***(Location: Mexico)(Sunday 4:37 PM)(Hotel Economico)
Riggs began to pace, coughing from the dust being kicked up. The room was dark, hot, humid, small. The heat in the room had sweat rolling down Martin's bloody knuckles. He quickly walked back up to the tied up cartel foot-soldier and punched him in the stomach with full force.
"Donde esta tu jefe?! Juarez!" Martin yelled. "Where's your boss, asshole?!" He punched the man a second time, in the face.
"Nunca lo sabrás!" He answered. Right after the sentence came out, the door flew open with heavily armed men and women running inside pointing their guns at Riggs. He stepped back. They quickly freed their colleague and one of the men zip-tied Martin. He felt a needle in his neck before he tried to fight back. He felt himself fading and leaned against a wall, slowly lowering to the floor. He fell unconscious. They dragged him out of the room and into the van, witnesses seeing everything.
***(Location: 2 hours from downtown)(Sunday 6:42 PM)(underground abandoned wine cellar)
Gaining consciousness again, Martin began to writhe. He felt the chains around his wrists. He tried to pull the bag off of his head. He pulled on his chains that had him cross tied. They were screwed on the walls.
"This is a little too kinky for my taste." Riggs teased. He knew someone was in the room. He could feel it.
"Is it, detective?" A woman asked. She looked to the guard. "Dile que el detective está despierto." The guard went up the stairs.
"You mind getting this bag off of my head? It might mess up my hair." Riggs teased. She walked over and ripped it off. He looked around to see the empty shelves with dust. The floor was as dirty as expected. The chains looked brand new so there was no relying on any weak spots. That wall better be a hundred years old, at least. Maybe I'll pull the screws out. He thought.
"Detective Martin Riggs." A voice said. The Spanish accent was relatively thick.
"Juarez." Martin growled, under his breath. "You son of a bitch!" He got up and began to charge the man, before his chains held him back.
"That phone call was something, detective." He said. "But here we are. You see, my men will break you and tame you and you'll be nothing but meat and bone. You won't have anything left but basic human needs. You won't be thinking about killing me. You'll only want to eat, drink and sleep. You made a mistake, detective. You messed with the wrong man."
"Wow. Nice monologue. I'm nearly moved to tears, but next time, say it like you mean it, alright?" Martin provoked him. Juarez nodded and one of his men came up and punched him across the jaw. He spat out a little blood before laughing. "I hurt your feelings. I get it. I've been told it's a talent."
"Romperlo. Enviar actualizaciones cada hora." Juarez said to the woman and guard.
"Si, jefe." They responded.
***(Location: downtown)(Monday 11:28 AM)
"English? Ingles? English?" Roger asked multiple people.
"I speak English!" A teenager said. He walked up to her and showed her a photo of him and Martin at the Murtaugh house.
"Have you seen the man in this photo?" She took a moment and nodded. "Where?"
"I saw some people carrying him into a van. They went that way." She pointed towards the desert. Out of town. "There's not much out there."
"What is out there?"
"An abandoned shack and underground wine cellar. That's it."
"How far out?"
"Almost two hours." She said. Roger sighed, then thanked the girl. He got into a cab and gave the man two hundred dollars. "I need to get to the old shack in the desert. I'll give you more when we get there." The cab driver nodded and sped off.
***(Location: the wine cellar)(Monday 11:30 AM)
Martin's shirt is off. His jeans are ripped and his shoes aren't even within sight. He's been beaten, repeatedly. Juarez has received videos of the beatings every hour. Nothing has been able to stop his sarcastic and rude comments and jokes.
"What's your name?" Martin asked the woman guarding the door.
"Tellia. You're gonna die, so I might as well tell you." She and the man laughed. "He's Chupy." Riggs nodded.
"Why haven't you killed me, yet?" He asked.
"Boss said to break you. To tame you. He said nothing about killing." She replied.
"I'll help you out, then. I was broken before I even entered this country so you've already got something checked off. Second, almost every single person I've ever met has tried and failed to tame me, so what makes you think you're any different?" Martin laughed. Before he could say anything else, Chupy's phone rang.
"Hola, jefe." Chupy answered.
"Se necesitan más hombres en la frontera. Matarlo y luego ir allí." Juarez said.
"Si." Chupy replied. He hung up then turned to Tellia. "Él dijo se necesitan más hombres en la frontera. Matarlo y luego ir allí." He handed her his knife and started up the stairs.
"Finally. I was getting bored." Martin said. She walked up to him and gave him a shot of norepinephrine bitartrate. "Woah. That's not a tranquilizer." He looked down to his arm where she gave him the shot. He felt his heart racing but it wasn't from fear. He knew, at that moment, it was the drug. She cut his forearm, close to the cubital fossa. She knocked him out with her gun, then unlocked his chains for body transport once he died. She left the room and got into the truck.
***(Location: the shack-2 hours from the city)(Monday 1:49 PM)
"Gracias." Roger said, giving the rest of the money he owed the cab driver. He grabbed his gun out of his holster and ran up to the shack. It was fully wooden. The windows weren't even there, anymore. There were plants growing all over it and the door looked like it was barely hanging on. He ran up to the shack and looked through the windows. He saw nothing. He opened the door and searched the structure. Nothing. He ran back outside and found the wine cellar's hatch. It opened with a blood curdling screech and he started to climb down the rusted metal ladder.
He got down to the stairs and made his way down, gun at the ready. When he got to the doorway, he looked in to see Martin shirtless, shoeless, bruised, beaten, bloody and cut up.
"Riggs!" Roger yelled. He ran over and tried to wake his partner up. Suddenly Martin's eyes slowly and barely opened.
"R-Rog." He said, voice hoarse. He'd lost a lot of blood.
"No, no, no." Roger said. "You're gonna be okay." He took his jacket off and ripped the sleeve off. He wrapped it around Martin's wound, tightly, and tied it up.
"Rog."
"Stop. Don't talk." Roger looked at the pool of blood. It wasn't large but it wasn't small, either.
"Rog."
"I know. You came down here to find him. That's not what's important at the moment, Riggs."
"I found him."
"Congratulations. Let's worry about that when you're not bleeding out anymore." Roger put Martin's left arm around his shoulders. The one that was cut. He figured if he got it higher than the heart, it'd have a more difficult time getting to the wound. Wrong or right he was trying. He reached his right hand behind Riggs and under his right arm. He lifted him up and they began to walk out of the room to the stairs.
When they got to the ladder, Roger helped Riggs get his footing and pushed him up, through the hatch. He carried his friend to the road. They waited for a few hours before a supply truck came through on its way to the city. Luckily, Murtaugh hadn't spent all of his money on the cab and got the two a ride in the back.
***(Location: Rojo Perro {Mexican hotel})(Monday 4:15 PM)
"I just committed a crime in another country. You better be thankful." Roger half-joked. "I got blood and two IV bags. You should be fine by tomorrow morning, according to the internet. Of course, it is the internet."
"I could have had him." Martin said.
"Uh huh. I'm gonna you up to these and you're going to sleep. More. We'll get him, Riggs. He'll get what's coming to him." Roger said. He stuck the needle in Martin's arm and hung the bags of blood and fluids on the half-assed-made coat rack.
"Thanks, Rog." He said. He slowly closed his eyes. Roger sighed and sat in the chair in the corner of the room, close to the bed. The boys rested for the remainder of the night.