Day Five:

Wednesday, July 12th

Laguna Beach, California

Edward

Tying up the business in less than twelve hours wasn't an easy task. There were several phone calls we had to make and avenues to close. It was a madhouse in our home, filled with Jasper's computer whizzes, who set up our untraceable bank accounts and erased us from the Earth. Plus, my boys, ex-SEALs, set up high-tech surveillance on this house to keep me informed while we were gone. It was hectic, but we were the type to thrive in chaos.

"Look, Jake, think of it as economy of scale, all right," Jasper said into the phone to one of our out-of-state contacts. "The Mexicans will do business, but you'll be a corporation. They'll assign your profits and your timetables, and you'll make more money than you ever made with us."

We wanted people to assume we were just taking a fucking sabbatical, whatever the fuck that meant. It was a Jasper word. The reality was we were handing over everything to the Baja Cartel. They would have our weed, our people, and our customers. Jasper and I just refused to be a part of it. Luckily, we could get out of Dodge before they caught on to our plan.

Meanwhile, I was on the patio, also on the phone, talking to a dealer of ours. He was unsure about the shift in management. "Things change," I said. "Don't give up." I needed him to stay on the payroll. "They're like corporations. None of them last. Besides, we could be back running the show in a year."

I'm not sure if I truly believed that stuff, but it seemed to put him at ease, and he was more agreeable.

These phone calls went on for the next few hours. Some guys went with the flow, but others, they had questions.

One of the guys had heard about our predicament with the cartel, and he was flipping out.

"Travis, phone numbers are vanishing as we speak," Jasper said. "Yeah, I'm wiping the grid. I'm putting a little virus in there to fuck them up. Yeah, no, they're not going to chase you. Trust me."

When Jasper hung up, he looked at me, exasperated by the fucking day.

"Tough call," I said.

Travis was another dealer, higher up on the ranks than most, but also computer savvy. He worked part-time for Apple as a coder. The 30-something-year-old guy had a wife and kids and a lot to lose. That made him anxious and afraid that the Cartel would target him.

Of course, unfounded.

"Fucking hell," Jasper complained. "He's so paranoid. He needs to lay off the kush."

Jasper asked, "What time is it?" as he lifted my wrist and looked at my watch.

It was 1:59 pm.

The plan was to meet Alex and Jaime back at the hotel, but it wasn't smart of us to see them in person. They dominated the conversation with their people and guns. If we went, we might not come back. I wasn't afraid of dying. In fact, for many years, I welcomed it, but I refused to go down without a fight. I will not be some sitting duck begging those fuckers not to kill me.

No, when I die, I will take with me as many people as possible.

"All right, here we go." Jasper took one last hit of the blunt and pulled out his phone. He brought up the number and pressed send. It rang three times before it picked up.

"This is Alex."

"So, hey, Alex, you're on speaker. Edward is next to me."

"And?"

Jasper glanced at me, and I nodded for him to go ahead. "We changed our minds. We're coming on board."

Silence for a beat. Not good.

"Hmm," Alex said, followed by more silence.

Fuck! Not good.

"So…look, we want to go over the MO. How about first thing tomorrow morning?" Jasper said.

With any luck, we'll be in Indonesia by then.

Too long a silence ... again. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"We'll get back to you."

Then click.

I rubbed my forehead, fucking stressed. "They know."

"No, they don't know," Jasper argued. He still refused to believe. "How could they know?"

They knew.

An hour later, Jasper and I had gone through several joints. The last time we spoke to Bean, she texted to let us know she was leaving the mall and heading home. I asked her about Frankie, and she said he did so well at shadowing her that she barely knew he was there. At first, I laughed, thinking nothing of it, but as the hours passed and Bean didn't come home, I started to think the worst.

I texted Frankie. No fucking answer.

I texted Bean. No fucking answer.

Jasper called and called. The fucking radio silence was deafening.

It was barely four o'clock.

My intuition told me something wasn't right.

"What time is it?" Jasper grabbed my wrist and glanced at my watch. "Shit. Where are they?"

I puffed on the joint and passed it to him. "I'm going to go look for her," I said.

"That's a good idea. I'll come with you."

But before we could move, a familiar jaunty tune rang out from Jasper's laptop. We both knew what that meant. Jumping to our feet and heading inside, we saw a new email from the cartel. Jasper clicked on it, and it opened, revealing a scene out of a fucking nightmare.

"No," Jasper murmured as the ceiling came crashing down.

On the screen was an overhead view of a small room, and Bean was in the center of it. She was wearing nothing but her night slip, and she was strapped down to a chair by her wrists, ankles, and waist. Four men with masks surrounded her; the two closest to her held machetes. Our girl looked beaten and exhausted, as if she'd been screaming for hours and had finally just stopped.

A female entered the room from the bottom right side of the screen carrying a laptop. She sat it down on Bean's lap. The female slapped Bean across the face to arouse her. The view shifted from the overhead shot to Bean's face. We saw how her lip was swollen and bloodied. However, they didn't beat her too severely. I've seen and done worse to people, and I was grateful they didn't put a fist on her.

