Saint Death (6 page)

Wakey wakey
, the voice deep inside of her taunted.
Time to pay the piper, Red.

Alexis awoke to a series of sharp pains screaming through her body. She was naked now, kneeling on jagged concrete in front of a small altar, her knees bleeding, her arms twisted painfully behind her back and bound together with what felt like barbed wire. The more she struggled the deeper it cut into her soft skin. Her legs were bound in it as well, preventing her from trying to stand. She'd been exposed for some time from what she could tell. Her skin itched in places where the insects had bitten her, causing her to squirm. Her head pounded where she'd been bludgeoned, a searing migraine gripping her skull and making her grit her teeth in agony.

It's time to meet her in person
, the voice squealed.
Saint Death.

Her blurry vision cleared, causing the image of a blood covered statue to come into focus. It was just as Francois had described, a skeleton of a woman dressed in a wedding gown, wearing a gaudy bejeweled crown and adornments. In her right hand she held a scythe, like the grim reaper. In her left she held a globe. At her feet were several bowls, each filled with different illicit substances. There was one with dark, coagulated blood, another with a burning sprig of marijuana, and a third with what appeared to be a pile of snow-white powder she guessed was cocaine. In between these were stacks of money in different currencies and denominations, ranging from dollars to Euros to pesos. The last thing she saw on the altar was an old black leather Bible with gold lettering that read
Maria
.

Looking up she saw that the people from the night before who'd been dancing around wildly, beating drums and celebrating her impending death were now gone. The place was empty except for her abductors and their guest of honor.

Looks like you threw a monkey-wrench into their original plan with your little escape attempt,
the voice cackled.
Got the place all to yourself now.

She knew the high priestess was still there because she could hear the woman chanting loudly behind her as flecks of something wet and sticky hit her back. The sensation caused her to flinch, then wince in pain as the restraints bit into her. At last the evil woman appeared in front of her confirming her presence, the bright flowers of her elaborate woven headdress swaying in the ocean breeze, her face painted like a freshly bleached skull.

She is the living embodiment of the statue she worships
, the voice explained.
The conduit between the supernatural and the mundane. She serves the darkness and feeds the unholy spirit the blood and suffering of her enemies.

The high priestess held up a blood-smeared machete as she cruelly leered at Alexis. The guest of honor, a sweaty man with dark skin wearing cowboy boots and a straw hat, took it from her. His jeans were sun bleached a pale blue that matched the sky overhead. His teeth were capped in gold and he wore a dazzling assortment of gold-plated necklaces and rings to match. He stopped in front of her, his shiny golden belt buckle at eye level, the word SINALOA set in sparkling diamonds that brilliantly reflected the desert sun. She looked up to see that he had a checkered shirt on with B.O. stains under both pits. It was open to the middle of his chest where a tattoo of a big breasted woman with a skull for a face and roses for hair lewdly stared back at her. Amidst his gaudy display of wealth he wore a simple rosary made of dark wood.

The man anxiously approached the altar, taking a handful of cocaine and rubbing it on the rumpled dress of the life-sized statue. He poured the blood onto the ground, mumbling in Spanish, then set the bowl between Alexis's legs. Alexis felt her bladder involuntarily let go in fear as hot rivulets of piss ran down her trembling inner thighs. The man with the gold teeth bowed his head and said what sounded like a short prayer, making the sign of the cross over himself before turning his attention back to Alexis. Nervously he grabbed her by her hair, yanking her head back painfully until the tears freely spilled down her face. Her heart raced as he chanted a series of dark incantations.

“
Muerte Santisima
,” the man began, his voice quivering with earnestness, “
los favores que me tienes que conceder. Haras que venza todas las dificultades y que para mi no halla nada imposible, ni obstaculos, infranqueables, ni tenga enemigos, ni que nadie quiera hacerme dano, que todos sean mis amigos y que yo salga vencedor en todas las empresas o cosas que haga. Mi casa se llenara de bienes con las virtudes de tu proteccion.
”

Her mind raced, thinking back to the years of high school Spanish she had taken in an attempt to translate some of the words and make sense of what was happening to her.

Most Holy Death
, the voice translated for her.
That's who he is praying to, asking for protection from his enemies and to be free of all obstacles to success and power. He is worshipping death itself!

A sadness began to overwhelm her as she realized these were to be her final moments. She had done her best to escape but the voice was right. She had failed.

It will all be over soon now
, the voice in her head cooed.
All you can hope now is that he is quick about it, that the pain passes
so we can both be at peace. Try not to think about it. That's a good girl. It's almost done.

He slit her throat in one clean motion. The blood poured down the front of her. He grabbed her head as she kicked and thrashed and held the gushing wound over the bowl between her legs, collecting the bright scarlet fluid that poured out until it pooled over the sides. He dipped his finger in her blood and drew a cross on her forehead before shakily setting the bowl at the feet of Saint Death. He made the sign of the cross over himself, looking pale as milk, before turning and nodding to the high priestess. She nodded back with a generous smile but he frowned in reply before heading back to his car as fast as his feet would carry him.

