The bartender’s wide eyes spilled over with fear and arousal. She could smell the stench of his sweaty body as she held him close to her face for a few dragging seconds. Then she shoved him back behind the bar and let go.
He took in several breaths and grinned, holding up a dismissive hand to the men on her right. “It’s okay, friends,” he said in Spanish, not realizing Allyson knew enough to get by and then some. “This white girl likes to play rough. We might have a little fun with her after she has a few more drinks, if you know what I mean.” The two laughed and nodded, sliding back into their seats.
Allyson played dumb as if she didn’t understand what had been said. “I hope you said nice things about me.”
“I thought you weren’t a nice girl.” The bartender’s dialogue was as predictable as his bar was dirty.
“Oh, I’m bad. But like I said, I’m looking for someone. I don’t have time to play right now.”
“And like I said, I’m good at finding people. So again I ask, who are you looking for?”
He was eating out of her palm, playing along just as she thought he might. “You probably don’t know him.” She rolled her eyes over the surroundings. “I seriously doubt he would ever show up in a place like this.”
The bartender forced a laugh. “What, my bar isn’t good enough for you?”
“I’m here drinking your beer, aren’t I?”
He crossed his arms and cocked his head to the side. “So what are you doing in here if you don’t think your friend would come to a place like this?”
“Because I know what happens here. I know what you’re doing out of the back of this place. And I know that if I ask nicely, you’ll tell me where to find him.”
The bartender's eyes narrowed to slits. “And what is it you think you know?”
She could sense the two men to the right and the one alone at the table in the corner slide forward a little in their chairs.
On the long flight, Allyson not only researched Espinoza, she dug deep into his known associates. One of which was a man named Jorge Sanchez. He ran most of the Guadalajara operations and had a reputation for Espinoza’s particular brand of cruelty. The police had plenty on him, but they wouldn’t dare touch him. They knew he was Espinoza’s guy, which made him even more untouchable. Even the local citizens knew who Sanchez was, and from the things Allyson read, they almost cowered in his presence.
“I know you run cocaine out of the back of this place. From what I understand, you’re moving about a quarter million in inventory every month through here.” She looked around again. “Which makes me wonder why you don’t clean it up a bit. You know, throw some new paint on the walls or something.”
She heard the men on either side ease out of their seats. They tried to be stealthy about it, but her senses were on full alert. She would have heard an ant walking.
The bartender stared at her stoically. He didn’t let what she said cause even the faintest flinch. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And what business is it of yours, American, what we do here in Mexico?”
She shrugged and finished the last of the beer, pounding the empty mug down hard on the counter. Her fingers remained on the handle, gripping it lightly. “It’s none of my business. If you want to deal drugs or not, I honestly don’t care. It’s not the drugs I want. It’s the drug dealer. Jorge Sanchez. Where is he?” She blurted out the direct question without considering it. She knew what was about to happen. One of the men on the right had already come into view in the dusty mirror. A second later, the other one was right behind him.
The bartender held his breath at the sound of the man’s name. “What business do you have with him? Are you an assassin from one of the other cartels? If so, that’s not going to end well for you, white girl.”
Her peripheral vision kept watching the men on both sides approach as they carefully navigated the creaky floorboards, desperately trying not to step on the wrong one.
“I don’t want any trouble.”
“Then you came to the wrong bar.”
One of the floorboards to her left creaked suddenly. She’d seen the man’s reflection in the mirror and knew he was less than ten feet away. In an instant, she gripped the mug’s handle firmly, stepped off the stool, and flung it hard at the approaching threat. The heavy glass tumbled through the air and struck the man squarely in the nose with enough force that his head jolted back. He collapsed to his knees, grabbing his newly broken nose. Blood seeped through his fingers as he howled in pain.
Allyson learned a long time ago that if you had attackers coming from two different directions, eliminate the smaller threat from one direction first. Never fight a war on two fronts. She whirled around in time to see the next attacker charging at her with a raised fist.
He yelled and swung clumsily. She stepped aside, easily missing the wild punch, and put out her foot. He couldn’t react fast enough and tripped, stumbling at first and then crashing into the guy with the broken nose. She didn’t wait for the second man from the right to attack, instead quickly spinning around, taking two hard steps to the men on the floor, and finishing them off. The bleeding man was first. He received a knee to the jaw as parting gift to consciousness.
The second rolled over and tried to scramble up on all fours,but she grabbed him by the back of the shirt, hefted him up,and swung her foot around hard, planting the hard bone squarely into his cheek. His head snapped sideways, and he collapsed to the floor, out cold.
Only the bartender and one other man remained. The bartender took a cautious step to the side, his fingers feeling along under the counter. Allyson knew what he was doing, but for the moment, her focus had to remain on the other guy.
He had long hair, pulled back into a ponytail. His dark brown skin was covered in pockmarks, and he had a scar on the right cheek. A wild fury shot out of his eyes. He wouldn’t be as easy as the other two.
The man pulled a long buck knife out of a sheath attached to his belt and flipped it around in his hand as he crouched, inching ever closer. His other hand was out wide like a wrestler about to pounce on the competition.
“So we’re playing with knives now?” Allyson asked. Not an ounce of fear laced her voice.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he swayed side to side, creeping forward steadily but careful not to overcommit like his unconscious companion had. Allyson set her feet shoulder width apart at a sideways angle, her left hand out in front of her shoulder and the right cocked near her neck.
The man with the knife kept moving back and forth, sizing her up, looking for an opening. She decided to give him one.
She faked a step forward with her left foot and raised the right as if to kick. He responded by reaching for her leg with his free hand while simultaneously pulling the knife back to strike. Allyson dropped the foot and instead snapped the left foot like lightning. The attacker had a firm grip on the blade’s handle but not firm enough to hold it from such a hard blow. The knife flew into the air and flipped end over end. Allyson used his surprise to her advantage. She dropped her left foot and brought her right knee into the man’s groin. He grunted and doubled over, trying to wrap both arms around her. She struck again, bringing her elbow down hard on the back of his neck. He dropped to the ground at the same time the tip of the knife sank into the wood next to him.