Constant Fear

CHAPTER 10

All three chairs were occupied.

Stacey Hoyle Martinez and Gus Martinez were not tied up, but a man wielding an AR-15 proved to be as good as any rope. They were both easy to take down. No troubles there. Stacey had gotten home from her job as an administrator at a nearby culinary school an hour earlier than usual and entered her front door with an expression of someone about to take a surprise vacation. She was dressed nicely, and Fausto appreciated the way her clothes hugged her body in all the right places. He liked curvy women.

Her bright and excited smile dimmed with confusion as two armed men moved from either side of the front door to grab her from behind. One yanked her hair back; the other clutched her arm. Stacey’s eyes bugged in their sockets and she had tried to scream, but Efren flexed his muscled arm as he slapped a hand over her mouth. He pressed a retracted stiletto against her lower back.

“Gritas y mueres,” Efren said.

“Scream and you die.” Fausto emerged from the shadows to translate. She did not understand the order, he saw. Fausto was disgusted. Javier hadn’t taught his American wife how to speak Spanish.

From the photos of Stacey Martinez displayed throughout the home, Fausto had expected a decent prize. He was not disappointed. Stacey had wavy, light-blond hair, exotic to a man accustomed to darker colors. Her nose fit her face-no work done there-but the breasts were certainly enhanced, and supremely enticing. She had slender shoulders and what Fausto imagined were toned legs hidden beneath dark slacks. He would have enjoyed sampling this one, all his senses working on overdrive, but he was here on assignment. The job required complete discipline and a devotion to the mission, nothing more. Seven men were currently under his command; and if Fausto’s plan developed as he expected, that figure would grow substantially.

The boy’s arrival was more of the same. They waited for the cab to drive off before taking him down. This time, Armando, a thin man whose many scars made his face into a relief map, did the honors.

Even though Gus was a young boy, Fausto felt no compunction to treat him with special kindness. Fausto had murdered his first man when he was four years younger than Gus. In Fausto’s world, Gus Martinez was an adult. Fausto would treat the boy the same as Gus’s father and mother. If he made any trouble, he would bleed.

Taking three hostages required some planning. They needed provisions, and three people could hardly live on chairs for what might turn into a multi-day affair. As far as others would know, Javier’s family was taking an impromptu vacation. The house would need to look vacant. Anything cooked would be prepared on hot plates down in the basement.

The basement itself was converted into a makeshift prison. Fausto’s men cleared space by moving boxes from the unfinished side, which had only a couple of small hopper windows, to the finished side, which had much more natural light and ways to escape. They brought mattresses down to function as beds. There’s a saying, “A buen sueño no hay mala cama”-“a tired person can sleep anywhere”-even with armed men always posted on guard duty.

While Armando went to the supermarket, Fausto took on the task of providing clear instructions to the hostages. There would be no misinterpretation. The three sat with forlorn expressions on the hard dining-room chairs in the dimly lit basement.

Gus, wearing a shirt from the Levi’s store and jeans, looked like a combination of his mother and father. He had Stacey’s more delicate face, but Javier’s darker coloring. He was tall, strong, and fit, and he might have been a bigger threat if he weren’t so terrified. Fausto suspected he might pass out. If he did, that would be fine.

Standing before his captives, bookended by two of his armed guards, Fausto appraised his hostages thoughtfully.

“This is obviously a difficult situation for you,” Fausto began. His English was very good. Soto had insisted he learn, but he spoke with an accent and paused often to translate the right word from his native tongue to this foreign one. “We may have a good result here, but only if you cooperate. So I’m going to explain the rules. Are you ready?”

Javier said yes, because he was more accustomed to Fausto and his people, but Stacey couldn’t muster a single word. Her silence did not sit well with Fausto. With his drill head, he lifted Stacey’s chin and forced her to make eye contact. Gus’s dark eyes went wide with horror. He looked ready to spring to his mother’s defense, but the boy’s bravery withered with a single flash of Fausto’s golden smile.

“I know you are scared,” Fausto said, addressing both mother and son. “I would be scared, too. But I don’t want to hurt you. This is a promise. We just need to get what is ours and we’ll be gone.”

Stacey’s shock eased, and she gave Javier an angry look. Her eyes said, “What did you do?”

“We d-didn’t d-do anything to you,” Gus said in a stammering voice. “Let us go.”

Fausto smiled wryly. “You can take that up later with your father.”

Gus leaned forward in his chair so he could glare over at his dad. “Jesus, Dad,” he said. “Are you working for a Mexican drug cartel?”

Fausto was impressed. “You just figured that out from what I said? Smart kid.” He turned his attention from Gus to Javier. “That school you send your boy to? It’s worth the money.”

