Saint Death (12 page)

“Over here,” a voice called out, breaking the spell. Zack looked up to see the limo driver, Oscar, still holding a gleaming fifty caliber revolver with a long shiny barrel and a black rubber grip. In the distance he could hear police sirens. “The cops will be here any minute! Let's go!”

Zack hurried to the limo's passenger side door and climbed in. Oscar got back behind the wheel, tossing the smoking hand cannon between them on the seat. He threw the limo into gear and made a sharp one hundred and eighty degree turn, driving up over the curb and onto the sidewalk before slamming back down on the road and peeling out.

Zack was still in a daze. “What's happening right now?”

“What's happening is I just saved your life Holmes,” Oscar said, taking off his white dress shirt to reveal a wife beater beneath and skin covered with old jail house tattoos.

“But how did you know I was in trouble?” Zack asked.

“I didn't,” Oscar said, looking in the rearview nervously. So far they were still on their own but Zack knew from the amount of bystanders and witnesses that it would only be a matter of time before an APB was put out on the limo. “I told you before, I drive this road a lot for work. I was bringing back a group of kids from Florida but that mess you left in the road back there forced me to stop. When I saw Reyes tackle you I grabbed Eastwood here.”

He gently patted his enormous gun with his right hand, the way a proud owner might pet his beloved pure breed after winning Best in Show.

“At that point my fare jumped out and ran,” Oscar laughed.

“You named your gun Eastwood?” Zack asked in shock.

“You know,” Oscar said, his eyes still locked on the rearview mirror, “like Dirty Harry?”

“I thought you were trying to stay out of prison,” Zack said. “Why did you save me?”

“Shit. You could just say thank you,” Oscar chided.

“I'm serious,” Zack said.

“It's better to do what's right than what's easy,” Oscar said. “My grandfather taught me that. He was the most important person in my life. Besides that cocksucker got what he deserved. Between him and his flunkies demanding payouts several times a week it was becoming almost impossible to make a decent profit anymore. Trust me, a lot of people are going to be happy that he's dead.”

“So what now?” Zack asked nervously.

“I hope you brought your passport,” Oscar replied. “Otherwise you're fucked!”

Zack felt in his front pocket. The passport was still there. He took it out and stared at it.

“You said not to trust the hotel staff so I brought it with me.”

“Good,” said Oscar, sounding relieved. “We're headed straight to the airport. We'll ditch the car in overnight parking and slip into the terminal. At that point we go our separate ways. I'm going to grab the first flight out of town and I suggest you do the same. Hopefully by the time they realize what's happened you'll be long gone. By the way, what happened to your friend Dave?”

“He didn't make it,” Zack said, his eyes filling up again with fresh tears.

Oscar leaned over and opened the glove compartment. Several pill bottles rattled out onto the floorboards as he dug through to find the one he wanted. He popped the lid and brought the bottle to his lips, gulping down a couple pills before handing them to Zack.

“What are they?” Zack asked tentatively, staring at the little yellow pills inside the orange plastic tube.

“Norco,” Oscar barked back. “Painkillers. They'll help you get where you're going. Take one now and put the rest in your pocket.”

Zack did as Oscar suggested, dry swallowing down the first chalky pill before slipping three more into his jean pocket.

“Thanks man,” Zack said. “For everything.”

“I'm sorry about your friend,” Oscar said. “He was a man after my own heart.”

“I can't talk about that right now,” Zack said, his eyes filling with stinging tears. “I just can't or I'll lose it.”

“I knew that cop,” Oscar said abruptly changing the subject. “He's one of the most corrupt on the force. Who was the woman?”

“His wife I think,” said Zack.

“Why was he trying to kill you?” Oscar asked.

“His son drugged and kidnapped us then brought us to some old ranch and sold us to some cartel psychos who were going to torture us to death in some freakish religious ceremony.”

“
Santa Muerte
,” Oscar whispered, making the sign of the cross over himself. “Saint Death.”

Zack's eyes went wide with surprise. “You know about that shit?”

“I've heard rumors,” Oscar said, looking concerned for the first time since killing the cop. “They are bad news man. It's said they kill babies and virgins, shit like that, in exchange for power, protection, and in some cases eternal life.”

“These guys preferred killing Americans,” Zack said. “They got off on it.”

“Either way you are lucky to be alive,” Oscar said. “Just sit tight. We'll be there soon. Then we roll the dice and pray for luck.”

