A fucking .44 Magnum.
This guy thought he was the Mexican Dirty Harry. The man in the mask allowed himself to smile. He didn’t have one of those. He let the gangster open and close the small fridge a few times, waiting for something new to appear, before deciding on a half-empty bottle of Montezuma. He poured damn near two inches of the contents down his gullet and steadied himself on the counter. When he turned to make a concerted effort to reach the bedroom he noticed the man in the mask sitting in the living room recliner. He also noticed the Glock 17 in his lap. The man in the mask smiled under his balaclava and watched the older man’s face go solemn as every possible escape scenario played out across it. Can I get to my gun on the table first before this intruder can pick his up from his lap? Is my safety on? How many steps to the front door? Can I rush the man in the chair before he has time to shoot? Are my homeboys still outside, toking down? In the end, he decided to play it cool and maybe talk his way out.
“If you are here to kill me, ese, you better just get it done. But prepare to be hunted down like a fucking dog in the street. I’m connected, homes. I got respect up and down the coast. You ready for that kinda trouble, white boy?”
The man in the mask uncrossed his legs, picked up the gun in his lap, and held it loosely pointed at his mark. “Forgive me, Pepé, if I’m not too impressed by an old spic gangster living in an aluminum trailer in the middle of spring-break land. You gonna call up a bunch of date-raping frat boys to throw their checkbooks at me?”
Pepé heard his name. This wasn’t random. He flicked his eyes to the massive gun on the table. Only three feet, but it might as well be the span of the Grand Canyon. The man in the mask waved his gun. “You don’t want to do that, Pops. By the time you reach it, pick it up, and click the safety, Pepé Ramirez will be nothing but bad tattoos and strawberry jelly. Besides, don’t you want to know who I am? Why I’m here with my own big-ass gun?”
“Fuck you, man.”
Agent Holly sighed and took off the mask. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Fuck me. I’m sure you’ve got a laundry list of people who want to kill you. I could be anybody.”
“Why don’t you stop talking and just do it already?”
“Why don’t you have a seat?” Holly stood up, gun trained on his mark, and motioned to the breakfast nook. Pepé hesitated, but he sat.
“Here, why don’t I take that out of the equation so we can focus.” Holly picked up Pepé’s gun and tossed the heavy chunk of steel onto the recliner. The last bit of hope drained from Pepé’s eyes, leaving behind two empty dead sockets as the gun bounced on the mahogany seat. “The truth is, it doesn’t matter who I am. I’m not here for me.” Holly produced a small photograph from the pocket of his black BDUs and placed it on the table in front of Pepé. “I’m here for her.”
Pepé didn’t look at it. He just dug his eyes into the man with the gun.
“Do you remember her?”
Pepé dug his stare in deeper. Holly gave it right back and leaned in a little closer. “Look at the picture before I put a bullet in each of your fucking kneecaps.”
Pepé looked down at the picture of a woman sitting in the grass with a small boy. He studied it closely before hawking up a big wad of snot and spitting on it. Holly moved like a blur. A white-hot blast of pain exploded in Pepé’s face as Holly belted him with the Glock. Pepé was used to pain but hadn’t experienced it in a long time. Not since getting out of the game. It leveled him.
“Okay, man. Fuck. What do you fucking want?”
Holly pulled Pepé’s head up off the table by his obviously dyed, greasy black hair. He yelped. “Ow! Goddamn it, ese. What do you want?”
Holly let go and picked up the picture. “I asked you a question, you disrespectful piece of shit.”
“What? What fucking question?”
Holly held the photo within an inch of Pepé’s face. “I asked you if you remembered the girl.”
Pepé looked again. “She look like every other bitch whore I ever ran.”
Holly pressed the barrel of his gun against Pepé’s forehead hard enough to leave a mark. He put the photo back down on the table and spoke calmly. “This is your last chance, homes. Show me a little respect and answer my questions, and maybe you come out of this alive.”
Pepé swallowed a mouthful of the blood. “Who you fucking kidding, ese? It don’t make no difference if I answer your questions or not, and you know it. I come in here. I see you sitting in my chair, in my place. Don’t even have your gun in your hand. Sitting there without a care in the world. Like we good buddies. You wear that fucking mask like it’s suppose to hide something, but it don’t hide your eyes. You got a killer’s eyes, homes. That’s why I knew right away, one of us was going to die. You a fucking killer through and through. Just like me, ese.”