Page 71 of Hit Man

They’re behind me.

They’re going to catch me if I don’t think of some way to escape them. Because trained guards like Juan Carlos’s are bound to be fast. Too fast . . . for me.

I do what I can, and push forward. Wishing I’d left Mexico City entirely and had taken that trip to Hacienda Santo Miguel.

Wishing the conga line didn’t ruin my emergency escape plan; now I’ll need to cut over a few blocks so I’m closer to my hotel and back on familiar ground. Where I have a fighting chance at avoiding them.

Wishing for a miracle to pass my way before disaster catches up with me.

21

Diego

Ispent my adult life shaking off poverty’s stranglehold. The never knowing where your next meal is coming from or who you’ll have to fight to get it. Looking back, it’s clearer to see now that Luciana and I escaped it. At the time, it was hard enough trying to stay alive after our parents were murdered than to fixate on the injustice of it all.

Now, as I head deep within the heart of a slum that makes my hometown of Loreto seem like fucking paradise, poverty not only nails me in the gut, it sucker punches me right in the heart.

Dios mío.

The muddied streets are so narrow only pedestrians, horse-drawn carts, or motorcycles can pass through. Kids playing soccer, barefoot and mindless of the pollution around them. Countless groups of women gathered around the street vendors, their crude outdoor kitchens the main source for meals around here as most dwellings don’t have functioning kitchens. Old men with brown-bagged bottles line the rough roads, men who’ve given up hope for sweeter, alcohol-induced dreams.

In Loreto, life turned to shit when the cartels moved in. The violence, the bloodshed, the struggle for dominance, for power. I’d learned to navigate. I learned to kill. And most importantly, I learned if you can’t beat them, youovertakethem.

And when the time is right, you get the fuck out while you’re still alive. We sent my sister away. Hayden and I remained, settling old debts, killing off our enemies. Until the only cartel remaining in Loreto was ours.

The Lobos.

Whose reach now extends across Mexico, and more importantly, here in Neza Chalco.

It stands to reason Fahder would recruit local the Lobos to work for him. Just like most middlemen, like his affiliates have done, and even like our old enemy Novák had done, Fahder’s recruiting men from the underbelly of society. Men like the Lobos leader El Chulo, who’d sell their country out for fast money.

You do what you must to survive.

Fortunately for TORC, the Lobos’ involvement is an extremely fortunate turn in events. But first I have to locate them.

I choose the street with the most food vendors. Because in places like this, everything comes at a price. And if the vendors are making money, then so is The Lobos.

I buy a Fresca, lean against my bike, and wait.

I fight off the depression this place causes by focusing on my Harley. My pride and joy, my baby. The first vehicle I ever bought. I shipped her from Loreto to Mexico City and hired a mechanic to fix her, something I’ve always wanted to do. But my long absence from Mexico and from the family home I still own has always prevented my following through. She rides like a beauty now, offering me the flexibility of movement as I navigate these narrow streets.

I’m prepared for whatever comes my way. My Glock presses against my right hip bone, a smaller Ruger against the left. The army pack I’ve brought is filled with water, PowerBars, gauze, rope, additional ammo, an extra pair of socks and sneakers—lesson learned—and twelve custom-made sticks of TNT. Hayden’s warning or not, you never know what might happen so I never leave home without it.

Still, I promised Hayden I’d work low-key. After Casa Bella, it’s important I do so.

Despite the weather turning warm, I’ve slid on my old leather motorcycle jacket with a wolf in crossbones patched onto it. Something I’d kept stored inside the trunk on my bike. A symbol of days gone by.

McDuff might be a master of disguises but I’m all about blending into my environment. And in this jacket, people don’t dare stare too long at me, afraid of the consequences. They understand the significance of this patch. Avoidance is the name of the game.

The rain stopped a while ago, the clouds rolling away to reveal a perfectly blue sky. The warmth feels good on my face, like a sweet caress helping me recover from a long, challenging week.

All that time and energy dealing with stupidgilipollaswasted. Life’s lessons should have warned me that if something appears easy, it’s too good to be true. I’ve got to be more careful.Dios, andpatient.

I’ve got to forget that do-gooder. An unwanted complication.

How she looked when I last saw her, so vulnerable, so lost.

Mierda.