Zack stared out of the window in a daze, fighting back tears. If there was one thing he could use at that moment it was a little bit of luck.

Zack leaned over the bathroom sink and spit a fresh wad of blood up. He turned on the water, pulling a sip into his mouth, and washing down his second painkiller. Standing back up he gingerly washed the blood off of his hands, watching as it turned pink against the slick white basin and whirled down the dark drain. The painkiller had come on strong, blossoming like a warm flower in the middle of his chest that radiated relief. The hot water felt good too. Cautiously he filled his hands with it and began to wash his face and damaged ear. Unrolling a strip of gauze he began to bandage his ear first and then his hand.

He'd taken the first aid kit from the back of the limo before they'd abandoned it in long term parking as planned. Zack tried to wrap his head around the idea that Oscar was willing to leave behind the life he'd built for himself just to save a strangers life. He honestly couldn't fathom why he'd done it, and he certainly didn't have the words to adequately thank him, so he stood there awkwardly as Oscar took a couple suitcases from the back of the limo and set them on the parking lot floor.

“I didn't have time to pack a getaway bag,” Oscar explained. “Guess I thought I didn't need it anymore since I was out of the life. Lucky for us the guys who bailed on my fare left their stuff behind. Let's see what they left us.”

He unzipped the bags and flipped them open. Inside the first were several business suits, dress shirts, and ties. The second contained sportswear. Oscar wasted no time pulling on a Miami Dolphins jersey that read WAKE over the number 91. He found a matching hat inside and pulled it down over his hair all the way to his eyebrows. “How do I look?”

“Like any other red blooded American football fanatic,” Zack said. “You should blend right in.”

“Perfect,” Oscar replied, nodding his head in agreement.

Zack pulled on a long sleeve shirt as delicately as he could then covered it with an expensive suit jacket. Both items were a little oversized but they'd do so long as he didn't get questioned. He turned back to Oscar who looked oddly excited for a man fleeing a life he'd worked so hard to build.

“I'm taking the suitcase with me,” Zack announced. “It might look suspicious if we show up with no luggage.”

“Good idea Holmes,” Oscar replied, grabbing the sports memorabilia filled duffle bag and looping it over his shoulder. “Well, I guess this is the end of the line for us. Good luck and don't get caught. See you in the next life.”

Oscar hurried off through traffic towards the main terminal. After a few minutes had passed, Zack made his way in the same direction, trying his best to blend into the crowd despite looking like he'd just lost a prize fight against Mike Tyson, right down to his torn ear. He hurried into the first bathroom he saw and began the process of cleaning up. He'd been at it for over fifteen minutes. Strangers came and went but none seemed interested in him.

Guess I'm not the first tourist to run into trouble south of the border,
Zack thought as he applied the last bandage.

He shut the water off and used wads of fresh paper towels to clean up the bloody residue in the sink. When he was done the results weren't half bad. His nose was still slightly swollen and had a bruise on it, but it wasn't broken as he'd originally suspected. There was the beginning of a fresh shiner starting to form under his right eye but the worst of it wouldn't be fully visible for a couple more days. Other than the covered wounds on his hand and ear he looked like he'd been through no worse than a spirited bar fight.

“All you have to do is get on a plane,” Zack told his reflection in the mirror. “There will be time to sort out everything when you're back home safe and sound but if the cops catch you before then you're spending the rest of your life rotting away in a Mexican prison so be fucking cool.”

He nodded to himself, took a deep breath, and headed back out into the main terminal. With the suit jacket on and dress shirt over jeans and sneakers he looked like a young professional who'd maybe come down on business and managed to work in just enough recreational time to himself get in an adventure. Scanning across the crowded room he saw several police officers and a few Federales, but none of them seemed worked up. They were busy going about their jobs or simply standing guard, their eyes unblinking, their hands resting idly on their menacing black automatic rifles.

Keep it together
, he told himself.
You're almost out of this nightmare.

He stopped in front of the arrivals and departures board. There were two flights headed back to Los Angeles on American and one on Alaska Airlines. Since they'd come down just the day before on American he thought it might be safer to try returning with a different carrier. He passed a gift store on his way to the ticket counter and ducked inside. He picked up a pair of aviator shades, a few popular magazines, a plush neck pillow, and a computer bag. While the clerk was ringing him up Zack threw in a couple of almond Snickers and a pack of chewing gum.

