CASTING CALL FOR A TIJUANA FIRING SQUAD.
a shit box illusion, rock n’ roll, Mariachi bands, Carlos and Charlie’s, primo
pot, meth, cocaine, what the fuck, that guy Juan at the bar has suitcases of
it. Tijuana is a lead hollow point, a truth serum, and what’s behind the pretty
neon façade, some cartel hombre with a hatchet, bolt cutters, lost balls,
screams, shrieks, blood, lots a blood from a bullet in the fucking head.
sup with that?
like white flake percolating on a silver spoon, blue veins, needle spike, nod
out, a crinoline blanket coating nerve endings, that’s TJ, baby cakes. Drift
into dreams, abort life’s pain, wake, demons, wraiths, puke in the toilet, end
up in a Tijuana whorehouse, horror story, the fucking most dangerous cesspool
on a burning slab of earth.
was an American girl, 18, Hispanic, Maria, bullet proof, stunning, straight-A
student, promised mama no TJ for spring break.
the fun in that?
from U of L Vegas was partying there, a rad place, you know, a coupla tokes,
margaritas’, maybe a hit of “E.” What could go wrong?
could go wrong? A lot could go fucking wrong.
was abducted, human traffickers, part of the Zeta Cartel, cocaine, pot, meth
and young America beauties, top dollar, maybe jettisoned off to The Emirates,
Damascus, Beirut, New York City. Those insidious mother-fuckers paid top dollar
for Grade A beef-fed American girls.
call went out.
phone call was made…
asked. Favors repaid.
was a hard man, a fair man, a six-foot-two slab of muscled chrome. He had
killed a lot of bad people, men, women too, none ever taking the leap to a
coffin that hadn’t deserved the final pile of dirt stuffed into their mouths.
had been a young man once.
young Costa Rican wife had been murdered, butchered in Rio. They had murdered
him too, but he had returned, a new man, a different man, a violent man and
killed every one of the sons-of-bitches, the cops that had cut his wife’s head
off in a botched robbery with a machete.
passed, diamond smuggling out of Pretoria, arms dealing in Somalia, he had run
a hashish empire out of Ketama, Morocco into the UK, that all ended in more
passed, it always did for killers, men of ethics; it did for him.
had moved to Vegas, a man could disappear there, perhaps hide from a life of
pain and death.
artist of paint, gold, and weld, he wanted it over, his past.
needs someone to love.”
bastard sang that, never knowing a man like Mal existed.
there was someone and he fell in love with another killer, ex whore, thief,
grifter, a stunner of a gal named Mandal.
was a girl with a violent past mostly concerning guns, lots of fucking guns.
of a feather flock together, and he thought a hideous past life of distorted
images was over, he really thought that.
if it was over, then why was he in fucking Tijuana, heavily armed, a sixteen-gauge
nestled in his lap, Beretta in his waistband, hunting the abducted girl, Mandal’s
Mexican housekeeper’s daughter, with another killer more dangerous than he was?
name was Pilar, a Colombian waif, a stunning teak-skinned girl. Beauty
confuses, distorts men’s minds. A hard dick makes men forget beauty kills.
teenager, her entire family, mother, father, brothers and sisters, tios and tias all brutally murdered by the cocaine cartels. She went insane,
wandered into the jungle, hooked up with the Colombian National Army, then the
CIA and Delta Force dudes, one thing on her disturbed and brilliant mind:
Delta Force, dug her vibe immediately, her abilities at languages, violence,
weapons, disguise, and ferocity to kill on demand. They knew a great asset when
they saw one, signed her up, a perfect weapon holding no fear in her demented
blink. She signed on the dotted line with her own blood.
her off to Langley, languages, including Arabic, computers, guns, knives,
hatchets, Ricin pellets, poisons, hands, teeth, and she used them all over the
next few years.
she graduated CIA U, her present was a cheap gold locket with a Cyanide tablet
a maniacal beauty queen as a Contract Killer paid dividends as she moved in out
of Bogota, Beirut, Mogadishu, Paris, Bremen, and other places, a stunning-young
pixie killer could kill evil men.
one night she went rogue, vanished into the nether world of death, becoming a
paid contract killer to the highest bidder.
one question a man asked as she stepped out of the shadows was…
now, she was repaying a debt to a Mexican drug lord. He had pulled her out of
Nogales, Mexico years ago, when a job went south.
was honorable, and now this new man, this Mal, she had met earlier in the
evening, he was something, special, lethal and she saw it immediately. Two people
that had basically few if any friends had liked each other instantly.
asked, a favor repaid and Mal had called the Mexican drug dealer, called in one
of his own.
the hook-up hours earlier in downtown TJ had been flawless. Both killers knew
each other’s STREET CREDS were impeccable.
