El Demonio
INTRODUCTION
This story is rated PG-13.
The days were hot in La Paz this time of year. A wave of dry heat fired its way through the bar, flaring tempers and thirst alike. The fat, stained, blood-and-shit-smelling "bartender" wiped his nose as he dropped an over-ripe olive into a martini poured into a used corona bottle. No one seemed to have issue with it as it seemed the right thing to do. He received the cash for the "craptini" and proceeded to scratch his ass under his pants. Vince would have grimaced, swore, and walked out regardless of the crew's wish to stay. Their need to stay. This was the shittiest place in La Paz, hell it didn't even have a name, but it was the safest place to be now. Especially after what happened. Leon scratched his four-day-old beard, his lack of finger nails angered him, his face was still itchy. He ignored it as he downed his latest corona. His fifth so far, and he was getting suspicious the fat man at the bar was charging too much. He swore to himself, cursing for not bothering to learn enough Spanish to deal with the locals. He stood out like a white man in a bar full of Mexicans. He forced back a laugh as he leaned back in the cushion-free booth, leaning his head against the wall and staring out a dirty window into the pavement-free street. "I hate this fucking place."
A wide black shadow sauntered past the window, then disappeared as if it had never been there before. The locals in the bar ignored it, but Leon was somewhat curious, since the shadow reappeared when the door opened. It brought with it an even more searing heat that pissed off even the locals. The swearing only stopped when the door closed. It quickly stopped, falling into dead silence, as they saw who the shadow belonged to. Leon moved his gaze to the window again, hoping to go unnoticed, but knowing it would not happen. The locals turned their heads back to their drinks, conversations, and darts. The police officer seemed to fill up the bar, stretching the walls to their maximum, making them creak under the stress.
The police officer coughed, like that of a 50-year smoker that didn't care anymore. He took off his hat and sunglasses, and put some chewing tobacco into his mouth. He chewed thoughtlessly as he surveyed the bar. His gaze did not stop as it passed Leon, still staring out the window. He went to the bar, received an envelope, and turned back to Leon. "This is it." Leon thought to himself. He couldn't start anything with the cop here, this wasn't the place for it. The locals would make sure he would be dead before he even got close to the jail.
"What?" Leon stared up, the cop was standing so close he could smell the cheap aftershave. He must have zoned out. Just long enough for the cop to get close and get a good long look at Leon's face. "What dih you say?" He spit onto the window, the brown colour slowly dripped down the left side of the window. No one cared of course.
"I said, 'it's hot'." Leon replied, looking at the cop now.
He nodded, and looked over Leon. "Where you geh dat blood on your shirt?"
"Does it matter?"
"To some."
"Are you 'some'?"
"I asked..."
Leon squinted out the window again, trying to remember something Dom told him to say in a situation like this. "I'm a codo." At that, the cop laughed, drawing the attention of the bar's local patrons.
"El codo!" the cop laughed. The rest of them laughed as well, the bartender spit. The spit landed on the bar. Of course no one cared. The cop swatted Leon's feet of the table, letting them fall to the floor, and took a seat next to him. Leon, ready for a fight, sat up in the chair. "Relax el codo," he chuckled. "I'm no here to fight you."
The locals turned away, angry no fight was going to happen. A few of the older ones stared on, hoping for a show. "Then why are you here, disturbing my corona?" Leon ventured, hoping that he still didn't get his ass killed. The Mexican cop stopped chewing, and spit the remainder of the tobacco onto the floor. "Are you looking for me?" Leon decided to get to the point.
"Do you need to be looked for?"
"You know, I'd like to get to the point."
The Mexican lost his smile. "You should be more polite to a man risking his life to be in this shithole, cabron." Leon lost his smile too. What was this cop talking about? Was he even a real cop? What did he mean by risking his life, they had all agreed this shithole was the safest place to be right now. Sure, Leon would have preferred some hotel in Tijuana, but the FBI still had access to that city. La Paz was purely Mexican-controlled. "Whah is yo name?"
