I'd laugh evilly if I wasn't already bored with doing so. Not only have I bested my small case of writer's block, I've managed to once again prove my worth by producing two delicious salsas! Quake before my obvious spice-related knowledge! But seriously… the salsa made with pre-cut stewed tomatoes turned out far better than the pico. Don't get me wrong, good pico is amazing, but the saucy quality of the former allows it to completely out-compete the latter.
With that said, let's discuss some things. 1) In case there is confusion regarding Puma Loco's distracting the police/military with the large mech, it is really just the same one seen in Animales. Cute episode. So yeah, he still has his hat. 2) I don't actually know if the San Martin region of Peru (there is an accent over the 'i') has problems with weapons dealers. 3) If you see Tom Hanks walking down the street, please, just let him be.
Author's Special Note: Various and sundry mean the same thing. Go figure.
--
Chapter 8, And with him gone…
--
Somewhere over South America, Saturday, 11:33 AM
--
The sound of the plane. That was all Manny had heard for the past three hours. The rattling of the shoddy air craft, the relentless buzz of its engines, and the occasional bang of shifting cargo. It was noise like that that kept him from sleeping this whole time. That and his dread. Damn that dread… he could hardly sleep at all yesterday after they had passed from the Mexican border. Fear was following him; he feared once more for his friends and family, who he felt now he had betrayed and abandoned. Miracle City was not in safe hands… that is what M had taught him. Those who were supposed to protect the city from hostilities like this didn't just fail to contain it like they usually did. They didn't even see this coming. Did they even try? With a loud yawn and painful stretch, Manny peeled himself off the decaying sheepskin seat just in front of the cargo bay. He slipped his hands into his pockets, trying to force away the stinging numbness brought on by the cold air in the screaming metal deathtrap he found himself in. Found himself… like he didn't want to get on this thing. Well, he didn't, but at the same time he knew he had to. Chief Suarez said that Manny couldn't risk implicating his father in this affair; he was the only Rivera left. And that thought made Manny feel even more withdrawn. Had he doomed his father anyway? Didn't M want El Tigre out of the picture in the first place? He gave him that chance, after all…
"Thinkin' hard, mijo?"
Grandpapi… at least he was here. Manny couldn't think about how awful this would all be if he had to do it alone without risking shedding tears. And he fought hard to suppress those feelings this very moment, as a wandering mind is hard to contain. It visits unpleasant thoughts almost on impulse, like a tongue that's found a cut on the roof of your mouth. Grandpapi sat opposite of him, sombrero drawn low over his eyes as though he had been sleeping. Seems the old man was also troubled, and like Manny just chose not to discuss it. Well, some problems don't go away just by talking, anyway.
"Are we almost there?"
"Not sure…"
"I'll go ask 'em."
Manny stumbled as the plane turned, pressing his hand against the nearest wall just in time to avoid cracking his head on it. Once it was level again, he walked slowly across the messy floor, laden with various and sundry items. These smugglers were certainly in need of a woman's touch. Once he had more or less forced his way to the cockpit, Manny leaned in much as he had done but two hours before and spoke to the would-be pilots.
"Hey. How much further?"
"Not much farther, Rivera," the pilot turned when he spoke, staring at him with piercing blue eyes and a paralyzing smile. Manny was stricken with terror.
"M?!"
"Looks like someone needed you, Tigre… and you weren't there. How sad."
M pointed to the copilot's seat, where Manny, to his horror, saw his dear sweet Frida bleeding to death, coughing up more and more blood as life slipped away. As he felt the hand of the enemy upon him, his heart jolted, and with it his body. He awoke in a cold sweat, exacerbated by the cold air. Manny's breathing was intense; he leaned his head against the metal wall of the plane in an effort to soothe the fever that gripped him.
"'Nother bad dream, mijo?"
"Yeah, Grandpapi," Manny replied, pressing his forehead against the cold aluminum, savoring the chill, "another bad dream."
The plane turned to the left a bit, descending just enough so that the two passengers could feel the change in direction. Some of the cargo behind them slid across the floor, held in place by the large nets designed specifically for that purpose. The plane tilted back to the right, so that only the tilt forward was felt, and one of the smugglers was on the intercom.
"Alright boys. We're gonna' land in San Martin soon. It'll be bumpy, so I hope you're buckled up."
