John glanced at his watch as he arranged the food neatly on the patio table. Ernesto and Paulo, the guests of honor, would be arriving any minute. A feast of tapas, delivered earlier for the night’s dinner, was set out along with beans, tortillas, chips, green and red salsa, guacamole, assorted peppers, and various appetizers. A large tote near the pool was filled with ice and several varieties of beer, including darks, imports, IPAs, and the best Mexican labels. The outdoor kitchen’s countertop was stocked with liquor and various wines, and pitchers of chilled Sangria sat in the refrigerator. The dinner party for four was about to begin.
John folded linen napkins and placed silverware on each one. “Do you have the zolpidem ready to go?”
Curt pulled the small bottle from his pocket and opened it. “Ground up as fine as sugar. It’ll dissolve in their drinks without a problem.”
John peeked inside and gave a nod. “Good. Beer while we’re talking, to get them primed, and then plenty of margaritas during dinner and at the pool. You’ll be the bartender. Say something to the effect that you used to bartend part-time when you were in college.”
Curt chuckled. “Do I look like the kind of guy that would waste time going to college?”
“No, but they don’t know our background. Just go with it and keep the drinks flowing until neither of them can form a complete sentence anymore.”
Knocking sounded on the thick mahogany front door. Curt smiled. “Sounds like our guests have arrived.” He patted John’s shoulder. “Soon, when there’s nobody left on our list of people in the US or Mexico that helped you escape, or know where we are, we’ll truly be free.”
John stepped off the patio and entered the house. He looked back at Curt before opening the door. “And two more names will be removed from that list tonight.”
Welcoming his guests, John apologized that Luca couldn’t attend the dinner, saying that he’d mentioned having a sore throat.
“That’s unfortunate,” Ernesto said. “Luca is usually the life of the party.”
John shrugged. “Guess he isn’t feeling that lively tonight.” He tipped his head toward the patio. “Come on out back. The food is hot, the beer is cold, and the pool is just right. I even have some top-quality cigars.” John led the way outside, where Curt was sitting at the table.
“Welcome, gentlemen!” He rose, shook their hands, and pointed at the chairs. “Have a seat. Let’s get reacquainted over a beer, and then we’ll have dinner. There’s plenty of food and drinks to last us all night.”
They spent a half hour drinking beer and smoking Cuban cigars before dinner began. The men exchanged conversations about politics and investments as they lined the table with empty beer bottles.
Curt lifted the lids off the food dishes and placed serving utensils next to each one. “Let’s eat, drink, and be merry.”
“So, are you enjoying life here in Mexico?” Paulo scanned the private backyard as he raised his fork to his mouth. “The property is to your liking?”
“It’s wonderful,” John said. “We’re very grateful to you, and as a token of our appreciation, I’d like to give each of you one thousand dollars.” He reached in his back pocket and handed envelopes to both men.
“Mr. Vance, that isn’t necessary.” Ernesto slid his envelope across the table back toward John. “We will remain loyal to you and Curt no matter what.”
“And we certainly appreciate that. How about toasting our friendship, then? Curt used to bartend in college, and he makes incredible margaritas. The secret is using the best Patrón money can buy.”
With laughter all around, Curt took the hint and rose from the table. Busying himself at the outdoor kitchen while the men continued eating, he was going to make margaritas that Ernesto and Paulo would die for. He called out over his shoulder. “Frozen or on the rocks? Salt or sugar? Plain or fruity?”
The men chuckled and said they preferred on the rocks, salt, and plain. That meant Curt needed to mix in the zolpidem thoroughly. No traces of the powder could be allowed to settle on the bottom of the glasses.
Minutes later, he carried two chilled margaritas to their guests. “Just as you requested,” he said. “On the rocks, plain, salted rims, and the best tequila available. I’m sure you’ll ask for more.”
The men thanked him and waited until Curt returned to the table with his and John’s drinks as well. He took his seat, and Ernesto raised his glass.
“To longevity in life, health, friendship, and business. Cheers!”
The men clanked glasses and drank. Curt kept the margaritas flowing and the glasses full, and within forty-five minutes, the zolpidem was kicking in. Ernesto and Paulo slurred when they spoke, and both had slower response times to questions they were asked. Sweat beaded on Ernesto’s brow.
