The Last Operation (The Remnants of War Series, Book 1) by Patrick Astre
Book: The Last Operation (The Remnants of War Series, Book 1) by Patrick Astre
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Authors: Patrick Astre
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fell from the fender as he turned and walked through the rear door. Richard Daniels watched him come in from his place at the rough wood table in the kitchen.
Daniels' face broke into a grin. He was finishing a mug of black Mexican coffee and a day old tortilla. It was six AM and he had roused a sleepy kitchen helper with a five dollar US bill.
"Breakfast of champions," said Daniels waving his mug.
" Madre De Dios , whoever said Gringos have good taste. That's pig swill, we will have lunch at the Cantina. I will make sure you have decent food."
They drove in Daniels' Landrover, following the narrow potholed road to the Nacionale Numero 3 , a somewhat better, two-lane road. A few miles further they turned into a dusty one-lane road that wasn't much more than a trail. They continued as the road wound its way up a long, low incline that peaked on a wide boulder strewn plateau. From this point the Durand's compound was visible, sprawled in the rocky valley below.
Daniels spent over two hours studying the compound and surrounding areas. The satellite surveillance photos may have been accurate, but Daniels had to see for himself, had to get the feel of it.
They shared a quart bottle of water from the ice filled cooler.
"You seen enough, Pandejo , you know what you gonna do?"
"Maybe," Daniels said as he threw the empty bottle in the back of the Landrover.
Not a word more, thought Carlos, he won't let me in on it until the last minute. Maybe that's good he thought—cautious is better.
They rode back to town, the windows open and the dusty hot air blowing through the Landrover. Daniels never used the air conditioning, didn't like the sluggishness that assailed him when exiting from the refrigerated interior to the outside furnace blast of Mexico.
"Listen Compadre ," said Carlos on the way back, "you know what the deal is right? You know my price? I gotta have, like, some kind of insurance before this goes down, you know?"
Daniels turned and looked at Carlos for a long moment before answering.
"Yeah, I know," said Daniels. "We bring you, your mother and sister to the US."
"Like I said, what insurance do I have? If you pull this off and I get left behind, we're dead."
"I know your history Amigo ," replied Daniels. "You got no choice. The Durand brothers own your ass. There's no way you can pay back what you owe them. But there's one thing I don't understand. Why did you get into those card games with Aquilino and Hector Durand? Couldn't you figure out what was going to happen? Playing with them is like getting into a pissing contest with a skunk. There's no way you can win."
Carlos slammed his hand on the steel dash of the Landrover.
" Hijo De Puta ," he shouted, "you think I don't know that? You think I have, like a choice? Let me tell you a little story Compadre . There was a man named Raff who was the shoemaker in Zacotacas. He was a good man, minded his business, never bothered anybody. All he wanted was to fix shoes and make enough to feed and take care of his wife and kids, a good man. Then one day, this, this... Maricone ," Carlos spat the word, his mouth contorted, the mustache dancing on his lip. Daniels watched the emotions transforming Carlos' face as he relived the story.
"This Maricone , his name is Choku, El Toro, he's the bulldog for that other Hijo De Putana , Miguel Aquilino. El Toro brings his boots to Raff to fix a little tear. Expensive boots, snake-skins, cost more than half of what everybody in Zacotacas earns in a year. This El Toro , he don't work, see, his job is to scare people for the Durands. He's like a mad bull, Toro they call him. Toro goes to pick up his boots, but he goes late, it's like eleven at night. Him and that henchman of his, a psycho they call Rat, they been drinking and snorting product all evening. Now they bang on Raff's door. Raff gets Toro's boots. They're perfect. Raff is a craftsman. He's proud see, he done a real good job. Toro takes the boots and walks out. Raff
Daniels' face broke into a grin. He was finishing a mug of black Mexican coffee and a day old tortilla. It was six AM and he had roused a sleepy kitchen helper with a five dollar US bill.
"Breakfast of champions," said Daniels waving his mug.
" Madre De Dios , whoever said Gringos have good taste. That's pig swill, we will have lunch at the Cantina. I will make sure you have decent food."
They drove in Daniels' Landrover, following the narrow potholed road to the Nacionale Numero 3 , a somewhat better, two-lane road. A few miles further they turned into a dusty one-lane road that wasn't much more than a trail. They continued as the road wound its way up a long, low incline that peaked on a wide boulder strewn plateau. From this point the Durand's compound was visible, sprawled in the rocky valley below.
Daniels spent over two hours studying the compound and surrounding areas. The satellite surveillance photos may have been accurate, but Daniels had to see for himself, had to get the feel of it.
They shared a quart bottle of water from the ice filled cooler.
"You seen enough, Pandejo , you know what you gonna do?"
"Maybe," Daniels said as he threw the empty bottle in the back of the Landrover.
Not a word more, thought Carlos, he won't let me in on it until the last minute. Maybe that's good he thought—cautious is better.
They rode back to town, the windows open and the dusty hot air blowing through the Landrover. Daniels never used the air conditioning, didn't like the sluggishness that assailed him when exiting from the refrigerated interior to the outside furnace blast of Mexico.
"Listen Compadre ," said Carlos on the way back, "you know what the deal is right? You know my price? I gotta have, like, some kind of insurance before this goes down, you know?"
Daniels turned and looked at Carlos for a long moment before answering.
"Yeah, I know," said Daniels. "We bring you, your mother and sister to the US."
"Like I said, what insurance do I have? If you pull this off and I get left behind, we're dead."
"I know your history Amigo ," replied Daniels. "You got no choice. The Durand brothers own your ass. There's no way you can pay back what you owe them. But there's one thing I don't understand. Why did you get into those card games with Aquilino and Hector Durand? Couldn't you figure out what was going to happen? Playing with them is like getting into a pissing contest with a skunk. There's no way you can win."
Carlos slammed his hand on the steel dash of the Landrover.
" Hijo De Puta ," he shouted, "you think I don't know that? You think I have, like a choice? Let me tell you a little story Compadre . There was a man named Raff who was the shoemaker in Zacotacas. He was a good man, minded his business, never bothered anybody. All he wanted was to fix shoes and make enough to feed and take care of his wife and kids, a good man. Then one day, this, this... Maricone ," Carlos spat the word, his mouth contorted, the mustache dancing on his lip. Daniels watched the emotions transforming Carlos' face as he relived the story.
"This Maricone , his name is Choku, El Toro, he's the bulldog for that other Hijo De Putana , Miguel Aquilino. El Toro brings his boots to Raff to fix a little tear. Expensive boots, snake-skins, cost more than half of what everybody in Zacotacas earns in a year. This El Toro , he don't work, see, his job is to scare people for the Durands. He's like a mad bull, Toro they call him. Toro goes to pick up his boots, but he goes late, it's like eleven at night. Him and that henchman of his, a psycho they call Rat, they been drinking and snorting product all evening. Now they bang on Raff's door. Raff gets Toro's boots. They're perfect. Raff is a craftsman. He's proud see, he done a real good job. Toro takes the boots and walks out. Raff
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