The Savage(60)

“Yes, old times, only we’ll no longer work for the man, we will be the man, this I promise!”

“Will you need anything besides guns and explosives?”

“Maps, compass, flashlights, binoculars, and water. Plenty of water to drink. And one last thing.”

“Yes, Manny?”

“Your dress, wear clothing that is haggard, ball caps, slick-bottom boots.”

“Like a peasant?”

“Yes.”

Manny took the wadded bills and land deeds offered by the job-starved peasants from Raúl’s scuffed metal box, stuffed them into a pack, finished interrogating Raúl. Understood the simplicity of the workings: leaving the truck at Sasabe, trekking through the Sierrita Mountains to meet the contact. Like his wife and him, the peasants came to Raúl by word of mouth. Paid what they could to be picked up by the Ox and his men to be transported to the border. Then led into the United States, through the desert by a coyote to be picked up. Transported to a safe house. Squat until they’d be driven like bleak smudges across more terrain from one state to the next. Thumbtacked somewhere in the Midwest. Given a job. A place to sleep and get on their feet as the West Coast had become too overpopulated. But new salvation came with a price. Those who could not afford the price of getting into the United States muled drugs. Others sold themselves for sex. That was part of the swap for freedom and ruin of people.

Cotto and Manny saturated Raúl’s home with fuel after Manny milked him for his worth. Planted a bullet between Raúl’s near-bled-out begging eyes. Tossed a match to the home’s interior. Watched it engulf as they slid onto the cracked and foaming vinyl seat of the truck. Watching orange flames roast the night in the side mirror, Cotto listened to Manny’s words.

“When you’re going to take something, you react, hit hard. No second thoughts. You must know who is the weak link and who is the strong. Who the lures are, those used for baiting, and use them to your advantage. The strong cannot be given leverage or they will kill you when you let your guard down. The weak must be squeezed of all they’re worth, then disposed of. These men we meet, they can smell fear, any that you encompass must be replaced with confidence. What we do now is for your mother, that you must remember. From here on out, we are our own family. And our way, our coda is to kill or be killed.”

Cotto sat holding the pistol, the memory of Raúl’s eyes lit up like wicks of dynamite sticks. As he thumbed the release on the .45, the clip dropped into his palm.

“Quit fucking around,” Manny snapped. “This is no game. Slide that back in. Be sure one is shelled in the chamber, just as I’ve learned you over the years. Now comes the greatest lesson you shall learn. How to be a leader.”

Clicking the rectangular housing back into the handle, Cotto fingered the safety. Asked his father, “We’re not going at this alone, are we?”

“No, my son, we’re not stupid.”

“You called your friends from before?”

“Yes, from before. Men I’ve done many, many bad acts with.”

“We can trust them?”

“Such a question from a sixteen-year-old boy. Yes. Just as I trust you and you trust me. They are like your own father. Like my brothers.”

“That’d make them my uncles.”

“Yes, and your uncles are as ruthless as your father.”

Those words of his father had accompanied Cotto on his missions, informed how he saw them: missions to conquer. To survive as the hit of a pin to brass sparked the lead of gunfire that came quick and unexpected. Followed by the smoke, reminding Cotto of that night Manny taught him about true vengeance, the separation from boy to man. And having men you could trust. Those same men who’d delivered the news of Manny’s murder. Ernesto, Chub, and Minister, the same men who visioned this man, Chainsaw Angus, as he spread Manny’s life across the land, same as he’d done Bellmont McGill. And the ones who stood watching all of this take place was one Jarhead Earl and a prophet named Purcell. Then they robbed the McGills of their stake. No loyalty. But Cotto had loyal men, they were now holding down the encampment. Were preparing the young he’d taken from homes. Keeping them doped up. Training them to fire weapons. To kill. To be soldiers. Savages.

Inhaling wet powder into each nostril, Cotto watched gray billow up into the sky, creating a cloud like smog that soon devoured the shape of the old farmhouse. Screams of men inside replaced sound and the Sheldon girl pointed. “There. There he goes.”

Offering her food, canned fruit, and boiled grain had created a bridge of trust. In return, the Sheldon girl agreed to show Cotto where Dorn laid his head. Where she believed he was bunkered down. Knowing Dorn was skilled, all she hoped was he’d not be killed. Regardless of how angered at him she was for abandoning her and the others, she didn’t want him to be taken from this world like her father. A bullet honing his skull and expelling what lay inside of it.

Repulsion coursed within Cotto, watching the home ignite, listening to the sounds of his men perish behind the walls of the structure. Seeing this shape run toward the barn. Hulking with a pack slung over his shoulder, a rifle in tow, he was young and too damn cunning. Cotto knew, regardless of how many men he sacrificed, he had to capture, not kill, this Dorn. Drug him up. Force his pioneering knowledge of survival to create a merciless soldier to help train others. Offer his know-how of the land. And then it hit Cotto. The very thought of finding another as knowledgeable as himself sent shivers and chills throughout his frame.