Chapter 3

After only five hours, Taylor pulled the beat-up jeep back into the spot he had taken it from, next to the rundown bar where he had met Emilio. Emilio had a smirk on his face when Taylor walked back through the doors. “Back so soon, amigo? Don’t tell me you missed my company already.”

The sun had gone down, but it wasn’t very late, which maybe explained why the bar was less full now than it had been just hours earlier.

“Something like that,” Taylor said, sliding into the chair opposite him.

“I assume something happened to bring you back to me?”

“You assume correctly. I found the guys no problem and staked them out until they mounted up in a hurry and went tearing across town. I followed them to this half-built warehouse. Considering they’re here for the girl I’m looking for, I assume they thought they’d find her there.”

“But they didn’t,” Emilio said, more as a statement than a question.

“No. What they found was a bunch of locals, based on their dress, who opened fire on them as soon as they went into the warehouse. After everything was said and done, I went in to check and found the bodies of several of the locals. The Chechens lost one, too, but they took their man with them. The thing is, these guys all had the same skull and snake tattoo, which naturally suggests they were affiliated. Which is what brings me to you.”

Taylor pulled out his cell phone with a picture of one of the tattoos pulled up and handed it over to Emilio.

“I was hoping you could tell me who these guys are and why they would have set a trap for the mercenaries.”

Emilio frowned as he looked at the picture on Taylor’s phone. “Los Serpientes. Nasty bunch. They run the drug trade in this part of town, plus a little trafficking on the side.”

“Hence the tattoo.”

“Fitting, isn’t it? They’re about as trustworthy as pit vipers. Known for their brutality and willingness to do just about anything for money.”

“But why would they be shooting it out with a bunch of Chechen mercenaries? Doesn’t seem like they’d have much reason to cross paths. It’s not like Paladin whatever is tangled up in the drug trade.”

“Not particularly, no. It doesn’t make sense. The Serpientes stick to their turf. They’ve had some nasty run-ins with some of their larger competitors, so for now, they’ve been happy with just holding their own.”

“So they’re not the biggest player?”

“Biggest? No. Nastiest? Maybe.”

“Well, they’ve got a beef now. Los Serpientes lost five guys to the mercs, at least as far as I could tell. The gang members turned tail and ran, leaving their dead behind.”

“No, that won’t sit well with them at all.”

“Which still leaves me with my original problem. The mercs went to that warehouse looking for Bonnie, that much I’m positive of. If Los Serpientes were there, they must be connected to her somehow.”

“You think she’s working with them?”

“Or they’re working for her. Either way, they’re my next lead,” Taylor said. “Any idea where I can find them?”

Emilio sighed and handed the phone back to Taylor, who tucked it back in his pocket. “They’re known to frequent a bar called El Nido. A real dive. Not a place for tourists and gringos.”

“I’m no tourist.”

“No, you’re not. But these guys ... they’re not to be messed with, Taylor.

Emilio reached under the table and pulled out a crumpled paper bag, handing it across to Taylor. “Sig Sauer P226. Couple extra mags and some boxes of ammo. Best I could do on short notice.”

“It’ll do,” Taylor said.

“Seriously though, watch your back out there. Especially if you’re going to tangle with Los Serpientes. I’d hate to have to avenge your death if things go south.”

“I’ll do my best to avoid that. Wouldn’t want you to have to go to all that trouble on my account.”

“See that you do.” Emilio’s tone was light, but his eyes were serious. “Good luck, Taylor. I mean it.”

“Thanks.”

With a final nod, Taylor turned and headed for the door, stepping out into the night.

After all the chasing around, it was well past dark, maybe ten pm, when Taylor finally pulled up outside the El Nido. The place didn’t look like much from the outside, just a squat cinderblock building with a corrugated tin roof. Paint flaked off the cinderblocks in huge chunks, making Taylor think the only thing holding the structure together was the grime and graffiti.

It was also seemed dead, with only a few cars parked on the cracked concrete out front. Taylor stepped out of his jeep and crossed the lot, warily eyeing the people outside leaning on cars. Music thumped through the walls, a deep bass he could feel as he pulled open the door. It didn’t so much swing as grind across the ground, screeching in protest.

Inside wasn’t much better than outside. The bar stood against the back wall, a long, scarred wooden thing that had probably seen more blood than alcohol spilled on it over the years. A few tables dotted the room, most of them occupied, despite the few number of cars outside.

Taylor stopped a few steps in, looking around the room. It didn’t take long for trouble to find him.

“You lost, gringo?”

The man who’d come up to him was a lean, hard-faced guy with prison tattoos crawling up his arms.

“Not if this is the El Nido.”

“It’s the last place you’ll ever go is what it is.”

“Maybe. I’m looking for whoever’s in charge of Los Serpientes. Seeing that tattoo there on your forearm, I assume you know who he is.”

The man made a motion with his hand, and three more guys materialized out of the shadows, all of them sporting Los Serpientes ink.

“What makes you think we’ll take you anywhere but outside, where we can bury your body?”

The man pulled a long-bladed knife from a sheath at the small of his back. Taylor didn’t flinch, didn’t move. He knew how this game was played. Don’t blink. Don’t back down. You had to show their leaders respect, but you couldn’t show fear.

“Because I know about the shootout at the warehouse. I know about the mercenaries and the white woman, and your boss is going to want to know how much I know. And I’m willing to pay for more information.”

“Maybe we just take you hostage, ransom you back for the money.”

“You could try. But the US doesn’t like paying ransoms. They’ll argue, haggle, maybe even let me die before they shell out a dime. Or, you could let me talk to your leader, and I can get you the money tonight.”

That gave the guy pause. They exchanged glances, considering.

“What, you CIA or some shit?”

“Not exactly. But I have contacts who can get you paid. Think about it; your boss would appreciate the easy cash, right? And a chance to get back at those mercenary fucks who shot up your guys. You know I’m not here with them since I didn’t come through the door with automatic fire.”

The leader of the group hesitated, then jerked his head at one of the others. “Go check with El Jefe. See what he says.”

The man nodded and disappeared into a back room. Taylor waited, his stance relaxed but ready, just in case someone did something stupid. It made them nervous, their hands stayed close to their guns.

Finally one of them couldn’t take the tension anymore, seeming to need to find something to do. “Before you go back there, I need to frisk you.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“You think you can come in here and make demands, gringo?”

“I think the US government doesn’t give a shit about some street gang in Caracas. I’m here because I need something from you, not the other way around.”

“You’ve got some balls on you.”

“If I wanted to take you out, I wouldn’t need a gun. I could have a Reaper drone turn this whole bar into a crater.”

The guy tried to stare Taylor down, looking for something, maybe weakness. Taylor didn’t blink. His friends did, though. They looked at each other, clearly realizing they didn’t have as much of an upper hand as they thought they did. Thankfully, before anyone could do something stupid, the guy who left to speak with the boss returned, jerking his head toward the back room.