The twinkle in Fausto’s eyes darkened into something more sinister. “Now, then, here are the rules. They are simple. If you try to escape, warn somebody, or fight back, you will be hurt. I don’t know how badly. Depends, perhaps, on our mood.” Fausto paused to let this information sink in. The hostages looked ready for the next instruction. “That’s it,” Fausto said with a shrug. “That’s pretty much it. There are no other rules. You are all prisoners, and this will be your prison until we get back what is ours. Understood?”

The three nodded silently.

Fausto clapped his hands together-that’s settled. “Okay, then. I’m glad to have your cooperation.”

Fausto put his arm around one of his guards. The man had a thin build and the whisper of a mustache. His near unibrow stretched across dark brown eyes. He kept his long hair pulled back into a ponytail, which gave prominence to a broad forehead. A scowl seemed to be his only facial expression.

“This is ‘Odio,’” Fausto said. “Translated, that means ‘hate’ in your language. There is good reason for this name, and you do not want to learn what it is.” Fausto held up a finger and pointed it at each hostage in an admonishing way. “He will be in charge of you three. If you need something, you will ask him.”

“How long are you going to keep us down here?” Stacey asked.

“Until this is done,” Fausto said with finality. “Now, we need to let the people who matter know you won’t be around for a while. We’ll start with your work, Javier.”

Javier handwrote an e-mail to his staff, informing them of his plan to be gone for the week. Fausto read the message over carefully for any hidden meaning. “If you have a code word and the police show up here, I will gut your wife like a fish and bathe your son in her blood while you watch,” he said.

Stacey had already told her boss of her vacation plans, but she needed to let friends and family know about their secret getaway. For that, Facebook was the best tool for the job. Stacey also handwrote her post and Fausto typed it into the computer upstairs. Next she called the cleaning people to cancel, as well as a local handyman who was going to install a new vanity in the upstairs bathroom. Gus posted to his Facebook account. With a few messages broadcast to the world, the Martinez family disappeared.

Fausto left Odio and two other guards to watch over the clan while he and Efren went upstairs to plan. Armando would be back soon with the food. They would have fresh produce, rice and beans, so nutrition was no problem. With a bathroom downstairs, the family could live in the basement eternally. Perhaps he would bring down a TV to help pass the time. At least he’d bring down some books. An idle mind was more likely to be restless, and that could lead to trouble.

Fausto and Efren retreated to the master bathroom, where they could speak and not be heard or seen. The bathroom was tiled with high-quality marble and the fixtures were the best money could buy. As a man of privilege back home, well paid by Soto, Fausto was not unaccustomed to great wealth. But America was something entirely different. Javier’s neighborhood, with its huge houses and wide lawns, gave the impression that everyone here lived like a king. No wonder so many of his friends had tried to make a new life across the border. The lure of money was an enticing scent, difficult to resist.

“I say we go after those kids, one by one.” Efren was good on muscle, but he lacked imagination.

“I told you that would be complicated. There are other ways.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“I have heard back from this cousin of Javier’s, the one who works for the trucking company.”

“And?”

“Let me ask you this first. If we had all the kids in a room and nobody around to bother us, how long do you think we’d need before we broke them?”

Efren considered the question. His dark eyes seemed to reflect on past interrogations, calculating the time it had taken from initial threat to full cooperation. “Hours. A day at most,” he said.

Fausto nodded. “With a margin for error, I say a day. I agree. And to get back the money is not a long process, at least not according to Javier.”

“Agreed,” Efren said. “What are you thinking, Fausto?”

Fausto sat on the edge of the massive tub. “We need to get these kids together in a single place where they can disappear for some time without being noticed,” Fausto said. “Vanish within a cloud of chaos and confusion. No alarms would be raised, at least not over any missing students. Not if there’s a big enough distraction. It would allow us to operate without intervention and do what we do best.”

“And what is it that we do best?”

“Get results for Soto. There is no other line in our job descriptions.”

Fausto and Efren exchanged smiles.

“So, what is it you’re thinking?” Efren asked.

“Do you believe this Lion person Javier told us about could get access to the students’ class schedules? Time, room, building, that sort of thing?”

“I’m sure he could.”

“Then I say, ‘Look out, Winston, Massachusetts, because a devil wind is coming,’ and it’s going to blow their town down.”

“Tell me your plan.”

Fausto did just that. When he was finished, Efren looked shell-shocked.

“But, Fausto,” Efren said, “what if the police find out before we get what we came for?”

“I have a plan in mind for that, too,” Fausto said. He stood and patted Efren’s shoulder. There, there. We’ll be fine. Trust me on this. “A good employee of Soto’s,” Fausto added, “is always prepared.”