The Cartel (A Sarah Roberts Thriller Book 15) Read online

  “Uhm, I ahh,” the guard managed to say before he saw the blood pooling under his right heel. While leaning on his left foot, he lifted his wounded one as if he was looking for gum on the bottom of his shoe.

  Sarah was more interested in what he had pulled out of his jacket. When she saw the brass knuckles clamped in his right fist she breathed a sigh of relief. Had it been a gun, she’d have to pull hers and then weapons would be fired and the noise would alert the rest of the café.

  He set his right foot down gently and glanced at her with what looked like a cross between fear and anger. He stumbled toward her, raising his fists.

  “You’ll be skinned alive for that,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

  The pain was settling in over his system. He couldn’t apply any weight to the right side now. Blood oozed out faster and faster.

  “Stop, or I will kill you,” Sarah whispered.

  “Good luck.”

  “Who’s out there?” the lieutenant asked.

  “A dead nun,” the guard responded. “Only a stupid, dead nun.”

  He thrust forward and drove his brass-knuckled fist at her face. She dropped under it, the guard’s fist barely skimming the top of her head, and swung the knife’s blade in an arc across his lower stomach where the collar shirt he wore had slipped out of the top of his pants.

  He moaned, moved away, and hopped on his left foot until he was leaning against the wall.

  “You bitch!” he yelled, looking down as blood soaked the top of his pants.

  At least two shades of red seeped from his face as he slowly slid down the wall until he was in a sitting position. The blood from his ankle wound had intensified and now he held his intestines with both hands.

  She couldn’t look away or leave him alone to deal with the lieutenant because he was still armed. As soon as she turned her back, a bullet would enter it.

  “This is for Aaron.”

  She stepped close, pulled her right leg back far and wide and like a quarterback, kicked a field goal using the guard’s face. She hit him so hard, his head bounced off the wall, denting it slightly, then slumped down and dangled, resting on his upper chest.

  “What the fuck is going on?” the lieutenant shouted as he moved around frantically inside the stall.

  Someone tried the bathroom door. Then they pounded on it asking in Spanish what was going on.

  “Everyone okay?” someone else shouted.

  “Yes,” Sarah shouted back. “Stay out.”

  She reached inside the guard’s suit jacket, grabbed the bodybuilder’s weapon, aimed at the base of the restroom door and fired twice into the outer hallway. Someone yelled, someone grunted, and the voices moved away.

  She turned her attention to the stall that still concealed the lieutenant. What was he up to? Preparing his own weapon for when she opened the door?

  Fear motivated people so she decided to scare him out.

  Using the bodyguard’s gun, she fired into the stall doors on either side of the lieutenant’s stall. The unpainted, dirty wooden door on the left cracked where the bullet entered. The one of the right buckled inward and was almost torn from its hinges.

  “Coming out?” she asked.

  “Fuck you. Come and get me.”

  “Not appetizing. I’ll pass.”

  “You’ll be eating your own intestines when I’m done with you. I’ll see to that.”

  “Whatever. Your threats are meaningless. Cartels are only men. Albeit crazy, insane, loco men, but still, just men. And men bleed. Men can be killed. That means the Enzo Cartel can be killed. Come out now, or you will be added to the list of cartel men I’ve killed tonight.”

  She fired the bodyguard’s last two bullets above the lieutenant’s stall. Pieces of the wall chipped and rained down inside the stall.

  “Okay, okay, I’ll come out. Stop fucking shooting.”

  The lock on the door cracked. Then the door eased open on noisy hinges. Sarah had to fight not to gag at the fetid smell wafting through the disgusting restroom.

  The lieutenant looked at his guard and laughed a short, sharp burst. “Get a load of this shit.” He stepped all the way out as someone yelled from inside the café. “Religion makes me sick.” He nearly spat the words. “More people have died in the name of God than in any cartel business and we’re the ones hunted.” He turned to glare at Sarah. “You should be hunting God for all of his crimes against humanity. The church discriminates against all kinds of things like condom use or same-sex marriage. It’s a privilege this or a privilege that.” He used his finger to make a point as Sarah watched him calmly, easing her heart rate back to normal. “I’ll tell you what a privilege is,” he continued. “The church doesn’t pay any taxes. That’s a fucking privilege. Make sense to you, Sister? Or are you really a nun? You look much too young to be a nun. And look what you did to my guard. Only a trained expert could kill that silently. What rival cartel are you from? Or are you some kind of exterminator with the American government?”

  The odds of getting out of here alive were lowering by the second. The snake was about to bite. She had come too far, in too deep. It was time to cut the snake’s head off.

  She moved closer to the lieutenant.

  “I want to send a message to the Enzo Cartel,” she said.

