Allyson grabbed the knife and in one motion pummeled around the man’s back and yanked on his ponytail, pulling his head back. She put the sharp edge to his throat and was ready to pull it through the skin and into his artery when she heard a familiar click from behind the bar.
“Drop it, gringa.”
The bartender stared at her with wide eyes filled with fear and rage. He’d just seen her take out three of his men in less than thirty seconds. In his hands he held a black, stockless 12 gauge, and the barrel was pointed right at her head.
She smiled in spite of the situation. Allyson had seen worse. “Your men started it,” she said. Her breath was barely above its normal pace.
“And I’m going to finish it,” he added. “Drop the knife. Do it now!”
“If I drop it, you’ll kill me. If I kill him, you’ll kill me. Seems like I may as well take one when I go.”
“I’m going to count to three. If you don’t put the knife down, I’m going to blow your crazy gringa head off. Entiendes?”
She understood, but she wasn’t about to let the bartender off that easy. Her mind rapidly calculated the distance and angle. The man behind the bar was only about twelve feet away.
“One.” He started counting. She remained still.
“Two!”
She jerked her human shield to the right and whipped the knife through the air.
The shotgun blasted its dozens of tiny rounds into ponytail’s chest. His head twitched back, and he grimaced just before she felt his body go limp. The knife zipped through the air and plunged deep into the bartender’s left shoulder, slicing muscle until it struck the bone.
He yelped and instinctively grabbed at the blade, dropping the shotgun onto the floor with a clack. His left arm had gone completely dead, and he staggered backward until his lower back hit the rear counter.
Allyson dropped the dead man to the floor and launched forward. She took a huge step and then jumped hard, using a stool for a boost, and catapulted at the injured bartender. She was on him in less than two seconds, not nearly enough time for him to remove the weapon from his bleeding shoulder.
The collision drove both of them to the floor as she grabbed onto his shirt before impact. His head smacked the rubber overlay, probably the only thing that saved him from unconsciousness or death. She reached over and grabbed the knife handle then twisted it ever so slightly. She could feel the blade’s tip grinding on the bone within.
He screamed in agony. “You crazy puta! Who are you?”
“Now,now, now. Is that any way to talk to a woman with a knife sticking into you? All I wanted was to find Jorge Sanchez. You had to do things the hard way. We could all be sitting around drinking cervezas right now.” She tweaked the blade again, sending a new shock of pain through his body.
He yelled louder this time. “I don’t know where he is. He only comes through once a week. It’s always a different day. I swear I don’t know when he’ll come through again.”
She searched his eyes for a lie but found none. Just to be sure, she twisted the knife another quarter inch to the left.
The screams resumed. The veins in his neck bulged. If she thought he was sweaty before, a virtual waterfall of perspiration poured down the back of his head now.
His voice trailed off to quivering lips.
“Is all that really necessary?”
A new voice entered the room. Allyson’s eyes shot up instantly as she crouched over her prisoner. A man in white linen pants, powder blue shirt, and the shiniest black shoes she’d ever seen stood at the other end of the bar. She noted the pistol in his hand, a SIG Sauer 45. Two men in black button-up shirts and gray pants stood at either side. They both held 9mm handguns with sound suppressors attached.
“He wouldn’t tell me how to find you, Señor Sanchez.” She said the name with sultry zest.
“And why would you be looking for me?” He smiled, the same way a rattlesnake might to a mouse that wanders too close.
“Because I know who is the brains and the muscle behind Francisco Espinoza’s empire. If I thought it was him, I’d have asked for him instead.”
The response pleased him, as evidenced by the twitch on the right side of his lips. He’d received flattery before, though. “And what would a woman like you want with Señor Espinoza’s empire? You’re American. DEA? FBI? CIA? From the looks of it, you’re here to cause trouble.”
She shook her head slowly, making eye contact every second. “No. I’m here to do business.”
He looked around at the mess. “One dead man, two unconscious, and I’m curious to know what you’re going to do with my friend, Juan, here.” He held out his hand with the palm up, pointing at the bartender.
“You’re screwed now, puta,” Juan spat through clenched teeth. The statement earned him another twist of the knife and a fresh surge of pain.
He moaned again, but this time his cries were quieted by Sanchez. The man stepped forward and put a finger to his lips as he knelt down. “Shhh, Juan, you’re making a scene. And I try as much as possible not to make a scene.”
Allyson knew that to be false. From what she’d read, Jorge Sanchez had butchered people in cold blood right in front of dozens of witnesses, none of whom would ever say a thing.
He stood up again and surveyed the room. Blood pooled under the man with the ponytail. The other two were in a heap closer to the door, still breathing but beaten up. “Juan, I told you to get some better men in here to help. Why do you never listen to me?”
“I listen, jefe,” Juan whimpered.
“No you don’t. If you did, you wouldn’t be lying there with a knife sticking out of your shoulder. How did she get the best of you? Huh?”
“She’s the devil,” Juan said in Spanish.
Sanchez clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Now, now, Juan. You are saying such mean things about our new friend here. Didn’t you hear her? She said she wants to do business with us.”
He raised his weapon and pointed it straight at her forehead. “Unless, of course, she’s lying.”
She stared hard into his eyes. “Death is worth the risk,” she said evenly. “With the volume your empire can do, I’m willing to do whatever is necessary.”
His lips parted on one side. “Whatever is necessary?”
Allyson nodded slowly.
“Then kill my friend, Juan, here.”
Juan’s eyes opened wide. He swallowed and started jabbering. “No, jefe. Please don’t kill me. I’ll hire new men. I swear. I won’t mess up again.”
Allyson jerked the knife out if his shoulder and flipped it over in her hand. She pressed the edge to Juan’s throat and waited. His head trembled, and he gazed into her eyes like a frightened animal.
She locked eyes with his as she spoke to Sanchez. “If I kill him, you’ll have to find another bartender to replace him. He’s clearly incompetent, but can you trust him? Has he ever stolen from you?”
“Not that I know of. In this business, there are very few people you can trust. Juan is trustworthy but like you said, incompetent.”
Allyson raised the knife and twirled it around in her hand. She raised it high over her head and then brought the tip down hard. Juan yelped, knowing he was half a second from death.
The blade plunked through the rubber mat and into the wood beneath, only inches from his head.
“You can train the incompetent,” she said, looking up at Sanchez. “You can’t train a thief.” It was a huge gamble. She’d directly disobeyed an order from one of the most feared drug kingpins in the Western Hemisphere. In her heart, she knew it was the right play.
Sanchez raised an eyebrow, pleased with her answer. “You’re brave to disobey me like that. It means you don’t fear death. And it shows me you mean business. You make a good point.” He looked down at the quivering bartender. “Juan, get off the ground. You look like an idiot. And thank this woman for saving your life. If it were up to me, you’d be dead like your men.”