Chapter 17: Baja California - decommissioned air base
The plane descends onto the long, desolate runway of an abandoned military base, at precisely one minute to midnight.
There is a dilapidated metal aircraft hanger and an old air traffic control tower. Around the perimeter is a thirty-foot high metal fence, topped with barbed wire.
The plane crawls slowly towards the enormous hanger, where it comes to smooth halt. Pancho gets up from his seat slowly and goes to untie Karl from his chair. Before freeing him, he punches him as hard as he can in the stomach, mortifying Emilio to his core. Ray walks into the cabin from the cockpit and sees Pancho taking the cheap shot at Karl.
“What the hell is wrong with you? Leave the boy alone. You’re getting worse!”
“You disrespect me one more time old man, and it’ll be the last thing you ever do!”
“Real smooth, Pancho!” Ray looks at him in disgust.
The General and Cathos step off the plane nonchalantly, unconcerned by the bickering. Ray follows, unwilling to waste any more of his time or energy. Pancho pushes Karl out of the plane and down the boarding steps, keen to inflict as much pain as he can. Karl’s exhausted body hits the concrete hard. He lies motionless for a moment, trying to compose himself, before struggling to get to his feet. Valencia goes to help him up, but Pancho pushes her back violently. Dehydrated and in immense agony Karl stares directly up at a row of long, low hanging lights on the high ceiling. He closes his eyes briefly and silently recites the Lord’s Prayer to himself, in a desperate attempt to change the tide of circumstance. He then slowly gets to his feet and is immediately pushed at gunpoint, along with Emilio and Valencia, to the centre of the aircraft hanger. At the back of the hanger are a white van and a black sports car. To one side is a metal door. Through this door appears an enormous man, dressed in full military attire. His greasy black beard, dark sunglasses and camouflage cap almost completely conceal his face. Emilio has a strange feeling of déjà vu, but before he can place the man he is distracted, as Ray emerges from the jet carrying a briefcase, jacket and hat. He steps down from the plane, looking back nostalgically one final time.
. “I have to leave immediately, I have an appointment tomorrow afternoon.” He addresses The General.
“Yes, I remember you saying. I will contact you in two weeks.”
“Very well. Adios!” Ray has no intention of seeing The General or his brothers ever again, despite his loyal alliance with them for the past decade. Ray turns away without acknowledging anyone else and heads towards his prized black 1981 Pontiac Trans AM. As he starts the engine he looks at the three kids with guilt. He slowly drives past them, knowing how the Llera brothers dispose of their mules once they are through with them. He puts his foot down and drives away from the airbase, leaving his conscience behind.
The fat solider stands looking the mules up and down, with his eyes particularly fixated on Valencia’s voluptuous body.
“Where did you find the girl?” He asks in a husky voice. The General ignores the question and begins his own interrogation.
“What the fuck happened with Diego? I heard you shot him in a hotel in Lima? Have you got shit for brains? We don’t need that kind of attention.” The General’s tone is dangerous. Emilio suddenly realizes where he has seen the obese solider before.
“He was pissing me off. I tried to get him to leave with me that night, but he wouldn’t listen!” Replies The Mammoth defensively.
“It was a fucking mess. And this organisation will not tolerate unprofessional conduct!”
The Mammoth sees Pancho focusing on him, as if he is sizing up his prey.
“I get the message, it won’t happen again!” The Mammoth backs down, aware that he needs to defuse the situation if he wants to walk away.
“You’re fuckin right it won’t happen again!” The General growls. “Now, get these kids out of my sight, and if they try anything stupid, then kill one of them to teach the others a lesson!”
The Mammoth takes the massive shotgun that’s strapped over his shoulder and points it towards a door. Emilio enters the room first, followed closely by Karl and Valencia. There are lockers on the left hand side and benches fixed to the back wall. Boxes of military uniform are stacked everywhere. The Mammoth closes the door behind them and locks it shut. As soon as the door is locked Karl sets upon Emilio with pent up rage.
“Well done, Emilio. I hope you’re real proud of yourself! You know you always think you’re so smart, but take a good look around you. We’re fucked!”