  He offered a large nod, a wide grin pasted to his features even though his forehead was covered in sweat that leaked down into his eyes. He was afraid, but as the noise outside the restroom door intensified, he seemed to grow sure of himself. “Tell me your secrets. Confess and you shall be absolved.”

  He was clearly making fun of her, secure in the notion that she was alone and could not possibly pose a threat to him. But thoughts of what they had done to Aaron in his time as their prisoner fueled anger in her. She wanted to murder every last member of the Enzo Cartel. She wanted to wipe the cartel off the map. By doing so, how many kids in America would be spared cartel drugs? Was that her motivation? Or was it revenge? If so, she needed a clear head because revenge would probably get her killed. Anger would cloud her judgment and cause her to slip up. A calm, rational, unemotional way of dealing with things needed to prevail. She would have to fight to stay in control.

  She leaned closer, the gun on her right pressing against the flesh of her thigh. Suddenly the urge to pee struck her.

  “The message is from Sarah Roberts.” He gasped at the mention of her name. Sarah grabbed her gun under the habit. Killing this lieutenant would send a strong message.

  “Go on,” he said. “And while you’re at it you can tell me how you know Sarah Roberts.”

  “Sarah Roberts wants you to know she’s on her way to hurt the cartel.”

  “She’s coming here?” he asked, eyebrows raised as well as his voice. “Now? This café?”

  Sarah nodded, gripping the gun still covered by the habit, aimed at the lieutenant’s groin.

  “She said she needed to know where they were keeping Aaron. But I told her you would never give that kind of information away for free.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” the lieutenant said, dramatically.

  Something slammed into the restroom door from the hallway and Sarah jumped. She almost squeezed the trigger and shot the lieutenant. It was only a matter of seconds before they got in.

  “I’m not kidding.” She lowered her voice so only he could hear her. “In fact, Sarah’s here right now.”

  The lieutenant made a joke of looking around the restroom. Sarah leaned in far enough that the gun’s barrel touched his crotch. The lieutenant glanced down, his eyes widening when he understood the position he was in.

  “Where’s Aaron?” Sarah asked under her breath. “Where the fuck are you people keeping him?”

  He looked into her eyes. “I’ll take you to him,” he replied, smoothly, calmly. “Simply lower the gun and we’ll go for a ride. Just the two of us.”

  Who did these people think they were? Why would they travel all the way to Toronto to kidnap Aaron? Why
do all this? She wished the cartel had left them alone. She didn’t want this war, but they had started it.

  Something banged into the door again. Wood splintered. One, maybe two more hits and the door would give way.

  “The only ride you’ll be taking is in a hearse.” Sarah wished she could stop everything and go pee, but her bladder would have to wait. “Where’s Aaron?”

  He laughed, then as the laugh faded, his features hardened.

  “You will be killed in this café. You will not leave it alive. Then they will kill the hostage, your boyfriend. One day your parents will come out of government protection and we will kill them after we skin them alive. You can’t win, whore. No bitch has ever bettered the cartel. Now, put that thing away and I’ll make sure your death is quick and painless—”

  Something banged into the door once more. It sounded like they were inside the restroom. Maddened by the image of the severed finger the cartel had sent her, Sarah pulled the trigger, twice.

  At first the lieutenant’s face registered surprise, then shock as he realized he’d been shot in the crotch. When he looked down to examine the wound, Sarah fired again, this time aiming higher, near the heart.

  The lieutenant slammed backwards into the stall door, bounced it open and fell inside the stall, the front of the stained toilet connected with his shoulder blades as he landed on the filthy floor. His head dangled back over the open toilet that he hadn’t flushed after using the facilities.

  “There’s my message,” she mumbled to him. “I hope your cartel hears it loud and clear.”

  With a resounding crack, the restroom door splintered inward and smashed into the same wall that Sarah had leaned against as she watched the guard wash his hands in the sink.

  She brought her weapon up and began firing at anything that moved.

  Gunfire erupted throughout the café beyond the door. She crouched down by the convulsing body of the lieutenant, just inside the stall door as men shouted beyond the restroom. Weapons fired, men grunted, bullets met targets.

  Who the hell’s firing at whom? Were Casper’s men here to pull her out? A rival cartel? Who?

  The smell of cordite mixed with sweat permeated the restroom, becoming the dominant smell over the putrid shit smell she had been getting used to.

  She edged out from behind the stall door, her gun leading the way. Someone moaned. A weapon fired somewhere. The moaning stopped.

  She hadn’t expected the Wild West feel of this and hated it. It was dangerous, reckless, and could get her killed. Even with Vivian, she wasn’t above being murdered. But for some reason her sister had wanted her here tonight.

  The lieutenant had stopped moving behind her. Blood had pooled under him and seeped onto the nun’s habit. She looked back at him and felt nothing. Cartel men were glorified murderers, rapists and drug dealers. A few less in the world made it a better place.