The Mexican Drug dealer’s word was sacrosanct, beyond reproach.
Pilar, using state of the art computers, had with Mal moved into a Zeta owned
nude club, a favorite haunt for campesino,
illiterate abducted Mexican young flesh.
flashed a photo to the bartender and then disappeared to Pilar’s safe house.
Tapping into the world of the Zeta Cartel had been a snap. She eased in on the
bartender’s call, nada, no problema.
bullets, arterial spray, carnage, death were always one phone call away.
Hasta la vista
baby, they were ready to rumble.
had found what they were looking for, at least the first drop of blood moving
down the vein into tracking the girl Maria.
were going to visit two of the Zetas’ lower tier street soldiers, corrupt cops
and now, sharing a pizza, both Mal and Pilar were ready to roll hard and
straight to the cop’s house.
in Pilar’s armored and tricked out old American sedan; both new buddies
laughed, chatted and ate pizza.
passed slow, it always did for assassins.
plan was dead simple, death is always a simple plan.
would cruise over to the corrupt Zeta cops, she would deliver a pizza, no one
ever said no to her stunning beauty.
the door they would go, reach down the pukes’ throats and rip the truth out of
liked the plan, they were both armed to the teeth. Pilar smiled, broke Mal’s
heart with that, hit the numbers on her key board ignition pad, the car rumbled
armored ‘89 Caprice, with multiple weapons in the trunk seemed to growl.
to ask you Pilar, that engine sounds radical, what ya got in there?
for what hit woman doesn’t love a compliment from a handsome stud, she said, “Pilar
do all work herself. 327, bored 409. Magnesium lifters, fuel injected all
running on an Earnhart, custom
aluminum block…Neat, yes?”
running Nascar, is that it?”
count a dead corpse as a friend, never having a friend in her life to share her
genius, she blushed. Punching him in the shoulder, she blushed again.
girl thing. Sometime have to drive fast…You know…This business, funny at
funny about their business to any normal human being, but they were who they
were, and Mal smiled.
magically she felt happy for the
first time in her life. Leaning her hand to the floorboard, she peeked at a CD
case. Finding a piece of music she loved, she withdrew the CD, flashed it at
Mal. He nodded his approval.
injected it into the player set into the dash board.
machine searching, first track and liking his reply, gloved palm on the gear
shift, found first, gunned the engine because she liked its power and as she
roared off she asked, “You like the pepperoni, Mal?
he grinned with pure enjoyment. “Love it doll.”
loved the doll remark, though once she had shot a man who killed women 12 times
with her silenced Beretta for calling her a bitch, she smiled.
to a curve, downshifted from 2nd, found 3rd, roar in their ears, she
whispered. “Me too.”
music of The Calling fell into the
car, almost mystically matching the moment of their lives. The words fell along
their ears, as if prophetic while doing so.
“When I’m gone we
make love to light the
shadows on your face…Way up high or down low, I will go wherever you will
go...If I could, then I would go wherever you will go… Maybe, I will find a way
to make it back alive someday.”
as the ghosts of their words mimicked what they were about to do, that was it.
lost killers existing in eco-systems that could never understand them were on
their way munching pizza, just two new friends kickin’ it.
pals out on a night of the town, their murderous town.
would live or die, the song told it all.
“Maybe, I will find a way
to make it
back alive someday.”
