Drug Lords Gift 1

To the reader:

This novella comprises 18,000 words (35 book pages) and 5 chapters (All published here).

At the time this story occurs, all characters are age 18 or older.

That guy scared the shit out of me, particularly later when I learned he was Carlos Espino and he'd made his fortune wholesaling

H

to the dumb-ass wealthies in Los Angeles and San Francisco. Anyone living over there who had even the slightest run-in with him regretted it and made damned certain it never happened again—if they survived their first encounter.

Had I been somewhere else that Sunday morning instead of running around the hills in my chopped down, Chevy pickup brush-buggy, I never would have run into him and would not have this story to tell. Believe me, my life would have been completely different.

But it was nice, out there that morning at 9:30, dry as usual in May, and still cool enough to enjoy the sun and the expansive scenery up there among those sagebrush hills. As I tooled along a cow-path, I breasted a hill to see a cloud of dust rise in the distance from an out-of-sight low spot just beyond the next hump in the road. Well, someone else must be out enjoying this spring morning, too, cutting up dust out here in this narrow, arid valley—but at a much higher speed.

When I got closer, the

out of sight

turned out to be a hidden gully with its bridge washed away, and a big, but not-very-new Cadillac convertible that had needed that missing bridge. I don't watch much TV news, so I didn't recognize the body lying twenty feet down the gully from the half-rolled car. Just another dumb-ass driver with no seatbelt! What I did see in the still-hanging dust was a rather dark-complected guy bleeding profusely from several places, and his neck, arm and right shoulder twisted in directions Mother Nature had never intended. The glazed look in his open eyes at first made me think he was dead. But after a few seconds, his chest moved.

I scrambled over, gave him quick look, and decided he wouldn't die in the next ten seconds, even if my cell phone wouldn't work out here to call for help. Of course it didn't, so I fronted him some water from my cooler onto the towel I keep for wrapping my brow against the heat, and tried to get him conscious once more. That took some time, splashing coolish water on his face and trying to get some into his mouth, yet not drown him. But what else could I do? He did come to, more or less, but not completely—like he was still in another world. So, what next?

"You're not going to die," I said as I dragged him into a more human-looking position, head elevated only somewhat, his twisted shoulder and upper arm now positioned more where they should have been. He mumbled something unintelligible.

"No, you're not going to die. At least not today if I have anything to say about it."

He half mumbled, half groaned and passed out again. So, I guessed the best thing to do was find help that knew more than I did about what to do for him. That meant get out from between these rock hills to where my cell worked and call 911.

"I'm going to get help," I said to what I once again thought was an inert body. But he groaned again and moved his good hand into his shirt. Okay, now that looked ominous, particularly as he pulled out a black plastic pistol like the Keltec P-11 I always carried as

my

just in case

gun.

"Here," he gasped. "Get rid of this. Please?" In a feeble attempt he tossed it toward me.

So now what had I gotten myself into? I picked it up, carried it to my brush buggy and stowed it in my under-the-seat, gun-tote pouch.

"Going now," I said. "Don't run off while I'm gone. Okay?"

"Just get rid of that gun so they not find it with you."

What was that all about?

Ten minutes later I found a place where my cell worked, and five minutes after that I'd described to the 911 lady what I wanted. As I did, I thought about that gun of his. Now, I'm an mechanical engineer, and I hate damaging any well-made mechanical device like my P-11, and his S&K fell securely into that category. I believe, quite reasonably, that guns, being non-thinking devices, are not evil themselves, only the people who misuse them are. But if he was so concerned about me getting rid of his gun, I should be concerned, too. Maybe he was a Latino James Bond or something like that, and that gun held the secret microfilm that could save the entire world if not discovered by the bad guys. But probably I shouldn't be caught with it, either way.

So, by the time the ambulance whizzed by—incidentally missing the turn onto the correct road so they had to turn around a half mile farther on and come back—I'd ditched his gun in a convenient pile of rubble protecting the east end a road culvert. Yes, I wiped my fingerprints off it before stashing it, which should have removed all of his, too.

I didn't think much more about that morning after I led the EMS guys back up to him, except to remark to myself several times how self-impressed government representatives are. From the grilling the cops gave me, you'd have thought I'd removed that bridge, driven that guy into the coulee wash, wrecked his car on purpose, and only called 911 after it looked as if he would die.

