Swan Song

Chapter 1

Shawn Delgado was lucky.

When he was two years old he fell into the river. The swift-moving brackish grey water carried him a mile downstream before his diapers snagged on a tree trunk and he was pulled to safety. When he was nine he was playing in and around the auto salvage yard and didn’t see the hornet’s nest inside the old tool shed. Stung all over his body no one thought he would survive. When he was in high school he was sitting at a picnic table in his backyard, watching a thunderstorm brew. He survived the bolt of lightening that hit him in the chest.

There was no doubt about it; Shawn Delgado was lucky.

From his position inside the church bell tower, Petty Officer Second Class Shawn Delgado watched the line of cartel trucks and SUV’s. They were coming in fast, barreling down the narrow two-lane paved road, the only way into or out of the small mining town of Aquila.

The convoy belonged to the Knights Templar, a semi-religious criminal organization that was composed of the remnants of the defunct La Familia Michoacán drug cartel. Delgado knew they indoctrinated their followers with a ‘fight and die’ for ‘social justice’ mentality, they of course defining what ‘social justice’ meant.

Their religiosity had made them the most dangerous of all of the Mexican criminal gangs.

For the past three years the Knights Templar had been terrorizing the residents of the State of Michoacán. Drug trafficking, money laundering, kidnapping, racketeering, murder, arms trafficking, robbery, assault, counterfeiting were their stock-in-trade. Since April of last year they had been extorting money from the residents of Aquila, forcing them to hand over part of their royalty payments from the local iron ore mine.

When the town folk finally had had enough, they stopped paying the cartel. They formed a citizen’s self-defense force and rose up in arms to fight the cartel. The Knight’s responded with unbridled savagery. The police station was occupied, officers killed, shop keepers murdered and dozens of women brutalized. Today they were coming back; coming for the money owed them, coming to extract their pound of flesh.

And that was the move Petty Officer Delgado had been waiting for.

Crouching low, he made his way over to the other side of the bell tower. He refocused his field glasses to get a better view of the cartel convoy as it slowed its approach to the town plaza. The streets were narrow and dusty and dirty; discarded paper cups and old newspapers flapped around in the wind.

He could hear the yapping of dogs.

Delgado was second-in-command of the strike team. He was both ambitious and confident. He was also an American, born in El Paso, Texas to Mexican parents. He had spent his youth crisscrossing the border to visit family and friends. When he turned eighteen, graduating in the top ten percent of his Texas high school class, he crossed the border into Mexico one last time.

Much to the everlasting consternation of his parents, he had chosen a life as a Mexican Marine over an American college education, student loan debt, and a struggle to make it in a country that still considered him a wetback; a taco-eater from south of the border.

Now twenty-three years old he stood on top of the very Church his parents had been baptized in, received first communion in and had been married in. He turned to the strike commander, Chief Petty Officer Reynaldo Sandoval. The waiting is over, Chief, here they come.

Sandoval, a twenty-year navy veteran with a commanding voice and bald head acknowledged Delgado with a grunt. Better be ready, Petty Officer. This is going to be bloody one.

Delgado let his field glasses swing from his neck as he checked his weapon again. His hands were sweating; he was itching for a fight. With a half-hearted smile he said, No doubt about that but as long as I’m home for dinner, not a problem.

That’s the least of your worries, Petty Officer. Now get ready.

The lead cartel vehicle was a red Toyota 4Runner. Next came two Monster Trucks, each painted black and built on a three-axle truck bed. Spacious enough for as many as twenty men inside, complete with benches and air conditioning, they were constructed with three inch-thick steel plating, protecting the occupants from both 50-caliber weapons and grenade explosions. Peepholes for snipers and rotating turrets for 360-degree angle shooting completed their design. A battering ram, reinforced with steel, was attached to the front of each truck, allowing for the easy demolition of cars and walls.

Anti-tank weapons were they only thing that could stop a Monster dead in its tracks.

And Chief Sandoval knew better than to bring a knife to a gun fight.

Two of members of his strike team carried Russian-made shoulder-launched anti-tank weapons. When the time came, they would make short-work of the Monsters.

The other vehicles in the convoy were all white Jeep Grande Cherokees and they all looked like they had just rolled off a dealership car lot. Too bad, Sandoval thought, by the end of the day, they would be nothing more than scrap metal.

He counted nine vehicles in all.

