“How many days?” The Padre blew a ring of smoke into the air.
“How many days for what?” the physician asked as he measured Barquero’s pulse. “To give you the information you’re looking for?”
“I don’t want information. I want to know many days you can keep him alive?”
“The way you’re treating him, two, maybe three days.”
“He hasn’t begun to see the depths of my hospitality yet. I want you to keep him alive for a week.”
“At least a week,” Carnicero added as he picked up a scalpel from the workbench and checked its razor edge. “I want to enjoy this as long as possible. The record is eight days.”
“There are drugs I can administer to extend his life,” the physician said as he placed his stethoscope over Barquero’s heart. “But be mindful of trauma to his head. That’s difficult, if not impossible, to reverse.”
“What a shame.” Carnicero ran his hand through his long, dark hair as he picked up a pair of pliers with his other. “I’ll just have to work on his pelotas. It takes big balls to double-cross us, Barquero. You won’t have them for long. Do you hear me?” He shouted into the bound man’s face.
“Quiet,” the Padre said as he ground out his cigar with his boot. “What a shame, Barquero. What a partner you could have been. The weapons you brought us have made my empire what it is today. No more smuggling a handful of bales of marijuana across the border in the middle of the night, running from the agents like scared dogs. No, now I run this part of the country. The police and the politicians answer to me. One day, this business will belong to Carnicero. I wanted you to be his right-hand man. But you screwed up. No one steals from me without repercussions. It makes me sad, though. I worked so hard to get you to join the organization. You once had so much pride in serving your country and fighting the cartels. But you never stood a chance. You never had enough men or resources, yet you continued to gallantly march on. A noble warrior pitted against evil men. Oblivious to the inevitable.” The Padre rose from the chair and paced around the room. “Do you know what the secret is? Shall I tell you the secret to finding true strength? It’s not physical strength, but mental strength. The only way to achieve it is to embrace that which we are told all our pathetic lives to suppress. It is the darkness inside us. Once you do, then you are truly free, and that freedom is power. Do you know why I still wear this Roman collar around my neck? I spent most of my life dedicating my entire existence to God. I threw myself at His feet and begged for answers through my tears. But God never responded. What a sick joke. But in the end, the joke was on Him. I won. This collar is my trophy. It reminds me every day that once you unshackle yourself from the silly idea that the pursuit of virtue is a noble cause, you can achieve anything. Understanding that man is first and foremost a creature capable of unspeakable evil releases him from the chains that bind him. In nature, the wolf kills not because it can, but because it needs to. We are all part of nature, and in nature only the most brutal survive. The weak, they die. I will not weep at the feet of God anymore.”
“I will…kill you,” Barquero whispered in his raspy voice through a mouthful of blood.
“No, you won’t. I will live, and you will die.” The Padre placed his hand on Barquero’s head. “You were like my second son. I so desperately wanted you to join my family. When you finally left the military to join us, it was one of the happiest moments of my life. But it wasn’t easy to get you to agree. Actually, it was Carnicero’s idea that finally did the trick, although I don’t think he truly understood it at the time. I think he just wanted blood. Poor Rosalina.” He stroked Barquero’s head. “You do realize that her death wasn’t random?” Barquero struggled at his bonds. “That’s right, my friend. Once she was killed, it was only a matter of time before you saw the darkness and embraced it.”
“Not to mention the child,” Carnicero added with a laugh.
“I…will…kill you both.” Barquero’s muscles bulged as he struggled. His dark eyes filled with fire.
“Once she was gone, I knew you would come to me. That’s what people do in their times of despair. They come to their God, and I am a God. People worship me, beg me for work, and do whatever I say unconditionally. They sell their souls to me for a few pesos. I bargained for your soul with the life of your wife and unborn child. Now I own it, and eventually, when the time is right, I will destroy it.”
“And when you are dead,” Carnicero added, “I will peel the skin from your face and have it sewn onto a soccer ball. My men will use it for their Sunday afternoon game.” He laughed.
“I’m sorry, Barquero,” the Padre said. “You’re going to experience a great deal of pain for the problems you have caused and your betrayal. But at your worst moment, don’t bother praying to God. Pray to me. For ultimately, I’m the one who will end your suffering.” The Padre walked toward the door. “Carnicero, again with the battery.”
“Si, Padre.”
• • •
Avery, Ziggy, and the men of STRAC-BOM stood in a circle by the side of the bus. Nancy was examining a small cactus. They were parked in the middle of the desert. A handful of white clouds dotted the brilliantly blue sky around them. Nancy slowly ambled across the rocky and broken ground, stopping to bask in the sun next to a small cactus.
“How’s your tummy feeling?” Private Foxtrot asked Private Zulu as he clutched his stomach, the death rattle of the bad menudo still rumbling inside him. Private Zulu wiped the sweat from his pale face.
“I’m going to need to get a whole lot better just to die.”
“Now, listen carefully,” Avery said to the group. “I don’t have long to train you men in the art of chupacabra hunting. Normally, it requires an intense, three-day workshop that includes a sophisticated, in-depth personality profiling exercise conducted under hypnosis to match you with the most efficient stalking techniques based on a series of over one hundred separate data points gleaned from your subconscious. The waiting list for the seminar has a backlog of six months. Today, I’ve got about fifteen minutes to bring you up to speed. Now, does anyone have any relevant experience in tracking ancient species?”
“I saw one of them shows about hunting Bigfoot on the television once,” Private Foxtrot said hopefully.
“Completely irrelevant. Sasquatch hunting is child’s play compared to this. With Bigfoot, it’s all about structures. Find the structure the creature uses for shelter, and you’ll find the sasquatch. The chupacabra is the shark of the desert. It has to keep constantly moving or it dies, and it leaves nothing in its wake but silence and the occasional carcass of its victim. No, hunting this creature takes a different approach.”
“What about its motivation?” Private Tango asked.
“Shut up, Private,” the General scolded.
“No, General,” Avery interrupted. “The private may be on to something. Go ahead. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“What motivates it? What does it want?”
“It wants khaf,” Ziggy said in a sinister voice.
“What?” Private Tango looked confused.
“Ziggy, stop speaking Vulcan.”
“Worla!”
“Don’t backtalk me, you little hippy smurf. In the parlance of the Romulans, you are less intelligent than a group of things that are not known for being intelligent. Now, go play with your lizard.”
“Nancy,” Ziggy called out as he went to find his iguana. “Like, here boy, or, like, girl.”
“My apologies, Private, he meant blood. The chupacabra’s major motivation is blood. It prefers human, but it can survive on goat’s blood if necessary. They’re extremely smart and experts at the art of camouflage, but when they get even the slightest whiff of fresh blood, they tend to lose their minds. Their eyes glow in the dark, and they become single-minded in purpose. If confronted by one, don’t ever turn your back to it. They can leap twenty feet in the air and can outrun a well-motivated springbok.”