AGUAS brothers, basically illiterate street mook field hands from Chiapas, had
struck golden ore in Tijuana. Being low-rung foot soldiers in the Orta’s
Cartel, it had been phat city for them.
had a cool little house with hot water, a kitchen with a microwave, toaster,
coffee maker, a machine that kept their beer cold, and even macinas to wash and
get blood outta their clothes, as well as an indoor toilet and shower.
more shitting in the fields for these dudes.
of it blew their primal minds.
also had a 56-inch LCD flat panel TV, a DVD and a cassette machine, a silver,
paper thin CD player, and lots and lots of weapons. The latter was cool too,
for they had needed Ruger’s, Tech-9’s, shotguns, knives and other sharp
implements to continue to do their thing,
hopefully rising along the Orta’s
totem pole as they did.
they weren’t raping and getting blow jobs from hopeless victims like the
Hispanic American girl they had kidnapped from the Disco earlier they were
pumping iron at Gold’s Gym.
loved fucking gabacho Vin Diesel, cause he always got the senorita.
on racks of their pale green walls, were a Remington pump shot gun, two
Tech-9’s, two AK-47’s with full banana clips stuck into their chambers, as well
as two military 45-caliber handguns. Set against the wall below the guns, were
two razor honed machetes.
were WTF fab toys of the boys when they were in gnarly moods.
was sweet for the muscled puke two-hundred-pound slabs of chorizo.
on their nifty overstuffed red couch, they giggled to one another as they
watched one of their fave flicks on their nifty Toshiba LCD TV, snorting a
little crank as they did.
flick Blow was, besides Scarface,
one of their favorite drug
movies and they could not help but chide each other with many jokes while
watching it. The fact that drug guys always came to a bad end in the flicks, as
Johnny Depp had in Blow, continued to
make them loopy with laughter.
they somehow had wrangled jobs as sergeants in the TJ Police Force, always
amazed them. Nobody understood better than they, that Bad Guys and they were Bad
Guys with a badge never got caught, fucking ever.
after they had delivered the beautiful girl to Senor Maccas they had been awed
that their generous Jefe had given
them an unexpected bonus, five hundred C-notes for a job well done.
of the lads being rocket scientists, their chat with the bartender on the phone
and the meeting with the cops over at Mexico Linda a little earlier had more
annoyed them, then had confused them. They had boogied over to the motel where
the tourists were, to murder them and find out “What’s Sup?”
tourists, thus, no red flags had flared within their basic minds.
there was a knock at the door, and of course that didn’t cause them any worry.
Nobody would ever fuck with the men of the Orta’s Crew, ever.
looked at Johnny. Johnny looked at Pete. Pete grabbed the remote, the one
sitting next to his automatic .45, clicked pause and mumbled, “What the fuck.”
shrugged his broad, bare shoulders as again they heard a fist knocking against
their door. Tilting his head, Pete rose, ran his fingers through his thick
black hair, turned and moved towards the door, .45 in hand.
destiny was like that.
it with your bro, watchin’ TV, feeling all good and such, could change in a
bullet rapport as a new journey was about to jerk off the boys’ mojo.
the Aguas brothers would learn, that all Hollywood drug movies were not filmed
the same and that some of them indeed, involved the Bad Guys meeting bad Karma
as the final credits rolled and the
popcorn box was empty and blood rolled in the aisles and the directors of that
movie were blood curdling homicidal maniacs.
and Johnny Aguas wanted to be just
like their gangster-rap heroes on
MTV, they loved their hip-hop life style, they talked in broken English, gangsta
style, most of the time.
That’s how they rolled.
everything was so Phat in their
lives, Pete, as he stared through the small, brass square hole in his door at
the beautiful biatch, holding a pizza
in her hand, smiling a twenty-megaton smile at him, he never even questioned
thought the Pizza Gods had opened a door in heaven, sending some gorgeous slag
with a pie for them, when they needed it most. Turning to his brother Johnny,
who was spread eagled on the couch, he said in his broken, best gang banging
voice. “Hey bro, you order a pizza? Some radical bitch got one out the door?”