Inside the vehicles, perhaps up to seventy cartel thugs.

Petty Officer Delgado looked at his watch, counted down the seconds as the convoy moved into the plaza, circling it. As the last vehicle slowed to turn into a curve a flurry of activity behind it had already started.  An old school bus was driven up from a side street, blocking any retreat by the cartel gangsters.

Three squads of Marines seemed to appear out of nowhere and took up offensive positions on top of the buildings that surrounded the town square.

Once again Delgado focused his field binoculars on the convoy.

More Marines emerged from their hiding places. From inside vacant houses and storefronts they hurried to take up new positions behind parked cars and tress.

Delgado’s body started to tense, his attention narrowed; his focus was on the town square below. He reached for his weapon. He looked over at Chief Sandoval, waiting for the man to give the order. With a nod of his head to Delgado, the order was given and then relayed to the strike team.

The once quite town square erupted with sustained bursts from the two Browning .50 caliber machine guns the Marines had mounted on opposite sides of the plaza. At the same time, from their overhead positions other Marines let loose a hell storm of automatic weapons fire.

The ferocity of the onslaught tore the lead cartel vehicle to shreds, it flipped and starting burning. The cartel convoy was thrown into immediate disarray. More sustained weapons fire from the Marines. The rear vehicles in the convoy were being ripped apart by grenades.

Petty Officer Delgado watched from his perch atop the church bell tower as the two Monster trucks tried pulling out of the convoy line. It was an anticipated move but they were pinned in by the narrow street and the short narrow wall that surrounded the town plaza. There was no place for them to go.

At least that was what Chief Sandoval and Petty Officer Delgado thought.

Back and forth, back and forth the driver of one of the Monster’s rocked the big truck. Somehow he had managed to get the battering ram pointed in the right direction. Seconds later he had punched a hole in the wall surrounding the town plaza. Moments after that, the big Monster was smashing its way through the benches, trees and statues that dotted the plaza; the second Monster following close behind.

Both of the huge trucks were now in position.

One turned its .50 caliber gun towards the Marines on top of the buildings; the other took aim at the two naval commandos in the church bell tower calling the shots. Concrete walls started to splinter; brick and mortar shards were being catapulted into the air as the heavy weapons fire coming from the two Monsters started taking its toll.

As far as the Knights were concerned, it was payback time.

The Marines on top of the buildings retreated to the street to join their comrades on the ground. The church bell tower started to crumble. Delgado scrambled to escape while Chief Sandoval was shouting orders into his mouthpiece. We’re under attack. Get those RPG’s over here now. Move it, gentlemen, move it.

Petty Officer Delgado grabbed his M4 carbine and shouted. We need to get of here right now, Chief.

Agreed, Sandoval shouted back as both men hurried over to the spiral staircase.

Delgado was first to enter, Chief Sandoval was right behind him.

They had barely cleared the church tower’s floor and started their descent when the huge bronze bell came crashing down. It hit the floor, splintering the wood. Sandoval took the brunt of the falling debris on his back; he buckled under the weight of the concrete and plaster but managed to regain his balance. He straightened up and kept on moving down the stairs.

Delgado emerged into the sanctuary couching and spitting; a few moments later, Sandoval emerged along with a cloud of dirt and dust.

Are you okay, Chief?

Sandoval grimaced. I’m fine and you?

Doing well, Chief, Delgado answered as he sprinted towards a side-door exit.

When the two Marines crossed in front of the altar both men stopped, turned towards the crucifix, knelt, made the sign of the cross, then got up and moved on. They burst out into the village square. The gazebo was engulfed in flames. Smoke filled the plaza.

The cartel thugs, religious zealots, had broken through the Marines lines and were taking vengeance on the town that had betrayed them. No one, no dogs, no cats, none of the farm animals, would survive the cartel onslaught. Both Sandoval and Delgado knew that unless they stopped them, they would kill every living thing in the town.

Chief Sandoval spotted one of his Marines running towards him; he had one of the Soviet-made RPG’s slung over his shoulder. But he had also been spotted by the cartel. Automatic weapons fire dropped the young man about twenty feet from where Sandoval and Delgado had taken cover.

Sandoval’s stomach turned, then hardened; if someone didn’t get to the fallen Marine within minutes he’d bleed to death. Enough of this bullshit, Delgado screamed as jumped up and rushed towards his injured comrade, firing his carbine as he ran. He reached the Marine in a matter of seconds. He grabbed the RPG, threw it over his shoulder and started dragging the injured man to cover.