Emilio feels massively responsible and keeps thinking back to the airport where he first saw the man with the scar. Emilio is confused as to why the man was at the same hotel as them in Lima, why The Mammoth killed him, and why he's here now. It just doesn’t make any sense to him. He also wonders why The Mammoth asked where they found the girl. It was almost as though he was expecting the boys all along. Emilio feels like crying but instead vents it as anger.
“Fuck you, Karl. It’s not my fault we walked straight into a fucking drug cartel. It could have happened to anyone! Sorry for trying to do something amazing with my life, for trying to help others, for not sitting on my ass and watching the world go by. Do you really think I ever meant for any of this to happen?”
“Your wrong! It is your fault, and it couldn’t have just happened to anyone. This is ridiculous. You dragged me down to South America, lying through your fuckin teeth, then lead me on some crazy wild goose chase through the rainforest without knowing where the hell you’re going. And then you ignore the advice of the people that went out of their way to help us. We should never have stopped. Elmanda told us not to. He knew it could be dangerous, but you wouldn’t listen. You had to try and steal drugs to make money for your own personal gain. You’re selfish. I don’t believe you ever cared about curing cancer, you just had some crazy deluded dream about how you could become rich and famous, and as soon as you saw an easier way, everything else went out the window. And now Elmanda’s dead and we’re probably next!” Karl pauses mid-outburst because he can’t see any emotion from Emilio or Valencia and it starts to plague him deeply. “I just don’t get you guys! We’re being held by a fucking drug cartel and you don’t seem to give a shit! Especially you, Valencia, you’ve just lost someone who was like part of your family!”
“Of course I fucking care, Karl!” Valencia screams savagely at the top of her voice. The boys are stunned into silence. Valencia puts her hand on her chest to compose herself. She waits, absorbing the silence, reflecting on what Karl has said. Staring at the wall in front of her she replies without making eye contact.
“Elmanda wouldn’t want me to sit here feeling sorry for him. He would want me to stand up for myself, to work out a way to get out of this situation. I won’t let it get the better of me, otherwise these vile pigs will have won.”
“Valencia is right. We have to stay focused, what good is it going to do if we all start breaking down and turning on one another?” Emilio says firmly. Karl ignores Emilio and focuses on Valencia.
“You should be pissed off with Emilio. If he hadn’t been selfish and gone after the drugs Elmanda would still be alive!” Karl says viciously.
“Yes, Emilio made a stupid, selfish decision. And Elmanda and I could have kept walking away, but when you told us what was happening we decided to go back and try and pull him out of there. That was our choice, Karl. No one forced us to turn around, we just got unlucky and they stumbled across us before we could get back to Emilio. What’s done is done, there’s no changing the bad decisions of our past, we just have to move on and learn from them.
“Yeah, you’re right!” Karl is amazed by Valencia’s positive outlook.
“My only thought right now is turning the tables on these pigs. I would love to murder each and every one of them.” Valencia states calmly.
Karl, unable to see how they could ever turn the tables when everything is stacked against them, breaks down in tears, the sheer weight and pressure of the situation too much for him to bear any longer. Emilio and Valencia stare as he slips down onto the cold, hard concrete floor and starts sobbing into his hands in despair. Valencia stoops down and puts her arms around him, hugging him tightly.
“We’re going to get out of this mess, you hear me, Karl!” Valencia soothes.
Karl nods his head, wiping the excess tears from his cheeks. He desperately wants to believe what Valencia’s saying, but his gut instinct is telling him otherwise. He is worrying so much it makes him feel sick.
“I’m sorry. This is crazy. I just feel so exhausted.”
“We have to stick together and stay positive! We need to stay focused!” Valencia tries her best to lift his morale.
Karl is finding it difficult to buy into Valencia’s positive words.
“We’re gonna die out here, aren’t we?” He weeps pitifully.
“We are not going to die, Karl! Now stop being such a pussy.” Valencia loses her patience. "You can sit here feeling sorry for yourself, but don’t expect to get any respect from me for it, especially in this situation. We all need to be pulling in the same direction, Karl. You speak about Emilio being selfish, but you have to think about how your actions may affect other people, too. And right now, you need to try and make an effort for us.”
“Yeah, I’ll try and make an effort, but it’s hard.” Karl feels weak and exhausted, but is prepared to try and control his anxiety. “Are these guys real soldiers?” He asks, trying to get a grasp on the situation.
