The gunshot caused Max to jump and stumble back a couple of steps, as he also futilely attempted to meet the assaulter with his own weapon. However, it was too late. He was in shock, not from being shot, but seeing the young Mexican’s chest explode through the window and then collapse out and onto the windowsill, where he came to rest, a flop of matted black hair hanging below his head. Max instinctively felt his body for some evidence of the wound he had to have. His mind and body attempted to reconcile and make sense of what just happened. Maybe it was Sally or Lisa? His mind wrestled with the only plausible answer.
Satisfied he was unharmed, he briskly walked to the King’s back patio door. In the doorway, partially obscured by the curtains, which were flowing with the ocean breezes, was a man pointing some sort of gun at him.
Bill heard the gunshot, just below the terrace. Maybe a minute later, he heard another gunshot which resonated below, this time more muffled.
“Dammit. Focus, Bill,” he yelled, lowering his face again behind the eyepiece of the 50 caliber Barrett sniper rifle. The sight picture was instantaneous and his target was getting closer.
However, the damned image wouldn’t stay still. The lead stranger was walking toward him, but the vaporous heat of the dusty Mexican road added a surreal undulating distortion to the landscape in his eyepiece, as if just below and out of sight, the desert was on fire. Bill was shaking. In spite of the firmness of the gun’s bipod and the 90-degree heat, he was chilled by the awful task given to him. His chest was pounding so hard, he felt as if his ribs were being bruised from the inside by each rapid beat of his heart. The heat, the humidity, the movement of his enemy, along with his fear, all conspired to cause his target to dance around the rifle’s crosshairs, which he was having more and more difficulty holding still over the man’s body. You can do this.
He enjoyed hunting animals and he had taken down many over the years, albeit with weapons far less complicated and powerful. But, he had never shot a person, thankfully. Even with their Christian faith, his wife and he never questioned their firmness in killing someone who had broken into their house or threatened their family, having discussed this possibility on numerous occasions. That scenario always seemed easy. After all, it would be defensive and perhaps reactionary, with no time to think. The contemplation before pulling this trigger was certainly different. But, isn’t it also defensive, he reasoned.
The picture laid out for him by Max was pretty straightforward. Henchmen for the cartel were approaching from the North by foot. They intend to kill you, your family, and me, but if you shoot the leader, the others may go away and not bother us. If you don’t shoot, they will kill us all.
He knew he had to do this. His wife, his daughter, and his friend’s lives depended on him doing this. His indecision started to shrink slightly now.
The advanced eyepiece gave him more information than what he wanted to know. Strange the electronics even worked, when everything else didn’t, from what Max said. He considered the most important facts it provided: Distance to target: 1857… 1856 meters, Temperature: 90.6, Humidity: 57.4%. He considered how much the bullet would drop, but shrugged it off, knowing that even if it dropped a foot, this missile would stop its intended target.
“But the leader is not even armed,” Bill said out loud, offering a last minute defense.
He wiped away the discolored beads of sweat dripping down from his dirty brow, about to further blur his vision. The unshaded back area of the terrace allowed the hot Mexican sun to make the gun, his hands and body feel on fire. The humidity from the sea made it that much more miserable. His dirty tee shirt stuck to his back like a second skin.
Just then, he noticed it. The leader also had a sling around his chest.
All his attention now focused on what was connected to the sling. Was it a satchel or something worse? The answer to his plea was unmistakable. The short black barrel of an automatic rifle revealed itself from behind the man’s back with every other step of his stride. Case closed.
The image was now still, as was his resolve.
He squeezed the trigger. The blast was deafening.
“Come in, Señor Max,” said an icy calm voice with a thick Mexican accent that spoke violence.
Max walked through the entry and curtains, and saw Lisa and Sally huddled together on the couch valiantly attempting to suppress their terror and tears. Their wide-eyed gaze was trained on Max and the man in front of them, pointing a gun at Max. Max turned to the man and could see his unmistakable short-cropped hair and small scar on his check. It was Chaco, one of El Gordo’s men. Not knowing if he should celebrate or fear what was coming next, he asked, “Are you the one I have to thank for saving my life.”
A shot rang out. Max recognized the thunderous report instantly, greeting it with both happiness, and sadness.
With the icy conviction of a killer, not even flinching from the noise behind him, Chaco said with a sneer, “Don’t feel too rested, Señor Max. We going to see El Hefe now.”
“El Hefe here? He is in in Rocky Point?” Max begged with a worried voice.
“No, Señor Max, we go to da rancho del El Hefe.”
The front door opened noisily, and another of El Gordo’s men sauntered in with the leisurely gate of a homeowner walking into his own front entrance, the assault rifle slung around his neck breaking this illusion. He said something quickly and unintelligible to Chaco in Spanish, who had turned away from Max for just a moment.
Turning back to Max, “We go in your car, because ours no work. Let’s go now. El Hefe want you talk now,” he said pointing to the front door. “And no one else comes. If we see anyone follow, your friends not be happy with result. Tu comprendo?”
Max shook his head in agreement and then turned to Lisa and Sally, “Bill is up on my other house roof. Lisa, you’ll need to support him, because I made him do something to protect you both. Stay here and wait for him. When you see him, tell him what happened to me and I don’t want any of you to follow. I’ll come back, although it might be in a few days. Tell Bill to use the key he has to my office. Tell him to grab the book under my desk. You’ll both need to read what’s in there.” When he saw the questioning look of Lisa, he finished, “It’s alright, he’ll understand. You’ll all be fine now, I made sure of it.”
Sally leaped up and in a desperate attempt to keep him from going, threw her arms around Max. “Uncle Max, please, you can’t leave. We’re so scared.”
“You’ll both be fine.” If I don’t return in a few days, don’t worry, it’s probably just my jeep or what’s going on around us.”
He released Sally with a kiss on her cheek and kissed Lisa goodbye on her cheek as well. He walked to the front door accompanied by El Gordo’s goons, one on each side.
“Remember the book,” Max offered as he walked out, back into the heat of the day, then looking up to see if he could see his friend.
Bill looked again through the eyepiece to confirm he had killed the leader and that all his men ran off. One man stood composed, unmoving and staring in his direction, although Bill knew there was no way he could be seen from this direction without the aid of a powerful scope like this one. The men around this one confident looking man were either cowering in fear or had already run off. One other, the leader he shot, lay prone and unmoving in a growing pool of his own gore.
The confident man forced a grin right at Bill, as if saying I’ve got your number, buddy. For the third time today, Bill felt a chill down his sweat soaked back. Then the man turned, putting his back to Bill, readjusted his gun and walked away. The cowering men slinked after him.