Fuck, I’m starvin, man. Let her
out the square slot, he saw her smiling white teeth. Because everything was so sweet
in his life, he smiled back at
her, as he said. “Just a sec, beautiful.”
opened the door, as a huge smile plastered across his face.
ya, got doll?”
a real tall guy with a shaved head, who didn’t look like any pizza delivery guy
Pete had ever seen and holding a black shotgun in one hand and an iron gray
automatic in the other hand, seemed to appear from nowhere.
a force that rocked his world, the
tall guy lifted a heavy work boot, exploded it into his chest. The force of it,
for the guy was like a truck piston, sent him flying across the room. He
crashed into a tall glass cabinet, shattering it.
gasping for air and sitting on his ass under the racks that held his weapons,
he watched as some kind of black shadow
seemed to spin and crouch, and there seemed to be something clutched in her
the fastest thinker in the gene pool, Johnny, on the couch, squinted his heavy
eyelids at the pizza girl. He began to rise, leaning towards his gun in its
holster lying next to his gold badge on the glass coffee table.
the movies, a guy carrying a scatter gun, not intent on using it, usually does
some cinematic posturing, usually before he rams the butt of the shotgun into
the guys forehead or gut, for that makes great drama, and great flicks too.
as Johnny Aguas leaned closer to his weapon, the tall guy, who moved like some
kinda Tiger he and his brother had seen hunting a deer on The Discovery
Channel, wasting no unneeded motions, was on him. Outstretching the shotgun, he
violently ripped the shotgun barrel’s iron tip into his forehead.
he felt the pain, saw stars as he rammed back into the cushions of his couch.
Then the guy, who neither smiled nor said anything clever, like in the movies,
pressed the barrel tip against his lips, and simply, very slightly, shook his
head back and forth.
look on the guy’s face was something Johnny had not remembered ever seeing
before. It was emotionless, hard-pressed with a serious intent. The radical
dude’s blue eyes never seemed to blink. That was a bad thing; that, he was
his composure, Pete Aguas got real mad. He focused his mind on the girl, who
was crouching in some kind of Oriental Ninja pose. She wasn’t smiling either.
Her eyes reminded him of a Cobra’s he had seen on Nat Geo Channel.
Pete was one dangerous Hombre, and because he was afraid of no biatch, he went
to his knees, jerked his hand up towards his weapons, ready, very ready to
his brown meaty hand crawled up the wall, the black wizard ninja seemed
to twirl and came to her knees in a throwing stance. Something flashed out of
her hand. He screamed as a six-inch, razor-honed knife split into back of his
hand, impaling his open palm and fingers to the wall.
he fell to his knees, his bloodied hand stuck into the wall, keeping him from
falling back to his rump. His Bro moved towards his handgun on their beautiful
smoked glass coffee table. That quickly faded into a bad idea.
a pistol aimed at his withering brother, the tall guy poked his head with the
shotgun barrel again, lowered it into his mouth, and whispered. “Tsk, tsk,
it wise to be good now, he slumped back into the couch, felt his blood curdle,
for the tall guy’s eyes scared the living shit out of him.
on the other hand, knew it was time to get on with business.
moved to a standing position, peeked at Mal, was appreciative of his solid
ways. She looked at Pete Aguas, who now was literally weeping from pain from
her skills with the throwing stiletto.
is girl? Is she dead? You hurt her? Where she is?”
snot and tears running down his face, Pete looked at her with stricken eyes,
then at his bleeding, impaled hand, back at her as he wheezed.
fucking hand…Man, what girl…Who the fuck is you?”
to Mal, she outstretched her hand. “Mal.”
exactly what she wanted, for they had already rehearsed how it was going to go
down, Mal tucked his Sig Sauer and silencer under his arm. He with-drew the
photograph of Maria Juarez from the pocket of his sweatshirt.
ever breaking his gaze on Johnny Aguas, nor moving the shotgun tip from his
eyes, he outstretched his gloved hand. Pilar took it, moved in front of Pete
Aguas and shoved the picture of Maria before his weeping eyes.
girl. Maria Juarez. She a friend of us…Where she is.?”
disbelief, he gawked at the photograph, then at the beautiful demon standing
before him, back at the photograph, back at the demon.
don’ knowed what you talkin about, bitch. You knowed who you fuckin with? I don’
knowed nothin’. Fuck you.”
blinked, smiled, glanced down at the floor where the machete was set below the
impaled hand and gun racks. Not the kind of girl that suffers nonsense that
well, she bent, picked up the machete and tightened her gloved fingers around
it. She turned and, then slashed it into the wall, slicing all of Pete’s
fingers off as she did.
shrieked as his eyes bolted wide. His dipped as he stared in shock at his
fingers rolling along the floor. He shrieked again.