“I think they probably were, and if they still are, then they are corrupt as hell.” Responds Emilio.
“If I ask you guys a personal question, will you give me an honest answer?” Valencia asks. Karl perks up, intrigued by what Valencia might be about to say.
“Shoot!” Emilio replies.
“Do I smell? Because you guys have an unusual odour going on, and I’m getting paranoid I may smell the same.”
Emilio laughs. Karl stoops his head and sniffs his armpit.
“Well, I’m aware that I’m starting to stink, and Karl always smells like a wet dog!”
Valencia puts her hand over her mouth trying to hide her beaming smile, triggered by Emilio hitting the nail on the head, because it was Karl’s odour that set her off to begin with.
“Yeah, that’s right! Kick a man when he’s down. Of course I’m starting to smell a bit. We haven’t had a proper wash or a change of clothes since the village. What do you expect?” Karl responds hotly.
“But seriously, how bad do I smell?” Valencia tries her best to keep a straight face.
Emilio leans over to Valencia and softly places his nose next to her smooth neck. Valencia closes her eyes as he gets close, feeling an electricity run through her, all the way down to her abdomen.
"Yep. You definitely stink. And there was me thinking it was Karl."
The remark doesn't register with Valencia, who is feeling blissfully warm after Emilio’s close contact. Emilio takes her silence as a sign she's offended and tries to rectify the situation.
"Just kidding, Val!”
Emilio lies down on one of the benches beside Valencia to get some much-needed rest. Karl and Valencia sit in thoughtful silence.
In the adjoining room, The Mammoth and the Llera brothers are sitting in front of two long wooden desks, on top of which a few old-fashioned computer terminals and printers are gathering dust. The obsolete equipment is surrounded by empty coffee cups and cigarette packets. The men are orchestrating the next phase of their mission. At one end of the desk are a package of cocaine and four bottles of bourbon, one of which is nearly empty. The General fills a stained shot glass with the dregs of the bottle. He reaches over and snatches the white parcel of cocaine, throwing it down in front of him on the desk. Cutting a slit into the clear plastic parcel he dabs his finger into the powder and rubs it onto his gums, causing them to go numb instantly. He then spoons out a large amount of coke onto the grubby desk. Using a credit card he breaks down some of the bigger rocks and divides the lumpy powder into ten long, thick lines. The General takes a twenty dollar bill from his bulging leather wallet and rolls it into a cylinder, before hoovering three of the generous lines up into his nostrils, shuddering as the toxins start to instantly surge through him. The General relaxes back in his chair and lights another Cuban cigar, offering the twenty dollar bill to Pancho, who wastes no time demolishing the remaining seven lines of blow with uncontrollable greed. Cathos watches his brothers’ demeanours change and rolls his eyes.
“Why do you have to pollute your head with this shit? I don’t want no fuck ups this time.”
The General laughs and raises his shot glass to Cathos, before necking it and immediately opening another bottle.
“You hear this, Pancho, our brother wants us to keep a clear head!”
The General fills Pancho’s shot glass and Pancho raises a similar toast to mock his brother, before knocking the shot back and placing the upturned empty glass onto the desk, while staring blankly at his brother.
“Relax, Cathos. You’re too uptight. Have a drink!” Pancho grunts.
“Not right now. Someone needs to make sure everything is done properly!” Counters Cathos.
“How about you? You’ve been sat there with an empty glass for the past half an hour and you haven’t said a word?” Pancho patronizingly addresses The Mammoth.
The Mammoth looks at the three brothers, who all stare directly at him waiting for a response, as an uneasy silence descends.
“I’m just listening. I’m tired, that’s all, but yeah, I’ll have another.” The Mammoth tries to keep his cool. The General pours a shot of warm Bourbon, filling the glass carelessly until it overspills on to the messy desk. The Mammoth drinks the liquor quickly and then stands up.
“Right, I’ll go load the dope into the van and get a couple of hours sleep. You’ll want me to drive again, I guess?”
“No! Not this time!” The General says sharply. “Cathos can drive. Have another drink, take some blow!”
The Mammoth feels uneasy. He senses a hidden agenda and begins to feel paranoid.
“We’re friends, right?” The General smiles dangerously.
“Yeah, a long time!”
