05-26-2020, 01:35 AM
After a few steps of dust stinging his eyes, and some unsavory language to go along with the pain, Jay finally wizened up and adjusted the flows to the swirls swept away from their faces. Genius move, dumbass. He rubbed his face with his sleeve, smearing the dust and grit into what was a previously freshly showered man, albeit likely all the more rugged and handsome by the look, and glanced over his shoulder to gesture Natalie do the same.
Except. Natalie wasn’t there.
He called her name. Careful to keep his bearings as he searched in 360. He was once dropped into a nasty storm in a storm with a 70 lb kit and a water suit and told to swim to a “nearby” boat half-mile away. In the dark. With nothing but a lamp bobbing on the waves to sight by. Talk about keeping your orientation. Now that was fucking fun. He could drop the dusty devil, and risk being sighted. This was their only advantage. Chaos and obscurity.
“Natalie!” he called out, just in case she was within earshot, but his voice was swallowed up by the wind. The same wind swept away any kind of footprint he may have used.
Backward he went, and the power flexed at the need. He couldn’t see through walls, but the power lashed anyway, like ropes flung blindly into the night, hoping to catch hold of something. He kept count of the paces backward, jogging left or right, then forward and back again to avoid losing track of his orientation. Precious seconds were ticking by. He almost ran her down when they found each other. His heartrate did not slow, though the power ropes curled up and died as their fuel no longer fed. The storm went on, though. He held out a hand and this time, grasped hers with the kind of grip that would not let go.
The chain link was easy work to slice. Hell, it was mangled already from previous attempts never repaired. The storm was thickest in the dead-man zone behind them. They’d wandered off course a tad, but given the wayward path across, it hadn’t been a straight shot. Close enough, he nodded and tugged her along. The Rio Grande coursed nearby, caught in a million tiny flames under the dying sun. Luckily, there’d been no need to wade across a river that drowned more than a fair share of decent swimmer. Under different circumstances, Jay would have tried to conquer it himself, but dripping wet outsiders wandering the streets? They may as well have put signs around their necks that read: don’t belong, which was exactly the opposite effect he wanted. Nuevo Laredo after dark was not where he wanted to attract attention. Not that he was worried about being unable to handle it, but rather, he didn’t want to have to.
After crossing a street and navigating some concrete barricades, he turned to focus on the dust storm behind them a moment. He let the winds die over the course of about a minute so it seemed natural, or at least, a little bit natural. The conspiracy theorists would have fun with it. They’d find the hole in the wall on the next check, and hopefully render it a consequence of the storm.
He breathed a sigh of relief when it was over, and looked around to orient himself to their location. He memorized maps like the back of his hand to calculate their best chances at any given moment, but having never intended on doing this on foot, re-calibrating his own internal head took at least two or three seconds.
On the left was the abandoned lot. Old concrete blocks and other broken bits littered a patch of ground. The lights of a grocery store flickered on the right. Walled off houses, trees limp from the day’s heat, and random mounds of dirt filled in the rest. He nodded and angled a flick of the fingers rather professionally in a specific direction before they continued. This was a mission. At least the kind someone with his sort of training should be able to navigate. Much better than the kind that landed him in that basement tied to that chair. Pincers digging into his skin. Water dripping in the silence. His stomach started to turn and he rubbed his forehead as they half-jogged forward. This was not a good time to start down that inward path. Instead, he started counting things to keep the map in his head accurate. Houses. Then allies. Then intersections. He glanced at street signs as they went, remembering and documenting. A guard dog chased them down the inside of a rusty fence, snarling and vicious with its warning snaps on the grate. More streets. Two this way. Three that way. He was already thirsty and he hated to think how Natalie was doing. She’d make it. She was tough. They were well-rested. Well. Not that well-rested, he thought with a smirk.
He paused in the shade of a two-story building that was literally hollowed out, wall-less on the second floor. The first was occupied by closed up garage bays. The only windows were covered with massive steel bars. A glance at the script painted on the concrete told him what he needed: trato directo.
”It says 'deal direct',” he explained, pointing out the advertisement. It was a place that rented vehicles. 'Carros, vans, pick ups'. Spanglish more than Spanish. That worked out well for him. Jay was better with the former than the latter.
He looked both directions before going to the door. Also barred up. It was dark inside, but no hours were posted anywhere. Just in case, he tried the handle, and the door came freely in the pull. It was a little surprising, but with a shrug, he glanced at Natalie. “How’s your Spanish?” he asked and plunged inward.
They entered an empty room. Smoke hung on the humid air, but Jay wouldn’t let himself cough. There was a couch and a tv with scrambled screen playing on mute. A tray of burned out joints explained the smell. Remnants of food and other filth were scattered about.
“Hola?” Jay called. From the back, a man’s voice responded.
“¿Quién es?” There were some muffled noises followed by a question, “¿Ramón?”
Jay chose not to answer until he knew what they were dealing with. Meanwhile, he put on his best mean-face and held his ground.