“It looks like you’re overheating, my friend,” John said. “Let’s dip our feet in the pool. That should cool you down.”
“Yes, um, okay. Pool, let’s—”
A quick glance at Curt confirmed what John was thinking. It would take only a few minutes to drown them both. It would be the easiest and cleanest murder John had ever committed.
Curt rose from the table. “Why don’t we sit at the pool’s edge where it’s shady? The setting sun is coming around the house and glaring on the table, anyway.”
Paulo stood, wobbled, and grabbed his chair for support. He laughed. “Too much Patrón, yes?”
“There’s never enough Patrón,” Curt joked. “Lean on me, and I’ll help you to the pool.”
After stumbling across the patio, both men were helped into sitting positions at the pool’s deep end.
“Go ahead and get your toes wet,” John said. “It’s refreshing.” He took a seat next to Ernesto and dropped his feet into the water. “Ahh… that’s nice.”
Ernesto mumbled incoherently and followed suit. He teetered precariously on the edge as he lowered his legs into the water. Curt was in charge of Paulo, who wasn’t quite as inebriated as Ernesto yet clearly on his way. The drug should take full effect soon.
“I’m going to take a dip,” John said as he stood. He reached for Ernesto’s hand. “Come on. Jump in.” He pulled the man off balance, and they both tumbled into the water. John bobbed up immediately while Ernesto began thrashing.
Ernesto sank like an anchor then swatted at the ladder until he had it in his hands. He coughed out mouthfuls of water as he pulled himself up, only to be kicked back in by Curt.
Paulo tried to get up and run once he realized their fate, but with the patio wet, he slipped and fell. John grabbed his leg and pulled him toward the water. Paulo cried out for Curt’s help, but his pleas fell on deaf ears.
John yelled at his brother. “Get in here. I can’t do this alone!”
Curt dropped in at the deep end and leapt on Paulo, forcing him underwater. John, who had his arm wrapped around Ernesto’s neck, continued to push him downward until the struggling subsided. He released his hold on the man and watched as Ernesto sank to the bottom.
“Help me finish off Paulo,” Curt said as he continually punched the man in the face, trying to knock him unconscious.
Paulo fought with all he had, but he quickly lost the battle once two men were on him. His gurgling and thrashing stopped, and he, too, sank to the bottom. A red cloud of blood surrounded his body as he lay at the deep end of the pool.
“Jesus Christ!” John swam to the shallow end and pulled himself out. “Those two still had some juice left in them.” He wiped his face with the towel that had been draped across the nearest lounge chair and climbed out. He needed to catch his breath. Curt rolled over onto his back and floated across the water.
Walking to the tote, John reached in and pulled out a bottle with each hand. “Have a beer, brother. It’s time to celebrate two less people to deal with.”
Their celebratory drinks lasted until way after dark. They emptied the tote of the ice and beer, and after removing the dead men’s belongings from their pockets, squeezed their bodies inside. John snapped the lid closed.
“Help me put the tote into Ernesto’s SUV, and then we’ll drive them out into the desert and dump them.”
Curt frowned. “Then why the tote at all?”
“Precautions. What if we were stopped for some reason? This is Mexico.” John patted his pants pockets. “Damn it. Where are Ernesto’s keys?”
Curt patted his own pockets and then checked the pile they’d put on the table. “Two cell phones, two wallets, and one set of keys that belonged to Paulo. “I don’t have them, John. Maybe Ernesto left them in his vehicle.”
The men went to the driveway and pulled on the door handles—locked.
“Check on top of the tires,” John said. The keys weren’t there. “Son of a bitch! His SUV is blocking the garage door, so I can’t even get the Camry out.” John paced back and forth in front of the house, but nothing useful came to mind. A dead man’s vehicle blocked their car’s exit. “We needed that damn Camry to get across the border tomorrow.”
“But that isn’t the worst of it. What are we going to do with the bodies?”
John clenched his jaw and kicked the SUV. “Change of plans. Let’s move that tote inside the house and shove it into a closet. We need to call a driver to take us to the car rental agency in Brownsville tonight. We’re leaving Mexico and heading to Chicago right now, so grab everything that has our old and new names on it, our passports, all our money, and every piece of clothing you can fit into your suitcase. Once we leave this house, we’re never coming back.”