But finally I got loose from them, and went on about my Sunday's entertainment. On my swing back home that evening, I rescued his pistol from its roadside cache and deposited it later in a US Mail drop box on the far side of Smithburg from where I live. I figured that way they'd never trace it back to me.

***

After work one evening three months later, I answered my door to find a very attractive Latina had rung my bell.

"Hello?" I said, figuring she must be a year-out-of-highschooler, selling magazines, cookies, candy, or something like that.

"Senior Worden?"

"Yes?"

"I be Anna Sanchez? Senior Espino he send me," she said, looking at her toes.

For what? I hadn't a clue. In fact I'd barely remembered that name as being part of my three months ago rescue experience seventy miles up north in Los Gatos Canyon.

"What for?"

"I help you."

"Help? Me?"

"Si. I clean house, washing clothies, making food and every much." That was a darling Mexican accent she had.

"I do my own, so don't bother."

"Oh no, Senor. I do or Mister Espino he make very angry with me. I no want angry him."

"Well, I don't want you or need you, so please go back and thank Mr. Espino. Tell him I very much appreciate his generosity, but he owes me nothing." With that I closed the door, more or less in her face, and after the time it should have taken her to get off my porch, switched off the porch light. So much for that!

But just after I went to bed, I heard another noise from my front porch. A stray dog, maybe, or someone's abandoned pet? What did I find? Anna Sanchez on my doorstep, cold, shivering, and looking not at all good for the coolish evening temperature.

So, I let her come in, which I figured would turn out a mistake. She only stood there, as if awaiting commands from me. I started to say something in rebuttal, but she stopped me.

"Please, Senior Worden? Not send Anna back. Por favor?" That was fear in her voice, not mere preference or expression of hope.

"Why?"

"He think I not do what he say. He have men beat me again and then ..." With that she turned to one side and showed a forest of red welts on her shoulders and backs of her arms.

I quickly wondered about the

and then

part she hadn't said. Maybe I hadn't done the world a great favor getting the EMS guys to resuscitate this Mr. Espino.

So what could I do? Send her back to that? Or keep her here, at least overnight? And what about tomorrow? Then what? Go find this guy and give him back his girl? How would I find him? Get Anna to show me? That very thought hinted it might turn out bad for her.

I ended up putting her on my couch, but that didn't last much beyond lights out. I may have dozed off a minute or two before finding her in my bed and intent on staying there.

She laid her hand on me, but I pushed it aside. Last thing I needed was a girl traipsing around behind me. And what would I do with her while I went to work tomorrow? Leave her in my house? Alone? Alone with whatever she might steal? Oh, well.

Almost as soon as my alarm went off next morning, she was up and in my way as I tried to get ready for work.

"Please, Senior Worden, you let Anna help, si? Is what he say me do: Help ever way can."

"Well, you're in my way. Get out of here so I can take a shower."

"I help, if you let," she said. "I give good shower."

Yeah, I'll bet you would.

"Please, Sir? I do? Please?"

Pretty tough to refuse an offer like that when it's a beautiful, barely-clothed-at-all Latina making the offer, the sight of her quite certainly after-market breasts poking out like offerings and making me dizzy, and that solid little ass of hers anchoring my attention.

"Okay. Into the shower with you."

"Gracias, Senior Worden. Thank you, thank you. You tell what like, I do it best I know."

I was on the verge of being late for work, so what might have happened in the shower didn't, although Anna made it plain if that's what I wanted, any of it I could have. She helped me dry myself—just to speed things up, of course. She disappeared when I got a bit gruff with her because she got in my way while I scrambled to get my clothes on for work and buzz my razor across my face a few times.

In the kitchen I found she'd put together a semblance of breakfast, much more complete than I'd have made for myself, and all apologetic for not doing more. As I choked that down, she asked in great detail what I wanted her to do while I was at work: Make the bed, do my laundry—it's in the closet—straighten the living room—which it needed badly.

"Washem dishes, too?"

"If you like."

"Anna like."

I smiled.

"Then you like Anna? Anna like you more tonight, si? Por favor? La cama? Es ... uh ... bed, si?"

