chapter forty

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Jack stirred as a blinding pain in his skull brought him back to reality. He opened his eyes and saw El Pero sitting on a kitchen chair facing him from the hallway outside the laundry room. The long-barrelled revolver was shoved in his belt and he was skimming the pages of a Playboy magazine before pausing to hold up the centrefold.

El Pero saw Jack watching him and turned the picture around for Jack to see. “No more of this, for you, gringo!”

Jack did not respond, but El Pero laughed and shouted down the hallway in Spanish. Jack’s brain was too numb to follow the conversation, but a couple of men in the kitchen also laughed and yelled back.

El Pero went back to looking at more pictures and Jack tried to focus. If he turned his head slowly, images no longer appeared like multiple overlaps of themselves. He stared at El Pero while carefully cupping the pipe with his hands. His muscles strained, but he was unable to turn the pipe from where it was attached to the laundry tub.

A rubber drain plug dangling over the side of the tub gave him an idea. He could use the small spring steel loop attaching the chain to the drain plug to pick the handcuffs … given enough time and privacy.

Jack brooded about how to get El Pero to close the door. The room already reeked and he toyed with the idea that if he defecated, it might cause El Pero to close the door. But then what? Open the door and try to grab his gun? Even if I succeeded, the guys in the kitchen would gun me down … not to mention the snipers outside.

He looked at the other items in the room. The containers of bleach and ammonia sitting next to a mop, broom, and dustpan in the corner gave him another idea.

A combination of bleach and ammonia together produce a deadly chlorine gas. If I do get El Pero to close the door and get free, I could use the dust pan to pour them slowly out under the crack of the door. Maybe El Pero will die. I could sneak out and take his gun and … what the hell am I thinking? Great idea for a movie or a book. Not so good in real life … there has to be another way …

Big Al’s conversation about what they would learn from his torture came back to haunt him. He thought of Natasha and Mikey. For a moment, a small, half-smile formed on his lips as he recalled the moment.

Michael Edward Taggart … you’re our little boy. Michael Edward Taggart, you’re our pride and joy. Michael Edward Taggart, you’re such a little clown. Michael Edward Taggart, you’re fun to have around!

Jack’s smile disappeared as he reached a decision. The fear that had been overwhelming him was replaced with sadness. He truly understood how Lily felt when she believed there was no hope.

I can’t risk being taken alive. If I can get El Pero to close the door, I need to dump the bleach and ammonia in the tub and kill myself before Big Al comes back …

The sound of a truck arriving outside told Jack the expected delivery was being made. Someone in the kitchen hollered to El Pero to come and help. He hollered back that Big Al had told him to guard the gringo. The others would have to unload the truck themselves.

The sound of the men going outside caused Jack to hastily go over his plan again. He did not know how much time he had before the men outside returned, but for the moment, it was only El Pero he had to contend with. He eyed the bottles of bleach and ammonia once more, but was distracted when he noticed El Pero giving a few furtive glances down the hall toward the kitchen … and then back at Jack.

What is he up to? Jack let his head slump to his chest and closed his eyes. He heard the grate of the kitchen chair as El Pero stood up and dropped the magazine on the chair. Next he heard El Pero shuffling down the hall and opening the padlock to Lily’s room.

For Jack, it gave him hope. Thoughts of suicide were replaced with hope of survival. He knew he only had a matter of minutes to get free and turned to the drain plug, using his teeth to bite the plug and pull it free from the chain. When he did, he was able put the plug in his hands and extract the wire ring.

Normally he could have picked the lock in a few seconds. Today was not normal. The circulation had been cut from his hands because the cuffs were on too tight. His fingers were like sausages and the exertion caused his scalp to start bleeding again, causing a mixture of sweat and blood to seep into his eyes as he frantically picked at the lock.

A couple of minutes ticked past and from the painful moans emitted by Lily from down the hall, he knew he had little time left. Finally one cuff opened and he slipped it past the pipe, not bothering to take the time to try and pick the other cuff.

He crept to the doorway and looked down the hall. There was nobody in sight so he hurried to Lily’s room, leaving a trail of blood droplets along the way. The door was partially open and he looked in.

