April 10th, 2018
11:58pm
Mexico City, MX

Song: The Pretty Reckless - Heaven Knows

Sean paced nervously back and forth on the balcony of the third roach motel Jorgé and his friends had chosen that week, smoking his fifth cigarette in a row. They'd booked two connecting rooms before arriving an hour prior. One for Mindi and their clients, the other for setting up appointments and collecting payments. She was lucky to have survived, or so he'd been told. Yeah right. She'd be better off dead than with us. Despite all his attempts to convince them they were carrying a budding high-profile socialite after checking her social media, the cartel didn't seem to care. This was a simple use-once-and-discard mission. After they extorted what money they could from her father, they'd return her—in pieces.

"Fuck," he exhaled, running a hand over his fresh buzzcut as he looked over the horizon. From the outskirts of the city, the view was almost peaceful. An ocean of light lay before him across a beating heart of darkness, its veins alive, pumping traffic to and fro throughout the vast metropolis. And there at the southeast end, barely visible and encased in shadow, stood the looming volcano of Popocatépetl—'El Popo', as Jorgé called it—like some Mexican version of Mount Doom. Sean had to wonder if his father ever got to see it. Memories of those careless days watching The Lord of the Rings together with Daniel entered his mind. The more months that passed, the more it all felt like someone else's life. He checked the time on his burner phone again. 12:00 AM. April 11.

"Daniel," Sean gasped. Tears flooded his good eye. He considered calling, but the Reynolds would be asleep by now. And with as many times as he'd tried several days ago and gotten no response, it seemed useless anyway. They probably all hate me. "Happy eleventh birthday, bro. Guess I'm missing another one," he cried, flicking the remainder of his cigarette out into the parking lot to let the darkness swallow it. Just like everything else. He was pissed now. Sean stormed back into the hotel room, slamming the door behind him and hurling his phone at the wall.

"Hey, qué estás haciendo?!" Jorgé demanded.

"He terminado con esta mierda!"

"Baja la voz, we're in a motel!"

"I don't give a fuck where we are!"

"Sean, breathe!" the man urged, grabbing hold of his shoulders. "What the fuck's gotten into you, amigo? Eh?"

"Like I said...I'm sick of this shit," he sighed. "And it's my brother's birthday."

"Aww, you're breaking my heart! Guess what? I don't care. We all got families to take care of. You know how many of my little brother's birthdays I missed?" the man turned away.

"Yeah. 'Mi familia también duele'. I've heard it all before. Doesn't excuse what we're doing."

"You know what, Sean? You're just a gringo!" Jorgé snapped, pointing in his face. "A little fucking white boy who doesn't understand shit about what we do. Should have stayed in America, coño. Seem to relate to that side of you better," the man said, sitting back on the bed to watch his soccer game.

"Like this isn't a federal offense we could get busted for in any country."

"No point getting out of it now, unless you want iced. Why don't you sit and enjoy the game with me, eh? What kind of sports you like?"

Sean did his best to calm down.

"Well," he sighed, taking a seat on the bed, "I used to be on my high school track team in another life."

"Seriously?" Jorgé laughed. "No wonder you're so good at running away!"

"Yeah...guess it is a little ironic," the boy chuckled.

"Everything comes full circle, amigo. That's why I sit back, put my head down, relax my feet. Zen out, man. Everything will be okay."

Sean felt like throwing up every time his partner said that. He glanced around the room, observing the two men at the desk checking over the paperwork of their clientele. One was counting cash, while the other cut lines of cocaine. Out here, it just looked like your average drug business. But behind the door in the next room over, someone was keeping Mindi sufficiently doped up as they waited for the next client to show. They would be arriving within the hour. The young boy began to sweat at the thought. He considered his own age, too. Many of the victims that got trafficked weren't much younger than him. It was easy to forget he was still seventeen himself until August. And I'm helping these scumbags.

"You still never told me how you're so fucking chill about all this."

"One sec," Jorgé said, changing the TV station. "Hey, ve a ver a la chica, si?" he said loudly, addressing the two men at the desk. They grumbled complaints in Spanish, but quickly got up and went into Mindi's room, closing the door behind them. Jorgé muted the television, scooting over to sit on the edge of the bed with Sean. "Now that the cucarachas are gone," he rolled his eyes. "You can't tell anyone what I'm about to say, okay? Not a single soul."

"Okay." Damn, he looks scared.