I nodded, collected anything that would fit in my pockets that she might steal, looked one last time at the rest of the stuff I figured I might never see again, and left. This was beginning to sound like a Southwest version of

Mad Dog and Glory

, but what could I do?

That evening Anna found enough in my cupboards and fridge to make a pretty decent supper, and made such a fuss over serving it to me, I really became annoyed by the time it was finished. No woman had ever made such ado over me, except perhaps my mother when I was too young to remember. But the question still faced me: What to do about her? I decided upon prying this drug dealer's address out of her, and going over to have a talk with him, and getting this taken care of once and for all.

Anna knew better, and when I all but threatened her, she lapsed into pleading tears. Among those tears I several times heard something even my meager Spanish recognized as being about

sister

and

hurt

. What was

matar

and

asesinar

? The Spanish verbs

to kill

and

to murder

?

She tried to talk me out of it, but being Mister Bull-Headed, I wasn't about to get scared off by a cute little Latina telling me in broken English I might get hurt. So I packed her and my self-impressed self into my car, and headed toward the high budget part of town. All the way she half cried, half sniveled, begging me,

please not go!

I suspect she gave me long-way-around directions just to make our lives last a few seconds longer.

The place to where she ultimately directed me looked much like where you'd expect a semi-wealthy drug king-pin to live: High masonry wall all around, a full height gate you couldn't see through or over, on an obviously large lot, on an expensive street in a part of town I'd never be able to afford, even if I won a medium size

Hyper-Ball Lottery

.

I parked in the driveway, got out, and pressed the gate-bell button below the intercom grille.

"Yes?" That Latino-tainted male voice didn't sound one bit cordial.

"I'm Matt Worden. May I see Mister Espino, please?"

"What about?"

"He sent me a very nice gift, but I need to talk to him about that."

A protracted silence followed, which I assumed meant whoever that had been, was checking with the man I saved out in the desert.

"Mister Espino he can't see you now. He is very busy, and not feeling well. Please call later and make an appointment." After that came a phone number that sounded phony, and a conversation quelling click.

"Thank you. And please tell Mister Espino I hope he feels well soon," I said to the probably dead intercom. Well, so much for that. I climbed back into my car, went through the motions of starting it, backed from the short driveway, and headed down the street the way we'd come. The sigh Anna let out was huge, large enough for three women her size. She scooted over against my console and took my hand.

"Oh, Mister Worden! I so worry. I afraid he hurt you—both us, you know?"

"We're okay. That's what matters.

She squeezed my hand so tight and so long I thought its circulation had been dangerously restricted.

"Please, Mister? Let Anna live in your casa like he say? Really, Senior, I do anything you want. Please, just don't him make mad."

"Why would that make him mad? I'm just trying to ..."—what the hell

was

I trying to do, anyway? Yeah, that was it: Give a man back the best present one man ever gave another? Why? Was I out of my freakin' mind? I looked over at Anna and realized I had to be the stupidest guy in the world! She didn't seem to mind; why should I?

Maybe, if I knew the whole story I'd feel more comfortable about this, so once we got a mile or two away from Espino's compound, I pulled into a parking lot, stopped, bowled ahead in my usual manner, and asked.

"You know this guy, I gather?"

She looked down, then nodded.

"So why's he figure he needs to give me a woman?"

She didn't look up.

"Didn't he say? What did he say when he sent you out to me? How did you get to my place, anyway?"

"Two his men bring."

"How did they know where?"

"He tell."

"How did he find out my address?"

"I not know, Mister Worden. But he know." Just that quickly I wished I lived somewhere else.

"And what did he tell you to do once you got to my house?"

"Anything you wanted. He say

everything

several times, so be sure Anna comprendo."

"So what if you didn't—you know? Ran away or something instead?"

"He kill my sister soon he find her. And he find."

"A sister?" Ooohh!

She nodded. "Yeah, Anna have sister twin. Maria. Our Rudy pimp owes him same for her as me."

"Owes? What you mean?"

"Rudy, he is borrow many dollars from Senior Espino, for our both titties. Then he try run away and not pay back. He get not very far before those men catch him and us. From our room it sound like they beat him to kill before shoot."

I nodded. This was beginning to at least make

some

sense. I looked up with

so?

on my face.