The cartel’s bullets seemed to just fly past Delgado, in slow motion, never hitting their mark.

Sandoval took charge of the injured Marine commanding Delgado to take the damn Monster out. Aye, he responded as he prepped the RPG, aimed it and fired.

One of the Monsters exploded in a ball of fire.

The screams of cartel soldiers burning in agony filled the smoldering plaza.

Chief Sandoval yelled over to Delgado. Move it, Petty Officer. That other Monster will be on our asses in a minute. He then picked up the injured Marine, threw him over his shoulder and started running back towards the church. He didn’t see the Knight kneeling next to the burning gazebo.

But Delgado did. He yelled at Sandoval. The Chief froze.

Delgado stood, fired and brought the Knight’s Templar thug down with a single shot to the chest. Chief Sandoval didn’t say a word. He just started running again, towards the church.

Delgado covered him.

Two corpsmen were waiting at the entrance to the Church to take charge of the injured Marine.  As soon as they did, Sandoval turned around and ran back to the fight. He joined Delgado behind a concrete statue of Our Lady of Guadalupe. Both knew they needed to hold off the advancing cartel soldiers until their men could regroup and take back the plaza.

Minutes turned into moments.

Time was moving at a snails pace; it was like walking underwater.

Chief Sandoval tapped Delgado on the shoulder and pointed. Off in the distance, another Marine with an RPG was taking aim. The second Monster truck exploded in a thunderous ball of fire. The remaining cartel soldiers were in disarray but they kept fighting, preferring to die in battle than be captured and imprisoned.

Finally, the gun fire started to die down.

Then it stopped.

Some one yelled out an all clear.

Delgado stood up. It looks like we got everything under control.

Before Sandoval could pull him back down, a sniper’s bullet caught the young Petty Officer in the shoulder. He spun around and fell onto his stomach.

Sandoval rolled Delgado over onto his back and started removing the man’s outer tactical vest. Are you all right?

Hurt’s like hell, he spat out.

You’re lucky you weren’t killed.

That goes without saying.

Several more minutes of rapid gun fire and then, once again, silence.

A Marine yelled out, All clear.

Delgado let out a string of profanities as he pulled himself to his feet. That was stupid of me.

It sure was.

Well, you know what they say, stupid is as stupid does, Chief, Delgado said with a goofy grin that masked his pain.

Sandoval gave him a dumbfounded look and grumbled, Whatever the hell that means.

The street was littered with corpses.

The smell of burning flesh filled the air.

A Marine walked over to Sandoval to update him on the death and casualty figures. We have two dead and three wounded, Chief, he said.

Sandoval hated losing men but such was war and despite what the politicians said, Mexico was at war, a civil war and the winner was still uncertain. And the town’s people?

None dead, a few hurt but not badly.

By the grace of God, Sandoval thought. He then asked, And the convoy?

Completely destroyed, everyone is either dead or dying.

Good. How many of the bastards did we take down?

Fifty-seven in all, said the young Marine.

Not a bad day, the Chief replied, though he regretted the loss of two of the Marines under his command. Now it’s time to go home.

As the strike team reassembled, packed up their gear, carried their injured and dead to the ambulances, Petty Officer Delgado walked over to talk to the town’s old priest. He thanked him again for the use of his church. He also promised him he would do his best to help him rebuilt what had been destroyed. I hope this solves your problem, padre.

For now but as we all know, the Knights will be back.

Placing his hand on the priest’s shoulder, Delgado said, And so will we.

Chapter 2

Since his election and his re-election four years later, the man had waged war on America’s enemies with the fervor of an African Warlord. All enemies, both foreign and domestic had fallen to his unwavering resolve. ‘Who knew that my greatest talent would be killing people’ he repeatedly told his friends and supporters.

The small white envelope came from the White House.

It had been delivered by courier to his south Texas brush country ranch and bore the official seal of the President of the United States.

There was no doubt to its authenticity.

The old man sat at his desk and read the short handwritten note inside. Three words, that was all the President had written; just three words.

I Need You.

***

The President of the United States had just turned fifty. He was a tall slender black man with a full head of short-cropped hair that was already turning from grey to white. He was sitting alone in the White House Situation Room waiting for the Colonel to arrive. When he saw him enter the room, he stood up and came around the large conference table to greet him.