“Well, friends play games. How about we play a game.”
The Mammoth breaks into a sweat. His hands get clammy as he reaches for the bottle of Bourbon. He pours himself another shot, which he hopes will take the edge off the uncomfortable feeling that he is struggling to ignore.
“I don’t know. We’ve never played games before.” The Mammoth shifts nervously in his chair. “What’s this about, man? You pissed about Diego?”
“Yeah, I fuckin am! The General slams his hand down on the table. “I tell you to kill him discretely. And so you shoot him in a fucking hotel. And then you get on a fucking plane from Lima airport directly to Baja, instead of meeting us in the rainforest, because you’re too fucking lazy. Are you stupid? How do you know you haven’t been followed here? And now all of a sudden I get a call from Vipercom saying they want to meet me at the Salt Mine. It’s not fucking good. I haven’t seen them in three years. If we do our job properly they leave us alone, and now there are bodies turning up in hotel rooms, and we look like some Mickey fucking Mouse outfit.”
While The General speaks Pancho walks to the back of the room where an old red axe is hanging on the wall. He looks over his shoulder at The Mammoth who is shrinking into his chair as The General barks at him. Pancho slowly lifts the axe from the wall and turns. He walks up behind The Mammoth silently and swings down to the ground, across the Mammoth’s outstretched right leg. An ag
onised wail rises from the enormous man.
As the sound echoes through the vast building Karl and Valencia look at each other and shake Emilio from his slumber. Emilio springs to his feet as the howls grow louder and more desperate.
A second and third hack leave The Mammoth’s foot hanging grotesquely from his ankle. He bellows in pain as he falls from his chair like a massive sack of potatoes, gripping his lower shin. Turning onto his colossal belly he flaps frantically around like a dying fish.
“Jesus! Sounds like someone’s getting butchered in there!” Emilio whispers.
The Mammoth crawls slowly through the door, leaving a trail of gore and a symphony of maniacal laughter behind him. Pancho follows him, determined to chop the foot clean off. Pancho swings again at the slowly moving target, successfully performing the brutal amputation.
“They’re fucking killing that fat solider, aren’t they?” Karl paces up and down nervously with one hand on his head and one on his hip.
“Oh my God, it sounds like it. Karl, cover your ears!” Valencia says strictly.
“You gotta be kidding me! He was one of them. We are so screwed!” Karl walks to the corner of the room with his fingers muting his ears while humming to himself to block out the horrifying sounds.
The Mammoth gets to his remaining foot and hops along twice before crashing back down to the floor with his eyes drowning in tears. Again, he tries to get up and spring along to get to the wide-open hanger doors but he keeps falling. With every failed attempt the Llera brothers have a new surge of hysterics.
“Look at this pinche culero! Dirty scumbag; hopping around like some fuckin fat kangaroo!” Pancho mocks in a demented frenzy.
The General and Cathos can’t stop laughing, watching The Mammoth scramble out desperately onto the surrounding arid plains with blood streaming from his severed stump. The General walks back into the hanger to fetch something while Pancho lights a fat marijuana joint outside the hanger doors. He offers it to Cathos who refrains, opting for a standard cigarette while he watches the show. The General walks out of the hanger with an old flamethrower strapped to his back to a fanfare of whooping and a hollering from his goading brothers. He marches up comically to The Mammoth, who has lost so much blood that he can hardly move.
“Please stop the bleeding, don’t kill me, I have a daughter!” He pleads desperately.
“I know. I’m doing her a favour. Pedazo de mierda! By the way, you’re fired!”
A sputtering eight-foot stream of ferocious fire is unleashed onto The Mammoth. Two thousand degrees melt his skin and cook his eyeballs instantaneously. He squeals like a live pig being thrown on a bonfire and wriggles helplessly while his flesh bubbles and pops. Cathos and Pancho look on like wide-eyed children at a fireworks display, as the blaze illuminates against the dark of night. The General keeps activating the torch with devastating bursts as he tries to completely cremate The Mammoth’s enormous carcass. The limited propane gas runs out, and the General stands frustrated over the hollowed smoking corpse. He walks back to his brothers to a round of applause.
“Let’s go celebrate not having to listen to that fat fuckin idiota again! And Pancho, you can go clean up the blood this time.”