CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Juan Herrera was fat. Because he was fat, and was always fat, those around him suffered from the cruel wafting stench of his demonic body odor. He was teased practically from the time he was in diapers. Teasing eventually led to bullying, and bullying took the form of real, street-thug issued beat-downs by the time he became a young teenager. By the time he was sixteen, Juan was determined to reverse this dynamic and find a way to exert not only his masculinity, but also his forceful dominance over others to compensate for his feelings of inadequacy. The deep-seated feelings of inadequacy that plagued his youth did as much damage to his psyche as his body odor did to all who came close to him. Now eighteen, Juan was full of piss and vinegar.
Juan loved playing Assassin’s Creed on his XBOX. Sure, it was an older game, but he took what he could get, when he could get it. This game was handed down to him from a cousin. Juan’s family was royally screwed up and he knew it. His father was a ghost that disappeared at Juan’s earliest memories. He was barely around past his initial sperm donation.
The section eight housing was deplorable and most of the time Juan was alone. His younger sister was eleven and usually was at daycare or a relative’s house. Juan got the privilege of staying home by himself from age thirteen on, and primarily spent the time in a daydream world of video games and rap music. When he did get out, he would hang out with the only two older kids who accepted him in the neighborhood. They still teased him of course, but they would beat the living shit out of anyone else who dared to tease him. He was their punching bag, no one else’s. This gave Juan a sense of a safe cocoon of protection he had never felt before in his life. He would do anything these kids would ask. They were the only people in the world that ever stood up for him. His mother couldn’t even stand up for herself, let alone him. She was a junkie whore, and Juan knew it, and understood the horrible implications of his mother’s addiction as early as age five.
When Juan went out to the clubs and cantinas across the border into Mexico with his mentors in the neighborhood, he was able to escape the fact, and temporarily forget, that his mother and all her stupid bullshit even existed.
Juan’s mentors were all in their early twenties. Juan was their young protégée. They would protect him even when he would begin to provoke fights with other kids. This was entirely new for Juan. He was used to being bullied, not doing the bullying. Now, he was insulated from repercussion and could feel the invigorating rush of pushing others around, just as he was pushed around his whole life.
He began to feel like some sort of Superman, and he loved the feeling. His acts became more and more brazen, and his respect amongst his buddies, and anyone that now knew him, began to grow exponentially in a very short period of time. It was only a few weeks ago when he commanded the respect and attention of some serious players across the border.
Juan was kicking ass at Assassin’s Creed as he waited for the orders from his new business associate, an anonymous member of the Mexican Gulf Cartel. Juan was wooed and lured with all kinds of promises of money, glory, prestige, and affiliation, but none of that was even really necessary. Sure, he wanted to make some money to take care of his sister and get her and himself as far away from that whore of a mom he was cursed with, but he would have agreed to work for the cartel regardless. He had come to love the feeling of violence, regardless of where it pointed, because he internally used it as a reconciling force for all the shit he had been through in his life.
The order he was waiting on would be his initiation directive and he couldn’t have been more stoked to get going on it. He had no idea what the target had done to deserve the hit, and he did not give a shit at all. He had a buddy, who introduced him to the cartel, who was ordered to do some real crazy shit. Straight-up beheadings. No shit. Heads rolling on the streets of the freakin’ United States of America. Juan could only imagine the thrill.
The only thing he knew about this hit was that he was one of many new and recent recruits that were being commissioned to do hits on a particular group of people in the states. That’s all he knew. He didn’t know the common affiliation or the offense that earned the targets their brutal consequence. He fantasized that it would be a heroic, high profile hit like the one that was attempted on the Saudia Arabian ambassador back in 2011. If Juan got such a job, he swore he wouldn’t screw it up.
Finally, his cell rang.
“This is Juan.”
“Juan, pay attention. The address for the target will be delivered to you shortly, along with a description. You’ll be given a van with a motorcycle inside of it, and clear instructions. Your instrument will also be in the van, with instructions. Use it carefully or it will harm you as well. You’ll need to plan some reconnaissance time to successfully execute this job. Observe your target thoroughly before you attempt the mission. Failure on an initiation order could result in your own elimination. Remember that.”
The messenger hung up and Juan was simultaneously excited, jacked, and about to soil his boxers. An electricity surged though his veins like he had never felt before in his short life. He could not wait for the instructions to come. It was time to stop playing video games and get in the real game.