He shook the old man’s hand and said, Good to see you again, Colonel, how have you been?

Good to see you again, Mr. President, and I’m doing well, thank you, said the former director of the Strategic Studies Institute, the U.S. Army's institute for strategic and national security research and analysis.

So tell me, how has retirement been treating you?

As I expected it would, replied the Colonel as the President motioned for him to take a seat at the table. As soon as he did, the most powerful man in the world sat down next to him and got right to the point.

Well maybe what I have to say might take some of the boredom out your retirement.

The Colonel smiled.

I know you love this country as much as I do. I also know you have sacrificed a lot for all of us and I just don’t know how I can ask you to do any more, the President said.

The Colonel was proud of everything he had done over the course of his long career. Whether serving as a young Army Lieutenant during the Korea War to his later years as a professor at the Army War College in Carlisle, Pennsylvania. He had served every president since Truman. He had never hesitated to serve when asked. And he wasn’t about to start now.

He acknowledged the President’s statement with a simple, I’m listening.

Colonel, you above everyone else has both the knowledge and experience I am looking for. And please, don’t take offense but your old. But that is an asset as far as I am concerned. While others might not see it that way, I do.

The Colonel wasn’t quite sure where the President was going with that comment. He certainly hadn’t invited him to the White House to discuss his age. So what did he want?

The President edged his chair closer to the Colonel’s chair, leaned over and almost in a whisper said, You know I’ve have never hesitated from making the tough calls. I’ve always put our country first.

The Colonel nodded. Yes, sir, I know.

My advisors have urged caution but I have decided to move forward with an idea that I’ve been mulling around in my head for a couple of years now. And I want you to plan it out in detail, give me a budget and a timetable and I will authorize it. I know I can trust you to get the job done with no blowback to me or my administration. It will be your baby, from start to finish.

I see.

The President looked at the Colonel but couldn’t tell what the old man was thinking, so he was forced to ask, Will you take the job?

What job is that, Mr. President, you haven’t told me what you want me to do?

The President didn’t think it would be that easy but he thought he’d try to recruit the old man with as little information up front as possible. Unfortunately, it didn’t work. I’m going to ask you to do something that is highly illegal. If anyone ever found out I authorized it, it would probably lead to my impeachment and you going to jail for the rest of your life.

I see, said the Colonel as he stroked his goatee, encouraging the President to continue.

I can’t give you any specifics until I know you have agreed to accept the assignment. I’m sorry.

The president wasn’t offering the Colonel much of a choice. He had to agree to take the assignment without knowing what it was or simply just walk away. He was comfortable retired, living on his ranch, enjoying the solitude of old age. Why in earth would he give all that up; for the possibility of losing it all and going to jail?  Can I think about it, Mr. President?

The President responded immediately. No. I need your answer now; before you leave this room.

The Colonel took off his glasses and started cleaning them with a four inch square piece of cloth he had removed from his shirt pocket. A few moments later he put them back on, leaned over to look the President in the eye; their noses almost touching. And if I say no thank you?

The President of the United States was an arrogant man who was used to getting anything and everything he wanted. He had invited the Colonel to the White House to give him the opportunity to serve his country one last time. It was unfathomable for him to say no. Besides, the Colonel had a few secrets that if exposed could lead to years of civil litigation. The President was betting the old man didn’t want to spend the rest of his golden years inside a court room. It was his ace card if he said no. But instead the President said, Then you just go home.

I guess I could do that but if I did I’d never know why you invited me to Washington, would I?

No, you wouldn’t.

The Colonel wasn’t quite ready to give the President an answer just yet. Mr. President, I know you can’t give me any details on this assignment that you say is probably highly illegal, but can you at least tell me what kind of support I could expect to receive if I said yes to your request.

Whatever you need and when you need it.

It’s not that I don’t believe you Mr. President but if my experience has taught me anything it has taught me that politics always seems to get in the way. How can I be sure that won’t happen this time?

Because I give you my word and that should be good enough.

Mr. President, your asking me to do something illegal and won’t tell me what it is. You’re telling me to trust you but quite frankly I’ve heard that same promise made several times before by men sitting in the very same chair your sitting in now.

