Blood of the Assassin

CHAPTER 33





El Jaguar stirred, the combination of alcohol and drugs having disturbed his sleep cycle, and one eye flittered open as he registered a sound: a tearing, like fabric, only louder. He was just coming to when a strip of duct tape smacked across his mouth, and then every nerve in his body radiated pain as a blow struck him just below his right ear. By the time he had regained control, his hands were bound behind his back and he was lying face up on his king-sized mattress.

“Shhh. Don’t struggle,” a soft voice whispered, and then, when he ignored the instruction, another starburst of agony shot through his body from another strike, this one at the junction where his neck met his chest. Everything went numb after a few seconds, and then as his nerves resumed transmitting, pain washed over him in waves as he struggled to breathe, tears streaming down his face.

“That first pressure point is called Dokko. The second, Hichu. Both are extremely effective, I think you’ll agree. Should I continue with my little demonstration, or are you going to behave?” the voice asked reasonably.

El Jaguar nodded meekly.

“If I take the tape off your mouth, will you agree to stay quiet? Not that it will do any good for you to scream. This room is so well insulated it’s almost soundproof – a big plus to dampen the traffic noise, but not very bright if one considers the other implications. That door is really something, by the way. What is it – steel with a foam core? You could stave off an army with that thing.” A dark hand motioned at the bedroom door twenty-five feet away.

El Jaguar nodded again, and El Rey tore off the tape, ignoring the muffled cry of pain when he did so.

“You’re so f*cking dead. I’m looking at a dead man,” El Jaguar hissed.

“Well, no, not really. But you’re close. What you’re actually looking at is death. My specialty is relieving people of their obligation to continue breathing. It’s an exhausting affair, all the blood circulating, air entering the lungs, lymphatic system flushing toxins, organs filtering…”

The crime boss’s eyes narrowed, and for the first time his fury was replaced with something else. Awareness. And fear. He felt a tickle of the unexpected sensation in his stomach, and struggled to swallow.

“Who are you, and what do you want?”

“Ah, much better. A man who asks good questions. My nom de plume, which you might have heard of, is El Rey – The King of Swords. And what I want is information. Actually, a very simple piece of information. Trivial in the scheme of things. A trifle,” El Rey whispered, as if telling the cartel man a secret.

“El Rey? The El Rey? Fine. Whatever you’re being paid, I’ll double it. In fact, I’ll triple it for you to go back and kill whoever your client is.”

“That’s a very attractive offer. What if I told you that your life cost a million dollars? That is the price tag for eliminating you?”

“Then you just made an extra two million. Now untie me,” he snarled.

“If I’d known it was this easy to get rich quick, I would have changed my business plan a long time ago.”

“Stop screwing around. Let me go. I have enough cash here to pay you the whole thing. Now.”

“See, that’s the problem. I don’t completely trust you. I’m a man of my word; but, well, with all due respect, under the present circumstances, I could see you exaggerating or misstating. A sad state of affairs that the world is so distrusting, but there it is.”

El Jaguar was starting to feel trepidation again. The discussion wasn’t going the way it should have. “How do you want to do this?”

“You tell me where to find the money, I count it and take two million, and then you go back to sleep and I disappear.”

“How do I know you’re not going to rob me and kill me?”

“You don’t. But do you really think that I came here to rob you? Not very smart, are you?” El Rey asked, almost to himself.

El Jaguar flushed with anger. “Nobody talks to me like that and lives.”

“I believe you. Now are you going to tell me where the money is, or should I put the tape back on, rape you for a half hour, and then we’ll resume the discussion? I’m sure the rumors about your adventure will raise your standing considerably with your men. Are you feeling experimental?”

“You...fine. In the closet – there’s a panel on one side. Slide it forward. Behind it is a safe. There’s about five million in it.”

“I figured you might have a little walking around money. Very prudent.” El Rey walked over to the closet and had the safe exposed in seconds. “What’s the combination?”

El Jaguar told him, and within another few moments the assassin had the safe open. He whistled softly.

“Wow. Crime really does pay.” He reached past the neatly bundled stacks of hundred dollar bills, and withdrew a pistol – a custom .45 made by JPL Precision, with a lightened slide, ion bond coating, Bomar sights, and a black oxide grip treatment. “This is beautiful. A work of art,” he said, hefting it, then checking the magazine before chambering a round. “You must love this gun.”

El Jaguar didn’t say anything. Something was badly wrong, he could sense it. “You have the money. And my gun. Now let me go and our business will be concluded. There will be no consequences.”

El Rey stepped away from the open safe, the pliant soles of his boots soundless on the Italian marble floor, and approached his captive again, slipping the gun into his waistband.

“Not completely. I still need a piece of information. Where are you holding the woman? The wife of the task force captain?” El Rey asked, as nonchalantly as if he was asking for cream in his coffee.

The drug lord’s blood froze. “What the hell are you talking about? What is this? You have the money–”

“Yes, and your gun. We agreed on that. Now I need the information I came for. Where is she?”

“No. I can’t.” The fear in his eyes was real.

“What do you think will happen if you don’t?”

“I’d be a dead man – and they’ll get my family, too.”

“You aren’t paying attention. You’re a dead man if you don’t tell me.”

El Jaguar glared at him defiantly. “I’m not afraid to die.”

El Rey nodded. “I believe you. I see it in your eyes. You’ve known much death, and you know how easily life ends – how little drama there is. But there are worse things. Much worse.”

“I can’t tell you. I won’t. I don’t know.”

“Now you’re insulting me. The top dog for the Zs here doesn’t know where the kidnapped wife is? Please.” El Rey sighed, a sad sound, part impatience and part resignation. “I guess we’ll do this the hard way, then.” He reached for the roll of tape he had placed on the night table, tore off another piece, and placed it over El Jaguar’s mouth as he screamed for help and tried to pull away, and then drew a switchblade from his pocket and flicked it open. The drug maven’s eyes widened as the evil blade gleamed in the dim moonlight from the street-facing window, and the assassin turned it slowly, as if inspecting it.

“Here’s what I’m going to do. I’ll start with your balls, then work up. By the time I make it to your neck, you’ll have told me everything I want to know. You’d kill your mother for relief. I believe you aren’t afraid to die. But I wonder if you’ll be afraid to spend the last few moments of your life being slowly dismembered? I can control the bleeding and keep you alive for hours. It’ll seem like an eternity to you, but I have a lot of practice at this, so I know what it will take to keep you breathing. Maybe I’ll leave you alive, without your manhood, so that every waking moment of your miserable life is spent in horror. We’ll see how I feel once I’ve gotten done with the first bit.”

El Jaguar’s eyes darted side to side in panic, and El Rey sliced his pajama bottoms open with a single swipe.

“I spent hours sharpening this today. While I was waiting for you to finish with the girls. I hate a dull knife. It’s...imprecise. Sloppy. Now last chance – where is she?”

Ten minutes later, El Rey was sure he had been told the truth.

After an expertly placed cut, El Jaguar painlessly exsanguinated on his bed, his brutal life departing his body as the assassin stuffed half the safe’s cash into his backpack, leaving the rest with the door open. Whoever found the corpse would probably take the cash and come up with some pretense to delay discovery while they made off with the money, further buying time.

He glanced at the bed again, having taken no pleasure in his work, and then with an eye on his watch, slid open the second-story window and pulled himself into the night.