eyes darted at his brother, who was now paralyzed in terror, wondering just who
these Pizza people really were. Smiling, Mal held nothing but pure admiration,
for not only her creativity within the moment, but her diligence in expediting
Pete hung out to dry on the wall, and
bent at the waist, Pilar moved the bloody machete’s blade under his chin. She
lifted it slowly. Staring into his eyes, and as he blubbered about this and
that, she whispered, pressed the photo before his eyes again.
you remember, Girl? Where is girl? What you do to her?”
in pain and now knowing the face of the devil when he finally was presented
with it, he began to blubber.
knowed her…She…She ain’t dead…My fuckin fingers.” He wept again as he lowered
his face, only to have it propped up again by his own machete.
rape girl…You lie, I know, do other hand.”
ain’t lyin’…She gave us blow job…she liked it…Man, I…I don’ knowed where she
is. Man, I’m bleedin’…real bad.”
with his answer, and still holding her other knife, she leaned down, placed the
tip of the other knife in her hand against his lower eyelid and pressed, just a
chance. Tell where girl is, or I take eye.”
eyes kept jerking off at the blade just a centimeter from his eyes. He leered
at his fingers on the floor, back at the Pizza delivery girl, then back at the
got her…We just delivered…That’s all…Where she go from there…only Maccas
knowed…I no lie…Please, I’m bleedin’.
saw a white T-shirt flopped along a chair’s arm. She reached for it, moved to
the wall and unplugged her throwing knife from it as well as the now weeping
Pete’s fingerless hand.
flailed around on the floor as Mal casually watched Johnny and his brother as
she wiped the blade clean of blood. She tossed the T-shirt to Johnny’s weeping
use that, stop blood. Address, place where girl is…Tell now or you die…”
a moment, she tapped him on the back of his head with the machete.
no fingers, no more time, talk.”
didn’t like her voice or anything about her. Though extremely macho before with
every girl he had ever dominated, he wasn’t in the mood for any more of her
fucked-up attitude, so he rose on his knees and whimpered.
Avenida Armistice…is condo…near airport…number 4…He there…maybe girl too…”
to Mal, she smiled.
Sig Sauer…Shoot big man in knee.”
as Johnny Aguas was going to protest that suggestion, Mal, without hesitation
rotated the Sig Sauer away from brother Pete’s head, aimed at Johnny’s knee and
pulled the trigger.
whizzed through the room as
well as a bullet.
howl shrieked from Johnny’s lips, he leered at the exploded bone, blood and
cartilage of a once very fine kneecap.
at Pilar, Mal waited for further instructions. He got a nice nod from her. He
nodded back at her.
returned the Sig Sauer on Johnny’s crouching brother Pete, turned, looked down
the barrel of his Mossberg at the writhing Johnny, who was now on the couch in
a fetal position, clutching his knee in his hands, crying and moaning. Johnny,
crunched in a ball on the couch, kept crying and moaning and his brother was
doing the same thing, which disgusted Pilar.
under her leather coat, she withdrew her 9-millimeter.
took a black gloved hand and cranked the silencer tight, just making sure it
was cozy snug on the barrel. Placing the tip under Pete’s chin, she lifted his
contorted face, so he could leer directly into her lovely brown eyes.
Armistice…big condo…the whole second floor…number 4…por favor…that’s it,
man…please I have my fingers back…please.”
back, Pilar looked at Johnny who had his blood-soaked fingers wrapped around
what was left of his knee.
glanced at Mal, who’s shaved tan head was as dry as a bone, not a drop of sweat
on it. For the briefest of micro-moments,
she wanted to walk over and affectionately run her hand over his head like he
had done to her, for she totally dug his vibe. Getting back to business, for
head rubbing could wait for later, she looked at the weeping Johnny, whose eyes
were bleached wide open leering at her.
big man. With bad knee. Repeat
and with fluids dripping out of his wide nostrils and his eyes crushed with
tears, Johnny tried to remember, he really did. Seeing the man with the shaved
head and a face that looked like it had been carved out of brass, he did
it…Number 4…Please…I gotta see a doctor…Please lady.”
her teeth, Pilar seethed. “I no lady.”