  She made it to the broken restroom door without being shot at. Five bodies littered the floor just past the opening. The other two body-builder types who had been guarding the lieutenant were dead. A couple of men from the bar were also dead. Beer and bar nuts littered the floor. Blood was painted everywhere. If anyone was left, it would be the bartender. It was always the bartender.

  Sarah hesitated in the corridor that led from the restroom to the main area of the café, holding her weapon in front of her two-handed.

  What the hell? Who did this?

  Whoever was still out there could cut her down without a moment’s thought. She weighed the chances that it was Casper’s people and decided it couldn’t be. She was dressed in a nun’s habit that she took from a distraught nun in a church three blocks away. No one saw her there and certainly didn’t follow her here to just up and kill everyone in the joint. Whoever did this was powerful and not on her side. Since this was the only way out of the building as the windows in the restroom were too small, she had to run for it.

  Someone moved into view. She fired twice so fast she almost lost her balance. The figure tilted sideways, bumped the wall and fell on top of two other bodies by a broken table.

  “Sarah?” a man’s voice. “That you? You okay?”

  He sounded American. Maybe Canadian. Her bladder was so full now, she wanted to just piss in the nun’s habit. It was covered in water from the floor of that rancid restroom and the blood of her victims. What would it matter? There’d be no time to sit for a pee in the next half hour anyway. She had to get back to the hotel. If Casper found her amid this slaughter there was no telling what the Federales would do to her.

  “Sarah, there’s still one more. Stay where you are.”

  A friendly. But who? The voice was younger than Parkman’s, and certainly not Aaron’s. It wasn’t Casper and none of the men Casper had introduced her to this past week sounded that young.

  Yet there was something about the voice that was familiar.

  Something thumped near the back of the café. She edged out to look around the wall. A door had just closed, swinging shut softly.

  Why were there no sirens outside? There had been a lot of gunplay. Anywhere in Canada or the States, that amount of gunplay would warrant a police response. Unless they were told not to come regardless of what they heard. Could the cartel have that much power? She wasn’t naive. There were bribes and officers who accepted payoffs, but whole police forces?

  The man who spoke to her earlier still hadn’t shown himself. The other man he said was still alive hadn’t either. They were in a stalemate until someone stuck their head up. But Sarah didn’t want to wait any longer. She had to leave this place. And she had to pee.

  As quietly as possible, Sarah moved into the open heading for the bar. It would provide shelter which would get her closer to the back door. She made it to the corner of the bar uninterrupted. The base of the barstools were screwed to the floor. She placed a foot on the one closest to her, looked around one last time, then lifted herself up and stepped onto the bar. Standing this high made a huge target of herself, but walking through the café to get around the lengthy bar would leave her in the open for much more time.

  She bent over, kicked her feet off the bar and hopped down behind it, like dropping into a trench.

  “Don’t move,” a man said. “Don’t even flinch.”

  Sarah froze. The bartender was hunched in a corner, blood running from his mouth. He was wounded, but alive. And he held a rather large shotgun on her.

  “Drop the weapon and the knife,” he said. “Easy now.”

  Sarah held both weapons up and out and made a show of dropping them.

  “Now kick them away.”

  She did it, then turned back to the bartender.

  “Is this about me not paying for my drink?” she asked. “Because I can gladly pay for my drink.”

  “What? No. Who are you?”

  “Sister Margarita. I’ve come to offer these fine folks their last rites.”

  “You knew—” he coughed “—they were going to be slaughtered?” Blood covered the hand that caught the cough.

  She faced him. “I had a feeling. A premonition.” Her hand slipped down and gripped the last weapon strapped to her leg, her second and only gun.

  “Did this premonition warn you of your own death?”

  “No, can’t say that it did. It said I’d make it out alive. Funny how those things work, eh?” She smiled.

  He raised the shotgun to the point she was sure he was about to shoot, then got lost in a fit of coughing.

  She flipped the safety off the gun under the habit and instead of pulling it out of its holster and getting it caught in the fabric of the habit, she dropped to her butt, aimed with her knee, and squeezed the trigger before his coughing stopped.

  The first bullet went wide and startled the bartender. He adjusted his shotgun, made to fire and then a huge boom filled the café.

  Sarah tried to fire again, but her finger snagged in the fabric. She scrunched her eyes closed, ducked back, and waited for the pain.

 
But the pain didn’t come. She opened her eyes. Half of the bartender’s face was missing. She looked down at the impression of her weapon under the habit. She hadn’t fired again.

  Who shot the bartender?

  “Sarah, we need to finish this and leave.”

  “Who’s we?” she shouted from her position on the floor behind the bar.

  “I’ve come a long way to save your ass.”

  Something reeked of gasoline. The smell overwhelmed the stench of alcohol and blood.

  “The least you could do is come and give me a hug before I burn this café to the ground.”