So Be It
New York City- Christmas Day
"So these dreams, you have them frequently Mr. Pistoles?" The doctor asked.
"Si Senor Wolfe," Panchito replied, "She haunts me in my sleep."
Dr. Solomon Wolfe, a professor of physiology at the University of Texas, was examining the effects of post traumatic stress disorder.
"Do you blame yourself for what happened?" Wolfe asked.
The rooster nodded slowly and sighed, "It was all my fault, if I would've pulled the trigger sooner, she probably would still be alive, but-" he began to cry, "ella ya no está aquí." He grabbed a tissue and blew his nose like a trumpet.
"Mr. Pistoles," Wolfe said, "you didn't kill her, the narcotics dealer did."
Panchito nodded, and closed his eyes, and whispered. "Pedro Montemayor."
"I'm sorry, but what did you say Panchito?" Wolfe asked.
Panchito didn't answer, he just kept his eyes closed, took a deep breath and repeated the name, "Pedro Montemayor. El diablo ha aumentado." Panchito clinched his hands into fists and tossed his head around as if suffering from a nightmare.
"El diablo ha aumentado!" He shouted.
"El diablo ha aumentado. Viene a matarme, viene a matarme, viene a matarme." He said, beginning to sweat and reach for his Beretta M9's, if they were there, Mr. Wolfe had them locked up in a safe for obvious reasons.
"¿Dónde se encuentra?" (Where is it located?) Panchito asked.
Solomon, who had a few Spanish classes nodded, even though what he was about to say wouldn't make sense he said it anyway: "I'm right here." He answered, "Open your eyes Panchito."
The rooster shook his head, his eyes still closed. "No, I can still save her, there's still time."
Mr. Wolfe sighed, realizing what the rooster was dreaming about, he placed a hand on the rooster's knee and tried to wake him up, "Mr. Pistoles!"
Panchito opened his eyes, "Si Senor Wolfe?" He said, face fearful and worried.
"What does that mean?" Wolfe asked.
"What does what mean?" Panchito replied.
"El diablo ha aumentado, viene a matarme. What does that mean?"
Panchito nodded and smiled as if it was no big deal to translate, "Oh si Senor Solomon, that means 'the devil has risen and he's trying to kill me.' Why do you ask?"
Solomon took a deep sigh, "Because you said it Mr. Pistoles, during one of your episodes."
Panchito laughed, "You're funny senor, really funny, I like you!" He looked at Wolfe and saw that he wasn't laughing, or smiling, or doing anything but stare at him seriously. "This isn't funny Panchito," Solomon said, "Pedro Montemayor, the dealer, he kidnapped your wife."
"Don't you think I know that?" Panchito glared, "I know this Solomon, Mi esposa está muerta! Finite, over, done." He stood up, "I know you're trying to help me get over these dreams Senor Wolfe, and I really do appreciate it, but I think I have to deal with this on my own."
Solomon nodded, "I understand Mr. Pistoles," he stood up and shook the rooster's hand, "good luck."
Panchito nodded, retrieved his weapons and left, on the way out he said: "Gracias senor, muchos gracias."
Panchito walked out onto the street, the wind was picking up and the sun was setting. The sessions with the doctor usually don't last this long, then again, I did fall asleep, and according to him I was talking in my sleep. What was I dreaming about? The rooster thought, not able to put his finger on it.
He pulled out his phone, his screensaver was him and his wife, Clara, in happier times. Panchito sighed, "Four years isn't long enough to love someone." He said and walked to the bus stop. Sitting on the bench at said bus stop was Fred McCarthy, a nice man, who's business was gift cards. A slow, and specific clientele.
"Ahola Senor McCarthy," Panchito said sitting down next to him. "como esta?" He asked. (Hello Mr. McCarthy, how are you?)
Fred turned and smiled, "Muy bien Panchito, y tú?" (Well Panchito, and you?)
Panchito smiled back, "You're learning fast." He said.
"Yeah, thanks to Mr. Panchito Rosetta Stone Pistoles over here." Fred playfully punched the rooster in the shoulder. Panchito laughed, but he didn't want to laugh, he wanted to have a pity party.
The bus pulled up, it was one of those buses that had two sets of doors, one in the front and one in the middle.
Fred stood up, "You need a place to stay tonight?"
Ever since the incident, Panchito had trouble paying rent, and was evicted two weeks ago. He had been sleeping in hotels, but was running out of what little money he had left and couldn't afford another night. Panchito had known Fred through Donald, who knew Fred through Jose who knew Fred from his brother Cortez who knew Fred from work which was gift cards.
"I don't want to impose Fred." Panchito said.
"Nonsense," Fred said with a smile, "now come on, before the storm hits."
Solomon Wolfe, who was still sitting in his chair smiled, "Good soul, complete and total idiot though."
He got up and walked out of the room. Next door was a seemingly ordinary wall, except for a small button underneath the wall light fixture. The wall opened up into a staircase. Solomon smiled as he walked down, hearing the screams of a tortured soul. A woman. "Panchito," She screamed, "Help me!"
Solomon laughed, "He's gone Clara." He said as he entered the small room.
The room had a table, an overhead light, and two chairs with Clara sitting on the far end. She was tied to the chair via rope and in the center of the table was a glass of water, the most primitive and evil form of torture. Solomon walked over to her, "Mrs. Quintero González," he said using her legal married name, "enjoying the unraveling of your husband's mind?" Clara spit in his face.