The President was now worried that the Colonel might not accept the assignment; he was seriously considering playing his ace but once again he hesitated. Colonel, I can’t do anything about the past. What others may or may not have promised you is irrelevant to this conversation. I’m asking you to take on this assignment and trust me when I say that you will have whatever it takes to complete it.

Then I will need you to trust me. If I take on this assignment then I do it my way, with my people, no questions asked. I report to no one other than you.

Then we have a deal, the President said as he rose from his chair. He wouldn’t give the old man a chance back out.

Forced to stand the Colonel said, I guess we do.

Thank you, said the President as he held out his hand.

The Colonel extended his.

The President covered their clasped hands with his left and said, My chief of staff will be in touch and he’ll give you all the details. Work with him, he’s a good man. But if you need to talk to me just let him know and he’ll arrange it. Again, I want to thank you. He then escorted the Colonel out of the room.

As the President closed the door on the Colonel’s back another door on the opposite side of the room opened. Two men entered the room. One was the President’s chief of staff, Mark Waller, a tall forty-something rather fat man. The other, the administration’s Chief Economic Advisor, Jack Sullivan. They both walked over and stood next to the President.

So, what do you think? asked the President.

Waller looked over at Sullivan and then said, I still don’t think this is a good idea, Mr. President.

We’ve had this discussion before Mark and I’ve made my decision.

And if someone finds out what you are planning to do, what then?

We do as we always have done, we lie and we move on.

Chapter 3

The Colonel had spent over ten million dollars to acquire the various parcels of land that now made up the fifty-five thousand acre ranch that hugged the US/ Mexico international border. Thirty years earlier, shortly after the last tract had been purchased, he had begun work on the ranch’s main house. It sat on a small patch of green, on a cliff overlooking the Rio Grande River Gorge.

The two story six bedroom fourteen thousand square foot structure with a wrap-around porch took the Colonel five years to build. All six bedrooms were upstairs. They were large, more akin to a hotel suite than a bedroom but the Master was the most impressive of the six. It occupied the southeast corner of the house and encompassed both floors of the home; a private elevator ensured that the Colonel would never have to suffer stairs due to age or infirmary.

Each of the five guest rooms had been build with a small media room that included a full-bar and half-bath, it opened onto a large balcony that looked out over the Rio Grande River.

It was a magnificent house.

It was his home, his sanctuary.

It was where he planned to live out his final days.

Twice a year, every year he would rise an hour before dawn, pour himself a whisky then walk out onto the back porch in his pajamas and sit down and wait. Then for a brief few minutes as the morning light slowly crept across the canyon walls and at just the right angle, it would happen.

The Pecos River petroglyphs would leap to life.

It was magic; created by shamans thousands of years ago.

Not many knew about this spectacular event. Fewer had ever been invited to witness it. So when the call came, the four men who answered knew that they were indeed blessed.

The entire episode lasted less than a half an hour, after which everyone returned to their rooms, dressed, then proceeded downstairs to wait for the Colonel. None of them knew why they had been invited to the Ranch. But they all knew it wasn’t just to watch the sun rise and the petroglyphs dance.

The Colonel was the last to come back downstairs. He stood in the hallway and looked out into the dining room. He had put on a black Brook Brothers wool suit, a white dress shirt and his trade-mark bow tie.

Everyone was seated at the table, talking among themselves, waiting for him.

The Colonel knew two of his guests well, the other two only by their reputations.

Four men, all military veterans, all seasoned intelligence operatives.

He stepped into the room a proud American, ready to accept this final role his country had written for him. It was to be his swan song. Good morning again, gentlemen, I am so glad you were able to share this morning’s glory with me. It was magnificent wasn’t it? He looked over at his housekeeper and smiled.

He then continued. But I am sure you are aware the reason I asked you here was not to watch the sun rise but to ask you to help me ensure that the sun continues to shine on this great nation of ours. We are like a city on a hill and we are destined to lead the world, gentlemen. You are men who love their country; men who are not afraid to get their hands dirty when asked to do so.

Like a salesman looking to close a deal, he had chosen his words carefully. So before breakfast was served, before the first cups of coffee were poured, he gestured towards his housekeeper who on cue laid a blue file folder in front of each of his guests.

I have a proposition I would like to discuss with each of you, the Colonel said. When you have finished looking at the folder in front of you, we can talk.

One by one, they read what had been placed in front of them.  One by one, they closed the folder and handed it back to the Colonel’s housekeeper. Each man wore his poker face, no one, not even the Colonel would speculate as to what was on their minds.