A man seeming in his mid-fifties appeared on the threshold. A black and gray scruff covered his jaw, and over a large gut was tied the sling of stained track pants.
He looked Jay up and down, but his eyes were glassy from the joints. He didn’t seem impressed. He asked again, “¿Ramón?” and Jay was willing to make a wager.
He nodded.
The man snorted, but when he turned to grab a bag from under a counter, he finally noticed the blonde angel in their company. The bag slumped with the weight of bound up bills, and a flick of the power kicked it over just enough to see the contents start to topple out. Hundreds. The odds of his wager were leaning in their favor, though he had a feeling the risk was going to be high.
The things the middle-man drug dealer said to Natalie next, Jay was not interested in translating. Suffice to say, he had to fight his jaw tensing and punching the asshole into the next room, but he wasn’t sure yet if Ramón was the deliverer of goods, money, or both. Either way, when the fucker dropped a pair of keys on the table alongside the money, Jay seriously considered slicing his head off and leaving with the first car in the bay. But as that would go against his motto about attracting attention, ‘Ramón’ had to play along.
He hated to do it, but he let a leering smile cut his lips that joined their patron in a rather offensive suckling sound followed by an upward waggling of the fingers. A flash of his eyes begging her forgiveness was the only warning before he grabbed her crotch. The dealer watched with a hungry sling to his jaw and a jerk of his dick, and Jay shoved her aside hard enough to stumble.
The men laughed, and Jay hated how easily the aggression came. His stomach was knots. Maybe he should just kill the fucker and get it over with.
Somehow, he didn't break the man's neck, but his head was swimming as he tried to keep up with the foreign exchange. The dealer rattled off a string of instructions, but Jay only nodded along. They were shown to a four-cylinder automatic car with tears in the seats and rust on the doors. The engine was good enough, the dealer assured among other things. Jay wasn’t really able to catch all of what was said anyway, but he accepted the keys and bag of cash on the promise to deliver it. Until a phrase pulled hooks in his brain.
“… el banquero.” The dealer said again.
Recognizing the name of the banker almost made not killing the asshole worth it.
As soon as they were off, Jay smacked at the console with more anger than was going to fix a broken air conditioner. The windows were rolled down but sweat still sheened his whole body despite the night air. Somehow, it was still too hot.
“He just told us how to find Amengual’s banker,” Jay spoke to the awkward quiet.
Finally, amid the swirl of an internal map, implications of what they were walking into, and the guilt that was nearly blinding him of the ability to drive, Jay spoke quietly. “I’m so sorry,” he said, hands gripping tight to the wheel. If he could pry his fingers off, he would have put them to his heart.
On its own, his hand grazed absently at the leg only to brush upward sadly. Hilt to heart.
Except. Natalie wasn’t there.
He called her name. Careful to keep his bearings as he searched in 360. He was once dropped into a nasty storm in a storm with a 70 lb kit and a water suit and told to swim to a “nearby” boat half-mile away. In the dark. With nothing but a lamp bobbing on the waves to sight by. Talk about keeping your orientation. Now that was fucking fun. He could drop the dusty devil, and risk being sighted. This was their only advantage. Chaos and obscurity.
“Natalie!” he called out, just in case she was within earshot, but his voice was swallowed up by the wind. The same wind swept away any kind of footprint he may have used.
Backward he went, and the power flexed at the need. He couldn’t see through walls, but the power lashed anyway, like ropes flung blindly into the night, hoping to catch hold of something. He kept count of the paces backward, jogging left or right, then forward and back again to avoid losing track of his orientation. Precious seconds were ticking by. He almost ran her down when they found each other. His heartrate did not slow, though the power ropes curled up and died as their fuel no longer fed. The storm went on, though. He held out a hand and this time, grasped hers with the kind of grip that would not let go.
The chain link was easy work to slice. Hell, it was mangled already from previous attempts never repaired. The storm was thickest in the dead-man zone behind them. They’d wandered off course a tad, but given the wayward path across, it hadn’t been a straight shot. Close enough, he nodded and tugged her along. The Rio Grande coursed nearby, caught in a million tiny flames under the dying sun. Luckily, there’d been no need to wade across a river that drowned more than a fair share of decent swimmer. Under different circumstances, Jay would have tried to conquer it himself, but dripping wet outsiders wandering the streets? They may as well have put signs around their necks that read: don’t belong, which was exactly the opposite effect he wanted. Nuevo Laredo after dark was not where he wanted to attract attention. Not that he was worried about being unable to handle it, but rather, he didn’t want to have to.
After crossing a street and navigating some concrete barricades, he turned to focus on the dust storm behind them a moment. He let the winds die over the course of about a minute so it seemed natural, or at least, a little bit natural. The conspiracy theorists would have fun with it. They’d find the hole in the wall on the next check, and hopefully render it a consequence of the storm.
He breathed a sigh of relief when it was over, and looked around to orient himself to their location. He memorized maps like the back of his hand to calculate their best chances at any given moment, but having never intended on doing this on foot, re-calibrating his own internal head took at least two or three seconds.