"He's going to expose you know that, he'll find you, and make sure you suffer!" She yelled.
Solomon laughed.
"I highly doubt that Senora because," he chuckled to himself, "he won't be alive to do that." He pulled out an earpiece from his pocket and put it in his ear.
"McCarthy?" He said.
"Yes Mr. Wolfe?"
Solomon smiled, "It's time." He said.
"Right sir."
Solomon removed the earpiece.
"What are you doing?" Clara asked. Solomon smiled deviously, like a devil, "Messing with fate and destiny."
On the bus, Panchito sat next to Fred. The rooster was calm, content, feeling a bit better about himself. When Fred got off the phone he spoke. "That was Dr. Wolfe," he said, "he wants to wish you a Happy Holidays."
Panchito smiled, "Gracias senor."
He saw that Fred was looking down and pulled out a knife. "That's a beautiful knife senor." Panchito said admiring it.
"Thanks, it was my father's. " Fred answered with a heavy sigh.
"What's wrong mi amigo?" Panchito asked, a bit concerned that his friend was down in the dumps.
"Oh nothing," Fred replied, "just thinking about my dad is all, he always collected knives you see, a hobby I carried over I guess. I just miss him."
Panchito nodded, patted his friend's shoulder and said with an encouraging smile, "Va a ser bien." (You'll be alright)
Fred looked up at the rooster and noticed that he was whistling "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas", looking genuinely happy. Fred raised the knife up towards the bird when he heard the sound of a gun cocking. He looked over to the rooster and saw that he was smiling and was holding one of his pistols.
The bus stopped, Fred and Panchito stood up at the same time. Fred moved to the back of the bus, to get off on the far set of doors when he threw the knife at Panchito. The rooster didn't flinch, didn't waver, he just smiled, extended his hands and caught the knife with the blade end.
"How is that possible?" Fred said who was shocked, along with everyone else on the bus. "Simple senor," Panchito said, as he flicked his wrists, letting the knife fly back towards Fred and land firmly in the man's arm. He fell to his knees in pain. Panchito walked towards him slowly, "you learn a lot of tricks in two years."
Fred nodded, trying to pull the knife out, "Yeah, you certainly do."
Panchito nodded and pulled out his pistol, "Now," the rooster said, "tell me Senor McCarthy, why would you pull a knife on me, your 'amigo'?" He said with air quotes, picking up Fred by the collar. "I was paid by someone to get rid of you." Fred answered.
"Who?" Panchito asked. Fred looked around, trying to stall the rooster any further, "Who paid you senor!" Panchito said, placing the gun right on Fred's cheekbone. The ice cold barrel made Fred close his eyes in fear, "I don't know, he didn't tell me his name. Please don't kill me, I didn't want to hurt you." Fred said.
"Then why did you try to?"
Fred sighed, "He said if I didn't then he would take my wife and kill her." A light bulb went off in Panchito's head, "What did he look like, the man who blackmailed you?" Fred shook his head, trying to remember, "He was tall, wore glasses, he had a large scar coming down his face on the right side, black hair, mustache and goatee." Fred said, "Why, you know him?"
Panchito nodded, "His name too." He answered, "Who?" Fred asked. "Pedro Montemayor." The rooster answered.
"Um Panchito, there's something I need to tell you." Fred said.
"Not now, McCarthy, whatever you have to say you can say it to me after I kill that bastard."
Fred nodded, "But Panchito," he said, "it's about Pedro."
"What is it?" Panchito asked.
Fred swallowed his saliva "I know where he is."
Solomon Wolfe smiled as he circled around the table. Clara was looking around, a gag was now in her mouth. "I hope you don't mind my associate asking you a couple of questions Clara." Wolfe said.
Clara glared at him and muffled something.
"What's that?" Solomon laughed a bit, "I couldn't hear you because of the gag!" He hit her. Clara's cheek stung, it would produce a red mark later. A tear fell down her face.
"Now, Mr. Montemayor," Wolf continued, "You may ask your questions." Wolfe stepped into the shadow of the room and another man, who was about the same height, similar build, had black hair, glasses, mustache, and a goatee: the look of an intelligent mad man. He smiled, his golden tan skin was perfect, not a single blemish.
"Ah Senora Quintero González or do you prefer Pistoles. Which one did you take?" Montemayor removed the gag. "It doesn't matter," Clara said, "whatever you want to call me."
Pedro smiled, "Good, now, I'm going to ask you a few questions, if that's alright?" He said with a creepy smile that told her that his twisted gears in his head were turning. "About what?" Clara asked.
"Your husband mostly, but first, tell me, are you a narcotics user Mrs. Pistoles?"
Clara shook her head.
"Well," Pedro continued, "a few days ago, your husband, was seen driving a truck, full of illegal narcotics, know anything about that?" Clara stared at him, "Well considering that you've kept me here for two years, I wouldn't know much of my husband's activities now would I?"
Pedro smiled, "True, but it raises questions that we must ask. That's where we're going to need you."
Clara smiled, "Yeah, I'm not helping you, you should all be put behind bars, you can't do this to me!"
Pedro laughed, "Oh, I believe we can." He snapped his fingers, and Solomon pulled out a revolver and aimed it at her head.
"You're going to comply with us now, correct Mrs. Pistoles?" Solomon asked.
Clara looked at Solomon and said nothing, she didn't have to, her eyes told him everything he needed to know.
"So be it then." Solomon said and very slowly...