As promised, the plane quickly dipped down toward the earth, taking Manny a bit by surprise; he'd never really been on a plane like this one, enjoying only easy landings whenever he found himself in a jet. Smugglers were only as gentle as the cargo needed. Efficiency first. After "enjoying" the descent, Manny looked out the smudged window to the see the Peruvian country side whisk by. Green and brown… already it was different from Miracle City. Two whole colors different. The landing gear hit the dirt runway hard, rattling the old plane to the core. And though neither would later admit, Manny and Grandpapi clutched hard on the arm rests of their questionable seats as though they would stop the passengers from flying about. But the rattling stopped, and eventually so too did the plane. And without missing a beat, the pilot was on again.
"Please remain seated until the plane has stopped and the door is open. Have a nice day."
--
M's Command Center, 10: 40 AM, Same day
--
Instead of his usual place at his controls, Maxim was on the roof, bathing in the glorious sunlight and rare quiet of Miracle City. How bizarre… things should be more chaotic than ever, and here the city was as far from noisy as was capable for a place so large. It wouldn't last, surely. Maxim's vacation from work didn't. He heard the door to the roof open, taking in the sound of swift footsteps in the gravel. And then there was someone blocking his sun.
"Yes?"
"We found him, sir," the agent replied, hands behind his back, "we have him in the hold. He hasn't been questioned yet, as per your orders. Shall I prep him?"
"Later."
"Sir?"
"I'm trying to relax. Give me another hour."
Maxim slowly rolled over, exposing his already tanning back to the golden morning air. He decided last week that maybe getting a tan to remember Miracle City by wasn't so bad an idea. Sure, he had Black Cuervo as a souvenir, but come now, she was as pale as he was. Something more exotic, if you please.
"Yes sir…"
"One more thing. Did you find his son?"
"… Not yet sir."
"… Alright. Keep up the good work."
That left the agent feeling rather good about himself. Normally you'd expect a reprisal for not succeeding in every possible way. But no; flunkies are more expensive when they actually have to be trained. Betrayal is the only thing that should be punished in this organization, M always said. Anyway… time ebbed on. And Maxim knew he'd been out in the sun too long when he shifted again, causing his skin to rebel with a mild tingle. Yep. Sunburn. Sunburn for whitie. Peeling himself off the sun chair, Maxim sighed and lifted up the bottle of sunscreen, expecting it to answer him for its obvious inadequacies. Maybe he'd buy out the company so he could have the CEO thrown out for selling a waste of a product… but later. He returned to the dark of the building with his mild sunburn and vastly improved skin color, folding his sun glasses and disappearing into his chamber. He exited several minutes later, fully dressed for this unnecessary evil he was forced to commit. When the Rivera's attacked New Alamo… it was expected. In a way, it was even what Maxim wanted to happen. But it happened too early for his liking, and if he hadn't had the experience and the foresight to plant those explosives in the highway, it was very much possible that he could have lost that battle. Now, he had to address this problem sooner or later, which was something Dr. Chipotle Sr. was very much afraid of. It didn't take long for M to figure out how the enemy had gotten a hold of the information necessary for an attack to take place; someone broke a very important rule about communication. And once word of M knowing this got out, Chipotle was headed for the hills. He was caught. How could he not be? The elevator slowed to a stop in the dark depths of the command center, where only flickering fluorescent lights kept things visible. Maxim stepped off the platform, where he was met by two agents. They led him to the cell where Dr. Chipotle Sr. was being held, hand over the empty socket where his cybernetic arm used to reside. The good doctor peered at M through the bars and shadow, scowling bitterly.
"You can't do this…"
"I can," he replied coldly, staring down with indifference, "and if you have any urges to blame someone, blame yourself."
Naught but the flickering of the failing lights was heard, stirring the fear in the trapped man's heart. He knew what was coming, and desperately wished that it would only happen to him. Chipotle knew that the information didn't just magically show up at the police station… and only one person had access to it.
"Tell me where your son is, doctor."
"Why would I do that?"
"… Because I'm actually having trouble finding him myself. Where is he?"
"He's not at home? I always told him to be at home by 9 o'clock."
"I'm already tiring of this, old man!"
