nose.
“Whoa, they must have left some chemicals in there.”
“Yah, maybe you better not go in there.” Too late, Virgil followed Billy into the building like a lemming and looked around. I might as well have told him, “Go right in.”
Doc stepped into the shed and found Virgil standing smack dab in front of the work table where their beakers, tubes and hot plates were arranged.
“Well, what the hell is all this?”
Doc walked up to him and said, “I don’t know,” pulling the stun gun from his pocket and giving Virgil a zap. Down he went flopping like a fish tossed up on shore.
“Billy, goddamit! Look what you’ve done!”
No response, Billy was pawing in a pan of white powder drying over a large hot plate, completely oblivious. Doc marched over and gave Billy the full blast from the stun gun. That got a reaction, he actually turned his head. Oh no, Doc thought, that ain’t good. Billy put some of the powder into a glass pipe, vaporized it, and sucked it into his lungs like a desperate vampire. His face twitched and jerked as he exhaled a giant plume of smoke.
“You just take a little,” Doc said as Billy pawed around in the pan for another crystal. Christ, he doesn’t even know what I just did to him. Doc shook his head. I’ve got to get somebody else on this job. He glanced down at Virgil and decided that step one was to tie him up. Doc grabbed a roll of duct tape from a shelf and bound Virgil’s hands and feet and smoothed a piece over his mouth.
“Whenever you’re ready, Billy,” Doc said sarcastically. Apparently the drug had worked its way to Billy’s brain, as there was a spark of recognition.
“Sure Doc,” Billy mumbled as he ambled over and picked up a shovel.
Doc watched as the old man on the floor opened his eyes and started to make panicked noises through the tape.
“No Billy, damn it! Just put him in the back room and keep an eye on him.”
Doc watched as Billy, the fucking wonder horse, grabbed Virgil by the ankle and dragged him off to a closet at the far end of the room. This was bad. Most people in the middle of nowhere leave their neighbors alone. Doc would now have to make a call he didn’t want to make to his employer, the local representative of a particularly aggressive Mexican gang. Doc had been having his doubts about this particular operation; they’d saddled him with Billy, who liked the product too much, and chose a cooking shed too close to town for comfort. He didn’t think the old guy’s prospects were that good, though.
Doc sighed as he opened his cell phone and placed the call, “Its Doc. I need to speak to the Patron.”
J ose Carlos Menendez sat regally in the darkened room in a hotel in downtown St. Louis and held court. He was flanked by an odd assortment of men. Some white, some Hispanic, all trying their best to look tougher than the next guy. Menendez wasn’t ruggedly good looking, handsome or particularly menacing in appearance. He styled himself as a boss or Patron, when in reality he was a nephew of the head of a Mexican Drug cartel safely back on the hacienda in Mexico. He was sent where it was thought he couldn’t do much harm. His job was to make some meth, sell it and funnel the money back to Mexico. Regardless of his faults, he was loyal.
“Carlos, how are things in Patience County?” Jose asked.
“You got a call from Doc. Seems a neighbor got nosy and that idiot Billy went into the shed with the guy right behind him,” Carlos sighed. He had been sent by Manny the Farmer to keep an eye on his nephew. This new development was just the latest result of a string of bad decisions Jose had made.
“Kill him.”
“Which one?” Carlos said.
When there wasn’t an immediate response, Carlos had to restrain himself from just taking the idiot over to the window and chucking him out. Any self-respecting St. Louis cop would take one look at the Tony Montana wannabe, bag him, and go for coffee. Who am I to say? Carlos thought. It
“Whoa, they must have left some chemicals in there.”
“Yah, maybe you better not go in there.” Too late, Virgil followed Billy into the building like a lemming and looked around. I might as well have told him, “Go right in.”
Doc stepped into the shed and found Virgil standing smack dab in front of the work table where their beakers, tubes and hot plates were arranged.
“Well, what the hell is all this?”
Doc walked up to him and said, “I don’t know,” pulling the stun gun from his pocket and giving Virgil a zap. Down he went flopping like a fish tossed up on shore.
“Billy, goddamit! Look what you’ve done!”
No response, Billy was pawing in a pan of white powder drying over a large hot plate, completely oblivious. Doc marched over and gave Billy the full blast from the stun gun. That got a reaction, he actually turned his head. Oh no, Doc thought, that ain’t good. Billy put some of the powder into a glass pipe, vaporized it, and sucked it into his lungs like a desperate vampire. His face twitched and jerked as he exhaled a giant plume of smoke.
“You just take a little,” Doc said as Billy pawed around in the pan for another crystal. Christ, he doesn’t even know what I just did to him. Doc shook his head. I’ve got to get somebody else on this job. He glanced down at Virgil and decided that step one was to tie him up. Doc grabbed a roll of duct tape from a shelf and bound Virgil’s hands and feet and smoothed a piece over his mouth.
“Whenever you’re ready, Billy,” Doc said sarcastically. Apparently the drug had worked its way to Billy’s brain, as there was a spark of recognition.
“Sure Doc,” Billy mumbled as he ambled over and picked up a shovel.
Doc watched as the old man on the floor opened his eyes and started to make panicked noises through the tape.
“No Billy, damn it! Just put him in the back room and keep an eye on him.”
Doc watched as Billy, the fucking wonder horse, grabbed Virgil by the ankle and dragged him off to a closet at the far end of the room. This was bad. Most people in the middle of nowhere leave their neighbors alone. Doc would now have to make a call he didn’t want to make to his employer, the local representative of a particularly aggressive Mexican gang. Doc had been having his doubts about this particular operation; they’d saddled him with Billy, who liked the product too much, and chose a cooking shed too close to town for comfort. He didn’t think the old guy’s prospects were that good, though.
Doc sighed as he opened his cell phone and placed the call, “Its Doc. I need to speak to the Patron.”
J ose Carlos Menendez sat regally in the darkened room in a hotel in downtown St. Louis and held court. He was flanked by an odd assortment of men. Some white, some Hispanic, all trying their best to look tougher than the next guy. Menendez wasn’t ruggedly good looking, handsome or particularly menacing in appearance. He styled himself as a boss or Patron, when in reality he was a nephew of the head of a Mexican Drug cartel safely back on the hacienda in Mexico. He was sent where it was thought he couldn’t do much harm. His job was to make some meth, sell it and funnel the money back to Mexico. Regardless of his faults, he was loyal.
“Carlos, how are things in Patience County?” Jose asked.
“You got a call from Doc. Seems a neighbor got nosy and that idiot Billy went into the shed with the guy right behind him,” Carlos sighed. He had been sent by Manny the Farmer to keep an eye on his nephew. This new development was just the latest result of a string of bad decisions Jose had made.
“Kill him.”
“Which one?” Carlos said.
When there wasn’t an immediate response, Carlos had to restrain himself from just taking the idiot over to the window and chucking him out. Any self-respecting St. Louis cop would take one look at the Tony Montana wannabe, bag him, and go for coffee. Who am I to say? Carlos thought. It
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