High Stakes Gamble

Chapter Fourteen

Mani’s arm was tiring from punching the cowering girl writhing on the floor below him. Not air-conditioned like the cab, the intolerable heat inside the trailer also added to his dilemma and took the fun away from a pastime he normally enjoyed—beating women.

Just like his old man had to school his mom, the stupid scrag who never fought back not even to protect him, he had to show this group who was boss.

“Bitch!” This time he slapped the girl and caught his ring in the long strands of her hair, then yanked viciously to loosen it. “I told you to keep the kid quiet. It’s your fault I had to kill a cop.” Spit flew in all directions as his anger once again became fuelled. “Now the boss is pissed at me.” Rage burgeoned, and lazy to the bone, Mani kicked her instead of bending over again.

The girl mewed just like the stupid whining puppy he’d tortured way back in elementary school. For some reason he didn’t understand, that memory made him back off.

Disgusted, he turned to the other five young females bunched together in the far corner. Hidden behind the front whores, the girls in back held three screaming rug-rats and tried in vain to hush their persistent bawling.

“Shut them brats up. I told you I don’t want to hear another peep out of their squawkers.”

Beaten, but stupid with guts, the Hispanic chick in front of him rolled over and pulled herself up against the side of the trailer wall. Cradling her stomach with her bleeding arms, she spit out some blood and opened her one working eye—the other useless from swelling.

“They cry because they are hungry, Señor. They need milk. Por favor, have mercy for the ninos.”

“I gave you milk!” he roared in anger. Christ! After the beating he gave her, she still had the guts disrespect him?

“One bottle is not sufficient. There was only one baby then to care for. Now there are three. You must bring more or they will die.” As if her head weighed more then she could bear, it swayed forward. Her straggling, sweat-soaked hair curtained her face.

“Son of a bitch! Women and babies! Just my f*cking luck.” Mani slammed his hand against the wall, still too lazy to bend down or get another female to hit. “Fine, I’ll bring milk. But be warned. Any more trouble with you whores and I’ll kill you all and be dammed. They don’t pay me enough for this shit.”

He slammed out of the trailer, banged the back doors closed, and heard a satisfactory clang as he forced the bolt home.

Since the day he’d shot his first victim, Mani could never remember a time he feared for his safety. As long as he carried his gun and a bad attitude no one messed with him. But today things had changed.

Spitting with anger, his boss had given him an ultimatum. “Get the merchandise to L.A. in time for the ship leaving in two days or shoot the hostages and then you might as well shoot yourself.”

What had been left unsaid was if he didn’t, and they got their hands on him, they’d torture him, make him suffer in ways that didn’t even bear thinking about. He shuddered at the thought. He’d seen their handiwork on the bodies of other men who hadn’t done their jobs. In fact, he’d been forced to bury the pieces in the desert.

Quickly, he veered off into the direction of the cab and spun out of the yard heading to the nearest supermarket. A short time later he came out loaded with milk, water, diapers, a large bottle of whiskey and cans of black spray paint.