Disclaimer: I still own nothing, except the Black Dragons because I made them up (I think)
A/N: Thank you, everyone that reviewed so far. I wrote this story so that it would be different than most other tragedies- you know, where after losing someone the hero/heroine cries, falls in love, talks about their feelings, and then everything turns out okay. Well, this one won't be like that ("don't get mad: get even" applies here). Perhaps I've said too much...
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Mexico City, Mexico
El Aeropuerto Central
Jordan took a deep breath of the hot, dry Mexican air before proceeding to the baggage claim area. This doesn't seem real. What am I doing here, again?
Woody, who already claimed his suitcase, tried to smile at Jordan. "Well, we're here. What now?"
How the hell am I supposed to know? "I haven't gotten that far yet." She pulled her suitcase down off the conveyor belt. "I thought maybe you'd have an idea."
Woody just stared at her, mouth agape. "What? Wait, this was your idea-"
"Then leave!" snapped Jordan. "Just get your sorry ass back on the plane and go home! No one's stopping you." Your father wasn't the one who was murdered in cold blood, just a couple of yards away from you. You didn't have to hear him call out your name with his last breath, or, or...
"They were my friends, too," Woody said quietly. "I'm just scared, that's all."
So am I, but that's not stopping me from getting justice. "Like I said, you can leave if you want to."
"But I don't want to. And besides, you need my help."
"I need your help?"
"A couple of years ago," he said. "The Boston PD Narcotics Unit busted open a cocaine smuggling ring that was operating out of Mexico City. The only way they were able to manage this was because of a mole."
"So you're saying that if we find this mole, he can get us inside the Black Dragons?"
"Or at least hook us up with someone that knows something. We have to start somewhere, and using this guy is a heck of a lot easier than just wandering around asking people if they know something."
"Great," said Jordan. "Now how do we find this guy?"
"I have no idea. Mexican white pages, maybe?"
"So does that mean you're in?"
Woody met her gaze and nodded. "Until the end."
Part of Jordan was relieved that she'd have help, but she was also apprehensive. Will he actually help, or will his code to 'protect and defend' get in the way? "All right then. Now all we need are guns, a name, and a phone book."
"His name's Alejandro Hernandez, and we can buy weapons on just about every street corner." He took a deep breath. "You do realize that once we start this 'quest for revenge' or whatever, there's no turning back."
The smallest trace of a smile passed over Jordan's face. "And there's no turning back for them, either." The people who did this will live only long enough to regret it.
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Acapulco, Mexico
El Primero, head of the Black Dragons, exited the confessor's booth feeling fully cleansed of his sins. Those two Americanos should have known better than to mess with me. It's unfortunate that the other victims got caught up in this, but I will not lose any sleep over their deaths.
It had been a well calculated plan, if not perfectly conducted. His American contacts supplied him with all of the right schedules for the Boston morgue; it was convienient that the daughter of one of his targets worked for the other one. I hope she feels the same pain at the loss of her father that I felt for the loss of my son all of those years ago. Max Cavanaugh had been the detective investigating the murder of El Primero's son's ex-fiancee. Garrett Macy had been the medical examiner that damned his son to life in prison through his autopsy. All because Ricardo had been a drug addict from another country, and the other suspect was a well-respected businessman. "Papi, you have to help me!" Ricardo pleaded. "I never killed anyone. They're going to lock me up forever, and I didn't even do anything!" Even with the best lawyers that drug money could buy, Cavanaugh and Macy's testimonies persuaded the jury beyond a shadow of a doubt that his son was guilty of murder. A year after the trial, El Primero recieved a letter saying that his son had been raped and killed in prison. His wife commited suicide after hearing the news.
In the office in his mansion, El Primero had a shrine to honor his son. Ricardo's picture, taken a month before he left for Boston, hung on a cork message board, surrounded by pictures of the people El Primero killed/ had someone else kill. He added Garrett Macy and Max Cavanaugh's photos, along with a USA Today article that listed the names of all the victims. Some names are missing, he thought bitterly. The detective and the two medical examiners that survived should be there among their dead brethren.
There was a knock at the door. One of the druglord's many lieutenents walked in. "Que quieres?" El Primero demanded. "What do you want?"
"Two of the survivors just flew in today, jefe," he said. "One of them is the daughter of the dead ex- police officer."
I suppose she will want to avenge her father's death. He lit a candle and bowed his head. The lieutenant hurried away; he knew better than to bother El Primero when he was in his office.
"I have avenged you, my son," he whispered. "And I will not let anyone take that away from us."
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You know the drill; read and review, and I promise the next chapter will be more exciting...