The Cartel Hit. Don Pendleton

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СКАЧАТЬ His friend had obtained a work permit for him, the piece of paper that made him official. Having someone vouch for him had made life easier. At least Escobedo did not have to survive like a criminal. He could walk the streets with impunity. He wished things were better, but at least here in America he felt safer than in Mexico. And if he worked hard he would eventually become an American citizen.

      Then the day came when a situation developed and drew Escobedo to it with its addictive power.

      He had been on his knees behind the thick shrubs he was pruning, so was unseen by the men who made their way through the gardens and vanished inside one of the large barns. Something in the way they moved caught Escobedo’s interest, and he heard one of them speak as he passed within ten feet of him, seemingly unaware of the Mexican’s presence.

      “Damn illegals. Jessup will make them pay this time…”

      Escobedo had waited until the men were all inside the barn, then took a roundabout route that brought him to the far side of the building. As he slid against the wall, he heard a voice that was unmistakably Jessup’s. The man was angry, almost ranting. Escobedo eased his way to a side door and slipped through it. The sound of Jessup’s voice filled the interior of the barn. Escobedo snaked his way through the collection of farm implements until he was able to see what was happening.

      And wished he hadn’t.

      He knew right then that his earlier indifference to the rumors floating around had allowed these things to continue. He had learned things about Jessup that he should have reported, yet his concern for his own safety had forced him to stand back, trying to convince himself he should stay clear.

      Leave your curiosity at home.

      A half dozen of Jessup’s men were gathered in a loose crowd around a pair of kneeling Mexicans. The man and woman were young, already bleeding from blows to their faces. Their hands were tied behind their backs. Seb Jessup stood over them, his angry words echoing off the rafters.

      Escobedo caught fragments of his tirade, which had to do with lost money, betrayal, risking Jessup’s business and threatening his livelihood…

      Without thinking, Escobedo pulled his cell phone from his pocket. He trained the camera on Jessup and the kneeling Mexicans. He had no idea how he could help the young couple, but he felt compelled to do something. Anything. Because the terrible feeling sweeping over him told him something bad was about to happen.

      One of the men stepped forward and handed something to Jessup.

      It was a wooden baseball bat, and without pausing, Jessup swung it, striking first the girl, then the young man.

      The sickening sound would stay with Escobedo for a long time. The crunch of the hard wood against weaker skulls. Jessup alternated between his two victims, and their pained cries filled Escobedo’s ears. Terrible sounds. Even when the pair slumped forward, Jessup kept up the barrage. Blood flew in bright sprays. The young couple flopped on the barn floor, bodies jerking and twitching as the estate owner battered them in a frenzy of rage. Jessup was spattered with red, yet he still kept up the attack, until one of his men told him the man and woman were dead. He stepped back, panting from his exertions as he stared at the splintered bone and brain matter oozing from the misshapen skulls.

      Jessup threw down the bloodied baseball bat.

      “Get rid of them,” he said. “And when you meet with those Mexican traffickers, tell ’em what happened. Put the fear of God into those fuckers…”

      Escobedo felt a presence. He turned and looked into the face of one of Jessup’s men.

      “Hey, you greaser son of a bitch.” The man reached out to grab hold of him.

      Escobedo swung around and instinctively lashed out with his free hand, more in panic than resistance. His bunched fist slammed against the other man’s jaw. The sound of the blow was loud. The guy spun away from Escobedo, dazed by the strike. His legs gave and he fell to his knees.

      Escobedo didn’t stay around to see what else was happening. He understood his position. He had witnessed Seb Jessup commit two brutal murders. There was no way the man could allow that to go unpunished.

      Escobedo remembered the baseball bat, dripping with the blood of the two victims. That could be his fate if he didn’t move.

      He pushed the cell phone into his pocket, then turned and ran across the barn to the door where he’d entered. He shouldered it open and went through. Legs pumping, driven by pure fear, he ran through the gardens and around to the front of the big house. As he crossed the paved drive, he was confronted by the ever-present collection of vehicles parked there.

      His thoughts of escape pressured him to go to the closest vehicle, a heavy Ford 4x4. As he yanked open the driver’s door, he saw the keys hanging from the ignition. Escobedo climbed in, fumbled with the key, then felt the powerful engine burst into life. He dropped the handbrake, yanked the lever into Drive and stepped on the gas pedal. The 4x4 lurched forward, tires burning against the asphalt. Escobedo fought the wheel as the vehicle turned. He felt it slam against the side of one of the other parked cars, then he got control and headed toward the exit.

      He had no fixed destination in mind. His only thoughts were to get away from Jessup and his crew. Escobedo knew they would be coming after him. He was not an experienced driver and thanked God that the roads in Texas tended to run straight. The Ford hurtled onward, responding to his foot on the pedal, and the engine roared as the vehicle gathered speed.

      Tangled questions fought for space in his mind.

      What to do?

      Where to go?

      Who could he trust?

      He glanced in the rearview mirror.

      Several vehicles were on his tail. They were still a distance away, but Escobedo knew that would change.

      He had made a bad mistake. One that could end with him sprawled out on that barn floor, his body beaten and bloody. Jessup standing over him, rage in his eyes as he battered him to death. Escobedo had gone into the barn without a clear thought in his head, intent on finding out what was happening, not considering the implications.

      He had confirmed his suspicions, but had he expected to simply walk out and inform the authorities? Now none of that mattered.

      Hermano Escobedo had exposed himself, and his discovery has plunged him into this nightmare.

      Stories about traffickers should have warned him. They bought and sold human lives, their only concern the money they made from the business. One more dead Mexican would pass unnoticed.

      Unless he could escape from them.

      Escobedo stared through the windshield. How would he get away? They were already following him, and he knew they would not give up. He had witnessed the cruel deaths of the two young Mexicans. Jessup needed to make sure the knowledge went no further.

      Broken Tree lay before Escobedo. He realized he might not find any kind of salvation in the town. Seb Jessup was well-known here, while he himself was practically a stranger. He couldn’t think of one person he could go to, and a wave of despair washed over him. Violence and death such as this had never featured in his life. It made him think that leaving Mexico had been a mistake. Life in his home village might СКАЧАТЬ