Savages

  Now Momzoid, when I say I’m coming home, I don’t mean home. Well, for a little bit, maybe, but then I’m going to move out. About time, huh-duh? The thing of it is, I think I need to create a you know. (Sans coach, that is.) I’m not even sure yet what that really means, but it has to mean something. I might even go overseas (again) to do some humanatarian work. You know, like aid stuff. You remember my friend Ben? I might go with him and another friend, Chon, to do some useful type stuff in Indoneesia. Dig wells or something like that. CanU picture that? Your useless little girl with a shovel in her hands?

  Luv u,

  O

  247

  Gun shop Barney is an inveterate listener to right-wing talk-show radio.

  Anyway, Barney hears all about the massacre on the highway and gleans the additional news, welcome other than the fact that he has six less Mexicans to worry about. What he hears is the leaked info about the .50 rounds found in and around the said dead Cans and the speculation that the first shots were fired from a distance—

  —well no fucking shit, you don’t use no Barrett Model 90 for close work—

  —and he sees a chance to do himself some good.

  See, Barney lives on the border.

  Yeah, okay, everyone in this fucking life does, but Barney lives on the border and what that really means these days is that he lives as much in Mexico as he does in the USofA.

  He don’t like it, he ain’t happy about it, but the facts is the facts.

  Don’t matter what the Border Patrol says, what the Minutemen say, what any dickhead in DC says, this country is run as much or more by the Baja Cartel.

  Just something Barney had to work with.

  Which he does pretty well, seeing as how they’re his best customer.

  He don’t let that out, because his second-best customers are the right-wingers, who, like Barney, hate Mexicans, but Barney’s got stacks and stacks of medical bills, the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives is all over his ass—we’re talking the possibility of him spending his golden years dodging the niggers and the shit in a federal penitentiary—so now he has a choice to make.

  Which government does he call?

  Which one can he trust?

  Which will do him the most good?

  He turns down the radio so he can talk on the phone.

  Lado is very pleased to hear from him and believes, yes, they can do a little “horse tradin’.”

  (Gringo cracker pendejo.)

  Then Lado hears which pony ole Barney has to trade and

  —he’s not happy.

  248

  Lado isn’t happy, but Elena is furious.

  Out of her skull angry.

  Because she feels like a fool.

  She let these Americans dupe her and now she wonders if she let her fondness for (or fascination with?) the girl get in the way of her better judgment.

  Settling into the new American house—

  Well, compound, really, a new fortress set in the remote desert, with more yards of barbed wire, alarms, sound and motion sensors, armed men patrolling in four-wheel-drive vehicles and ATVs, all on high alert since the last assassination attempts—

  —is sadly easy. Another set of clothes, sets of linens, towels, toiletries, kitchen appliances that have never been used to fix a meal, all as sterile as her present life. Lado’s wife, the perfect hostess, a lady-in-waiting, has come personally to see that everything is in order. Even the surrounding desert seems too clean—scrubbed by wind and bleached by the sun, an exterior to match her sparse interior landscape.

  Thirst.

  She thinks about her new life as a refugee.

  A billionaire mujado, a wetback with greenbacks.

  Lado has prepared this (sere) ground against this day, when the cartel would have to leave Mexico and take up a new existence in this new and savage land. Everything is in place—the safe houses, stash houses, the markets, and the men. The DEA generously bribed, her presence here duly un-noted.

  She had hoped to leave the bloodletting behind, and now this.

  A war that came with her.

  A betrayal of her trust.

  And now the necessity to commit yet another atrocity.

  She gets on the phone to Lado.

  “Bring Magda here.”

  “She won’t want to come.”

  “Did I ask you what she wants?” Elena snaps.

  The silence of acquiescence. She’s used to that in men—passivity is their small rebellion. It seems to keep their precious cojones in place.

  Then Lado asks, cruelly, “What about the girl? The other one.”

  “We have no choice but to follow through.”

  “I agree.”

  Did I ask if you agreed? Elena thinks, but keeps the thought to herself. What she’s asking him to do is enough without adding her bitchiness to it. She knows what’s behind it, too—she doesn’t want to kill this girl.

  Elena sits down at the computer and turns on the monitor.

  The girl is in her room—at a ranch just a few miles away—lying on her back, doing her nails.

  In preparation, Elena thinks, for going home.

  You do not want to kill this girl because she reminds you of your own wild child, of yourself during your brief flash of freedom in what now seems another lifetime.

  Well, if you do not wish to kill her, don’t.

  It is your choice, you don’t have to answer to anyone.

  Elena recognizes this for what it is—a moment of rebellion against the present state of her life, against what she’s become.

  A forlorn hope.

  If you do not kill this girl—if you do not do exactly what you promised to do—then you put your own children at risk. Because the savages will see you as weak, and they will come for you and yours.

