Bow Down(78)

I felt myself spiraling into sleep and embraced it. A few hours of oblivion would be nice before I tore my family to shreds.

I woke up with a start. It felt like no time at all had passed, and I was still wearing all my clothes. A quick glance at the clock said it was around four in the afternoon, which was surprising.

It was the first time since leaving Mexico that I had slept for more than a couple of hours at one time.

I rolled out of bed, yawned, checked my phone for messages from Trip, and then showered. It felt good to let the hot water rinse the grime from my face and my body.

The memory of our escape from Mexico came flooding back. The old man knocking on my door and telling me that I needed to get out. No other information, nothing. He just walked away. I still didn’t know why he did it.

I didn’t hesitate. If I had, I would’ve been dead, and my whole family would’ve been slaughtered as a message to the whole cartel: don’t fuck with El Tiburon.

There was no time. I threw some clothes into a bag, grabbed my piece, grabbed my doctored passports, and got into the car. My only stop was to pick up Trip, but other than that we basically drove straight across the border and up to Hammond in a couple of days.

I still had no clue what happened. I had no clue how my cover got blown. I know I didn’t make any mistakes, I was more than careful. El Tiburon liked me, gave me the good jobs, and there was even talk that I was getting promoted.

Then suddenly, without warning, I was on the run.

It wasn’t like I wanted Castillo to like me. But in order to achieve my mission and have my slate wiped clean, I had to get close to him. My handlers insisted that they have a man on the inside as close to the top as possible before making their move. They couldn’t risk things going south, or else there would be political repercussions. After all, the United States doesn’t officially meddle in another country’s affairs like that.

My fucking handlers. The same men that abandoned Trip and me when we needed them most.

After the shower, I shaved and put on some clean clothes. I slipped the gun into my waistband and headed out, figuring I could relieve Trip for a few hours.

I got lucky and caught the bus out toward my mom’s house with only a few minutes of waiting. I watched as the old familiar streets and houses passed by, and I wondered at all the new additions.

That was how it happened. Things changed gradually in a town, and if you lived among those changes, you barely even registered them. But if you left a place and came back years later, those changes seemed sudden and jarring, and you couldn’t help but take note of it.

Hammond felt the same and different. I didn’t try to get used to it, since I knew we’d be leaving soon, but I couldn’t help but wonder.

What had happened to the world since I left?

The bus pulled over and I climbed out. I leaned against the side of the bus stop, looking around the area.

Trip should have been pretty easy to spot. We had scouted out the house and the area yesterday and agreed on a few watch points, but I couldn’t see him standing at any of the agreed on places.

I took a quick walk around the perimeter, figuring maybe he had just gone for a short hike to stretch his legs, but Trip wasn’t anywhere. I’d worked countless jobs with him and never once had he left his post for any reasons. He’d been one of the most reliable guys I knew.

Something clenched in my stomach. It was the same feeling I got whenever something bad was about to happen, like my animal instincts kicked in and knew something about the world that my normal human mind hadn’t figured out yet. That feeling had gotten me out of a lot of situations, and I had learned to trust it.

I moved quickly and silently, keeping as hidden as I could, toward my Mom’s house. I crouched down behind some bushes across the street and watched the house for a minute.

There was no movement near the windows that I could make out. It seemed quiet, like a normal suburban house during the day. Then again, my Mom’s car was in the driveway and Jeff’s motorcycle was in the street, which meant they were both home early from work. The phrase “quiet, too quiet” rang through my head, and although I knew it was a cliché, I also knew there was some truth to it.

I moved closer to the house, keeping low. As I got nearer, my heart sank as I noticed the front door.

It was left slightly ajar. Not by much, but it looked like someone had pulled it shut behind them in a hurry and hadn’t made sure it had caught.

I stared at it, wracking my brain, trying to remember if that was a common problem or not. I couldn’t remember a single time that it had happened to me in all the times I had been in and out of that house. Then again, it wasn’t my childhood home, so I wasn’t sure if that was normal or not.