As M shouted, the lights grew brighter, dimming once the moment was gone. He gripped the bars that contained Dr. Chipotle, eager to tear them open and rid the man of his three remaining limbs. The usual aura of absolute control… where has it all gone? Even when Zoe had stepped in and snatched El Tigre from him, Maxim remained in control. Maybe it was the fact that Miracle City was really not totally in control. Well, soon enough…
"You won't get anything out of me, gringo."
"Cute," Maxim backed away from the bars, waving in the agent with the keys, "but we'll see. I've come too far and wasted too much money to be stopped by something as lowly as principles."
--
Mariscal Caceres province, San Martin, Peru, 4:01 PM
--
They didn't land in Mariscal Caceres, where Granpapi's friend resided with his family, much to Manny's dismay. They landed in Bella Vista, about sixty miles from the border. And come now, there was no way that Manny Rivera was lucky enough for this "friend" to live near the border himself. They'd been on dirt roads in the back country for quite some time, riding in the back of a hay truck for four and half hours. It was painful. The truck slowed to a stop for what felt to be the hundredth time, and Manny took the moment to stand and stretch his weary legs. It may have stopped often, but it was rare that he actually took advantage of it. And while Manny stood, he peered over the roof of the truck, seeing a sight that was much welcomed at this stage.
"A house… please let us be there!"
The truck started moving again, kicking up a cloud of dirt as it made for the less than humble structure. The brown coloration and generally aged look of the building certainly suggested it wasn't cared for, but the size of the place… it was no palace, but you could tell someone was doing well for themselves in an otherwise poor area. And when the truck slowed to a stop, Manny stared at the building through a gap in the wood rail that held the hay in. The door slowly opened, and out came a man about as old as Grandpapi, limping about pretty sadly. Grandpapi stood and dragged Manny to his feet.
"He has a wooden leg. Don't ask him about it, or he'll start telling stories."
"Got it. Stories are bad."
Grandpapi hopped down from the truck and walked up what remained of the driveway to his old friend. Manny slowly followed, taking in the stark emptiness that nature provided. Rocky grassland as far as the eye could see… wait, no, there's a gallery forest over there. What do you know? Manny actually applied something from that otherwise damnable geography class! Gallery forests… what Frida would think if she actually heard about him being smart. … She must never know.
"Jorge! It's been too long!"
"It has indeed, Waldo! It had indeed! Sorry to ask a favor of you so suddenly."
"Not at all, Jorge. You know I owed you one. It's why you called in the first place, I imagine…"
"… Pure conjecture. I simply though my grandson should see a different part of the world."
"Ah yes," Waldo said, smiling wide, "your grandson. The infamous Manny Rivera."
Manny felt… timid, for some reason. Maybe it was just the awkwardness involved with hearing that your grandparents like to talk about you to other old people. Grandparents tend to tell "cute" stories that you would much rather have never been around to sire. And for some reason, a lot of those stories involved being two years old and naked. Or maybe it was just the idea about infamous. He was certainly moved up a notch on the list of villains with his supposed murdering of General Fitzgerald. No doubt countless other people of questionable business were aware of El Tigre now.
"Say hello, Manny."
"Yeah," Manny replied quietly, looking first at Waldo, and then at his home, "I see the illegal weapons trade is treatin' you well."
… That was certainly up front. But at least we know where everyone stands on the subject now. Grandpapi, though, was slightly embarrassed, and his jittery, nonsensical response made that apparent.
"Heh, Manny… eat your salad."
"… What salad?"
"Just be quiet."
Waldo, though, just laughed. He didn't really care what anyone thought of him, it seems. Which is a fine way to live. What most people have to say isn't really important, because most of those people will only have the one thing to say to you. And a passing glance makes for a poor first impression. The aged weapons dealer hobbled closer to Manny and patted him on the head.
"Oh, we'll get along just fine! My first grandson is a firecracker too! Ah, here he comes now."
Waldo was waving to someone in the distance, and Manny, for some reason, could only see a cloud of dust. As it grew closer, he could make out exactly what the source of all the dirt was. And he grew excited.
"An ATV?"
"Yes, Emilio loves riding around the property on that thing. At least, that's what he tells me he's doing."
The ATV came to a hard stop, rocking the driver a bit as it did. The dust cloud, unfortunately, settled over the three people just standing there, causing them all to cough and sneeze. Waldo grew a little aggravated over that.
"Emilio! How many times do I have to-?"
"Tell me to slow down first?"