  Lado has waited patiently.

  She says, “Do it. And I want them to see it.”

  I am the Red Queen.

  Off with her head.

  “Do you want to be there?” Lado asks.

  “No,” Elena says.

  But she’ll make herself watch it on the screen. If you can order it, she demands of herself, you can watch it.

  “I want it done before Magda gets here,” she adds.

  “It will take me a little time to get there,” Lado says.

  “As soon as possible, please,” she says. She has another thought. “Get in touch with these bastards. Let them know.”

  Let them suffer.

  249

  Ben and Chon wait by the computer.

  The instructions come at two o’clock.

  You can watch her die at 6.

  We know you did it.

  You’re next.

  250

  They have four hours.

  To do what?

  They know she’s at one of three places in the desert, but what are they going to do? Pick one and hope they get lucky? And even if it is the right place—

  “We’d never make it in,” Chon says. “And they’d kill her when the shooting started.”

  “What are we going to do?” Ben asks. “Sit and watch?”

  “No,” Chon says.

  We’re not going to do that.

  251

  CI 1459 has given Dennis a lot of good shit over the years.

  Helped him take down two of the Lauter brothers and put them in jail. Put a few straws in the broom with which Dennis tried to sweep back the ocean of drugs coming from the Baja Cartel.

  In turn Dennis rewarded him with a

  Green Card

  Sanctuary

  A New Identity.

  Now Lado calls to tell him something that he already knows—Elena Sanchez Lauter is on her way to a “safe house” in the desert.

  He gives Dennis the exact location.

  Did the dumb cunt think that he was preparing the ground for her? The years of work, of killing, for her and not himself? Yes, Your Majesty. Sí, Elena La Reina?

  So the DEA will arrest Elena, and
no one can blame Lado. And no one will want the weak-kneed son to take her place so there will be nowhere to turn but him. And he will make El Azul a peace offer—a fifty-fifty split of the American plaza.

  Azul will not refuse.

  It’s a home run.

  252

  Dennis gets in the car.

  “They have the girl,” Ben says.

  “Who?”

  “The girl you met with us,” Chon says. “They’re going to kill her.”

  Ben says, “Elena Sanchez Lauter has a daughter, Magdalena. She’s a student at Irvine.”

  “Jesus, Ben.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Are you out of your mind?” Dennis asks.

  “Yes,” Ben says. “Tell us where to find her.”

  Dennis looks down at his gut. When he looks up his eyes are wet. “I’m into them, Ben. Big-time. Mid–six figures.”

  “Fuck, Dennis.”

  “Fuck, indeed, Ben.”

  “Where’s the daughter?”

  “Jesus, Ben, they’ll kill my family.”

  “I’ll give you money,” Ben says. “Run with your family, tonight. But you’re going to tell me.”

  Dennis thinks about this for a second, then gets out of the car.

  The northbound Metrolink is coming up from Oceanside. The train where you can see dolphins and whales from the seaside windows.

  He walks over to the track.

  Ben jumps out of the car.

  Too late.

  Dennis steps onto the rails.

  253

  “She has to live somewhere,” Chon says.

  She does.

  They go through Steve’s real estate list again.

  An apartment in Irvine.

  MapQuest.

  Three blocks from campus.

  254

  Truism.

  Cliché.

  You become what you hate.

  Ben says, “You know what we have to do.”

  Chon knows.

  255

  Lado’s man gets out of the car in the parking lot of Magda’s apartment building.

  Pop-pop.

  Chon puts two silenced rounds in the back of his head and then puts him back in the car.

  The drug war comes to Irvine.

  256

  Magda fixes herself a cup of green tea.

  She wants a little boost but she’s coffee’d out and, anyway, the tea is healthier. Antioxidants and all that.

  The doorbell rings.

  She doesn’t know who it could be and she’s a little annoyed because what she wants right now is to put her feet up, drink her tea, and read a hundred pages of Insoll for her arch and religion course.

  Probably Leslie, the lazy slut, coming over to borrow her notes. If the puta could get up in the morning to get to class—

  “Leslie … God …”

  Magda opens the door and the guy is on her like that, one hand over her mouth, the other behind her neck pushing her back down and onto the sofa. She hears the door shut and sees a second guy come in and he puts a gun to the side of her head.

  She shakes her head, like, take anything you want, do anything you want. Thank God the guy puts the gun back in his belt, but then he has a syringe and he grabs her arm, rolls up the sleeve of her black silk blouse, and jabs the needle in her vein.

  Then she’s out.

  257

  Lado pulls up outside the house and gets out.

  Esteban opens the door.

  The mierdita looks like he’s been crying.