On the left was the abandoned lot. Old concrete blocks and other broken bits littered a patch of ground. The lights of a grocery store flickered on the right. Walled off houses, trees limp from the day’s heat, and random mounds of dirt filled in the rest. He nodded and angled a flick of the fingers rather professionally in a specific direction before they continued. This was a mission. At least the kind someone with his sort of training should be able to navigate. Much better than the kind that landed him in that basement tied to that chair. Pincers digging into his skin. Water dripping in the silence. His stomach started to turn and he rubbed his forehead as they half-jogged forward. This was not a good time to start down that inward path. Instead, he started counting things to keep the map in his head accurate. Houses. Then allies. Then intersections. He glanced at street signs as they went, remembering and documenting. A guard dog chased them down the inside of a rusty fence, snarling and vicious with its warning snaps on the grate. More streets. Two this way. Three that way. He was already thirsty and he hated to think how Natalie was doing. She’d make it. She was tough. They were well-rested. Well. Not that well-rested, he thought with a smirk.
He paused in the shade of a two-story building that was literally hollowed out, wall-less on the second floor. The first was occupied by closed up garage bays. The only windows were covered with massive steel bars. A glance at the script painted on the concrete told him what he needed: trato directo.
”It says 'deal direct',” he explained, pointing out the advertisement. It was a place that rented vehicles. 'Carros, vans, pick ups'. Spanglish more than Spanish. That worked out well for him. Jay was better with the former than the latter.
He looked both directions before going to the door. Also barred up. It was dark inside, but no hours were posted anywhere. Just in case, he tried the handle, and the door came freely in the pull. It was a little surprising, but with a shrug, he glanced at Natalie. “How’s your Spanish?” he asked and plunged inward.
They entered an empty room. Smoke hung on the humid air, but Jay wouldn’t let himself cough. There was a couch and a tv with scrambled screen playing on mute. A tray of burned out joints explained the smell. Remnants of food and other filth were scattered about.
“Hola?” Jay called. From the back, a man’s voice responded.
“¿Quién es?” There were some muffled noises followed by a question, “¿Ramón?”
Jay chose not to answer until he knew what they were dealing with. Meanwhile, he put on his best mean-face and held his ground.
A man seeming in his mid-fifties appeared on the threshold. A black and gray scruff covered his jaw, and over a large gut was tied the sling of stained track pants.
He looked Jay up and down, but his eyes were glassy from the joints. He didn’t seem impressed. He asked again, “¿Ramón?” and Jay was willing to make a wager.
He nodded.
The man snorted, but when he turned to grab a bag from under a counter, he finally noticed the blonde angel in their company. The bag slumped with the weight of bound up bills, and a flick of the power kicked it over just enough to see the contents start to topple out. Hundreds. The odds of his wager were leaning in their favor, though he had a feeling the risk was going to be high.
The things the middle-man drug dealer said to Natalie next, Jay was not interested in translating. Suffice to say, he had to fight his jaw tensing and punching the asshole into the next room, but he wasn’t sure yet if Ramón was the deliverer of goods, money, or both. Either way, when the fucker dropped a pair of keys on the table alongside the money, Jay seriously considered slicing his head off and leaving with the first car in the bay. But as that would go against his motto about attracting attention, ‘Ramón’ had to play along.
He hated to do it, but he let a leering smile cut his lips that joined their patron in a rather offensive suckling sound followed by an upward waggling of the fingers. A flash of his eyes begging her forgiveness was the only warning before he grabbed her crotch. The dealer watched with a hungry sling to his jaw and a jerk of his dick, and Jay shoved her aside hard enough to stumble.
The men laughed, and Jay hated how easily the aggression came. His stomach was knots. Maybe he should just kill the fucker and get it over with.
Somehow, he didn't break the man's neck, but his head was swimming as he tried to keep up with the foreign exchange. The dealer rattled off a string of instructions, but Jay only nodded along. They were shown to a four-cylinder automatic car with tears in the seats and rust on the doors. The engine was good enough, the dealer assured among other things. Jay wasn’t really able to catch all of what was said anyway, but he accepted the keys and bag of cash on the promise to deliver it. Until a phrase pulled hooks in his brain.
“… el banquero.” The dealer said again.
Recognizing the name of the banker almost made not killing the asshole worth it.
As soon as they were off, Jay smacked at the console with more anger than was going to fix a broken air conditioner. The windows were rolled down but sweat still sheened his whole body despite the night air. Somehow, it was still too hot.
“He just told us how to find Amengual’s banker,” Jay spoke to the awkward quiet.
Finally, amid the swirl of an internal map, implications of what they were walking into, and the guilt that was nearly blinding him of the ability to drive, Jay spoke quietly. “I’m so sorry,” he said, hands gripping tight to the wheel. If he could pry his fingers off, he would have put them to his heart.
On its own, his hand grazed absently at the leg only to brush upward sadly. Hilt to heart.
Only darkness shows you the light.