The Last Operation (The Remnants of War Series, Book 1) by Patrick Astre Page B

to the wall filled the wooden seat with his bulk. He wore a sleeveless white tee shirt that contrasted with the tree-trunk arms. Forearms, knotted with muscles laid casually on the cloth table cover. Coarse jailhouse tattoos covered his upper arms and wound their way under his shirt like oily snakes in a fetid burrow. A baldhead, brown and scared, rose from a neck that was almost invisible, giving him the appearance of a huge and dangerous gargoyle. In the seat next to him, a pale and skinny man picked at a spot on the tablecloth with a long bladed hunting knife. The face like a narrow pockmarked blade, topped with a beak of a nose above a stringy mustache, small eyes lacking brows, gave him a startling rodent-like appearance. Daniels recognized them immediately from his briefing. He was looking at Choku and Benjamin Fuentes, AKA El Toro and Rat.
    "Hey Carlos," called out El Toro, "come here, tell me who the Gringo is."
    Carlos walked over to where the two men sat.
    "Senor Choku. It's good to have you here for the best Comida in Zacotacas. I will prepare you a very special meal."
    "I asked you who the Gringo is."
    "He is a North Americano , a rich one who wants to build a shoe factory here in Zacotacas. It is business, I have been showing him sites."
    "A shoe factory. We don't need a shoe factory. Get rid of him or he will be found in the canyons, another corpse for the crows and vultures to pick at."
    Daniels crossed the room and stopped at the doorway. Leaning against the wood frame, he put his sunglasses on and casually gazed outside, seeming to ignore the conversation a few feet away.
    El Toro laughed, a dissonant rumble in the now empty dining room. The other man puffed some air out of his cheek in a derisive cackle. Both men's eyes glittered, the pupils shrunk to pinpoints. It was clear to Daniels they had hit the Coca early this day.
    " Si ," said El Toro, "you make the best food you know how, but you don't bring it to me."
    "I will bring it Senor," said Carlos' mother, "I will bring you the.."
    "Silence you old Putana ," said El Toro, the loud grating voice bouncing off the brick walls of the Cantina.
    "You will get little Rosa to bring the food. Soon she will make a fine little Guapa ." He turned to his friend and said, " Quien Sabe? Maybe we will find her a job at the house."
    The other man's face opened in a laugh revealing yellow and blackened teeth. Daniels thought people always looked better smiling or laughing. These two were definitely the exception. A wave of loathing and repulsion washed over him like a demon's breath. He turned slowly until he faced the table, his face impassive as if he hadn't understood. He ignored the two men sitting and looked directly at Carlos.
    "Mister Garcia. I have much business to do. I do not pay you to waste time talking with your peasant friends."
    Although his command of the Spanish language was excellent, he spoke haltingly, the accent exaggerated, the tone haughty and contemptuous.
    The thin man started to rise, the knife in his hand. El Toro restrained him with a hand the size of a canoe paddle. His eyes locked on Daniels. Daniels looked away.
    " Vamos ," go, said El Toro, "go with your Gringo friend. I have lost my appetite. Go do your business."
    Daniels waited until El Toro and Rat walked to the Mercedes SUV parked just outside the Cantina. He steered the Landrover in front of the Mercedes and headed toward the other side of Zacotacas. A few minutes later Daniels saw the Mercedes make a U turn and follow.
    "You know where you going Pandejo ? They following us you know."
    Daniels didn't reply. He kept driving, eyes straight ahead.
    "So where you going?" Carlos grew more agitated, his head swiveling between Daniels and the Mercedes SUV following them a kilometer behind.
    "Relax my friend, we're going to Barbota. Should be a nice business property."
    "Barbota! Madre De Dio. Esta Loco ? That's El Toro following us. That's not some pissed off little punk. That's the most