course, that reply did nothing to calm the Aguas brothers. Johnny was now
certain by the way the pizza delivery girl was staring at him that he’d
probably never have a pizza again.
to Pete Aguas and placing the tip of the silencer against his forehead, she
whispered, “He have guards…How many…?”
lots, he’s Mister Maccas…sometime…nobody fuck with him…He with Orta’s…He got
drivers…man who the fuck are you?”
silencer still pressing against Pete’s quaking forehead, inhaled deeply,
lowered the Beretta.
like girl you hurt…I…am girl who going to kill you.”
the Beretta, she leveled it off about two feet from his forehead, his eyes
gawked, he began to plead.
squeezed the trigger.
sizzled through the air as well
as Pete’s brains and the back of his head, which stippled the back wall with
all of it. He crumpled to the floor, dead.
to Mal, she said. “Use Sig Sauer, now. Kill man.”
his brother, Johnny Aguas wanted to say something. Mal lifted the silenced
handgun, aimed it coldly at his forehead. Johnny’s tongue felt like a bale of
cotton in his mouth and that was the last thing he ever felt.
don’ want ta die, man.”
stared at him, growled. “We all die, no one gets out alive.”
Smoke plumed out of the barrel of Mal’s handgun.
bullet produced a small hole in Johnny’s forehead as it exploded out of the back,
painting the couch even redder than it was before.
Pilar walked over to Mal. Standing next to him she laid her arm around his
shoulder like good buddies often did.
best man Pilar ever know. Good work, we do well, yes Mal?”
peeked his eyes a little lower and there it was again, her most amazing
delicate and beautiful cinnamon face. It was a face that could not possibly
belong to such a cold blooded killer, but did.
out, he touched her face with his gloved fingers and smiled.
remarkable. Simply remarkable.”
she punched Mal in his arm.
make Pilar feel like young girl…Me like it.”
too.” Mal giggled.
where she was and what they had just done and what still needed to be done, she
escaped the moment.
we live still, we talk more. Now business still.”
nodded. He was a simple combatant waiting for orders.
you got money, still? Flash at club?”
give to me, all please.”
dug into his pocket, pulled out the nine grand in hundred dollar bills he had
in a nice fold, looked at it and handed it to her.
her eyebrows, another notch of respect grew in her mind for the tall, muscled
man with the lines in his face and the shaved head and the now, she was
positive, very sexy smile. He was a no
questions kinda a guy.
Better more, this for people I know.”
moved to the smoked glass coffee table and tossed the money on top of the glass
surface. She looked at Mal.
come, cleaners, clean…for them.”
swept up both cops’ leather cases and gold badges. She flipped them to him.
Much like a cat, he caught both in his hand.
be good use, later.”
found a small silver cell phone.
it open, her leather-clad thumb punched a button. As the phone buzzed, she
smiled at him.
you have number…Come
the phone shut, Pilar pocketed it, rubbed her high cheekbones, looked at Mal.
guess we ready. One hour, dead men
never here. Okay, we go see now this Maccas.”
looked at her for a moment.
deep into Mal eyes, she thought for a moment.
Mal, cold work. Men like these, like rabid jackal, hurt girl. Pilar never take
work for girl or woman. We, Mal, just help these animals where they go
no more words, Pilar turned and passed Mal, and as she did she allowed her
gloved hand to trail along his broad shoulder.
handsome…Maybe, we finish this. Now.”
playfully winked at him as she passed.
totally awed by her, he watched as she reached the door and exited. Shoving the
Sig Sauer into his waistband, Mal gripped the Mossberg and looked at the two
within all businesses, the Aguas brothers had been simply down sized after a corporate
Mal reached the door, he looked back at the dead men.
felt nothing, but he did feel something.
thought of Mandal, and how she would love Pilar as he did.
held no sexual desire for Pilar, Mandal was his woman, but he knew Pilar needed
Mandal, her love, her compassion, and he thought they would be perfect
was one problem.
he get her back to His and Mandal’s world alive?
knew death was now waiting for them in the darkness of the night.
was ready now as he nodded to himself, closed the door and walked into that
darkness that could kill them both.
j brooke is a writer with over 100 credits, and never
lists them. It's simple for j, for it’s never what you have already written,
but what you are going to write next. Contact info: firstname.lastname@example.org