“Not everyone is a true believer,” she said to Angel as she watched the man go. She waited until he was in his truck, the engine revving as he pulled off and away from the killing grounds, before she spoke again. “We aren't finished yet.”

“I know,” Angel replied.

“The cartel specifically asked for enough sacrifices for each of their foot soldiers and enforcers,” she angrily scolded. “They flew some of these men in from other parts of the country just for this. Esteban said that all of them must be baptized in blood before they go to war. He's very superstitious. Obviously they have something big planned. You were supposed to round up just enough of them to satisfy their order without drawing extra attention to yourself. What happened?”

“Alajandro got greedy,” Angel shrugged, his eyes still cast down. “It wasn't my fault.”

“We're going to need to replace the one he killed,” she informed him coldly.

“Isn't there someone here we can use instead? Maybe one of the new girls? I'll drag them out quietly so I don't wake the others. We can say they ran away if anyone starts asking, that they got scared. What about that new girl who never speaks? Silvia? She'd be perfect,” Angel offered, hoping to make an easy task of it.

“Absolutely not,” Maria said looking shocked and appalled at the suggestion of sacrificing one of her followers.

“Why not?” Angel demanded. “Most of them would be honored to die for Santa Muerte if you told them it was what she'd commanded and you know it!”

“You remember what happened last time a Santa Muerte sect used locals for blood magic? They were all arrested and carted off, but not before being paraded in front of the national news so all the journalists could interrogate them like savages then humiliate them for their beliefs in print,” Maria said, a dark look falling over her visage like a widow's veil. “I will not have our dear Mother spoken ill of by intellectual snobs with no understanding of her powers. I would rather die first!”

“Calm down. Those were little kids,” Angel argued. “I'm talking about a full grown adult. If not one of ours then perhaps a local
puta
no one will miss?”

“That's exactly the kind of lazy thinking that gets people arrested and sent to prison,” she replied.

“We don't need to worry,” Angel said. “She will protect us from harm, from our enemies, right? That's what you tell us all the time. That's what you believe, isn't it? That Santa Muerte will punish those who oppose her followers and make us rich?”

“I suppose you're right,” Maria relented, moved by his religious plea. “But that is no reason to get sloppy. Besides, the last sacrifice specifically needs to be a young man, preferably American.”

“
¿Por qué?
” Angel asked.

“The final ritual we are performing is for the cartel's number one hit man,” Maria explained. “Ramon has a taste for torture and will want to take his time, which is why we saved him for last. The others were all new to the cartel, new to the faith you could say, since they had no inclination of worshipping Santa Muerte before joining. Esteban makes them swear allegiance to the Bony Lady before sending them into battle. They believe they can determine how loyal a new recruit is by how willing they are to kill for their new boss, but on a deeper level they know the power this blood magic holds. Ramon began devoutly worshipping the Skinny One when he was just an enforcer for the Mexican Mafia. He claims he's been killed no less than three times but that our Great Mother Death has brought him back to exact revenge on his enemies. Some say he is now unkillable.”

“So why does it have to be an American?” Angel demanded.

“He hates
Gringos
,” Maria shrugged.

“Who doesn't?” Angel replied.

Angel began to walk past her but she stopped him.

“We don't have a lot of time,” she admonished. “The cycle of the moon will change and the ritual will be less powerful. Ramon is already asking when we will be ready for him. He knows something is off. I can't hold him off forever.”

“I will work fast,” Angel promised.

“Good. And bring a replacement this time, in case there is another accident,” Maria commanded.

“Not a problem,” Angel reassured her.

“I don't want you to take any chances,” Maria insisted. “This needs to happen quickly and cleanly. This isn't just about money. Even though I've known Esteban for years there's no telling what he will do to us if we fail him. The reputation of his cartel depends on the appearance of strength, especially with the losses they've taken at the hands of Zetas in the last six months. Our lives may depend on this. Am I clear?”

“
Si madre
,” Angel said, turning away from her. “I won't let you down again.”

“
Gracias miho
,” she said, gently patting him on the shoulder. Slowly he turned back to face her, tears welling up in his eyes. “That's a good boy.”

The room had finally stopped spinning. Zack stood up again, feeling a little less disoriented than when he'd stumbled in. He was on a huge hotel bed with the glossy, lacquered blades of a handcrafted palapa ceiling fan wafting cool air conditioning down onto his slightly burned skinned. The sun had gone down outside but he was still wearing his shorts from earlier at the pool. He slowly padded to the bathroom of the palatial suite Dave had rented them for the week and threw up one last time for good measure.

