATF had allowed the weapons to be shipped to Mexico for years, knowing full well who the customers were, and had lied to Congress about the program.

Briones shook his head. “Most of the weapons have been traced to the Sinaloa cartel, but from there it’s a black hole. Some of them have been recovered, but the majority are still floating around on the street. We got a lead on a warehouse that was supposed to have a few hundred weapons stored, but as you may recall, that turned out to be a false alarm — or the guns had been moved by the time we made it in,” Briones recounted bitterly.

“That’s the chicken ranch, right?” Cruz asked.

The weapons had been reputed to have been stored at a farm that raised fighting cocks for chicken fights. The only thing that their raid had yielded was hundreds of combative birds and a disgruntled owner. Someone had tipped the press, and the laughable image of heavily-armed Federales toting assault rifles juxtaposed against a backdrop of roosters in pens had circulated in the papers for weeks, embarrassing everyone concerned, including Cruz, who had authorized the raid. Briones had led the strike that day, and for the second time in a year, been the public face of law enforcement run amok.

“How can I forget? My cousins gave me shit about being a chicken molester for a month,” Briones muttered.

“All right. Are we done for now? I have a mountain of paperwork I need to catch up on here. Do you need anything? Maybe a warrant to detain and body search some poultry?” Cruz inquired innocently.

“No, sir. But thank you for the support. I’ll let you know as circumstances change on the bodega. Oh, and we got an international inquiry circulated our way on El Rey. Routine. We were flagged automatically on the distribution list.”

“Haven’t heard that name for a while. I suppose we’re the experts on him now that the task force got dismantled…” Cruz observed.

Since the assassination attempt, the three-year-old task force, which had proved completely inept at anything but burning money while delivering zero results, had been closed down, and its responsibilities incorporated into Cruz’s organization. He had two officers who worked part time on the El Rey case whenever the name came up, as opposed to the thirty full-time staffers upstairs who’d been employed at the task force’s peak. The notorious hit man had vanished without a trace after the unsuccessful attempt on the former president and hadn’t been heard from since. Perhaps that was for the best, Cruz reasoned.

“It was just a routine inquiry, looks like. Wanted more information on him. Nothing more,” Briones confirmed. “The probe came through Interpol, and we sent the usual package of data back — the photo, a few of the better sketches, and his dossier. Maybe he’s in South America now? Taken up cattle ranching?”

“As long as he’s not here making our lives miserable. Although I have to admit that aside from his hits on politicians, he was doing the world a favor executing the cartel targets. Some would argue the same about targeting the politicians, too…” Cruz mused.

Briones smiled. He shared his superior’s disdain for elected officials.

“All right. Thanks for the briefing. Let’s get together this afternoon and compare notes. Please close the door on the way out and spread the word that I’ll shoot anyone who interrupts me before lunch,” Cruz ordered.

Briones paused at the door. “Did you ask her?” he inquired softly on his way out.

Cruz grinned lopsidedly. “She said yes.”

“I knew you were in trouble when I first set eyes on her,” Briones finished. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks. And you were right about being in trouble. But listen. Keep the news of our engagement to yourself. I don’t want to be the subject of any gossip, and you know how word spreads…”

There were also safety concerns. The image of his family’s heads showing up in a box was still fresh in his mind, and he didn’t want to make Dinah any more of a target than she already was.

“Of course. Congratulations all the same.”

Chapter 5

“Jania — what’s wrong? What is it?” Antonio asked, as her voice trembled over the phone. It was morning, and she was calling twenty minutes before the shop was supposed to open. A first for her. She’d been as reliable as the rising sun…until now.

“It’s my uncle. Gustavo. He’s been murdered.” She choked on the final word, unable to go on.

“Murdered? Good Lord, Jania. What happened? Are you all right?”

“The police found him this morning and called me as next of kin. Someone broke in last night and killed him in his home office. Stabbed him with a letter opener. It’s horrible. The officer wouldn’t go into detail, but…”

“Oh my God. That’s unbelievable, Jania. I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do for you? Anything you need?” he offered.

“No. I don’t think so. It’s just…I mean, he was just an old man. What kind of sick bastard would kill a helpless old man?” Jania seemed confused by her question. Antonio knew better than to try to answer.

“Do they have any leads?” He stopped. “Is this kind of thing common in Mendoza?”

“No. I mean, there are robberies, of course. Just like anywhere. But a vicious murder like this in a good neighborhood…it’s very rare. I’ve never heard of anything like it,” Jania explained.

“So it’s a robbery gone wrong?”

“That’s what the police think. The officer was very nice on the phone. I’ll know more once I go down to the station. They want to take a statement from me. I don’t know how long that will take. That’s one of the reasons I’m calling — I don’t think I’m going to be in today. This is such a shock, and I have no idea what’s involved in claiming the body, or dealing with the cops…” Jania stuttered to a halt.

“Don’t worry about anything here. I can look after the shop in your absence. Take as much time as you need, and don’t come back to work until everything’s settled on your end.” Antonio paused. “I’m so sorry about Gustavo. He was a wonderful man.”

“Thank you. You don’t know how much that means to me.”

“Take care, and do what you need to do. I’ll be here when you’re done.”

Antonio carefully placed the handset back into the cradle and considered the front door of the shop, which was still locked.

So the police had found Gustavo murdered with a letter opener and suspected a robbery gone wrong.

Just as he’d hoped when he’d plunged the spike through the bastard’s chin and up into his brain, after kindly old uncle Gustavo had invited him over for a chat and a glass of wine. The topic had taken a turn for the worse when Gustavo had revealed his research into his true identity and concluded that he was an internationally notorious assassin hiding in Mendoza. The old man had laid out the evidence and given Antonio an ultimatum: either work for him in taking care of some problems in Buenos Aires with his criminal syndicate, or be exposed and the target of a manhunt.

At first he’d pretended surprise and shock, but the old man had been relentless. Ultimately, Antonio had agreed to do as Gustavo wanted after being assured that nobody else knew what he’d discovered. He had done his level best to appear amenable. It sounded like child’s play, actually, to terminate the chieftains who were skimming from Gustavo’s take. The only real problem was that he didn’t respond well to blackmail, or to anyone knowing his identity, even if Gustavo was an outwardly gentle soul who was just trying to get his needs met. And so El Rey had palmed the letter opener when Gustavo had sealed the arrangement with a proposal of a glass of rare Cobos Reserve Malbec and had leapt across his desk and skewered his brain when he’d swiveled around from the credenza to the desk with the bottle — which he’d caught with his free hand and had taken home with him, to be savored as an after-dinner treat.

He’d made short work of wiping Gustavo’s computer of any incriminating files and had painstakingly cleaned the handle of the letter opener, still protruding from the old crook’s chin, his eyes open in shocked surprise, staring off into oblivion as if regretting his ultimate misjudgment.

El Rey’s pulse hadn’t increased from the effort, nor had he been particularly upset