None of them see me.
None of them are Julio Perez, either, which makes my life that little bit more difficult. Where the fuck is he? Kitchen? Is there a downstairs dining room? I haven’t had time to assess the footprint of the building, but the place is pretty big. I wouldn’t be surprised if there are bedrooms on the lower level of the house. Either that, or Julio’s family is much, much bigger than I anticipated. The game show cuts to a commercial break, and one of the men groans as he heaves his ass of the couch.
?Alguien quiere una cerveza? Does anyone want a beer? It’s only eleven thirty in the morning. If these guys are relaxed enough to start their day drinking so early, then they must have grown complacent. They’re not waiting for anybody to storm the building. They’re just enjoying their downtime. Do any of them have guns? I can’t see a single handgun or a rifle within arm’s reach of these assholes, so it’s unlikely that they’re even armed. Things are never as they seem in these circumstances, though. I’ve been involved in enough sieges and attacks on people’s property to know there’s always one guy ready and willing to throw down. Always one dude with a gun jammed down the back of his pants, just like me, complete with itchy trigger finger.
I duck back down again, continuing around the side of the house, counting under my breath.
Eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve…
I reach a much smaller open window on the western facing side of the property, and I do the same thing—squat low on my haunches, thumbs looped underneath the shoulder straps of my backpack, holding my breath. My pulse thumps in my ears, but it’s slow and steady. I’ve been in this situation too many times to count over the past ten years. The fear wears off after a while, replaced with a strange, flat kind of calm that eventually becomes a part of you. I suppose it’s an acceptance of fate. I might die in the next fifteen minutes. I might not. Either way, I won’t be sorry that I did what I had to do.
?Dónde está Javier?
No lo sé.
Encontrarlo. Tenemos que irnos pronto.
Two men inside, talking about finding a third, Javier. Talking about moving soon. I can’t be sure if the guy throwing around orders was Julio or not, but it could have been. I risk a quick peek into the room, but when I look over the sill, the small kitchen inside is empty, the door slowly swinging closed behind someone who has already left.
“Fuck.” I keep going around the house. The next few windows are all closed, blinds pulled down. I move round to the back of the property, and a low, rumbling snarl stops me in my tracks. A brindle pit bull, jowls pulled back, baring his teeth, is staring straight at me. He’s chained, but from the links of steel pooled at his feet it looks like he’s been given a lot of leeway. He can definitely reach me, only four feet away from him. I lock eyes with him, clenching my jaw, pressing my lips together. Sometimes simply refusing to back down from a dog is enough to make them submit. Even as I attempt to stare him down, I already know this isn’t that kind of dog, though. He snarls louder, taking a step forward, and I slowly reach into the pocket of my leather jacket, groping with my fingers until I find what I’m looking for—a small, four inch balisong butterfly knife. Cold hard steel, sharper than sharp and ready for action. I yank it from my pocket just in time. He leaps, and I flick the knife open, the blade snaking out and landing with a sickening wet sound, sliding past the dog’s ribcage, puncturing his lung. He barks madly, hackles raised, claws tearing into the hard packed dirt beneath us as he lunges for me again. The wound only seems to have riled him up even more.
Someone slams a door inside the farmhouse, swearing loudly, but no one comes outside to see what’s going on. Lucky. Really fucking lucky.
The dog’s jaws close around my forearm, and he begins to jerk his head from side to side, growling furiously. Pain rips into me. My forearm feels like it’s going to snap under the pressure. Thankfully my leather jacket is stopping his teeth from tearing into my skin, but if he carries on for much longer he’s gonna be breaking bones.
I punch him in the side of the head, but he doesn’t let go. I fall back onto my ass in the dirt, grinding my teeth together as he tries to climb on top of me, probably hoping to go for my throat.