"Now he still want money back, and all we have is us. Our titties belong to him, but so far he no find pimp to buy, so ..." She stopped a moment, then said in a different tone, "I think nobody ever help him before like you. He maybe decide if can't have money back, at least he can pay you back some nice."

I snorted. A grateful thug? That had to be one for the books!

"What's this about your sister?"

"Oh, Maria, she run away. If he find her, he quick kill her like he kill Rudy. She very much mouthy; he not like big mouthy. He not like anybody who think not like him. Is why I so worry you to go see him. He chooses, he says, but you and me,

we

do

."

"Oh." Maybe I was lucky the gate guard sent me away.

She looked up, now, tears starting in her eyes. "Oh, Mister Worden, I'm so ashame. I live with him and his men after Rudy dead. I'm sorry! I can't ... I can't be ..."

"What? What Anna?"

"Be virgin for you. You so nice to me, but I no can be so good for you."

"Doesn't matter. You just be as good for me as you can, okay? I'm sure that will be plenty nice." Did I really intend to do as that sounded?

"Oh, Mister Worden, please? Take me to your house and your sleep room and let me treat you best I know, please? You teach me everything you like, please? And I teach you everything I know so you can choose. Si?"

"You ever think about it?" I said after a short pause, trying to get my thoughts so they made sense.

"What?" She said from among her tears.

"A virgin can only make love once?"

She chuckled under her breath. "Would be nice if first time be make love like you. But Mister Espino and men not be Anna first sex, anyway."

"Doesn't matter to me."

"Hurry, Mister Matt, okay? I want show you how good I be making your bed."

Yeah, I'd bet she was. That look in her eyes said I better get ready for her non-virgin's best.

***

Anna and I had just finished testing her first sample of bed-making technique for the following evening when the doorbell rang—twice, and impatient. This time of the evening? Christ, it was nearly dark! Who?

I clambered out of bed and slipped into my bathrobe before skirting the living room stuff getting to the door. Nothing like being caught in your bedroom robe by two guys who looked as if individually each could do you grievous harm with a single punch, not to mention with the toad-sticker he probably had up his sleeve.

"Hello?" Let me tell you my pulse suddenly banged hard in my chest as soon as the door opened, and it wasn't the result of my gallop to the front door!

"Mister Espino he send us. Here is other half of present you want see him about other day." With that they stepped aside and shoved a second Anna at me. Maria?

This girl looked as if they had tried to get whatever payment Mister Espino wanted by beating it out of her body. Ripped and torn clothes, half-on/half-off shoes, bruises all over her face and the exposed parts of her body. What impressed me, though, was she looked as if she'd go another round if given provocation and a 50-50 chance at a win.

Just then, Anna erupted from the bedroom hallway with not much on and the two women flung themselves at each other. From then on we three guys were barricaded from the conversation. The two muscle men quickly realized if they skedaddled out of there, I'd be stuck with both women and they'd escape unscathed. One said over his shoulder in a mish-mash of English and Spanish, "Good luck, and call Mister Espino tomorrow. Here is paper with phone nombre."

"Oh, Maria! You good?" Anna said when she came up for air and pulled back from her embrace around her sister.

"Si, I okay."

"What happen?"

"They find me up in Portland. I not want come back here. They beat me 'til I go sleepy."

"You look like so. You okay, now?"

"Yes." With that she looked around. "Who he is?"

"Senior Worden. He good."

Maria looked up at me with

oh yeah?

on her face. I did my best to smile, although I didn't know what I was smiling about.

"I am his present like you," Anna said. "Senior Espino give him both us. He tell me stay here and do anything Mister Worden want."

"Really?"

"Si."

"Well. Maybe I should come back here more easy. He handsome, look plenty nice, tambien." Now we had a flirt instead of whatever had been there before.

I could only guess what I'd find at home when I returned from work the following evening. One completely unknown and one still mostly unknown in my house with everything I owned and mostly small enough they could steal it?

What I found instead of worry, was a large, thoroughly taped up, cardboard box with no shipping label that had been delivered to my porch some time during the day. I knew I hadn't ordered anything by mail order, so it wasn't my doing. I strongly suspected Anna and Maria couldn't have ordered it either, so I doubted it was theirs. So what?