Almost immediately after checking in they'd changed into trunks and hit the swim up bar, just as Zack had wanted. Zack was surprised his friend didn't offer any resistance or have another scheme hatched for them, but Dave just shrugged and said it would solve the problem of his flagging buzz.

“Plus it will give us a chance to scope out the
lay of the land
so to speak,” Dave added with a lecherous wink before grabbing them a pair of towels from the bathroom. “There should be a fair number of hot girls in tiny bikinis already either in the water or basking in the dirty Mexican sun by now. Time for this player to get down to business. I'm hoping to sleep with a new girl each night we're here. If I fail to hook up tonight I'll have to double up tomorrow, maybe grab a pair of hot twins. Don't get me wrong. I appreciate a challenge as much as the next man...”

“If the next man is Barney Stintson,” Zack mumbled.

“But I also don't want to strain myself by overdoing it right out the gate. Let's just see if we can both ease into our respective grooves by flirting with a pair of pretty girls with low self-esteem to start out with. We'll see where things go from there. Even the best athletes have to warm up and stretch before the big game.”

Zack rolled his eyes but secretly he was happy not to have an argument. The pool was packed and, even though there were far more guys than girls, Dave seemed to be happy with the quality of the single ladies they met. He set his sights on a busty brunette from Akron named Serena, putting his best face on and cracking jokes until she laughed like a hyena with an overbite, only to discover she'd come with an overweight boyfriend who shied away from any activities that involved taking his shirt off. By the time her man came waddling over to collect her for their early dinner reservations Zack was so drunk he could barely stand up. He'd been helping himself to some sweet fruit concoction called a Yellow Bird courtesy of the amicable pool bartender Carlos and had lost count of how many he'd consumed. Dave had to help him back to their room. Zack threw up the entire contents of his stomach then passed out on his bed.

The nausea he'd felt earlier had passed after his last regurgitation, along with the intoxication, leaving a deep hunger in its place. Dave was watching the Dodgers play an early season game against the Arizona Diamondbacks but shut it off when Zack came into the room.

“There's my mad dog killer,” Dave said, getting to his feet.

“If I never drink anything yellow again it will be too soon,” Zack said, gingerly rubbing his temples.

“How's your head feeling?” Dave chuckled.

“Not as bad as I thought it would,” Zack grinned. “You?”

“I'm a seasoned degenerate,” Dave chuckled, slapping his belly. “The swim up bar was child's play for a primed liver like mine. Now I'm ready to do some serious drinking. What about you?”

“Not until I get something in me,” Zack said. “Didn't you say this place had a buffet?”

“There are a few restaurants inside the resort but you need a reservation for most of them,” Dave said. “I put us down for the steakhouse tomorrow but tonight I thought we'd go out, catch some local culture, maybe grab a few street tacos before hitting the bars.”

“You said we were going to stay here and see what the resort had to offer,” Zack argued.

“And we did,” Dave replied. “But in case you hadn't noticed all the single ladies started heading into town before the sun went down. This time of night the resort is mostly older married geezers in Tommy Bahama shirts trying to rekindle the spark or rich dudes with their mistresses getting couples massages on the lanai. If you want to meet girls our age, we're going to have to go into town sooner or later.”

Zack eyed him suspiciously. “This isn't just a ploy to score dope is it?”

“What? No! Come on man,” Dave answered growing defensive. “I just want to meet a nice girl or two that wants me to defile them in a way their boyfriend back home would never dream of, that's all!”

“Promise me this isn't going to turn into a disaster of a night if we go into town,” Zack demanded.

“Scout's honor,” Dave said, solemnly holding up his right hand with three fingers up and his thumb tacking down a curled pinkie in mock salute.

“I'm serious man,” Zack insisted.

“Relax bro,” Dave said nonchalantly. “What's the worst that can happen?”

“If we end up getting tossed in a Mexican jail because of you I swear I will never forgive you,” Zack warned, but Dave blew it off with a chuckle.

“You're overthinking things again,” Dave assured him. “Go change into something we can hit the clubs in after we get dinner so we don't have to come back to the hotel. We'll meet back here in five.”

Zack went back to his room and pulled out a pair of designer jeans, slipping into them before choosing a black button up shirt that wasn't too wrinkled. He pulled it on then did his best to smooth it out with his flat palms. For a finishing touch he sprayed on some cologne. He spotted his passport sticking up out of his bag when he went to zip it up. Remembering what Oscar had told them on the ride into town he picked it up and slid it into his front right pocket for safe keeping before leaving the room. Dave was already waiting for him, and full of zest.

“Look at this fancy bastard.” Dave greeted him with a slap on the back. “Is that a hint of cologne I detect?”

“Stop busting my balls and let's go,” Zack groused. “I'm starving.”

“After you
Seeenyoooor
,” Dave comically bellowed. Zack rolled his eyes as they headed out of the room for the night, locking the door behind them.