Lily was on her hands and knees on the mattress facing away from him. So was El Pero, who was mounting her anally from behind, supporting part of his weight with one hand on the mattress while clenching Lily’s hair with the other hand. Between grunts he cussed at her and his fat buttocks shook as his strokes increased in tempo. His shirt was still on, but his pants and the .32-calibre long barrelled revolver were beside the door.

It was what Jack had hoped to find. He picked up the revolver and glanced at the cylinder to see the lead ends of the bullets sticking out. There was only one. The bastard didn’t reload … one will have to do.

Jack knew the use of deadly force was restricted to imminent life-threatening situations to either the public or himself. Despite what El Pero was doing, he was unarmed. To shoot him would qualify as murder.

In theory, as Jack did not have the authority to work in Mexico, he should make a citizen’s arrest and perhaps attempt to take El Pero hostage until he could turn him over to the proper authorities.

Yeah, to murder him would be wrong … but somehow, it feels so right …

Outside, the sounds of the men unpacking the truck could clearly be heard, but he knew they would not hear the shot. I wonder if El Pero has even heard of an Italian silencer …

El Pero’s body went rigid and he belched in pain, letting go of Lily’s hair and looking back over his shoulder. Jack had rammed the pistol so hard, that his own knuckles were between El Pero’s fat buttocks.

“You like things up the ass, fatso?” asked Jack.

El Pero’s eyes went wide with fright, his buttocks automatically clenching tighter as he gasped and his lips floundered as his brain searched for what to say.

“You have the right to remain silent,” said Jack, as he pulled the trigger.

The muffled explosion that followed caused El Pero’s body to immediately go limp when the bullet travelled from his rectum, up through his intestines, stomach, and heart before stopping at his shoulder blade.

“Come on, we’ve got to get out of here,” said Jack, grabbing El Pero by the arm and rolling his body off of Lily, who lay collapsed under his weight. “Are you able to walk?”

Lily half-rolled on her side and stared up at Jack in shock, but didn’t respond.

“Did you hear me?” asked Jack. “We don’t have much time. Are you able to walk?”

“Why aren’t you wearing any clothes?” Lily asked tearfully.

“Christ, I’m not here to —” Jack paused, shocked that Lily would even think what she was thinking. He sighed and said, “I’m not wearing any clothes because they took them from me. They were torturing me, too. Come on, I came to take you back to Canada.”

“Oh,” replied Lily in shock. She blinked her eyes a couple of times and looked at Jack as he grabbed her arm and said, “Your head … you’re bleeding really bad! You’ll never be able to save —”

“Keep your voice down. Head wounds tend to look worse than they are. I’ve cut myself shaving worse than this. We don’t have time to talk. There are men outside unloading a truck. We only have a couple of minutes. Come on, let’s see if you can stand.”

Lily slowly pushed herself back up on one knee as Jack held her arm and helped her to her feet. She stood wobbling for a moment.

“You’re doing good,” said Jack, trying to sound encouraging. “Can you walk on your own?”

“I think I can,” she replied and Jack cautiously let go. She took one step and stumbled, but Jack caught her before she collapsed and lowered her back to a sitting position on the mattress.

“I can’t,” she said, her voice becoming louder as panic overcame her shock.

“Shhh! Don’t worry. I thought you might not be able to walk so I have a plan. Wait here and try to catch your breath. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Jack didn’t wait for a reply. Still holding the empty revolver, he grabbed El Pero’s pants and ran back to the laundry room, checking the pants pockets on the way. They were empty. What? You leave your cellphone in the SUV … probably along with your spare bullets … You fat bastard … wish you hadn’t died so fast …

Jack knew El Pero’s pants were far too big for him, so he grabbed his own pants and shirt from the laundry room, but did not take the time to put them on as he padded barefoot out to the kitchen and peeked out the window.

The men had unloaded boxes from a cube van that had a tomato logo on the side of it. A few boxes had been piled to one side and the men were putting the other boxes back in the truck. Jack knew he only had a minute or two left before they would be back in the house.