Chapter 12
Reynoso made a familiar gesture to
the bartender, then held up three fingers.
The older gentleman hesitated for a moment, then recognized the signal
and placed three shot glasses on the bar and filled them with Reynoso’s favorite
tequila. Reynoso took one of the
glasses, then pointed to the table with the Americans and the bartender
shuffled out from behind the bar and placed the remaining shot glasses on their
table.
The two FBI agents seemed to
recognize the gesture. Their final drink
before they died. Both men picked up
their glasses and they toasted Reynoso as the three of them tossed the tequila
down their throats.
“Very nice,” Nick said, sensing the
end coming. “But in my introduction to
my partner I failed to mention his prowess with a gun.”
The tall American, Matt, pulled
aside his jacket and exposed a shoulder holster with a pistol. For some reason he smiled.
The bodyguards lifted their
shotguns, ready to fire.
“You think this is some form of
threat?” Reynoso asked. “I have two of
my best men aiming a shotgun at each of you.”
Finally the partner spoke. “Here’s the thing. I’ve practiced drawing my weapon several
hours a month. Sometimes I do it while
watching TV just to keep fresh. I’ve
been ready for this my entire life.”
Reynoso laughed. “You are a very stupid man. Wasting your life on such a useless activity.”
“So now I have a question for your men,”
Matt said. “That’s a Mossberg 500 pump
action shotgun they’re holding. What
they need to ask themselves is--Can they actually rack and slide a shell into
their chamber before I can draw and double-tap my Glock?”
Reynoso sensed a tightness in his
bodyguards demeanor. He could tell they
were wondering the same things themselves.
Could this guy really be that good?
“Wait,” Reynoso said, pointing at
Nick, “you will not be shooting your weapon?”
“Nah,” Nick said. “Be a waste of time. I’m pretty slow on the draw.”
Then he looked at Matt. “And you will draw your weapon and fire two
shots before they can shoot their shotguns?’’
“Yes,” Matt said. “I think you’re catching on.”
“Come now,” Reynoso said. “Are you being serious with this?”
“Yeah, and listen, I want to make
sure these guys understand English, because I warned someone earlier that might
not’ve understood me. You see, I shoot
to kill.”
Reynoso assessed his men and saw their nerve being tested. They didn’t have the same determination they
had begun with.
“You should tell them to place their
weapons down,” Matt said in a non-threatening tone. “It’s the humane thing to do.”
“And if I let you go?” Reynoso
said. “Then what?”
“Then we leave,” Matt said. “And you go on with your corrupt lifestyle
intimidating innocent people and killing anyone who threatens you.”
Reynoso was calculating the damage
to his authority should he decide to let the Americans leave. With everyone watching, he couldn’t afford to
be seen as weak. Word would spread. He needed something to save face.
“All right,” Reynoso said. “I will allow you to leave.” Then he nodded at the kid at the bar. “But he stays.”
The boy screeched, “No. You can’t do that.”
The two Americans looked at each
other, considering the offer with a look of disgust on their faces while the
kid sobbed and begged.
Finally Nick said, “Believe me,
we’re tempted to leave him here, but we’re going to have to take him back home
and deal with him there.”
The kid’s sobs became moans of
gratitude.
Reynoso was up against a wall. He couldn’t afford to have these foreigners
bully him in front of his people. He
rubbed the back of his neck and frowned.
“I am sorry, but the boy must stay.
That is my final offer.”
Dane’s eyes were swollen and glossy
with small childish noises coming from his throat.
Matt stood there with a look of disappointment. The fingers in his right hand fluttered by
his side. “Then it seems we have a
problem.”
“Yes,” Reynoso said. “We do.”
It was so quiet in the bar, the only
sound came from a squeaky ceiling fan above them. Reynoso glared at the Americans with a
determined expression. “It is
unfortunate.”
“We don’t need to do this,” Matt
said with a hint of sympathy in his voice.
“Yes,” Reynoso said. “We do.”
Matt’s stare was intense, but
Reynoso noticed he was staring directly at Reynoso’s torso, as if looking
through him. It became apparent that Matt
was watching for any quick movement his bodyguards might make with his
peripheral vision.
In
the silence, Nick said, “Please, let us go.
You can save your men’s lives.
These are good men. They work
hard for you. They have families.”
The entire room stool perfectly
still, as if posing for someone to paint scene.
Reynoso lifted his finger like a gun
and aimed it at the two FBI agents.
Immediately the bodyguards took their cue and furiously pumped back on
the rack of the shotgun. Two loud shots
exploded inside the low-ceilinged room.
Reynoso flinched. The two
bodyguards dropped hard to the floor. As
they landed Reynoso could see a bullet hole in the center of both of their
foreheads.
A woman screamed. A bottle of tequila slipped from the
bartender’s hand and crashed by his feet.
Nick Bracco walked over to the kid
at the bar and grabbed the back of his shirt, then pulled him from his bar
stool and tugged him toward the door.
Matt holstered his pistol and moved
toward Reynoso. He looked down at the
dead men lying next to their boss and with a look of disgust, he said, “Better
call their families, Jefe. Tell them how
brave they were.”
As Matt was walking out the door, he
turned to Reynoso and added, “Have us followed and you’ll be making phone calls
the rest of the night.”
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