"Like I told you before, Gilberto knows things. Things that helped him build this business faster than anyone else I've ever seen. This cartel's become like a fucking empire under him. Other cartels pop up, he just swallows them whole. Just a few short years ago, he was scrounging for scraps at the bottom of some other boss. But within two years? Shit just exploded for him. And this man's got everyone on his side, and when I say everyone, I mean everyone. Cops, politicians, rich investors, even some people in the Polícia Federal. They all look the other way. But how does he know all this shit? Forget logic for a minute. How would he know what moves to make, every single time? With virtually no risk to him or his family."

"Um...I don't know," Sean shrugged. "Sounds like he's got...superpowers or something. Wait," the boy gasped. He'd spit out the word like it was nothing, and yet...Daniel has them. Is this really so far a stretch? No way. This was some X-Men level shit. "You're not actually suggesting..." the boy chuckled. "You really believe in that crap? Come on, dude!" He had to force himself to appear skeptical. If I look like I believe him...maybe this is some other test.

"Man, I knew it was a mistake to trust you," Jorgé rubbed a hand over his face.

"Nah, it's cool! Lo siento. Seriously, no bullshit. I want to hear it." And it's probably best if I know.

"All right. So Gilberto has a daughter, eleven years old, yeah? Her name is Catalina. Flowing dark hair, big smile, full lips, pretty eyes, most beautiful chica you ever saw. Over the years as she grew up, he'd have us chauffeur her to school, to all her social events, doctor's appointments, her mother's house, even a child psychologist. Later on, we were instructed to terminate that psychologist and destroy all the paperwork on Catalina. None of us knew why, but we didn't ask. Then around the end of this past summer, he has her shipped off to the States."

"So he's got something to hide...something he can't keep here."

"Exactly. But instead of destroying all her paperwork, one of my guys got a copy. Turns out Catalina was diagnosed schizophrenic. Everyone who knew their family assumed maybe Gilberto was ashamed to deal with her, but that's where it gets interesting. Because the moment she stopped seeing that psychologist? That's when his business starts taking off like wildfire."

"Whoa," Sean breathed.

"Yeah. And if you read the transcripts of their meetings? This psychologist, man, she was scared as hell. Because this girl was bringing up shit about that woman's childhood. Things and details it would have been impossible for her to know, she knew. And then," he shrugged, "it would fall apart."

"What do you mean, fell apart?"

"Catalina...she's not psychic. She's something else. Because she'd tell this lady about every single choice she'd made in life up to that point. Then she'd talk about how it branches out, one after the other, like an endless tree. How every choice you make, good or bad, there's a reaction. A new path. And that path goes on forever. Catalina knew every possible outcome that could stem from just one choice, one point in the tree. In other words-"

"She's a human risk calculator."

"No. She's a lot more than that," Jorgé said, looking him in the eye. "This gift of hers...Sean, I don't know what it does to people, but I heard a lot of stories of Gilberto taking people who owed him money into his office with her. Almost all of them would come out in comas. Before that, they started screaming about things they could see. Other lives, other versions of themselves. Things that just weren't there in our reality. Even dead relatives. And Catalina could see them all. Every choice. Every reality. Whether people might double-cross him or not, whether certain people would be beneficial...it's not so hard to determine when you've got someone who knows where all your choices will lead."

"Damn, that's mental," Sean shivered. "So you're thinking that's how Gilberto built his business."

"Precisely. And how he convinced people to invest in him. Because if you see yourself living the good life, and not just see it, but to feel it? I imagine that sways a lot of people."

"So," Sean wondered, his eye drifting over to the TV stand, where a loaded gun sat on the edge. He watched. He waited. He thought about how long it might take the other three henchmen to come bursting through the door of Mindi's room after the first shot was fired. And how long it might take after that to collect her and make his escape before the cops showed up. "Did it sway you? Is that why you're still fine with all this shit?"

"It's given me perspective," Jorgé replied. "Yeah."

"And you think that all these innocent girls you kidnap-"

"That we kidnap. Don't pretend like you don't play a part in this too."

"Yeah," the boy said, his heart beginning to race. Now where are the keys to the car? He looked back toward Jorgé slowly, so as not to raise suspicion. On the desk. "I guess we all have our parts to play. Don't we?"

"Hey Sean...dónde te sientas en el árbol?"

"Good question," the boy thought. "Yo vivo. Tu mueres." He bolted for the gun. Jorgé moved to tackle him, but it was too late. Sean whirled around on his back and squeezed the trigger as the man flung himself forward, planting a single bullet between his eyes. A loud pop sounded, followed by a quick splash of blood. The boy's eardrums fell mute. Barely a second later, the two men from the other room stormed in, their guns drawn. Sean rolled over Jorgé's dead body and took aim behind the bed. He squeezed again, twice. Pop, pop. He blasted one in the throat. The second shot landed in the shoulder of the other, who stumbled back against the desk, smearing cocaine everywhere as he cradled himself. He powered forward and fired back at Sean, hitting him square in the left bicep. Pain ripped down the length of the teen's arm as warm blood gushed through his hoodie. He cried out, but kept his right arm steady, driving the remaining three rounds straight into the man's chest. Crimson spurts shot into the air as he hit the wall and slumped over. Sean dove forward, heading for his pistol.