"Leon."
The cop seemed to search Leon's eyes, making a decision. The heat didn't seem to slow this man down, he was barely even sweating. He reached into his pocket and brought out the package of chewing tobacco, throwing the packet onto the table. He stood, "Stay out of trouble, or you won't be leaving La Paz with all your fingers. Get it cabron?" He stomped out of the bar and disappeared into the dust road. The locals paid no more attention to him or the cop. They were all too hot.
Leon looked around, no one was paying attention to him now for sure. He picked up the tobacco bag and a folded post card fell out. The front had a naked woman on a white-sand beach. Written on the bottom right corner was "Cabo San Lucas!" He turned it over, keeping it as low-profile as possible. It was post-marked in Cabo San Lucas, with an address scrawled on it. He swore to himself again as he walked into the midday heat. How the hell was he going to get to Cabo San Lucas?
-----
"We think he is in La Paz, on his way to see Toretto." The FBI agent said sternly. As if everyone else was supposed to have known this already. He opened a black portfolio with several manila envelopes, photographs, and hand-written reports. "Our man just arrived in La Paz and saw him almost immediately."
"So soon?" One of the nameless men said. Brian looked at all four of them. He had heard their introductions, been yelled at, and threatened. He hadn't paid much attention to any of them, nor had he attempted to defend himself. The physical evidence was there to provide proof of his story of the previous week's events. To tell the truth he was only beginning to pay attention. Special Agent Harden, now in control of the "Toretto Situation", was at the head of the table. His Los Angeles tan was faded. He lacked sleep, seemed stressed, and it showed. It seemed as though he'd been awake for days.
"Blind luck, it seems." He replied. Harden frowned, then passed the photographs round the large oak conference table. "Leon was seen leaving the bus station our man arrived at, it seems they travelled closely together for some time before arriving at a bus terminal outside of La Paz."
"We should pick him up." Another said, not really speaking to anyone in particular.
"Mr. Spillner," Harden said ignoring the other man. "You are going to La Paz."
INTRODUCTION
This story is rated PG-13.
The days were hot in La Paz this time of year. A wave of dry heat fired its way through the bar, flaring tempers and thirst alike. The fat, stained, blood-and-shit-smelling "bartender" wiped his nose as he dropped an over-ripe olive into a martini poured into a used corona bottle. No one seemed to have issue with it as it seemed the right thing to do. He received the cash for the "craptini" and proceeded to scratch his ass under his pants. Vince would have grimaced, swore, and walked out regardless of the crew's wish to stay. Their need to stay. This was the shittiest place in La Paz, hell it didn't even have a name, but it was the safest place to be now. Especially after what happened. Leon scratched his four-day-old beard, his lack of finger nails angered him, his face was still itchy. He ignored it as he downed his latest corona. His fifth so far, and he was getting suspicious the fat man at the bar was charging too much. He swore to himself, cursing for not bothering to learn enough Spanish to deal with the locals. He stood out like a white man in a bar full of Mexicans. He forced back a laugh as he leaned back in the cushion-free booth, leaning his head against the wall and staring out a dirty window into the pavement-free street. "I hate this fucking place."
A wide black shadow sauntered past the window, then disappeared as if it had never been there before. The locals in the bar ignored it, but Leon was somewhat curious, since the shadow reappeared when the door opened. It brought with it an even more searing heat that pissed off even the locals. The swearing only stopped when the door closed. It quickly stopped, falling into dead silence, as they saw who the shadow belonged to. Leon moved his gaze to the window again, hoping to go unnoticed, but knowing it would not happen. The locals turned their heads back to their drinks, conversations, and darts. The police officer seemed to fill up the bar, stretching the walls to their maximum, making them creak under the stress.
The police officer coughed, like that of a 50-year smoker that didn't care anymore. He took off his hat and sunglasses, and put some chewing tobacco into his mouth. He chewed thoughtlessly as he surveyed the bar. His gaze did not stop as it passed Leon, still staring out the window. He went to the bar, received an envelope, and turned back to Leon. "This is it." Leon thought to himself. He couldn't start anything with the cop here, this wasn't the place for it. The locals would make sure he would be dead before he even got close to the jail.