“Will there be anything else sir?” the clerk asked in a polished voice.

Zack shook his head no. He paid in cash, stuffing the magazines and the pillow into the computer bag. The clerk gave him his change and he slipped the shades on and left eating the candy. He didn't realize how hungry he was but the candy tasted amazing and the sugar gave him a boost that hit his system right away. By the time he'd made his way over to the Alaska Airlines counter he'd scarfed down both bars. A very young looking Mexican woman with big bright eyes and a wide friendly smile was more than happy to issue him a ticket.

“How many bags are you checking today sir?” she asked.

“Just the one,” he said, putting the bag he'd taken from the back of the limo up on the scale. He patted the new computer bag he'd just bought and smiled at her. “I'm taking this one with me as my carry on.”

“Perfect,” the perky brunette said, putting her hand out for his passport. He did his best to keep his hand from shaking as he passed it to her. Zack felt her eyes briefly roam from his face to his hands as she entered his passport information into her computer. Her well-manicured nails raced over the keys, clicking away like a snake's rattle. She paused suddenly and he held his breath. She looked up and he felt like his heart was going to jump out of his chest.

She's on to me
, he thought suddenly, the urge to drop everything and run rising back up in him like a deadly viper. He casually glanced around trying to decide on the best escape route should it come to that, but saw little hope. There were too many witnesses, too many people swarming through the airport for him to make a clean get away. They would be on him in seconds if he bolted. He was sure of it. If they took him in he'd never see any of the people he loved ever again, including his parents.

“Sir?” Zack turned back to the woman behind the counter. She smiled politely and he felt the stitch in his chest relax just slightly. “I said how would you like to pay?”

“Try this one,” Zack said, his voice trembling as he tried to remain calm. He slid a credit card across the counter to her. “I can use the points.”

She took the card without hesitation and ran it through her machine with a swipe of her delicate wrist. He held his breath as she waited for approval. He expected at any moment a swarm of armed Federales to descend on him, automatic weapons drawn, ready to take down a wanted cop killer. Instead the machine erupted in a series of beeps as it spit out a new boarding pass. The young woman tore part of the pass off and wrapped it around his suitcase handle before placing it on a conveyor behind her. She slipped the paper ticket into a folded booklet and handed it to him.

“Your flight is already boarding at gate seven,” she said with a beaming smile. “Have a nice trip home!”

“Thank you,” he replied, already slinking away with his new computer bag tucked under his arm. He held his passport and the boarding pass in his sweaty palm and tried to look casual as he made his way towards gate seven and got in line. Glancing at the mirror overhead he saw a series of police officers walking side by side up the terminal. He felt the pit of his stomach drop out as he saw them fan out and begin searching the gates. The urge to turn and run came crashing over him like a rogue wave, but his feet wouldn't cooperate. They felt nailed to the floor. Any minute now they would be on him.

“Ticket please,” a voice close to him said, shaking him back to reality. Zack looked up to see the male flight attendant with his hand out waiting for his pass.

“Here,” was all he could manage to say as he willed his hand to rise up and hand the passport and boarding pass to the overly chipper attendant.

“
Gracias amigo
,” the man smiled, tearing the back end off of the pass and running it through a machine. He handed it to back to Zack. “You're all set. Welcome aboard sir.”

Zack stumbled forward clumsily feeling like a man who'd been pardoned at the last minute for a second time. There was a fat woman in an obscenely short yellow dress arguing with a female flight attendant near the entrance to the plane, causing the line of people boarding to slow down. Zack turned back cautiously to sneak a peek at the terminal behind him. There was a loud commotion, followed by yelling and a woman's high pitch screams. Zack strained to see what the source of the commotion was. Several of the officers had tackled a man to the ground and were wrestling with him to get their suspect under control. Zack felt his stomach muscles clench up as he waited in anticipation. After what felt like a small eternity they lifted the man up to his feet. Zack saw at once that it was Oscar. They were patting him down when Zack heard a woman's voice behind him.

“Excuse me,” the female attendant sweetly sang. “We need for you to take your seat please.”

Zack turned to see that the line of people in front of him had cleared and now he was holding up several anxious passengers trying to board. They glared at him in annoyance. He quickly turned back to the flight attendant.

“Sorry,” he said in a deep voice, turning and marching onto the plane.