The last man barged through the doorway with a knife in hand. Shit! Out of ammo, the teen switched positions and plowed hard into the gang member with his right shoulder, knocking him flat. The man's arm raised. His knife was pointed inward. Fuck no! Sean rolled off of him as his arm drove downward to the left, stabbing the floor. He'd missed the boy's side by an inch. Desperate, Sean straddled the man and grabbed his wrist with his left hand, forcing him to drop the weapon. Then the teen lunged forward and grabbed the man's neck with his right, reaching for the blade with his other hand as the lackey clawed at his arm. Gripping the knife tight, he rammed it through each of the man's eyes. He screamed. Sean drove it into his throat. Then he stopped.

"FUCK!" the boy grunted, stepping to his feet in the dark. Mindi moaned softly on the bed. He could barely make out her outline in the dim light shining through the other room. Sean stumbled toward the nightstand and switched on the lamp. She was in horrible shape after the three clients that night had finished with her. Purple bruises covered the top of her arms from being dragged around. One of her eyes was black and blue. She'd been dressed in a crop top with no bra, and her panties had been torn, hanging by a string off her right leg. He dared not look at the rest. "I'm so sorry," the boy cried, rubbing her cheek. "I'm gonna get you out of here, I swear! Just hold on, okay? I'll get you something to wear." Can't take her outside like that. Sean went over to the dead man on the floor and proceeded to tear his pants off and took them over to Mindi, pulling them up over her.

"Wha...what's going on?" she moaned, waking up. When her eyes fell to the boy, her mouth twisted in horror. "No...no...no, no, no, get off! GET OFF ME! GET OFF! Please get off me!" she cried, struggling against him.

"Shhh, it's okay, shhh, I'm not going to hurt you, I swear Mindi! Mindi, I swear..."

"Huh? Oh, I remember you," she pointed. "...you're that...that boy...from the bar..."

"Yeah...it's me," Sean choked up, taking her hand. Her other wrist was still tied to the bed. He reached over and unhooked the strap. "Can you get up?"

"Uh...I don't know, what's going..."

"Come on, I'll help you stand, okay? Just here, put your arm around me and try to hold up those pants with your other hand. I got you, all right? Just hang onto me and don't let go."

"Okay," she mumbled, sitting up and scooting toward the side of the bed. She tried standing, but her legs quickly gave out. "Ow!" she groaned. "I don't think I can..."

"Yes you can, I got you." Her wrapped his arm around his shoulder, and together, they stumbled toward the doorway. She gazed on the fallen corpses as they entered the next room.

"What...what did you do?" she asked. "Oh god!" she shrieked. Her arm started to slip off Sean, but he held her steady in his grasp, even as she cried. "No, let go!" Mindi screamed and fell to her hands and knees, the carnage making her sick. "Oh shit, I'm gonna..." She vomited on the floor. Good, Sean thought. Get some of that dope out of your system. "Can you please get me some water?" she gagged and threw up again.

"Yeah, hold on." Sean darted for the bathroom and grabbed a clean glass, filling it and returning promptly. "Just be careful," he said as he knelt with her, "I'll hold it." Mindi spat it out at first, but continued drinking.

"Ugh, my head feels like it's gonna explode," she breathed.

"I know. They fucked you up bad." He snagged the car keys from the desk and pulled her back to her feet. "Think you can walk if you hold onto me?"

"I hope so," she said, hoisting up the oversized jeans.

"Good. We have to get out of here, fast."

"Sean...what the fuck happened? Where the fuck am I?"

"You're at a motel."

"Oh...is it my daddy's place?"

"No," Sean shuddered. "Come on, let's get outside." He led Mindi out through the door and across the balcony over to the stairs, where she grasped the railing behind him as they slowly descended and made their way over to the car. He opened the passenger side door of the SUV and helped her get her legs inside, then plopped into the driver's seat. Sean glanced above them up at the vacant hotel room, its lights still on. He thought about going back to collect the guns and anything else he might have touched, but it was a good bet the cops would be arriving soon. Too late. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to scream again, but didn't want to alarm the young woman beside him. She'd been through enough. Sean sighed and shifted the car into reverse, peeling out of the parking lot before anyone could see them.