"What?" Leon stared up, the cop was standing so close he could smell the cheap aftershave. He must have zoned out. Just long enough for the cop to get close and get a good long look at Leon's face. "What dih you say?" He spit onto the window, the brown colour slowly dripped down the left side of the window. No one cared of course.
"I said, 'it's hot'." Leon replied, looking at the cop now.
He nodded, and looked over Leon. "Where you geh dat blood on your shirt?"
"Does it matter?"
"To some."
"Are you 'some'?"
"I asked..."
Leon squinted out the window again, trying to remember something Dom told him to say in a situation like this. "I'm a codo." At that, the cop laughed, drawing the attention of the bar's local patrons.
"El codo!" the cop laughed. The rest of them laughed as well, the bartender spit. The spit landed on the bar. Of course no one cared. The cop swatted Leon's feet of the table, letting them fall to the floor, and took a seat next to him. Leon, ready for a fight, sat up in the chair. "Relax el codo," he chuckled. "I'm no here to fight you."
The locals turned away, angry no fight was going to happen. A few of the older ones stared on, hoping for a show. "Then why are you here, disturbing my corona?" Leon ventured, hoping that he still didn't get his ass killed. The Mexican cop stopped chewing, and spit the remainder of the tobacco onto the floor. "Are you looking for me?" Leon decided to get to the point.
"Do you need to be looked for?"
"You know, I'd like to get to the point."
The Mexican lost his smile. "You should be more polite to a man risking his life to be in this shithole, cabron." Leon lost his smile too. What was this cop talking about? Was he even a real cop? What did he mean by risking his life, they had all agreed this shithole was the safest place to be right now. Sure, Leon would have preferred some hotel in Tijuana, but the FBI still had access to that city. La Paz was purely Mexican-controlled. "Whah is yo name?"
"Leon."
The cop seemed to search Leon's eyes, making a decision. The heat didn't seem to slow this man down, he was barely even sweating. He reached into his pocket and brought out the package of chewing tobacco, throwing the packet onto the table. He stood, "Stay out of trouble, or you won't be leaving La Paz with all your fingers. Get it cabron?" He stomped out of the bar and disappeared into the dust road. The locals paid no more attention to him or the cop. They were all too hot.
Leon looked around, no one was paying attention to him now for sure. He picked up the tobacco bag and a folded post card fell out. The front had a naked woman on a white-sand beach. Written on the bottom right corner was "Cabo San Lucas!" He turned it over, keeping it as low-profile as possible. It was post-marked in Cabo San Lucas, with an address scrawled on it. He swore to himself again as he walked into the midday heat. How the hell was he going to get to Cabo San Lucas?
-----
"We think he is in La Paz, on his way to see Toretto." The FBI agent said sternly. As if everyone else was supposed to have known this already. He opened a black portfolio with several manila envelopes, photographs, and hand-written reports. "Our man just arrived in La Paz and saw him almost immediately."
"So soon?" One of the nameless men said. Brian looked at all four of them. He had heard their introductions, been yelled at, and threatened. He hadn't paid much attention to any of them, nor had he attempted to defend himself. The physical evidence was there to provide proof of his story of the previous week's events. To tell the truth he was only beginning to pay attention. Special Agent Harden, now in control of the "Toretto Situation", was at the head of the table. His Los Angeles tan was faded. He lacked sleep, seemed stressed, and it showed. It seemed as though he'd been awake for days.
"Blind luck, it seems." He replied. Harden frowned, then passed the photographs round the large oak conference table. "Leon was seen leaving the bus station our man arrived at, it seems they travelled closely together for some time before arriving at a bus terminal outside of La Paz."
"We should pick him up." Another said, not really speaking to anyone in particular.
"Mr. Spillner," Harden said ignoring the other man. "You are going to La Paz."