Jasper leaned closer to the screen. "Bean?" He said in a soft voice, and she responded to his voice by looking back at him. "Hi."

She said, "Hi."

Jasper said, "I'm so sorry about this, baby."

I couldn't think, let alone speak.

They moved her face to the side to show us the bruise forming and smacked her again. She didn't cry or react, but took it, and the strength in her was what broke me out of complacency.

We did this to her.

Jasper said, "We're going to get you out. I promise."

The frame froze, then a Photoshopped Bean was replaced by a cartoon machete-wielding hand. The cartoon machete sliced through Bean's face, leaving only two X's where her eyes had been and a tongue hanging out, indicating her death. The head popped off and danced around the screen like a fucking screensaver as red, cartoon blood squirted out the top of the severed neck. The jaunty music continued to play, taunting us, as the screen turned red, as if Bean's blood were drenching the computer.

The coward hid behind a question mark as his avatar and a distorted voice. "Which one of you is Mr. 'Nothing Personal'?"

Jasper and I glanced at each other; it didn't click at first, but, as I suspected, a third party was watching us in the hotel.

Jasper nodded. "I'm here," he said.

The screen was still red from the simulation of Bean's death, and I lost my cool and went full force on the coward.

"If you fucking don't stop!"

Roughly pushing me off, Jasper snarled, "Shut up. Shut up." When I was finally restrained and realized what was at stake, I calmed down. Jasper continued with a diplomatic approach. "All right, look. We can negotiate –"

"We didn't make you an offer to hear a counteroffer. We made you a deal to which we expected compliance. You lied to us."

"We'll do whatever you want," Jasper said, and he meant it.

So did I.

They had our girl. It was no longer about my life or even Jasper's life. Bean was innocent in all this, and the one complication I tried to avoid getting involved with. The danger I had always foresaw in this business would only hurt her, but she fucking came in and ruined me. I refused to allow her to die because of us.

"If that results in a change of attitude, you'll have to prove it."

Maybe they could see it on my face?

Jasper said, "That's not a problem."

"Really? Because it was a problem before."

"Not anymore."

"Good. Now let me speak to 'Mr. Eat-Shit-Caviar.'"

I moved forward. "I'm here."

"You offended me."

"I'm sorry."

"No, you're not."

The asshole behind the screen was right, I wasn't sorry, and I would fucking say it again! Those fuckers didn't deserve my respect. The only change I would make if I could go back would be to kill everyone in that fucking hotel room. Even if that included Jasper and me. Bean would be safe. I could live with that.

Did I say that? No. This time I was smart.

I kept my mouth shut.

"Take out your gun."

Nodding once, I walked over to the side to retrieve my Taurus.

"Stand in front of the camera so I can see you."

Returning to the frame, I held up my gun for them to see.

"Now stick it in that filthy mouth of yours."

I hesitated; the last thing I wanted to be was the coward's bitch.

"Cut off two of your fingers."

The screen panned onto Bean again and focused on one of their men taking scissors to her right pinky finger; she sobbed out as the metal dug into her skin. The look on our girl's face and the sound of her cries fucking tortured me.

"I'm doing it!" I shouted. They stopped. A calmer voice, I confirmed. "I'm doing it!"

So, I put the barrel of the gun into my mouth.

"Now, place your finger on the trigger."

I did.

Jasper saw where it was going. "Look, there's got to be a better way!" he cried, pleading with them. I put my free hand on his face and pushed him away from the laptop.

My finger gently eased pressure on the trigger as I waited for their following command.

Jasper's eyes widened as I tilted my head back, preparing to end it all. He's hunched behind me, panicking, but also covering himself from the situation and spray of blood. "No, god damn it! What are you doing??"

In that second, before I died, I thought of Jasper, and how he was the only man I had ever loved, and how, without him, I would have lost myself.

Lastly, though, as the world turned black, I saw Bean.

"Stop!"

Everything came back into focus.

Jasper uncovered his head and looked up at me.

"You may take it out now."

I carefully took my finger off the trigger and removed the gun from my mouth. Jasper's eyes were red and glossy, but there was relief.

Fuck me.

I was two seconds away from blowing my head off.

The guy removed the scissors from Bean's pinky finger. She was okay. That's all I thought. She was okay.

"The next time we ask you to do something, I don't want to hear "eat-shit-caviar." Am I clear?"

"Yes," I whispered, fucking depleted.

"Good. Now, you will make a delivery to us, in Chula Vista, of 300 pounds. You have five hours." A guy put an ax to Bean's neck to illustrate the urgency. "Or you'll receive an email you will not like. Five hours start now."

The screen went black.

Jasper and I were both breathing hard, unable to stop the adrenaline from pulsing through our veins, but we didn't have time to make sense of shit or catch our breath.

We were on the clock.

"We gotta move." I gently touched his shoulder to assure him that I was still fucking there. "We gotta move."

AN: thanks for reading!