So, gentlemen, what do you think? the Colonel finally asked.

Everyone around the table seemed to agree upon four words.

The first two were bold and dangerous.

The second two were highly profitable.

I’ve been requested to assemble a team to carry out the mission described in the blue folders each of you has just read. What I want to know, can it be done. But before you answer, let me say, money is not an issue. We will have whatever it takes to meet the objective.

Over the course of the rest morning, into the afternoon, and late into the night, the Colonel and the four men developed an operational plan that would not only meet the stated objective but that would provide those that had authorized it with plausible deniability. The following morning they prepared a budget; men, equipment, travel expenses, and profit.

It was as good a plan as the Colonel had ever devised.

It would be his final act of patriotism.

Gentlemen, I want to thank you for your help, the Colonel said as he handed each man a red Kingston 8GB flash drive. A copy of the plan is on the flash drive as well as instructions as to how we shall maintain communication from here on.

With those simple words the Colonel had set the President’s plan in motion.

Chapter 4

Petty Officer Shawn Delgado stepped over to the mirror to take another look at his shoulder. The large orange and purple bruise that had formed a few weeks earlier had receded into a small dark spot about the size of a half dollar. He was lucky, another inch or two higher, and a little to the left, the chunk of concrete that had fallen from the crumbling church bell tower would have landed on his head and that would have been all she had wrote.

He dropped his bathrobe on the floor, crawled into bed with his wife, pressed his body against hers; front to back. He kissed her neck, twice, said goodnight, rolled over, tucked a pillow under his head and drifted off to sleep.

His two and half year old son snored softly in his bed in the other bedroom.

It was a little past three in the morning when the phone rang. Half asleep, Shawn answered it. He passed it to his wife; it’s your sister, he told her. Thirty-five minutes later, not a very happy man, he climbed out of bed, dressed, kissed his wife and son goodbye and headed out the door.

He would be at his sister-in-law’s restaurant in just over six hours.

She lived with her husband of twelve years in Opopeo in the heart of the Tierra Caliente region which also happened to be the methamphetamine-producing capital of North America. It straddled parts of Michoacán and the neighboring states of Guerrero and Mexico. Delgado knew the Knight Templar’s ruled the area with an iron fist. He also knew that they had brought an unprecedented wave of violence to the pristine valleys and mountains of Opopeo.

Delgado had gassed up his truck before he left Manzanillo. He had a long drive ahead of him and didn’t want to make any stops; he just wanted to get to where he was going. He was tired and would have preferred to have stayed at home, in his nice warm bed. But when family called, regardless of whether or not you cared for them, and his sister-in-law certainly wasn’t one of his favorite people, there was nothing you could do but answer.

He arrived on outskirts of Opopeo a little after eight in the morning. Twenty minutes later he was pulling into the parking lot of his sister-in-law’s restaurant.

A thirty-something woman was setting up an artificial Christmas tree over by the restaurant’s large fireplace when Delgado walked in. She looked up and with a yell of surprise and delight rushed over to him. Embracing her brother-in-law with a hug and then a kiss on the cheek, she said, I’m so glad you came.

Though tired and grumpy, Delgado managed a smile. What can I say; my wife says you need some help.

We do, we do.

So tell me, what’s going on?

I think I better let Jorge tell you.

So, where is he? Delgado asked as he looked around at all the empty tables. From what he could remember, the place would normally be packed with early-morning breakfast customers.

With a worried look, Dora replied, Out back.

Well, I had better go talk to him.

That’s okay. It’s not necessary, he won’t be long, Dora said as she took Delgado by the hand and lead him to a table. Sit down; let me get you some coffee.

He took the hot cup offered, and with a thank you he drank it in a few gulps. When she brought him another cup he asked, So, what’s Jorge doing?

Dora pulled out a chair and sat down next to him. She leaned over the table and whispered. He’s talking to some men.

He was about to ask her who, when Dora put a finger to his lips and said, Please, we don’t want any trouble. We just want them to leave us alone.

Delgado did not like the sound of that. He was about to ask her what in the hell was going on when they were interrupted by Jorge. He was in a rage, charging out of the kitchen into the dining room, waving his arms in the air, yelling at the world. Damn, fucking gangsters.

His startled wife immediately jumped up from the table and ran over to him. She gave him a scowl before admonishing him. "Quite, they