"… Yes," Waldo forced through is coughing, "quite the firecracker. Emilio, these are our guests, Jorge and Manny Rivera. Why don't you say hello?"
Emilio dismounted and raised his hands up to his helmet, pulling it off of his head with a single tug. Though his hair was afflicted with static, and his moustache wasn't quite symmetrical, the tall, lithe, 21 year old troublemaker didn't seem to be bothered by any of this.
"Maybe later, gramps. I'd like to take a shower first, if that's alright."
"Emilio, maybe our guests would like to shower first. They've had a long trip."
"… Whatever."
Emilio walked away carrying his helmet, though apparently now he was more aware of his helmet hair, trying his best to smooth it out now that he had to wait for his shower. Manny stared after him angrily while Grandpapi raised an eyebrow casually.
"He seems… distracted."
"What's his problem?"
"I'm sorry… Emilio has bee watching a lot of… urban television lately. He's just acting tough."
"Great," Manny said with a hint of frustration, raising his hands up and dropping them back down just as quickly. Even in hiding, life had to be unnecessarily hard.
"Don't let him ruin your day, Manny. Now, Waldo, perhaps a tour of your home?"
--
M's Command Center, 8:50 PM
--
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. That was all M was doing for the past hour. Tapping on his desk absent-mindedly. He was deep in thought, or at least looked like he was. Mental wanderings… riddles in the dark. He'd gotten very little out of Chipotle Sr., which he actually admired. The guy was tougher than he looked if he could take a beating and two doses of truth serum. That or he really didn't know where his son's safe house was. So, either Chipotle was tougher than he looked, or, more likely, he was just smarter, and planned this all out ahead of time. Maxim did not like being outsmarted.
"… Enter."
That was weird… or was it? The door to his control room slid open with a rusty hiss, and through it came Black Cuervo, slowly approaching him while he stared at the six screens before him. He felt her hands on his shoulders, but didn't bat an eye. He could tell she didn't much like that.
"What are you working on?"
"… Work."
"Come on," she whispered playfully, leaning in close, "you can tell me."
Maxim remained silent, but again took to tapping his pen against the edge of the desk. This wasn't a sign of agitation… the wheels were just turning once more. Cuervo took to resting her head against the back of his. … Strange, she wasn't wearing her helmet.
"What are you doing, Zoe?"
"Just using my feminine charms."
"Cute," he replied, trying to swivel in his chair. But she anchored him firmly, making that an impossible act. So, he resigned himself to letting her be outside of his vision.
"What are you thinking about?"
"All sorts of things… Miracle City, my benefactors, you."
"Oh?"
Damn… should've played that better. As a cold individual, Maxim did not once find himself attracted to any of his female underlings. But that didn't mean none of them ever took his words to mean something else. He was a master of semantics, after all, twisting words around in whatever way he saw fit. And now, despite his better instincts, he wanted to play the game.
"Yes."
"Why are you thinking about me?"
"It's not hard to answer that."
"Well," she whispered, tightening her grip on his shoulders. When she spoke again, though, it was cold as ice, and she lifted her head and gently pushed away from him. "Quit it. It's creepy."
Maxim couldn't help but laugh quietly, dropping his pen to the desk and turning in his chair to face his young lieutenant. She stood in the dark in an almost… seductive fashion, which gave him ample reason to lean to his side and lift a hand to his chin.
"So, Cuervo… I suppose you have something to tell me?"
"Sartana just pulled up in her stagecoach," she replied coolly, looking at her gloved fingers in the pale blue light of the computer screens, "said you and she need to get to the volcano on time if you want this, and I quote, "ritual to succeed.""
"That's tonight?"
Maxim was up out of his chair and moving toward the door, cursing himself for losing track of his schedule so easily. Miracle City was proving to be a hex. His movement was halted by Cuervo's hand, pressed firmly against his chest. He turned his head and looked at her, seeing her glance at him in a charming manner.
"What are you up to, M?"
"Nothing abnormal."
"Stacking the deck?"
"Stacking the deck."
"Have fun, then," she mused quietly, removing her hand. He stood quietly for a moment, just staring as she turned away from him; soon, though, he started walking again, leaving Zoe with her many thoughts.
--
Author again: There you go. Some food for thought. And I actually want you people to try to figure some stuff out. I rather hope you succeed.