  Lado moves past him into the room where they keep the little blonde puta. She sees his face and knows. Knows and starts to run but he cuffs her across the face, grabs her by the wrist, and pulls her into the other room. Shoves her little ass down into the chair, takes off his belt, and straps her hands behind it.

  She’s kicking her feet and screaming.

  Lado yells, “Help me, pendejo. Hold her fucking legs.”

  Esteban keeps crying but he does what he’s told. He grabs her by the feet and holds on while Lado gets the duct tape and forces it onto her mouth. Then he squats down and wraps a length around her ankles and the chair legs.

  “Don’t worry, chucha,” he says. “Your legs will be wide open later. You can count on that.”

  He goes to straighten up and Esteban has a gun out, pointed at him.

  258

  When Magda comes to, still groggy, they have her strapped up with duct tape.

  She’s in some kind of cheap motel room.

  A laptop computer is set on the coffee table in front of her, the little camera eye red and blinking, and she thinks this is some kind of twisted Internet porno rape and if it is she wants them to just get it over with and not kill her.

  But neither of the men takes his clothes off or even unzips his jeans.

  One starts typing on the keyboard, the other

  Pulls the gun out again and jacks a round into the chamber.

  259

  “What are you going to do with that?” Lado asks.

  Esteban, the little ball of shit, his hands are shaking. Reminds Lado of the old car they had out back as a kid. When you started the engine the whole car would quiver and rattle and that’s what Esteban’s hands look like now.

  “Let her go,” Esteban says

  and then Lado knows he’s in no danger because this kid didn’t listen to him when he told him you pull a gun you pull the trigger you don’t threaten or talk you

  pull the trigger

  260

  “Log on,” Ben says.

  Log the fuck on, Lado.

  261

  The bullet misses.

  Not by much, but life, like baseball, is a game of inches.

  Lado steps in, knocks the pistol from the boy’s hand, grabs him by the head, and twists.

  Esteban’s neck snaps.

  Like kindling.

  Lado turns on the camera and aims it at the girl. Then he turns on the computer and types in the address.

  Then he picks up the chain saw.

  262

  Skype.

  Ben and Chon see

  A rerun

  O strapped to the chair

  Lado standing with the chain saw.

  O’s eyes wide with terror.

  Fresh dialogue, though.

  “Maybe I fuck her before I kill her,” Lado says. He turns toward O. “You like that, little whore? One last dick?”

  263

  Elena forces herself to sit down at the computer.

  She logs on and sees

  264

  Magda

  With a gun to her head.

  Fuck you.

  265

  Love makes you strong.

  Love makes you weak.

  Elena asks, “What do you want?”

  CUT TO:

  266

  INT. SPLIT SCREEN – MOTEL ROOM/ELENA’S COMPOUND/DESERT SAFE HOUSE

  BEN

  You know what we want.

  ELENA

  Don’t do this. I’m begging you.

  BEN

  We want the girl back. Unharmed.

  ELENA

  Do what they say, Lado.

  LADO

  Of course. (To Ben) Take it easy.

  BEN

  We will kill her. We’ll do it.

  ELENA

  I believe you. We can work this out. We’ll set a time and place for the exchange. Please don’t do anything rash.

  267

  Lado sets the time and place.

  268

  Because why the fuck not? Lado thinks.

  Why the fuck not.

  Lado is a cake-and-eat-it-too kind of guy.

  So maybe he doesn’t cut the puta’s head off. No big loss. He will kill her, only a little later, and he’ll kill them, too.

  As for Elena’s stuck-up bitch of a daughter

  Who gives a fuck?

  269

  “You know what’s going to happen,” Chon says.

&nbs
p; Ben knows.

  They’ll go to exchange their hostages—

  —fuck Ben hates that word, hates that he has a hostage—

  Elena will show up with an army.

  Their chances of getting out alive are

  How many ways are there to say zero?

  Nothing.

  Empty

  No

  hope, no

  faith, no

  values, no

  future, no

  past.

  Nothingness.

  270

  The e-mail arrived after they took O from the compound, so she didn’t read:

  My darling girl,

  I am so sorry that I’ve been out of touch. It is from no lack of love for you, my darling darling, but for the love of the Lord. I have been on a retreat to contemplate the state of my soul, and we were allowed no communications with the outside world.

  This world is corrupt, Ophelia. The flesh is weak.

  Only the soul survives.

  Ophelia, I have met a man!

  I know you have heard this before—too many times—but this time it’s the real thing. John knows and loves the Lord, too, and now that we are back from the retreat we intend to marry and start a jewelry business—bracelets and necklaces that will proclaim the wearer’s faith. With my sense of style and John’s business acumen—he’s a self-made real estate multimillionaire—I know it will be a big success. The Lord wants His people to live abundantly.