I just broke back into my prison.
I don’t feel accomplished or relieved. In fact, the only emotion that runs through my charred veins is a surprise mixture of anger and frustration.
I broke into this place all on my own... so what the fuck is Angel’s excuse? If I can get through all of that, then why the fuck hasn’t he been able to!?
He must have given up on me. He must not care...
It’s the last thought in my mind before I pass out.
6
Angel
The sun sets over the countryside in a brilliant display of golden light.
I have no time to appreciate it. I
’m in a rush to pay my old friend a visit. Juan Arias. The traitor. Karma’s about to catch up to the son-of-a-bitch, and it’s going to run over him in the form of my clenched fists.
Mendoza talked. It took some convincing, but he spilled his guts before I spilled his brains out over that Arabian carpet of his.
Oh, how much I learned... but there’s still so much more to know, and Juan is the man who’s going to tell it all to me.
Apparently, he’s been living in his own mini-compound out in the countryside. Mendoza insisted that he didn’t know the address, but his phone told a different story—I just had to unlock it with his severed thumb first.
A heavy wind sways the trees alongside the road as I turn down a small side path just a few hundred yards away from where Juan is supposed to be staying. The traitor is still working for Dante, but apparently my little brother doesn’t much like the sight of him; so, the consigliere does most of his work on the ground, or out here, where no one can bother him.
Well, I’m about to do a little more than just bother him.
I stash my car under a hail of bushes and jungle leaves and make up the remaining distance on my feet. Juan’s smart, and I have little doubt that his residence will be just as heavily guarded as anything involving Dante. That’s why it took me two days to prepare for this invasion. I gave Jesus Medina and his country boys a call and told them how to set-up a distraction just outside of my intended destination. They’re due to light some fireworks any minute now, and hopefully it will give me enough space to slip through Juan’s defences with all my gear.
You see, I know Juan. He’s not going to talk as easy as Mendoza or any regular street tough. He’s been in this game too long to give up now. I’ll have to be convincing, and that means pulling out all the stops. In my backpack, I’ve got tools that never fail to make grown men whimper like little girls, and they’re stashed right beside jumper cables that could make a mute talk.
But first, I need to get to him.
Mendoza had said that Juan usually goes home after sun down. Back when Juan worked for me, it hardly seemed like he ever went home. Things are different with Dante, though. My little brother apparently only calls on Juan when he actively needs something from him. I, on the other hand, kept my advisor close at all times, and not just because he was good at nipping problems in the bud...
Almost on cue, the familiar crackle of distant fireworks, mixed in with a bit of unruly gunfire for confusion, sputters up from the west. I sprint through the thick jungle, not willing to risk missing my chance.
The sound of Juan’s security forces racing towards the scene of my planned diversion hits my ears before the sight of the modest villa complex greets my eyes. I crouch behind a big thick bush and prepare. Dune buggies dash by my hiding spot, followed closely by wolf packs of heavily-armed men. It seems like an excessive response to a bunch of fireworks, but from what I can tell, there’s a sense of uneasiness about the scrambling group.
Everyone looks on edge. Word of my little underworld rampage must be gaining traction. Good. I want everyone to be afraid. As long as I don’t leave any witnesses, none of it will come back to me.
When the last wave of security fades into the distance, I make a beeline for the nearest monument. A ten-foot high white marble statue of a cherub covers my presence as I make sure my pistol is loaded.
A group of five or so men open a nearby sliding door and sprint from the house. I holster my gun and slip out my switchblade, and then, when I see them disappear behind the front gate, I make my move for the door.
It’s unlocked. Fools.
Part of me is angry at the men for being so careless. I didn’t get a good look at any of their faces, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they were former employees of mine. Were the people who worked for me always so incompetent? It wouldn’t shock me anymore—in fact, it might bring me some closure. So far, I’ve been carrying the full weight of my failure without any help, without anyone to truly blame but myself, but if my men were just lazy slobs...
Then that just means you didn’t train them right. There’s no running from responsibility anymore. These failures are mine to carry and mine to rectify, and my path to redemption starts here and now.
The inside of Juan’s villa isn’t as quiet as I had hoped it would be. Footsteps pound over the ceiling and I’m forced to duck into the shadows as a small group of men bolt around a nearby corner. It’s already clear that I’m not going to have much time in here, but I won’t need long—I just need to extract Juan and get him back to my car. If I have to use him as a human shield to do that, then so be it. I pull down my ski mask and wait for another opening.
The rushing footsteps on the ceiling slowly dissipate and I make a push for the nearest staircase. From what I remember about my old advisor, he always liked to work from the highest floor of whatever building he was in. A skyscraper would have him in the clouds while he schemed, but a three-story villa would have him on the third floor. So, that’s where I head.
My path up the stairs goes smoothly, and by the time I’m at the first door on the top floor a growing suspicion has started to drag me down.